1284	----	TOM SWIFT AND HIS AIR SCOUT or Uncle Sam's Mastery of the Sky by Victor Appleton CONTENTS CHAPTER I A SKY RIDE II A NEW IDEA III THE BIG OFFER IV MR. DAMON'S WHIZZER V TOM'S PROJECT VI MAKING PLANS VII A PROBLEM IN SOUND VIII THROUGH THE ROOF IX AFTER A SPY X A BIG SPLASH XI A NIGHT TRIP XII THE CRY FOR HELP XIII SOMETHING QUEER XIV THE TELEPHONE CALL XV A VAIN SEARCH XVI THE LONG NIGHT XVII SILENT SAM XVIII SUSPICIONS XIX ANOTHER FLIGHT XX QUEER MARKS XXI THE DESERTED CABIN XXII CLEWS AT LAST XXIII THE GOVERNMENT TEST XXIV IN THE MOONLIGHT XXV THE GOLD TOOTH TOM SWIFT AND HIS AIR SCOUT CHAPTER I A SKY RIDE "Oh Tom, is it really safe?" A young lady--an exceedingly pretty young lady, she could be called--stood with one small, gloved hand on the outstretched wing of an aeroplane, and looked up at a young man, attired in a leather, fur-lined suit, who sat in the cockpit of the machine just above her. "Safe, Mary?" repeated the pilot, as he reached in under the hood of the craft to make sure about one of the controls. "Why, you ought to know by this time that I wouldn't go up if it wasn't safe!" "Oh, yes, I know, Tom. It may be all right for you, but I've never been up in this kind of airship before, and I want to know if it's safe for me." The young man leaned over the edge of the padded cockpit, and clasped in his rather grimy hand the neatly gloved one of the young lady. And though the glove was new, and fitted the hand perfectly, there was no attempt to withdraw it. Instead, the young lady seemed to be very glad indeed that her hand was in such safe keeping. "Mary!" exclaimed the young man, "if it wasn't safe--as safe as a church--I wouldn't dream of taking you up!" and at the mention of "church" Mary Nestor blushed just the least bit. Or perhaps it was that the prospective excitement of the moment caused the blood to surge into her cheeks. Have it as you will. "Come, Mary! you're not going to back out the last minute, are you?" asked Tom Swift. "Everything is all right. I've made a trial flight, and you've seen me come down as safely as a bird. You promised to go up with me. I won't go very high if you don't like it, but my experience has been that, once you're off the ground, it doesn't make any difference how high you go. You'll find it very fascinating. So skip along to the house, and Mrs. Baggert will help you get into your togs." "Shall I have to wear all those things--such as you have on?" asked Mary, blushing again. "Well, you'll be more comfortable in a fur-lined leather suit," asserted Tom. "And if it does make you look like an Eskimo, why I'm sure it will be very becoming. Not that you don't look nice now," he hastened to assure Miss Nestor, "but an aviation suit will be very--well, fetching, I should say." "If I could be sure it would 'fetch' me back safe, Tom--" "That'll do! That'll do!" laughed the young aviator. "One joke like that is enough in a morning. It was pretty good, though. Now go on in and tog up." "You're sure it's safe, Tom?" "Positive! Trot along now. I want to fix a wire and--" "Oh, is anything broken?" and the girl, who had started away from the aeroplane, turned back again. "No, not broken. It's only a little auxiliary dingus I put on to make it easier to read the barograph, but I think I'll go back to the old system. Nothing to do with flying at all, except to tell how high up one is." "That's just what I don't care to know, Tom," said Mary Nestor, with a smile. "If I could imagine I was sailing along only about ten feet in the air I wouldn't mind so much." "Flying at that height would be the worst sort of danger. You leave it to me, Mary. I won't take you up above the clouds on this sky ride; though, later, I'm sure you'll want to try that. This is only a little flight. You've been promising long enough to take a trip with me, and now I believe you're trying to back out." "No, really I'm not, Tom! Only, at the last minute, the machine looks so small and frail, and the sky is so--big--" She glanced up and seemed to shiver just a trifle. "Don't be thinking of those things, Mary!" laughed Tom Swift. "Trot along and get ready. The motor never worked better, and we may break a few speed records this morning. No traffic cops to stop us, either, as there might be if we were in an auto." "There you go, Mary!" exclaimed Tom, as if struck with a new thought. "You've ridden in an auto with me many a time, and you never were a bit afraid, though we were in more danger than we'll be this morning." "Danger, Tom, in an auto? How?" "Why, danger of a wheel collapsing as we were going full speed; or the steering knuckle breaking and sending us into a tree; danger of running into a stone wall or a ditch; danger of some one running into us, or of us running into some one else. There isn't one of these dangers on a sky ride." "No," said Mary slowly. "But there's the danger of falling." "One against twenty. That's the safety margin. And, if we do fall, it will be like landing in a feather bed! There, don't wait any longer. Go and get ready." Mary sighed, and then, seeming to summon her nerve to her aid, she smiled brightly, waved her hand to Tom, and hastened toward his home, where Mrs. Baggert the matronly housekeeper, was waiting to help the girl attire herself in a flying-suit of leather. Mary Nestor, who had a very warm place in the heart of Tom Swift, had, as he stated, some time since promised to take a trip in the air with the young inventor. But she had kept putting it off, for one reason or another, until Tom began to despair of ever getting her to accompany him. To-day, however, when she had called to inquire about his father, who had been slightly ill, Tom had, after the social visit, insisted on the promise being kept. He had his mechanic get out one of the safest, though a speedy, double machine, and, with Mary to watch, Tom had taken a trial flight, just to show her how easy it was. It was not the first time she had seen him take to the air, but now she watched with different emotions, for she was vitally interested. Tom had sailed down from aloft, making a landing in the aviation field he had constructed near his home, and then he had insisted that Mary should keep her promise to take a sky ride with him. "Don't be too long now!" called Tom to the girl, as she hurried toward the house. "Never mind about your hair, or whether your hat's on straight. You're going to wear a cap, anyhow, and tuck your hair up under that. It's hot down here, but it will be cold up above; so tell Mrs. Baggert to see that you're warmly dressed." "All right," and gaily she waved her hand to him. Now that she had made her decision, and was really going up, she was not half so frightened as she had been in the contemplation of it. As Tom climbed out of the machine, to give it a careful inspection, though he was certain there was nothing wrong, an aged colored man shuffled toward him. "Yo'--yo'll be mighty careful ob Miss Nestor now, won't yo', Massa Tom?" asked the man. "Of course I will, Eradicate," was the young inventor's answer. "Case we ain't got many laik her no mo', an' dat's de truf, Massa Tom," went on the old man. "So be mighty careful laik!" "That's what I will, Rad! And, while I'm up in the air, don't you and Koku have any trouble." "Ho! Trouble wif dat onery no-'count giant! I guess not!" and the colored man limped off, highly indignant. Satisfied, from an inspection of his machine, that it was as nearly mechanically perfect as it was possible to be, Tom Swift finished his trip around it and stood near the big propeller, waiting for Mary Nestor to reappear. Presently she did so, and Tom gaily waved his hand to her. "You're a picture!" he cried, as he saw how particularly "fetching" she looked in the aviator's costume which was like his own. Because of the danger of entanglement, Miss Nestor had doffed her skirts, and wore the costume of all aviators--men and women. "I wish I had my camera!" cried Tom. "You look--stunning!" "I hope that isn't any comment on how I'm going to feel if we have to make a--forced landing, I believe you call it," she retorted. "Oh, I'll take care of that!" exclaimed Tom. "Now up you go, and we'll start," and he helped her to climb into the padded seat of the cockpit, behind where he was to sit. "Oh, Tom! Don't be in such a hurry!" expostulated Mary. "Let me get my breath!" "No!" laughed the young inventor. "If I did you might back out. Get in, fasten the strap around you and sit still. That's all you have to do. Don't be afraid, I'll be very careful. And don't try to yell at me to go slower or lower once we're up in the air. "Why not?" Mary wanted to know, as she settled herself in her seat. "Because I can't very well hear you, or talk to you. The motor makes so much noise, you know. We can do a little talking through this speaking tube," and he indicated one, "but it isn't very satisfactory. So if you have anything to say--" "In the language of the poets," interrupted Mary, "if I have words to spill, prepare to spill them now. Well, I haven't! Now I'm here, go ahead! I shall probably be too frightened to talk, anyhow." "Oh, no you won't--after the first little sensation," Tom assured her. "You'll be crazy about it. Come on, Jackson!" he called to the mechanician. "Start the ball rolling!" Tom was in his place, his goggles and cap well down over his face, and he was adjusting the switch as the mechanic prepared to spin the propellers. Suddenly a man came running from the Swift house, waving his arms not unlike the blades of an aircraft propeller, he also shouted, but Tom, whose ears were covered with his fur cap, could not hear. However, Jackson did, and stopped whirling the blades, turning about to see what was wanted. "Why, it's Mr. Damon!" exclaimed Tom, as he caught sight of the excited man. "Hello, what's the matter?" the youth asked, pulling aside one flap of his head-covering so he might hear the answer. "Tom! Wait a minute! Bless my mouse trap!" exclaimed Mr. Damon, "I want to speak to you!" He was panting from his run across the field. "I just got to your house--saw your father--he said you were going up with Miss Nestor, but--bless my dog biscuit--" "Can't stop now, Mr. Damon!" answered Tom, with a laugh. "I have only just succeeded, by hard work, in getting Mary to a point where she has consented to take a sky ride. If I stop now she'll back out and I'll never get her in again. See you when I come back," and Tom pulled the covering over his ear once more. "But, Tom, bless my shoe laces! This is important!" "So's this!" answered Tom, with a grin. He saw, by the motion of Mr. Damon's lips, what the latter had said. Around swung the propeller blades. The gasoline vapor in the cylinders was being compressed. "Contact!" called Tom sharply, as he pressed the switch to give the igniting spark at the proper moment. The mechanic had stepped back out of the way, in case there should be a premature starting of the powerful engine, in which event the blades would have cut him to pieces. "Wait, Tom! Wait! This is very important! Bless my collar button, Tom Swift, but this is--" Bang! Bang! Bang! With a series of explosions, like those of a machine gun, the motor started, and further talk was out of the question. Tom turned on more gas. The propellers became almost invisible blades of light and shadow, and the aeroplane began moving over the grassy field. The mechanic had sprung out of the way, pulling Mr. Damon with him. "Come back! Come back! Wait a minute, Tom Swift! Bless my pansy blossoms, I want to tell you something!" cried the little man. But Tom Swift was away and out of hearing. He had started on his sky ride with Mary Nestor. CHAPTER II A NEW IDEA Any one who has taken a flight in an aeroplane or gone up in a balloon, will know exactly how Mary Nestor felt on this, her first sky ride of any distance. For a moment, as she looked over the side of the machine, she had a distinct impression, not that she was going up, but that some one had pulled the earth down from beneath her and, at the same time, given her a shove off into space. Such is the first sensation of going aloft. Then the rush of air all about her, the slightly swaying motion of the craft, and the vibration caused by the motor took her attention. But the sensation of the earth dropping away from beneath her remained with Mary for some time. This sensation is much greater in a balloon than in an aeroplane, for a balloon, unless there is a strong wind blowing, goes straight up, while an aeroplane ascends on a long slant, and always into the teeth of the wind, to take advantage of its lifting power on the underside of the planes. The reason for this sensation--that of the earth's dropping down, instead of one's feeling, what really happens, that one is ascending--is because there are no objects by which comparison can be made. If one starts off on the earth's surface at slow, or at great speed, one passes stationary objects--houses, posts, trees, and the like--and judges the speed by the rapidity with which these are left behind. Going up is unlike this. There is nothing to pass. One simply cleaves the air, and only as it rushes past can one be sure of movement. And as the air is void of color and form, there is no sensation of passing anything. So Mary Nestor, as she shot into the air with Tom Swift, had a sensation as though the earth were dropping from beneath her. For a moment she felt as though she were in some vast void--floating in space--and she had a great fear. Then she calmed herself. She looked at Tom sitting in front of her. Of course, all she could see was his back, but it looked to be a very sturdy back, indeed, and he sat there in the aircraft as calmly as though in a chair on the ground. Then Mary took courage, and ceased to grasp the sides of the cockpit with a grip that stiffened all her muscles. She was beginning to "find herself." On and on, and up and up, went Mary and Tom, in this the girl's first big sky ride. The earth below seemed farther and farther away. The wide, green fields became little emerald squares, and the houses like those in a toy Noah's ark. Down below, Mr. Wakefield Damon, who had hurried over from his home in Waterfield to see Tom Swift, gazed aloft at the fast disappearing aeroplane and its passengers. "Bless my coal bin!" cried the eccentric man, "but Tom is in a hurry this morning. Too bad he couldn't have stopped and spoken to me. It might have been greatly to his advantage. But I suppose I shall have to wait." "You want to see Master?" asked a voice behind Mr. Damon, and, turning, he beheld a veritable giant. "Yes, Koku, I did," Mr. Damon answered, and he did not appear at all surprised at the sight of the towering form beside him. "I wanted to see Tom most particularly. But I shall have to wait. I'll go in and talk to Mr. Swift." "Yaas, an' I go talk to Radicate," said the giant. "Him diggin' up ground where Master told me to make garden. Radicate not strong enough for dat!" "Huh! there's trouble as soon as those two get to disputing," mused Mr. Damon, as he went toward the house. Meanwhile, Mary was beginning to enjoy herself. The sensation of moving rapidly through the air in a machine as skillfully guided as was the one piloted by Tom Swift was delightful. Up and up they went, and then suddenly Mary felt a lurch, and the plane, which was now about a thousand feet high, seemed to slip to one side. Mary screamed, and began reaching for the buckle of the safety belt that fastened her to her seat. She saw that something unusual had occurred, for Tom was working frantically at the mechanism in front of him. But, in spite of this, he seemed aware that Mary was in danger, not so much, perhaps, from what might happen to the machine, as what she might do in her terror. "Oh! Oh!" cried the girl, and Tom heard her above the terrific noise of the motor, for she was speaking with her lips close to the tube that served as a sort of inter-communicating telephone for the craft. "Oh, we are falling! I'm going to jump!" "Sit still! Sit still for your life!" cried Tom Swift. "I'll save you all right! Only sit still! Don't jump!" Mary, her red cheeks white, sank back, and the young inventor redoubled his efforts at the controls and other mechanisms. And that Tom was perfectly qualified to make a safe landing, even with engine trouble, Mary Nestor well knew. Those of you who have read the previous books of this series know it also, but, for the benefit of my new readers, I shall state that this was by no means Tom's first ride in an aeroplane. He had operated and built gasoline engines ever since he was about sixteen years old. As related in the initial volume of this series, entitled, "Tom Swift and His Motorcycle," he became possessed of this machine after it had started to climb a tree with Mr. Damon on board. After that experience the eccentric man--blessing everything he could think of--had no liking for the speedy motorcycle and sold it to Tom at a low price. That was the beginning of a friendship between the two, and also started Tom on his career as an inventor and a possessor of many gasoline craft. For he was not content with merely riding the repaired motorcycle. He made improvements on it. Tom lived with his father in the town of Shopton, their home being looked after, since the death of Mrs. Swift, by Mrs. Baggert. Mr. Wakefield Damon lived in the neighboring town of Waterfield, and spent much time at Tom's home, often going on trips with him in various vehicles of the land, sea or air. As related in the various volumes of this series, Tom was not content to remain on earth. He built a speedy motor boat, and then secured an airship, following that with a submarine. He also made an electric runabout that was the speediest car on the road. Sending wireless messages, having thrilling experiences among the diamond makers, journeying to the caves of ice, and making perilous trips in his sky racer took up part of the young inventor's time. With his electric rifle he did some wonderful shooting, and in the "City of Gold" made some strange discoveries, part of the fortune he secured enabling him to build his sky racer. It was in a land of giants that Tom was made captive, but he succeeded in escaping, and brought two giants, of whom Koku was one, away with him. Following this achievement Tom invented a wizard camera and a great searchlight, which, with his giant cannon, was purchased by the United States Government. Work on his photo-telephone and his aerial warship, the problem of digging a big tunnel, and then traveling to the land of wonders, kept Tom Swift very busy, and he had just completed a wonderful piece of work when the present story opens. This last achievement was the perfecting of a machine to aid in the great World War and you will find the details set down in the volume which immediately precedes this. "Tom Swift and His War Tank," it is called, and in that is related how he not only invented a marvelous machine, but succeeded in keeping its secret from the plotters who tried to take it from him. In this Tom was helped by the inspiration of Mary Nestor, whom he hoped some day to marry, and by Ned Newton, a chum, who, though no inventor himself, could admire one. Ned and Tom had been chums a long while, but Ned inclined more to financial and office matters than to machinery. At times he had managed affairs for Tom, and helped him finance projects. Ned was now an important bank official, and since the United States had entered the war had had charge of some Red Cross work, as well as Liberty Bond campaigns. Somehow, as she sat there in the craft which seemed disabled, Mary Nestor could not help thinking of Tom's many activities, in some of which she had shared. "Oh, if he falls now, and is killed!" she thought. "Oh, what will happen to us?" "It's all right, Mary! Don't worry! It's all right!" cried Tom, through the speaking tube. "What's that? I can't hear you very well!" she called back. "No wonder, with the racket this motor is making," he answered. "Why can't something be done so you can talk in an aeroplane as well as in a balloon? That's an idea! If I could tell you what was the matter now you wouldn't be a bit frightened, for it isn't anything. But, as it is--" "What are you saying, Tom? I can't hear you!" cried Mary, still much frightened. "I say it's all right--don't get scared. And don't jump!" Tom shouted until his ears buzzed. "It's all nonsense--having a motor making so much noise one can't talk!" he went on, irritatedly. A strange idea had come to the young inventor, but there was no time to think of it now. Mentally he registered a vow to take up this idea and work on it as soon as possible. But, just now, the aeroplane needed all his attention. As he had told Mary, there was really nothing approaching any great danger. But it was rather an anxious moment. If Tom had been alone he would have thought little of it, but with Mary along he felt a double responsibility. What had happened was that the craft had suddenly gone into an "air pocket" or partial vacuum, and there had been a sudden fall and a slide slip. In trying to stop this too quickly Tom had broken one of his controls, and he was busily engaged in putting an auxiliary one in place and trying to reassure Mary at the same time. "But it's mighty hard trying to do that through a speaking tube with a motor making a noise like a boiler factory," mused the young inventor. Tom worked quickly and to good purpose. In a few moments, though to Mary they seemed like hours, the machine was again gliding along on a level keel, and Tom breathed more easily. "And now for my great idea!" he told himself. But it was some time before he could give his attention to that. CHAPTER III THE BIG OFFER Working with all the skill he possessed, Tom had got the aeroplane in proper working order again. As has been said, the accident was a trivial one, and had he been alone, or with an experienced aviator, he would have thought little of it. Then, very likely, he would have volplaned to earth and made the repairs there. But he did not want to frighten Mary Nestor, so he fixed the control while gliding along, and made light of it. Thus his passenger was reassured. "Are we all right?" asked Mary through the tube, as they sailed along. "Right as a fiddle," answered Tom, shouting through the same means of communication. "What's that about a riddle?" asked Mary, in surprise at his seeming flippancy at such a time. "I didn't say anything about a riddle--I said we are as fit as a fiddle!" cried Tom. "Never mind. No use trying to talk with the racket this motor makes, and it isn't the noisiest of its kind, either. I'll tell you when we get down. Do you like it?" "Yes, I like it better than I did at first," answered Mary, for she had managed to understand the last of Tom's questions. Then he sailed a little higher, circled about, and, a little later, not to get Mary too tired and anxious, he headed for his landing field. "I'll take you home in the auto," he cried to his passenger. "We could go up to your house this way--in style--if there was a field near by large enough to land in. But there isn't. So it will have to be a plain, every-day auto." "That's good enough for me," said Mary. "Though this trip is wonderful--glorious! I'll go again any time you ask me." "Well, I'll ask you," said Tom. "And when I do maybe it won't be so hard to hold a conversation. It will be more like this," and he shut off the motor and began to glide gently down. The quiet succeeding the terrific noise of the motor exhaust was almost startling, and Tom and Mary could converse easily without using the tube. Then followed the landing on the soft, springy turf, a little glide over the ground, and the machine came to a halt, while mechanics ran out of the hangar to take charge of it. "I'll just go in and change these togs," said Mary, as she alighted and looked at her leather costume. "No, don't," advised Tom. "You look swell in em. Keep 'em on. They're yours, and you'll need 'em when we go up again. Here comes the auto. I'll take you right home in it. Keep the aviation suit on. "I wonder what Mr. Damon could have wanted," remarked Tom, as he drove Mary along the country road. "He seemed very much excited," she replied. "Oh, he almost always is that way--blessing everything he can think of. You know that. But this time it was different, I'll admit. I hope nothing is the matter. I might have stopped and spoken to him, but I was afraid if I did you'd back out and wouldn't come for a sky ride." "Well, I might have. But now that I've had one, even with an accident thrown in, I'll go any time you ask me, Tom," and Mary smiled at the young inventor. "Shucks, that wasn't a real accident!" he laughed. "But I do wonder what Mr. Damon wanted." "Better go back and find out, Tom," advised Mary, as they stopped in front of her house. "Oh, I want to come in and talk to you. Haven't had a chance for a good talk today, that motor made such a racket." "No, go along now, but come back and see me this afternoon if you like." "I do like, all right! And I suppose Mr. Damon will be fussing until he sees me. Well, glad you liked your first ride in the air, Mary--that is, the first one of any account," for Mary had been in an aeroplane before, though only up a little way--a sort of "grass-cutting stunt," Tom called it. Waving farewell to the pretty girl, the young aviator turned the auto about and speeded for his home and the shops adjoining it. His father had not been well, of late, and Tom was a bit anxious about him. "Mr. Damon may bother him, though he wouldn't mean to," thought Tom. "He seemed to have his mind filled with some new idea. I wonder if it is anything like mine? No, it couldn't be. Well, I'll soon find out," and, putting his foot on the accelerator, Tom sent the machine along at a pace that soon brought him within sight of his home. "Is father all right?" he asked Mrs. Baggert, who was out on the front porch, as though waiting for him. "Oh, yes, Tom, he's all right," the housekeeper answered. "Is Mr. Damon with him?" "No." "He hasn't gone home, has he?" "No, he's around somewhere. But some one else is with your father. Some visitors." "Any relations?" "No; strangers. They came to see you, and they're rather impatient. I came out to see if you were in sight. Your father sent me." "Are they bothering him--talking business that I ought to attend to when he's ill? That mustn't be." "Well, I suppose it is business that the strangers are talking over with your father, Tom," said Mrs. Baggert, "for I heard sums of money spoken of. But your father seems to be all right, only a trifle anxious that you should come." "Well, I'm here now and I'll attend to things. Where are the strangers, and who are they?" "I don't know," answered the housekeeper. "I never saw them before, but they're in the library with your father. Do you think they'll stay to dinner? If you do, I'll have Eradicate or Koku catch and kill a chicken." "If you let one do it don't tell the other about it," said Tom with a laugh, "or you'll have a chicken race around the yard that will make the visitors sit up and take notice." There was great rivalry between Eradicate Sampson, the aged colored man, and Koku, the giant, and they were continually disputing. Each one loved and served Tom in his own way, and there was jealousy between them. Koku, the giant Tom had brought with him from the land where the young inventor had been made captive, was a big, powerful man, and could do things the aged colored servant could not attempt. But "Rad," as he was often called, and his mule "Boomerang" had long been fixtures on the Swift homestead. But old age crept on apace with Eradicate, though he hated to admit it, and Koku did many things the colored man had formerly attended to, and Rad was always on the lookout not to be supplanted. Hence Tom's warning to Mrs. Baggert about letting the two be entrusted with the same mission of catching a chicken for the pot. "Better get the fowl yourself and say nothing to either of them about it," Tom advised the housekeeper. "Mr. Damon will stay to dinner, as he always does when he comes, and as it's near twelve now, and as I may be delayed talking business to these strangers, you'd better get up a bigger meal than usual." "I will, Tom," promised Mrs. Baggert. And then the young inventor, having seen that one of the men took the automobile to the garage, went into the house. "Oh, here you are!" was his father's greeting, as he came out into the hall from the library. "I've been waiting anxiously for you, my boy. I couldn't think what was keeping you." "Oh, I had a little trouble with the air machine--nothing serious." A moment later Tom was standing before two well-dressed, prosperous-looking business men, who smiled pleasantly at him. "Mr. Thomas Swift?" interrogated one, the elder, as he held out his hand. "That's my name," answered Tom, pleasantly. "I'm Peton Gale, and this gentleman is Boland Ware," went on the man who had taken Tom's hand. "I'm president and he's treasurer of the Universal Flying Machine Company, of New York." "Oh, yes," said Tom, as he shook hands with Mr. Ware. "I have heard of your concern. You are doing a lot of government work, are you not?" "Yes; war orders. And we're up to our neck in them. This war is going to be almost as much fought in the air as on the ground, Mr. Swift." "I can well believe that," agreed Tom. "Won't you have a chair?" "Well, we didn't come to stay long," said Mr. Gale with a laugh, which, somehow or other, grated on Tom and seemed to him insincere. "Our business is such a rushing one that we don't spend much time anywhere. To get down to brass tacks, we have come to see you to put a certain proposition before you, Mr. Swift. You are open to a business proposition, aren't you?" "Oh, yes," answered Tom. "That's what I'm here for." "I thought so. Well, now I'll tell you, in brief, what we want, and then Mr. Ware, our treasurer, can elaborate on it, and give you facts and figures about which I never bother myself. I attend to the executive end and leave the details to others," and again came that laugh which Tom did not like. "You came here to make me an offer?" asked the young inventor, wondering to which of his many machines the visitors had reference. "Yes," went on Mr. Gale, "we came here to make you a big offer. In short, Mr. Swift, we want you to work for our company, and we are willing to pay you ten thousand dollars a year for the benefit of your advice and your inventive abilities. Ten thousand dollars a year! Do you accept?" CHAPTER IV MR. DAMON'S WHIZZER Characteristic it was of Tom Swift that he did not seem at all surprised at what most young men would call a liberal offer. Certainly not many youths of Tom's age would be sought out by a big manufacturing concern, and offered ten thousand dollars a year "right off the reel," as Ned Newton expressed it later. But Tom only smiled and shook his head in negation. "What!" cried Mr. Gale, "you mean you won't accept our offer?" "I can't," answered Tom. "You can't!" exclaimed the treasurer, Mr. Ware. "Oh, I see. Mr. Gale, a word with you. Excuse us a moment," he added to Tom and his father. The two men consulted in a corner of the library for a moment, and then, with smiles on their faces, once more turned toward the young inventor. "Well, perhaps you are right, Tom Swift," said Mr. Gale. "Of course, we recognize your talents and ability, but you cannot blame us for trying to get talent, as well as material for our airships, in the cheapest market. But we are not hide-bound, nor sticklers for any set sum. We'll make that offer fifteen thousand dollars a year, if you will sign a five-year contract and agree that we shall have first claim on anything and everything you may patent or invent in that time. Now, how does that strike you? Fifteen thousand dollars a year--paid weekly if you wish, and our Mr. Ware, here, has a form of contract which can be fixed up and signed within ten minutes, if you agree." "Well, I don't like to be disagreeable," said Tom with a smile; "but, really, as I said before, I can't accept your very kind offer. I may say liberal offer. I appreciate that." "You can't accept!" cried Mr. Gale. "Are you sure you don't mean 'won't'?" asked Mr. Ware, in a half growl. "You may call it that if you like," replied Tom, a bit coolly, for he did not like the other's tone, "Only, as I say, I cannot accept. I have other plans." "Oh, you--" began the brusk treasurer, but Mr. Gale, the president of the Universal Flying Machine Company, stopped his associate with a warning look. "Just a moment, Mr. Swift," begged the president. "Don't be hasty. We are prepared to make you a last and final offer, and I do not believe you can refuse it." "Well, I certainly will not refuse it without hearing it," said Tom, with a smile he meant to make good-natured. Yet, truth to tell, he did not at all like the two visitors. There was something about them that aroused his antagonism, and he said later that even if they had offered him a sum which he felt he ought not, in justice to himself and his father, refuse, he would have felt a distaste in working for a company represented by the twain. "This is our offer," said Mr. Gale, and he spoke in a pompous manner which seemed to say: "If you don't take it, why, it will be the worse for you." He looked at his treasurer for a confirmatory nod and, receiving it, went on. "We are prepared to offer and pay you, and will enter into such a contract, with the stipulation about the inventions that I mentioned before--we are prepared to pay you--twenty thousand dollars a year! Now what do you say to that, Tom Swift? "Twenty-thousand-dollars-a-year!" repeated Mr. Gale unctuously, rolling the words off his tongue. "Twen-ty-thou-sand-dol-lars-a-year! Think of it!" "I am thinking of it," said Tom Swift gently, "and I thank you for your offer. It is, indeed, very generous. But I must give you the same answer. I cannot accept." "Tom!" exclaimed his aged father. "Mr. Swift!" exclaimed the two visitors. Tom smiled and shook his head. "Oh, I know very well what I am saying, and what I am turning down," he said. "But I simply cannot accept. I have other plans. I am sorry you have had your trip for nothing," he added to the visitors, "but, really, I must refuse." "Is that your final answer?" asked Mr. Gale. "Yes." "Don't you want to take a day or two to think it over?" asked the treasurer. "Don't be hasty. Remember that very few young men can command that salary, and I may say you will find us liberal in other ways. You would have some time to yourself." "That is what I most need," returned Tom. "Time to myself. No, thank you, gentlemen, I cannot accept." "Be careful!" warned Mr. Gale, and it sounded as though there might be a threat in his voice. "This is our last offer, and your last chance. We will not renew this. If you do not accept our twenty thousand dollars now, you will never get it again." "I realize that," said Tom, "and I am prepared to take the consequences. "Very well, then," said Mr. Gale. "There seems nothing for us to do, Mr. Ware, but to go back to New York. I bid you good-day," and he bowed stiffly to Tom. "I hope you will not regret your refusal of our offer." "I hope so myself," said Tom, lightly. When the visitors had gone Mr. Swift turned toward his son, and, shaking his head, remarked: "Of course, you know your own business best, Tom. Yet I cannot but feel you have made a mistake." "How?" asked Tom. "By not taking that money? I can easily make that in a year, with an idea I have in mind for an improvement on an airship. And your new electric motor will soon be ready for the market. Besides, we don't really need the money." "No, not now, Tom, but there is no telling when we may," said Mr. Swift, slowly. "This big war has made many changes, and things that brought us in a good income before, hardly sell at all, now." "Oh, don't worry, Dad! We still have a few shots left in the locker--in other words, the bank. I'm expecting Ned Newton over any moment now, to give us the annual statement of our account, and then we'll know where we stand. I'm not afraid from the money end. Our business has done well, and it is going to do better. I have a new idea." "That's all very well, Tom," said Mr. Swift, who seemed oppressed by something. "As you say, money isn't everything, and I know we shall always have enough to live on. But there is something about those two men I do not like. They were very angry at your refusal of their offer. I could see that. Tom, I don't want to be a croaker, but I think you'll have to watch out for those men. They're going to be your enemies--your rivals in the airship field," and Mr. Swift shook his head dolefully. "Well, rivalry, when it's clean and above board, is the spice of trade and invention," returned Tom, lightly. "I'm not afraid of that." "No, but it may be unfair and underhand," said Mr. Swift. "I think it would have been better, Tom, to have accepted their offer. Twenty thousand a year, clear money, is a good sum." "Yes, but I may make twice that with something that occurred to me only a little while ago. Forget about those men, Dad, and I'll tell you my new idea. But wait, I want Mr. Damon to hear it, too. Where is he?" "He was here a little while ago. He went out when those two men came and--" At that moment, from the garden at the side of the library, the sound of voices in dispute could be heard. "Now yo' all g'wan 'way from yeah!" exclaimed some one who could be none other than Eradicate Sampson. "Whut fo' yo' all want to clutter up dish yeah place fo'? Massa Tom said I was to do de garden wuk, an' I'se gwine to do it! G'wan 'way, Giant!" "Ho! You want me to get out, s'pose you put me, black face!" cried a big voice, that of Koku, the giant. "There they go! At it again!" cried Tom with a smile. "Might have known if I told Rad to do anything that Koku would be jealous. Well, I'll have to go out now and give that giant something to do that will tax his strength." But as Tom was about to leave the room another voice was heard in the garden. "Now, boys, be nice," said some one soothingly. "The garden is large enough for you both to work in. Rad, you begin at the lower end and spade toward the middle. Koku, you begin at the upper end and work down. Whoever gets to the middle first will win." "Ha! Den I'll show dat giant some spade wuk as is spade wuk!" cried the colored man. "Garden wuk is mah middle name." "Be careful, Rad!" laughed Mr. Damon, for he it was who was trying to act as peacemaker. "Remember that Koku is very strong." "Yas, sah! He may be strong, but he's clumsy!" chuckled Eradicate. "You watch me beat him!" "Ho! Black man get stuck in mud!" challenged Koku. "I show him!" Then there was silence, and Tom and his father, looking out, saw the two disputants beginning to spade the soil while Mr. Damon, satisfied that he had, for the time being, stopped a quarrel, turned toward the house. "I was just coming to look for you," said Tom. "Sorry I had to go off in such a hurry and leave you, but I had promised to take Mary for a ride, and as it was her first one, for a distance, I didn't want her to back out." "That's all right, Tom, that's all right!" said Mr. Damon genially. "Ladies first every time. But I do want to see you, and it's about something important." "No trouble, I hope?" queried Tom, for the manner of the eccentric man was rather grave. "Trouble? Oh, no! Bless my frying pan, no trouble, Tom! In fact, it may be the other way about. Tom, I have an idea, and there may be millions in it! That's it--millions!" "Good!" cried the young inventor. "Might as well bite off a big lump while you're at it. So you have a new idea! Well, I have myself, but I'll listen to yours first. What is it, Mr. Damon?" "It's a new kind of airship, Tom. I haven't got it all worked out yet, but I can give you a rough outline. On my way over I got to thinking about balloons, aeroplanes and the like, and it occurred to me that the present principles are all wrong." "So I evolved a new type of machine. I'm going to call it the Damon Whizzer. Maybe Demon Whizzer would be more appropriate, but we won't decide on that now. Anyhow, it's going to be a whizzer, and I want to talk to you about it. There is an entirely new principle of elevation and propulsion involved in my Whizzer, and I--" At that moment there came a crash and clatter of steel and wood from the garden, out of sight of which Tom and Mr. Damon had walked while talking. Then followed a jangle of words. "They're at it again!" cried Tom, as he ran toward the side of the house. "I guess it's a fight this time!" CHAPTER V TOM'S PROJECT Curious was the sight that met the gaze of Tom Swift and Mr. Wakefield Damon as they rounded the corner of the house and looked into the newly spaded garden. There stood the giant, Koku, holding aloft in the air, by one hand, the form of the struggling colored man, Eradicate Sampson. And Eradicate was vainly trying to get at his enemy and rival, but was prevented by the long-distance hold the giant had on him. "Yo' let me go, now! Yo' let me go, big man," cried Eradicate. "Ef yo' don't I'll bust yo' wide open, dat's whut I'll do! An' 'sides, I'll tell Massa Tom on yo', dat's whut I'll do!" "Ho! You tell--I let you fall!" threatened Koku. His threat was dire enough, for such was his size and strength that he held the colored man nearly nine feet from the ground, and a fall from that distance would seriously jar Eradicate, if it did nothing else. The colored man's eyes opened wide as he heard what Koku said, and then he cried: "Let me down! Let me down, an' I won't say nuffin!" "An' you let me scatter dirt?" asked Koku, for such was the giant's idea of working in the garden. "Yes, yo' kin scatter de dirt seben ways from Sunday fo' all I keers!" conceded Eradicate. Then, as he was lowered to the ground, he and the giant turned and saw Mr. Damon and Tom approaching. "What's wrong?" asked the young inventor. "'Scuse me, Massa Tom," began Eradicate, "but didn't yo' tell me to spade de garden?" "I guess I did," admitted Tom Swift. "An' you tell me help--yes?" questioned Koku. "Well, I thought it would be a little too much for you, Rad," said Tom, gently. "I thought perhaps you'd like help." "Hu! Not him, anyhow!" declared the colored man in great disgust. "When I git so old dat I cain't spade a garden, den me an' Boomerang, we-all gwine to die, dat's all I got to say. I was a-spadin' my part ob de garden, Massa Tom, same laik Mr. Damon done tole me to, an' dish yeah big mess ob bones steps on my side ob de middle an--" "Him too slow. Koku scatter dirt twice times so fast!" declared the giant, whose English was not much better than Eradicate's. "Yes, I see," said Tom. "You are so strong, Koku, that you finished your part before Eradicate did. Well, it was good of you to want to help him." At this the giant grinned at his rival. "At the same time," went on Tom, winking an eye at Mr. Damon, "Eradicate knows a little more about garden work, on account of having done it so many years." "Ha! Whut I tell yo', Giant!" boasted the colored man. It was his turn to smile. "And so," went on Tom, judicially, "I guess I'll let Rad finish spading the garden, and you, Koku, can come and help me lift some heavy engine parts. Mr. Damon wants to explain something to me." "Ha! Nothing what so heavy Koku not lift!" boasted the giant. "Go on! Lift yo'se'f 'way from heah!" muttered Eradicate as he picked up his dropped spade. And then, with a smile of satisfaction, he fell to work in the mellow soil while Tom led Koku to one of the shops where he set him to lifting heavy motor parts about in order to get at a certain machine that was stored away in the back of one of the rooms. "That will keep him busy," said the young inventor. "And now, Mr. Damon, I can listen to you. Do you really think you have a new idea in airships?" "I really think so, Tom. My Whizzer is bound to revolutionize travel in the air. Let me tell you what I mean. Now cast your mind back. How many ways are now used to propel an airship or a dirigible balloon through the air? How many ways?" "Two, as far as I know," said Tom. "At least there are only two that have proved to be practical." "Exactly," said Mr. Damon. "One with the propeller, or propellers, in front, and that is the tractor type. The other has the propeller in the rear, and that is the pusher type. Both good as far as they go, but I have something better." "What?" asked Tom with a smile. "It's a Whizzer," said the eccentric man. "Bless my gold tooth! but that is the best name I can think of for it. And, really, the propeller I'm thinking of inventing does whiz around." "But are you going to use a tractor or pusher type?" Tom wanted to know. "It's a combination of both," answered Mr. Damon. "As it is now, Tom, you have to get an aeroplane in pretty speedy motion before it will rise from the ground, don't you?" "Yes, of course. That's the principle on which an aeroplane rises and keeps aloft, by its speed in the air. As soon as that speed stops it begins to fall, or volplane, as we call it." "Exactly. Now, instead of having to depend on the speed of the aeroplane for this, why not depend on the speed of the propeller--in other words, the whizzer?" "Well, we do," said Tom, a bit puzzled as to what his friend was trying to get at. "If the propeller didn't move the airship wouldn't rise--that is, unless it's of the balloon type." "What I mean," said Mr. Damon, "is to have an aeroplane that will move in the air the same as a boat moves in the water. You don't have to get the propeller of a boat racing around at the rate of a million revolutions a minute, more or less, before your boat will travel, do you? If the engine turns the screw, or propeller, just over say fifty times a minute you would get some motion of the boat, wouldn't you?" "Why, yes, some," admitted Tom. "And what causes it?" asked Mr. Damon, anticipating a triumph. "The resistance of the water to the blades of the screw, or propeller," answered Tom. "Exactly! And it's the resistance of the air to the blades of an airship propeller that sends the craft along, isn't it?" "Yes. And because of the difference in density between air and water it becomes necessary to revolve an aeroplane propeller many times faster than a boat propeller. It's the density that makes the difference, Mr. Damon. If air were as dense as water we could have comparatively slow-moving motors and propellers and--" "Ha! There you have it, Tom! And there is where my Whizzer--Wakefield Damon's Whizzer--is going to revolutionize air travel!" cried the eccentric man. "The difference in density! If air were as dense as water the problem would be solved. And I have solved it! I'm going to turn the trick, Tom! One more question. How can air be made as dense as water, Tom Swift?" "Why, by condensation or compression, I suppose," was the rather slow answer. "You know they have condensed, or compressed, air until it is liquid. I've done it myself, as an experiment." "That's it, Tom! That's it!" cried Mr. Damon in delight. "Compressed air will do the trick! Not compressed to a liquid, exactly, but almost so. I'm going to revolve the propellers of my new airship in compressed air, so dense that they will not have to have a speed of more than seven hundred revolutions a minute. What's that compared to the three to ten thousand revolutions of the propellers now used? The propellers of Damon's Whizzer will be of the pusher type, and will revolve in dense, compressed air, almost like water, and that will do away with high speed motors, with all their complications, and make traveling in the clouds as simple as taking out a little one-cylinder motor boat. How's that, Tom Swift? How's that for an idea?" To Mr. Damon's disappointment, Tom was not enthusiastic. The young inventor gazed at his eccentric friend, and then said slowly: "Well, that's all right in theory, but how is it going to work out in practice?" "That's what I came to see you about, Tom," was the reply. "Bless my tall hat! but that's just why I hurried over here. I wanted to tell you when I saw you going off on a trip with Miss Nestor. That's my big idea--Damon's Whizzer--propellers revolving in compressed air like water. Isn't that great?" "I'm sorry to shatter your air castle," said Tom; "but for the life of me I can't see how it will work. Of course, in theory, if you could revolve a big-bladed propeller in very dense, or in liquid, air, there would be more resistance than in the rarefied atmosphere of the upper regions. And, if this could be done, I grant you that you could use slower motors and smaller propeller blades--more like those of a motor boat. But how are you going to get the condensed air?" "Make it!" said Mr. Damon promptly. "Air pumps are cheap. Just carry one or two on board the aeroplane, and condense the air as you go along. That's a small detail that can easily be worked out. I leave that to you." "I'd rather you wouldn't," said Tom. "That's the whole difficulty--compressing your air. Wait! I'll explain it to you." Then the young inventor went into details. He told of the ponderous machinery needed to condense air to a form approximating water, and spoke of the terrible pressure exerted by the liquid atmosphere. "Anything that you would gain by having a slow-speed motor and smaller propeller blades, would be lost by the ponderous air-condensing machinery you would need," Tom told Mr. Damon. "Besides, if you could surround your propellers with a strata of condensed air, it would create such terrible cold as to freeze the propeller blades and make them as brittle as glass. "Why, I have taken a heavy piece of metal, dipped it into liquid air, and I could shatter the steel with a hammer as easily as a sheet of ice. The cold of liquid air is beyond belief. "Attempts have been made to make motors run with liquid air, but they have not succeeded. To condense air and to carry it about so that propellers might revolve in it, would be out of the question." "You think so, Tom?" asked Mr. Damon. "I'm sure of it!" "Oh, dear! That's too bad. Bless my overshoes, but I thought I had a new idea. Well, you ought to know. So Damon's Whizzer goes on the scrap heap before ever it's built. Well, we'll say no more about it. You ought to know best, Tom. I wasn't thinking of it so much for myself as for you. I thought you'd like some new idea to work on." "Much obliged, Mr. Damon, but I have a new idea," said Tom. "You have? What is it? Tell me--that is, if it isn't a secret," went on the eccentric man, as much delighted over Tom's new plan as he had been over his own Whizzer, doomed to failure so soon. "It isn't a secret from you," said Tom. "I got the idea while I was riding with Mary. I wanted to talk to her--to tell her not to jump out when we had a little accident--but I had trouble making myself understood because of the noise of the motor." "They do make a great racket," conceded Mr. Damon. "But I don't suppose anything can be done about it." "I don't see why there can't!" exclaimed Tom. "And that's my new idea--to make a silent aircraft motor--perhaps silent propeller blades, though it's the motor that makes the most noise. And that's what I'm going to do--invent a silent aeroplane. Not because I want so much to talk when I take passengers up in the air, but I believe such a motor would be valuable, especially for scouting planes in war work. To go over the enemy's lines and not be heard would be valuable many times. "And that's what I'm going to do--work on a silent motor for Uncle Sam. I've got the germ of an idea and now--" "Excuse me," said a voice behind Mr. Damon and Tom, and, turning, the young inventor beheld the form of Mr. Peton Gale, president of the Universal Flying Machine Company. CHAPTER VI MAKING PLANS Tom Swift had drawn pencil and paper from his pocket, and, as he and Mr. Damon were sitting on the steps of one of the shops, the young inventor was about to demonstrate by a drawing part of his new project, when the interruption came in the shape of one of the men who had, an hour before, made a business offer to Tom. "Excuse me," went on Mr. Peton Gale, "but Mr. Ware and I got to talking it over on our way to the station--the matter of having you in our company, Mr. Swift--and we concluded that it was worth twenty-five thousand dollars a year for us to have you. So I came back--" "It isn't of the slightest use, Mr. Gale, I assure you," said Tom, a bit heatedly, for he did not like the persistency of this man, nor did he like his coming on the factory grounds unannounced and in this secret manner. "I told you I could not accept your offer. It is not altogether a matter of money. My word was final." "Oh very well, if you put it that way," said Mr. Gale stiffly, "of course there is nothing more to say. But I thought perhaps you did not consider we had offered you enough and--" "Your offer is fair enough from a financial standpoint," said Tom; "but I simply cannot accept it. I have other plans. Jackson!" he called to one of his mechanics who was passing, "kindly see Mr. Gale to the gate, and then let me know how it was any one came in here without a permit." "Yes, sir," said the mechanic, as he stood significantly waiting. "There was no one at the gate when I came in," said Mr. Gale, and his manner was antagonizing. "I wanted to speak to you--to ask you to reconsider your offer--so I came back." "It is against the rules to admit strangers to the shop grounds," said Tom. "Good-day!" The president of the Universal Flying Machine Company did not respond, but there was a look on his face as he turned away that, had Tom seen it, might have caused him some uneasiness. But he did not see. Instead, he resumed his talk with Mr. Damon. "Tom, your idea is most interesting," declared the eccentric man. "I hope you will be able to work it out!" "I'm going to try," said the young inventor. "I hope that man--Mr. Gale--didn't hear anything of what I was saying. He sneaked up on us before I was aware any one was near but ourselves." "I don't imagine he heard very much, Tom," said Mr. Damon. "He may have heard you mention a silent motor--" "That's just what I wish he hadn't heard," broke in Tom. "That's the germ of the idea, and once it becomes known that I am working on that-- Well, there's no use crying over spilled milk," and he smiled at the homely proverb. "I'll have to work in secret, once I've started." "Do you think the government would use it, Tom?" asked his friend. "I should think it would be glad to. Consider what a wonderful part airships are playing in the present war. It really is a struggle to see which will be the master of the sky--the Allies or the Germans--and, up to recently, the Huns had the advantage. Then the Allies, recognizing how vital it was, began to forge ahead, and now Uncle Sam with his troops under General Pershing is leading everything, or will lead shortly. We have been a bit slow with our aircraft production, but now we are booming along. Uncle Sam will soon have the mastery of the sky." "I hope so," sighed Mr. Damon. "We must beat the Germans!" Briefly, Tom spoke of what Pershing's men were doing with their aeroplanes in France, and mention was made of what the French and British had done prior to the entrance of the United States into the World War. "While we were yet neutral, Americans had made gallant names for themselves flying for France, and with my silent motor they ought to do better," declared Tom. "Is silence its chief recommendation?" asked Mr. Damon. "Yes," replied Tom. "Or rather, it will be when I have it perfected. Aeroplane motors now are about as compact and speedy as they can be made. It is only the terrific noise that is a handicap. It is a handicap to the pilots and observers in the craft, as they cannot communicate except through a special speaking tube, and this is not always satisfactory or sure. Then, too, the noise of an airship proclaims its approach to the enemy, sometimes long before it can be seen. "With a silent motor all this would be done away with. With my new craft, in case I can perfect it, the enemy's lines can be approached as silently as the Indians used to approach the log cabins of the white settlers. That will be its great advantage--not that conversation can be more easily carried on, for that is, after all, an unimportant detail. But to approach the enemy's lines in the silence of the night would be a distinct gain." "I believe it would, Tom!" exclaimed Mr. Damon. "And I should think, too, that Uncle Sam would be glad to get such a motor," he added. "Well, he'll have one to take if he wants it, if I can make my plans a success," declared Tom. "That is, unless those other fellows get ahead of me." "What other fellows?" asked Mr. Damon. "Gale, Ware and their crowd," was the answer. "I fancy they are provoked because I wouldn't agree to work for them, and now, that Gale overheard--as he must have--what I propose working on, they may try that game themselves." "You mean try to turn out a silent motor?" "Yes. It would be a big feather in their cap for their company, so far, hasn't been very successful on government orders. That's why they came to me, I guess." "I shouldn't be surprised, Tom," conceded Mr. Damon. "Since the government accepted your giant cannon and your great searchlight, you have come into greater prominence than ever before. And those two things are a wonderful success." "Yes," admitted Tom, modestly enough, "the big electric light seems to have been of some benefit on the European battle front, and though they haven't been able to make and transport as many of my giant cannons as I'd like to see over there, it is progressing, I understand." And this is true. For the details of these two inventions of Tom Swift's I refer my readers to the books bearing those titles. Sufficient to state here that the government was using these two inventions, and there had been no necessity for commandeering them either, since Tom had freely offered them at the declaration of war with Germany. "Well, since I can't help you with my 'Whizzer,'" said Mr. Damon, with a smile, "let me do what I can toward your silent motor, Tom. What are you going to call it?" "Oh, I don't know--hadn't thought of a name. I guess 'Air Scout' would be as good as any. That's what it will be--a machine for silently scouting in the air. And now to get down to brass tacks, as the poet says, I believe I will--" "Gentleman to see you, Mr. Swift," interrupted Jackson. "Bless my penwiper!" cried Mr. Damon. "More visitors! I hope it isn't Gale or Ware come back to see what they can spy on!" CHAPTER VII A PROBLEM IN SOUND Tom Swift looked up with a distinct appearance of being annoyed that was unusual with him, for he was, nearly always, good-natured. But the frown that had replaced the pleasant look on his face while he was talking to Mr. Damon about the projected new air scout was at once wiped away as he looked at the card Jackson held out to him. "Bring him in right away!" he ordered. "He needn't have stood on that ceremony." "Well, he said it was a business call," returned the mechanician with a cheerful grin, "and he said he wanted it done according to form. So he gave me his card to bring you." "Who is it?" asked Mr. Damon, with the privilege of an old friend. "It's Ned Newton," Tom answered; "though why he's putting on all this formality I can't fathom." Jackson went back to the main gate and told the man on guard there to admit Ned, who had so formally sent in his card. "Ah, Mr. Swift, I believe?" began the bank employee with that suave, formal air which usually precedes a business meeting. "That is my name," said Tom, with a suppressed grin, and he spoke as stiffly as though to a perfect stranger. "Mr. Tom Swift, the great inventor?" went on Ned. "Yes." "Ah, then I am at the right place. Just sign here, please, on the dotted line," and he held out a blank form, and a fountain pen to Tom, who took them half mechanically. "Huh? What's the big idea, Ned?" asked the young inventor, unable longer to carry on the joke. "Is this a warrant for my arrest, or merely a testimonial to you. If it's the latter, and concerns your nerve, I'll gladly sign it." "Well, it's something like that!" laughed Ned. "That's your application for another block of Liberty Bonds, Tom, and I want you, as a personal favor to me, as a business favor to the bank, and as your plain duty to Uncle Sam, to double your last subscription." Tom looked at the sum Ned had filled in on the blank form, and uttered a slight whistle of surprise. "That's all right now," said Ned, with the air of a professional salesman. "You can stand that and more, too. I'm letting you off easy. Why, I got Mary's father--Mr. Nestor--for twice what he took last time, and Mary herself--hard as she's working for the Red Cross--gave me a nice application. So it's up to you to--" "Nuff said!" exclaimed Tom, sententiously, as he signed his name. "I may have to reconsider my recent refusal of the offer of the Universal Flying Machine Company, though, if I haven't money enough to meet this subscription, Ned." "Oh, you'll meet it all right! Much obliged," and Ned folded the Liberty Bond subscription paper and put it in his pocket. "But did you turn down the offer from those people?" "I did," answered Tom. "But how did you know about it, Ned?" "First let me say that I'm glad you decided to have nothing to do with them. They're a rich firm, and have lots of money, but I wouldn't trust 'em, even if they have some government contracts. The way I happened to know they were likely to make you an offer is this," continued Ned Newton. "They do business with one of the New York banks with which my bank--notice the accent on the my, Tom--is connected. The other day I happened to see some correspondence about you. These flying machine people asked our bank to find out certain things about you, and, as a matter of business, we had to give the information. Sort of a commercial agency report, you know, nothing unusual, and it isn't the first time it's been done since your business got so large. But that's how I happened to know these fellows contemplated dickering with you." "Do you know Gale or Ware?" Tom asked. "Not personally. But in a business way, Tom, I'd warn you to look out for them, as they're sharp dealers. They put one over on the government all right, and there may be some unpleasant publicity to it later. But they're putting up a big bluff, and pretending they can turn out a lot of flying machines for use in Europe. Why don't you get busy on that end of the game, Tom?" "I know you've more than done your bit, with Liberty Bonds, subscriptions to the Y. M. C. A. and other war work, besides your war tank and other inventions. But you're such a shark on flying machines I should think you'd offer your factory to the government for the production of aeroplanes." "I would in a minute, Ned, and you know it; but the fact of the matter is my shops aren't equipped for the production of anything in large numbers. We do mostly an experimenting business here, making only one or two of a certain machine. I have told the government officials they can have anything I've got, and you know they wouldn't let me enlist when I was working on the war tank." "Yes, I remember that," said Ned. "You're no slacker! I wanted to shoulder a rifle, too, but they keep me at this Liberty Loan work. Well, Uncle Sam ought to know." "That's what I say," agreed Tom, "and that's why I haven't gone to the front myself. And now, as it happens, I've got something else in mind that may help Uncle Sam." "What is it?" "A silent flying machine for scout work on the battle front," Tom told his friend, and then he gave a few details, such as those he had been telling Mr. Damon. "Then I don't wonder you turned down the offer of the Universal people," remarked Ned, at the conclusion of the recital. "This will be a heap more help to the government, Tom, than working for those people, even at twenty-five thousand dollars a year. And if you get short, and can't meet your newest Liberty Bond payments, why, I guess the bank will stretch your credit a little." "Thanks!" laughed Tom, "but I'll try not to ask them." The friends talked together a little longer, and then Ned had to take his departure to solicit more subscriptions, while Mr. Damon went with him, the eccentric man saying he would go home to Waterfield. "But, bless my overshoes, Tom!" he exclaimed, as he departed, "don't forget to let me know when you have your silent motor working. I want to see it." "I'll let you know," was the promise given by the young inventor. "And watch out for those Universal people," warned Ned. "I'm not telling you this as a bank official, for I'm not supposed to, but it's personal." "I'll be on the watch," said Tom. And, as he went into his private workshop, he wondered why it was his father and Ned had both warned him not to trust Gale and Ware. The next few days were busy ones for Tom Swift. Once he had made up his mind to go to work seriously on a silent motor, all else was put aside. He sent a note to Mary Nestor, telling her what he was going to do, and, asking her to say nothing about it, which, of course, Mary agreed to. "Come and see me when you can," she sent back word, "but I know you won't have much chance when you're experimenting with your invention. And I shall be working so hard for the Red Cross that I sha'n't get much chance to entertain you. But the war can't last forever." "No," agreed Tom with a sigh, as he put away her letter, "and thank goodness that it can't!" The young inventor threw himself into the perplexing work of inventing a silent motor with all the fervor he had given to the production of his war tank, his giant cannon, his wonderful searchlight and other machines. "And," mused Tom, as he sat at his work table with pencil and paper before him, "since this is a problem in acoustics, I had best begin I suppose by going back to first principles, and after determining what makes an aeroplane engine noisy, try to figure out how to make it quiet. Now as to the first, the principle causes of noise are--" And at that instant there broke on Tom's ears a succession of discordant sounds which seemed to be a combination of an Indian's war whoop and a college student's yells at a football game. "Now I wonder what that is!" mused the young inventor as he hastily arose. "Better solve that problem before I tackle the aeroplane motor." CHAPTER VIII THROUGH THE ROOF Tom rushed from his private office, and when he reached the outer door he heard with more distinctness the sounds that had alarmed him. They seemed to come from a small building given over to electrical apparatus, and which, at the time, was not supposed to be in use. It had been Tom's workroom, so to speak, when he was developing his electric runabout and rifle, but of late he had not spent much time in it. "Somebody's in there!" reflected the young inventor, as he heard yells coming from the open door of the place. "And if it isn't Koku and Eradicate I miss my guess! Wonder what they can be doing there." He crossed the yard between his private office and the electrical shop in a few rapid strides, and, as he entered the latter place, he was greeted with a series of wild yells. "Good volume of sound here, at all events," mused Tom. "Almost as much as my motor made when I was trying to talk to Mary. Hello there! What's going on? Is any one hurt? What's the matter?" he cried, for, at first, he could see no one in the dim light of the place. The interior was a maze of electrical apparatus. "Who's here?" demanded Tom, as he advanced. "Oh, Master! Come quick! Koku 'most dead an' no can let go!" was the cry. "Yo' jest bet yo' cain't let go!" chimed in the voice of Eradicate. "I done knowed yo would git into trouble ef yo' come heah, an' I'se glad ob it! So I is!" "What is it, Rad? What has happened to Koku?" cried Tom, running forward, for though no very powerful current could be turned on in the electrical shop at this period of unuse, there was enough to be very painful. "What is it, Rad?" "Oh, dat big foolish giant, Koku, done got his se'f into trouble!" chuckled the colored man. "He done got holt ob one ob dem air contraptions, Massa Tom, an' he cain't let go! Ha! Ha! Golly! Look at him squirm!" and Rad laughed shrilly, which accounted for some of the sounds Tom had heard. Then came yells of rage and pain from the giant, and they were so loud and vigorous, mingling with Eradicate's as they did, that it was no wonder Tom was startled. The sounds were heard in the other shops, and men came running out. But before then Tom had put an end to the trouble. One look showed him what had happened. Just how or why Koku and Eradicate had entered the electrical shop Tom did not then stop to inquire. But he saw that the giant had grasped the handles of one of the electric machines, designed for charging Leyden jars used in Tom's experiments, and the powerful, though not dangerous, current had so paralyzed, temporarily, the muscles of the giant's hands and arms that he could not let go, and there he was, squirming, and not knowing how to turn off the current, and unable to ease himself, while Eradicate stood and laughed at him, fairly howling with delight. "Ha! Guess yo' won't do no mo' spadin' in' Massa Tom's garden right away, big man!" taunted Eradicate. "Be quiet, Rad!" ordered Tom, as he reached up and pulled out the switch, thus shutting off the current. "This isn't anything to laugh at." "But he done look so funny, Massa Tom!" pleaded the colored man. "He done squirm laik--" But Eradicate did not finish what he intended to say. Once free from the powerful current, the giant looked at his numb hands, and then, seeming to think that Eradicate was the cause of it all, he sprang at the colored man with a yell. But Eradicate did not stay to see what would happen. With a howl of terror, he raced out of the door, and, old and rheumatic as he was, he managed to gain the stable of his mule, Boomerang, over which he had his humble but comfortable quarters. "Well, I guess he's safe for a while!" laughed Tom, as he saw the giant turn away, shaking his fist at the closed door, for Koku, big as he was, stood in mortal terror of the mule's heels. Tom locked the door of the electrical shop and went back to his interrupted problem. From Jackson he learned that Koku and Eradicate had merely happened to stroll into the forbidden place, which had been left open by accident. There, it appeared, Koku had handled some of the machinery, ending by switching on the current of the machine the handles of which he later unsuspectingly picked up. Then he received a shock he long remembered, and for many days he believed Eradicate had been responsible for it, and there was more than the usual hostile feeling between the two. But Eradicate was innocent of that trick, at all events. "Though," said Tom, telling his father about it later, "Rad would have turned on the current if he had known he could make trouble for Koku by it. I never saw their like for having disagreements!" "Yes, but they are both devoted to you, Tom," said the aged inventor. "But what is this you hinted at--a silent motor you called it, I believe? Are you really serious in trying to invent one?" "Yes, Dad, I am. I think there's a big field for an aeroplane that could travel along over the enemy's lines--particularly at night--and not be heard from below. Think of the scout work that could be done. "Well, yes, it could be done if you could get a silent motor, or propellers that made no noise, Tom. But I don't believe it can be done." "Well, maybe not, Dad. But I'm going to try!" and Tom, after a further talk with his father, began work in earnest on the big problem. That it was a big one Tom was not disposed to deny, and that it would be a valuable invention even his somewhat skeptical father admitted. "How are you going to start, Tom?" asked Mr. Swift, several days after the big idea had come to the young man. "I'm going to experiment a bit, at first. I've got a lot of old motors, that weren't speedy enough for any of my flying machines, and I'm going to make them over. If I spoil them the loss won't amount to anything, and if I succeed--well, maybe I can help out Uncle Sam a bit more." As Tom had said he would do, he began at the very foundation, and studied the fundamental principles of sound. "Sound," the young inventor told Ned Newton, in speaking about the problem, "is a sensation which is peculiar to the ear, though the vibrations caused by sound waves may be felt in many parts of the body. But the ear is the great receiver of sound." "You aren't going to invent a sort of muffler for the ears, are you, Tom?" asked Ned. "That would be an easy way of solving the problem, but I doubt if you could get the Germans to wear your ear-tabs so they wouldn't hear the sound of the Allied aeroplanes." "No, I'm not figuring on doing the trick that way," said Tom with a laugh. "I've really got to cut down the sound of the motor and the propeller blades, so a person, listening with all his ears, won't hear any noise, unless he's within a few feet of the plane." "Well, I can tell you, right off the reel, how to do it," said the bank employee. "How?" asked Tom eagerly. "Run your engine and propellers in a vacuum," was the prompt reply. "Hum!" said Tom, musingly. "Yes, that would be a simple way out, and I'll do it, if you'll tell me how to breathe in a vacuum." "Oh, I didn't agree to do that," laughed Ned. But he had spoken the truth, as those who have studied physics well know. There must be an atmosphere for the transmission of sound, which is the reason all is cold and silent and still at the moon. There is no atmosphere there. Sound implies vibration. Something, such as liquid, gas, or solid, must be set in motion to produce sound, and for the purpose of science the air we breathe may be considered a gas, being composed of two. Not only must the object, either solid, liquid, or gaseous, be in motion to produce sound, but the air surrounding the vibrating body must also be moving in unison with it. And lastly there must be some medium of receiving the sound waves--the ear or some part of the body. Totally deaf persons may be made aware of sound through the vibrations received through their hands or feet. They receive, of course, only the more intense, or largest, sound waves, and can not hear notes of music nor spoken words, though they may feel the vibration when a piano is played. And, as Ned has said, no sound is produced in a vacuum. "But," said Tom, "since I can't run my aeroplane in a vacuum, or even have the propellers revolve in one, it's up to me to solve the problem some other way. The propellers don't really make noise enough to worry about when they're high in the air. It's the exhaust from the motor, and to get rid of that will be my first attempt." "Can it be done?" asked Ned. "I don't know," was Tom's frank answer. "They do it on an automobile to a great extent," went on Ned. "Some of 'em you cant hardly hear." "Yes, but an aeroplane engine runs many, many times faster than the motor of an auto," said Tom, "and there are more explosions to muffle. I doubt if the muffler of an auto would cut down the sound of an aero engine to any appreciable extent. But, of course, I'll try along those lines." "They have mufflers or silencers for guns and rifles," went on Ned. "Couldn't you make a big one of those contraptions and put it on an aeroplane?" "I doubt it," said Tom, shaking his head. "Of course it's the same principle as that in an auto muffler, or on a motor boat--a series of baffle plates arranged within a hollow cylinder. But all such devices cut down power, and I don't want to do that. However, I'm going to solve the problem or--bust!" And Tom came near "busting," Ned remarked later, when he and his friend talked over the progress of the invention. Two weeks had passed since the start of his evolution of his new idea, and following the visiting of the representatives of the Universal Flying Machine Company. Since then neither Gale nor Ware had communicated with Tom. "But I must be on the watch against them," thought the young inventor. "I'm pretty sure Gale heard me mention what I was going to try to invent, and he may get ahead of me, and put a silent motor on the market first. Not that I'm afraid of being done out of any profits, but I simply don't want to be beaten." The details of Tom's invention cannot be gone into, but, roughly, it was based on the principle of not only a muffler but also of producing less noise when the charges of gasoline exploded in the cylinders. It is, of course, the explosion of gasoline mixed with air that causes an internal combustion engine to operate. And it is the expulsion of the burned gases that causes the exhaust and makes the noise that is heard. Tom was working along the well-known line of the rate of travel of sound, which progresses at the rate of about 1090 feet a second when air is at the freezing point. And, roughly, with every degree increase in the atmosphere's temperature the velocity of sound increases by one foot. Thus at a temperature of 100 degrees Fahrenheit, or 68 degrees above freezing, there would be added to the 1090 feet the 68 feet, making sound travel at 100 degrees Fahrenheit about 1158 feet a second. Tom had set up in his shop a powerful, but not very speedy, old aeroplane engine, and had attached to it the device he hoped would help him toward solving his problem of cutting down the noise. He had had some success with it, and, after days and nights of labor, he invited his father and Ned, as well as Mr. Damon, over to see what he hoped would be a final experiment. His visitors had assembled in the shop, and Eradicate was setting out some refreshments which Tom had provided, the colored man being in his element now. "What's all this figuring, Tom?" asked Mr. Damon, as he saw a series of calculations on some sheets of paper lying on Tom's desk. "That's where I worked out how much faster sound traveled in hydrogen gas than in the ordinary atmosphere," was the answer. "It goes about four times as fast, or nearly four thousand two hundred feet a second. You remember the rule, I suppose. 'The speed of sonorous vibrations through gases varies inversely as the squares of the weights of equal volumes of the gases,' or, in other words--" "Give it to us chiefly in 'other words,' if you please, Tom!" pleaded Ned, with a laugh. "Let that go and do some tricks. Start the engine and let's see if we can hear it." "Oh, you can hear it all right," said Tom, as he approached the motor, which was mounted on a testing block. "The thing isn't perfected yet, but I hope to have it soon. Rad! Where is that black rascal? Oh, there you are! Come here, Rad!" "Yaas sah, Massa Tom! Is I gwine to help yo' all in dish yeah job?" "Yes. Just take hold of this lever, and when I say so pull it as hard as you can." "Dat's whut I will, Massa Tom. Golly! ef dat no 'count giant was heah now he'd see he ain't de only one whut's got muscle. I'll pull good an' hard, Massa Tom." "Yes, that's what I want you to. Now I guess we're all ready. Can you see, Dad--and Ned and Mr. Damon?" "Yes," they answered. They stood near the side wall of the shop, while Tom and Eradicate were at the testing block, on which the motor, with the noise-eliminating devices attached, had been temporarily mounted. "All ready," called the young inventor, as he turned on the gas and threw over the electrical switch. "All ready! Pull the starting lever, Rad, and when it's been running a little I'll throw on the silencer and you can see the difference." The motor began to hum, and there was a deafening roar, just as there always is when the engine of an aeroplane starts. It was as though half a dozen automobile engines were being run with the mufflers cut out. "Now I'll show you the difference!" yelled Tom, though such was the noise that not a word could be heard. "This shows you what my silencer will do." Tom pulled another lever. There was at once a cessation of the deafening racket, though it was not altogether ended. Then, after a moment or two, there suddenly came a roar as though a blast had been let off in the shop. Tom and Eradicate were tossed backward, head over heels, as though by the giant hands of Koku himself, and Mr. Damon, Ned, and Tom's father saw the motor fly from the testing block and shoot through the roof of the building with a rending, crashing, and splintering sound that could be heard for a mile. CHAPTER IX AFTER A SPY Curious as it may seem, Eradicate, the oldest and certainly not the most energetic of the party assembled in the experiment room, was the first to recover himself and arise. Tottering to his feet he gave one look at the testing block, whence the motor had torn itself. Then he looked at the prostrate figures around him, none of them hurt, but all stunned and very much startled. Then the gaze of Eradicate traveled to the hole in the roof. It was a gaping, ragged hole, for the motor was heavy and the roof of flimsy material. And then the colored man exclaimed: "Good land ob massy! Did I do dat?" His tone was one of such startled contrition, and so tragic, that Tom Swift, rueful as he felt over the failure of his experiment and the danger they had all been in, could not help laughing. "I take it, hearing that from you, Tom, that we're all right," said Ned Newton, as he recovered himself and brushed some dirt off his coat. Ned was a natty dresser. "Yes, we seem to be all right," replied Tom slowly. "I can't say what damage the flying motor has done outside, but--" "Bless my insurance policy! but what happened?" asked Mr. Damon. "I saw Eradicate pull on that lever as you told him to, Tom, and then things all went topsy-turvy! Did he pull the wrong handle?" "No, it wasn't Rad's fault at all," said Tom. "The trouble was, as I guess I'll find when I investigate, that I put too much power into the motor, and the muffler didn't give any chance for the accumulated exhaust gases to expand and escape. I didn't allow for that, and they simply backed up, compressed and exploded. I guess that's the whole explanation." "I'm inclined to agree with you, Son," said Mr. Swift dryly. "Don't try to get rid of all the noise at once. Eliminate it by degrees and it will be safer." "I guess so," agreed Tom. By this time a score of workmen from the other shops had congregated around the one though the roof of which the motor had been blown. Tom opened the door to assure Jackson and the others that no one was hurt, and then the young inventor saw the exploded motor had buried in the dirt a short distance away from the experiment building. "Lucky none of us were standing over it when it went up," said Tom, as he made an inspection of the broken machine. "We'd have gone through the roof with it." "She certainly went sailing!" commented Ned. "Must have been a lot of power there, Tom." And this was evidenced by the bent and twisted rods that had held the motor to the testing block, and by the cylinders, some of which were torn apart as though made of paper instead of heavy steel. But for the fact that all the force of the explosion was directly upward, instead of at the sides, none might have been left alive in the shop. All had escaped most fortunately, and they realized this. "Well," queried Ned, as Tom gave orders to have the damaged machine removed and the roof repaired, "does this end the wonderful silent motor, Tom?" "End it! What do you mean--" "I mean are you going to experiment any further?" "Why, of course! Just because I've had one failure doesn't mean that I'm going to give up. Especially when I know what the matter was--not leaving any vent for the escaping gases. Why this isn't anything. When I was perfecting my giant cannon I was nearly blown up more than once, and you remember how we got stuck in the submarine." "I should say I did!" exclaimed Ned with a shudder. "I don't want any more of that. But as between being blown through a roof and held at the bottom of the sea, I don't know that there's much choice." "Well, perhaps not," agreed Tom. "But as for ending my experiments, I wouldn't dream of such a thing! Why, I've only just begun! I'll have a silent motor yet!" "And a non-explosive one, I hope," added Mr. Damon dryly. "Bless my shoe buttons, Tom, but if my wife knew what danger I'd been in she'd never let me come over to see you any more." "Well, the next time I invite you to a test I'll be more careful," promised the young inventor. "There isn't going to be any next time as far as I'm concerned!" laughed Ned. "I think it's safer to sell Liberty Bonds." And, though they joked about it, they all realized the narrow escape they had had. As for Eradicate, once he knew he had not been the one who caused the damage, he felt rather proud of the part he had taken in the mishap, and for many days he boasted about it to Koku. True to his determination, Tom Swift did not give up his experimental work on the silent motor. The machine that had been blown through the roof was useless now, and it was sent to the scrap heap, after as much of it as possible had been salvaged. Then Tom got another piece of apparatus out of his store room and began all over again. He worked along the same lines as at first--providing a chamber for the escaping gases of the exhaust to expend their noise and energy in, at the same time laboring to cut down the concussion of the explosions in the cylinder without reducing their force any. And that it was no easy problem to do either of these, Tom had to admit as he progressed. All previous types of mufflers or silencers had to be discarded and a new one evolved. "Jackson, I need some one to help me," said Tom to his chief mechanician one day. "Haven't you a good man who is used to experimental work that you can let me take from the works?" "Why, yes," was the answer. "Let me see. Roberts is busy on the new bomb you got up, but I could take him off that--" "No, don't!" interposed Tom. "I want that work to go on. Isn't there some one else you can let me have?" "Well, there's a new man who came to me well recommended. I took him on last week, and he's a wonderful mechanic. Knows a lot about gas engines. I could let you have him--Bower his name is. The only thing about it, though, is that I don't like to give you a man of whom I am not dead certain, when you're working on a new device." "Oh, that will be all right," said Tom. "There won't be any secrets he can get, if you mean you think he might be up to spy work." "That's what I did mean, Tom. You never can tell, you know, and you have some bitter enemies." "Yes, but I'll take care this man doesn't see the plans, or any of my drawings. I only want some one to do the heavy assembling work on the experimental muffler I'm getting up. We can let him think it's for a new kind of automobile." "Oh, then I guess it will be all right. I'll send Bower to you." Tom rather liked the new workman, who seemed quiet and efficient. He did not ask questions, either, about the machine on which he was engaged, but did as he was told. As Tom had said, he kept his plans and drawing under lock and key--in a safe to be exact--and he did not think they were in any danger from his new helper. But Tom Swift held into altogether too slight regard the powers of those who were opposed to him. He did not appreciate the depths to which they would stoop to gain their ends. He had been working hard on his new device, and had reached a point further along than when the other motor had exploded. He began to see success ahead of him, and he was jubilant. Whether this made him careless does not matter, but the fact was that he left Bower more to himself, and alone in the experimental shop several times. And it was on one of these occasions, when Tom had been for some time in one of the other shops, where he and Jackson were in consultation over a new machine, that as he came back to the test room unexpectedly, he saw Bower move hastily away from in front of the safe. Moreover, Tom was almost certain he had heard the steel door clang shut as he approached the building. And then, before he could ask his helper a question, Tom looked from a window and saw a stranger running hastily along the side of the building where his trial motor was being set up. "Who's that? Who is that man? Did he come in here? Was he tampering with my safe?" cried Tom. He saw Bower hesitate and change color, and Tom knew it was time to act. The window was open, and with one bound the young inventor was out and running after the stranger he had seen departing in such a hurry. The man was but a short distance ahead of him, and Tom saw he was stuffing some papers into his pocket. "Here! Come back! Stop!" ordered Tom, but the man ran on the faster. "That's a spy as sure as guns!" reflected Tom Swift. "And Bower is in with him!" he added. "I've got to catch that fellow!" and he speeded his pace as he ran after the fellow. CHAPTER X A BIG SPLASH There was no question in the mind of Tom Swift but that the man he was running after was guilty of some wrong-doing. In the first place he was a stranger, and had no right inside the big fence that surrounded the Swift machine plant. Then, too, the very fact that he ran away was suspicious. And this, coupled with the confusion on the part of Bower, and his proximity to the safe, made Tom fear that some of his plans had been stolen. These he was very anxious to recover if this strange man had them, and so he raced after him with all speed. "Stop! Stop!" called Tom, but the on-racing stranger did not heed. The cries of the young inventor soon attracted the attention of his men, and Jackson and some of the others came running from their various shops to give whatever aid was needed. But they were all too far away to give effective chase. "Bower might have come with me if he had wanted to help," thought Tom. But a backward glance over his shoulder did not show that the new helper was engaging in the pursuit, and he could have started almost on the same terms as Tom himself. The runaway, looking back to see how near the young inventor was to him, suddenly changed his course, and, noting this, Tom Swift thought: "I've got him now! He'll be bogged if he runs that way," for the way led to a piece of swampy land that, after the recent rains, was a veritable bog which was dangerous for cattle at least; and more than one man had been caught there. "He can't run across the swamp, that's sure," reflected Tom with some satisfaction. "I'll get him all right!" But he wanted to capture the man, if possible, before he reached the bog, and, to this end, Tom increased his speed to such good end that presently, on the firm ground that bordered the swamp, Tom was almost within reaching distance of the stranger. But the latter kept up running, and dodged and turned so that Tom could not lay hands on him. Suddenly, turning around a clump of trees the fleeing man headed straight for a veritable mud hole that lay directly in his path. It was part of the swamp--the most liquid part of the bog and a home of frogs and lizards. Too late, the man, who was evidently unaware of the proximity of the swamp, saw his danger. His further flight was cut off by the mud hole, but it was too late to turn back. Tom Swift was at his heels now, and seeing that it was impossible to grab the man, Tom did the next best thing. He stuck out his foot and tripped him, and tripped him right on the edge of the mud hole, so that the man fell in with a big splash, the muddy water flying all around, some even over the young inventor. For a moment the man disappeared completely beneath the surface, for the mud hole was rather deep just where Tom had thrown him. Then there was another violent agitation of the surface, and a very woebegone and muddy face was raised from the slough, followed by the rest of the figure of the man. Slowly he got to his feet, mud and water dripping from him. He cleared his face by rubbing his hands over it, not that it made his countenance clean, but it removed masses of mud from his eyes, nose, and mouth, so that he could see and speak, though his first operation was to gasp for breath. "What--what are you doin'?" he demanded of Tom, and as the man opened his mouth to speak Tom was aware of a glitter, which disclosed the 'fact that the man had a large front tooth of gold. "What am I doing?" repeated Tom. "I think it's up to you to answer that question, not me. What are you doing?" "You--you tripped me into this mud hole!" declared the man. "I did, yes; because you were trespassing on my property, and ran away instead of stopping when I told you to," went on Tom. "Who are you and what are you doing? What were you doing with Bower at my shop?" "Nothin'! I wasn't doin' nothin'!" "Well, we'll inquire into that. I want to see what you have in your pockets before I believe you. Come on out!" "You haven't any right to go through my pockets!" blustered the stranger. "Oh, haven't I? Well, I'm going to take the right. Jackson--Koku--just see that he doesn't get away. We'll take him back and search him," and Tom motioned to his chief machinist and the giant, who had reached the scene, to take charge of the man. But Koku was sufficient for this purpose, and the mud-bespattered stranger seemed to shrink as he saw the big creature approach him. There was no question of running away after that. "Bring him along," ordered Tom, and Koku, taking a tight grip on the man by the slack of his garments behind, walked him along toward the office, the mud and water splashing and oozing from his shoes at every step. "Now you look here!" the gold-toothed man cried, as he was forced along, "you ain't got any right to detain me. I ain't done nothin'!" And each time he spoke the bright tooth in his mouth glittered in the sun. "I don't know whether you've done anything or not," said Tom. "I'm going to take you back and see what you and Bower have to say. He may know something about this." "If he does I don't believe he'll tell," said Jackson. "Why not?" asked Tom, quickly. "Because he's gone." "Gone! Bower gone?" "Yes," answered Jackson. "I saw him running out of the experiment shop as we raced along to help you. I didn't think, at the time, that he was doing more than go for aid, perhaps. But I see the game now." "Oh, you mean--him?" and Tom pointed to the dripping figure. "Yes," said Jackson in a low voice, as Koku went on ahead with his prisoner. "If, as you say, this man was in league with Bower, the latter has smelled a rat and skipped. He has run away, and I only hope he hasn't done any damage or got hold of any of your plans." "We'll soon know about that," said Tom. "I wonder who is at the bottom of this?" "Maybe those men you wouldn't work for," suggested the machinist. "You mean Gale and Ware of the Universal Flying Machine Company?" "Yes." "Oh, I don't believe they'd stoop to any such measures as this--sending spies around," replied Tom. "But I can't be too careful. We'll investigate." The first result of the investigation was to disclose the fact that Bower was gone. He had taken his few possessions and left the Swift plant while Tom was racing after the stranger. A hasty examination of the safe did not reveal anything missing, as Tom's plans and papers were intact. But they showed evidences of having been looked over, for they were out of the regular order in which the young inventor kept them. "I begin to see it," said Tom, musingly. "Bower must have managed to open the safe while I was gone, and he must have made a hasty copy of some of the drawings of the silent motor, and passed them out of the window to this gold-tooth man, who tried to make off with them. Did you find anything on him?" he asked, as one of the men who had been instructed to search the stranger came into the office just then. "Not a thing, Mr. Swift! Not a thing!" was the answer. "We took off every bit of his clothes and wrapped him in a blanket. He's in the engine room getting dry now. But there isn't a thing in any of his pockets." "But I saw him stuffing some papers in as he ran away from me," said Tom. "We must be sure about this. And don't let the fellow get away until I question him." "Oh, he's safe enough," answered the man. "Koku is guarding him. He won't get away." "Then I'll have a look at his clothes," decided Tom. "He may have a secret pocket." But nothing like this was disclosed, and the most careful search did not reveal anything incriminating in the man's garments. "He might have thrown away any papers Bower gave him," said Tom. "Maybe they're at the bottom of the mud hole! If they're there they're safe enough. But have a search made of the ground where this man ran." This was done, but without result. Some of the workmen even dragged the mud hole without finding anything. Then Tom and his father had a talk with the stranger, who refused to give his name. The man was sullen and angry. He talked loudly about his innocence and of "having the law on" Tom for having tripped him into the mud. "All right, if you want to make a complaint, go ahead," said the young inventor. "I'll make one against you for trespass. Why did you come on my grounds?" "I was going to ask for work. I'm a good machinist and I wanted a job." "How did you get in? Who admitted you at the gate?" "I--I jest walked in," said the man, but Tom knew this could not be true, as no strangers were admitted without a permit and none had been issued. The man denied knowing anything about Bower, but the latter's flight was evidence enough that something was wrong. Not wishing to go to the trouble of having the man arrested merely as a trespasser, Tom let him go after his clothes had been dried on a boiler in one of the shops. "Take him to the gate, and tell him if he comes back he'll get another dose of the same kind of medicine," ordered Tom to one of the guards at the plant, and when the latter had reported that this had been done, he added in an earnest tone: "He went off talking to himself and saying he'd get even with you, Mr. Swift." "All right," said Tom easily. "I'll be on the watch." The young inventor made a thorough examination of his experiment shop and the test motor. No damage seemed to have been done, and Tom began to think he had been too quick for the conspirators, if such they were. His plans and drawings were intact, and though Bower might have given a copy to the stranger with the gold tooth, the latter did not take any away with him. That he had some papers he wished to conceal and escape with, seemed certain, but the splash into the mud hole had ended this. No trace was found of Bower, and an effort Tom made to ascertain if the man was a spy in the employ of Gale and Ware came to naught. The machinist had come well recommended, and the firm where he was last employed had nothing but good to say of him. "Well, it's a mystery," decided Tom. "However, I got out of it pretty well. Only if that gold-tooth individual shows up again he won't get off so easily." CHAPTER XI A NIGHT TRIP Taking a lesson from what had happened, Tom was very much more careful in the following experiments on his new, silent motor. He made some changes in his shop, and took Jackson in to help on the new machine, thus insuring perfect secrecy as the apparatus developed. Tom also changed the safe in which he kept his plans, for the one he had used previous to the episode in which Bower and the stranger who took the mud bath figured, was one the combination of which could easily be ascertained by an expert. The new safe was more complicated, and Tom felt that his plans, specifications, and formulae which he had worked out were in less danger. "I can just about figure out what happened," said Ned Newton to Tom, when told of the circumstances. "These Universal people were provoked because you wouldn't give them the benefit of your experience on their flying machines, and so they sent a spy to get work with you. They, perhaps, hoped to secure some of your ideas for their own, or they may have had a deeper motive." "What deeper motive could they have, Ned?" "They might have hoped to disable you, or some of your machines, so that you couldn't compete with them. They're unscrupulous, I hear, and will do anything to succeed and make money. So be on your guard against them." "I will," Tom promised. "But I don't believe there's any more danger now. Anyhow, I have to take some chances." "Yes, but be as careful as you can. How is the silent motor coming on?" "Pretty good. I've had a lot of failures, and the thing isn't so easy as I at first imagined it would be. Noise is a funny thing, and I'm just beginning to understand some of the laws of acoustics we learned at high school. But I think I'm on the right track with the muffler and the cutting down of the noise of the explosions in the cylinders. I'm working both ends, you see--making a motor that doesn't cause as much racket as those now in use, and also providing means to take care of the noise that is made. It isn't possible to make a completely silent motor of an explosive gas type. The only thing that can be done is to kill the noise after it is made." "What about the propeller blades?" "Oh, they aren't giving me any trouble. The noise they make can't be heard a hundred feet in the air, but I am also working on improvements to the blades. Take it altogether, I'll have an almost silent aeroplane if my plans come out all right." "Have you said anything to the government yet?" "No; I want to have it pretty well perfected before I do. Besides, I don't want any publicity about it until I'm ready. If these Universal people are after me I'll fool 'em." "That's right, Tom! Well, I must go. Another week of this Liberty Bond campaign!" "I suppose you'll be glad when it's over." "Well, I don't know," said Ned slowly. "It's part of my small contribution to Uncle Sam. I'm not like you--I can't invent things." "But you have an awful smooth line of talk, Ned!" laughed his chum. "I believe you could sell chloride of sodium to some of the fishes in the Great Salt Lake--that is if it has fishes." "I don't know that it has, Tom. And, anyhow, I'm not posing as a salt salesman," and Ned grinned. "But I must really go. Our bank hasn't reached its quota in the sale of Liberty Bonds yet, and it's up to me to see that it doesn't fall down." "Go to it, Ned! And I'll get busy on my silent motor." "Getting busy" was Tom Swift's favorite occupation, and when he was working on a new idea, as was the case now, he was seldom idle, night or day. "I have hardly seen you for two weeks," Mary Nestor wrote him one day. "Aren't you ever coming to see me any more, or take me for a ride?" "Yes," Tom wrote back. "I'll be over soon. And perhaps on the next ride we take I won't have to shout at you through a speaking tube because the motor makes so much noise." From this it may be gathered that Tom was on the verge of success. While not altogether satisfied with his progress, the young inventor felt that he was on the right track. There were certain changes that needed to be made in the apparatus he was building--certain refinements that must be added, and when this should be done Tom was pretty certain that he would have what would prove to be a very quiet aeroplane, if not an absolutely silent one. The young inventor was engaged one day with some of the last details of the experiment. The new motor, with the silencer and the changed cylinders, had been attached to one of Tom's speedy aeroplanes, and he was making some intricate calculations in relation to a new cylinder block, to be used when he started to make a completely new machine of the improved type. Tom had set down on paper some computations regarding the cross-section of one of the cylinders, and was working out the amount of stress to which he could subject a shoulder strut, when a shadow was cast across the drawing board he had propped up in his lap. In an instant Tom pulled a blank sheet over his mass of figures and looked up, a sudden fear coming over him that another spy was at hand. But a hearty voice reassured him. "Bless my rice pudding!" cried Mr. Damon, "you shut yourself up here, Tom, like a hermit in the mountains. Why don't you come out and enjoy life?" "Hello! Glad to see you!" cried Tom, joyfully. "You're just in time!" "Time for what--dinner?" asked the eccentric man, with a chuckle. "If so, my reference to rice pudding was very proper." "Why, yes, I imagine there must be a dinner in prospect somewhere, Mr. Damon," said Tom with a smile. "We'll have to see Mrs. Baggert about that. But what I meant was that you're just in time to have a ride with me, if you want to go." "Go where?" "Oh, up in cloudland. I have just finished my first sample of a silent motor, and I'm going to try it this evening. Would you like to come along?" "I would!" exclaimed Mr. Damon. "Bless my onion soup, Tom, but I would! But why fly at night? Isn't it safer by daylight?" "Oh, that doesn't make much difference. It's safe enough at any time. The reason I'm going to make my first flight after dark is that I don't want any spies about." "Oh, I see! Are they camping on your trail?" "Not exactly. But I can't tell where they may be. If I should start out in daylight and be forced to make a landing-- Well, you know what a crowd always collects to see a stranded airship." "That's right, Tom." "That decided me to start off after dark. Then if we have to come down because of some sort of engine trouble or because my new attachment doesn't work right, we sha'n't have any prying eyes." "I see! Well, Tom, I'll go with you. Fortunately I didn't tell my wife where I was going when I started out this afternoon, so she won't worry until after it's over, and then it won't hurt her. I'm ready any time you are." "Good! Stay to dinner and I'll show you what I've made. Then we'll take a flight after dark." This suited the eccentric man, and a little later, after he had eaten one of Mrs. Baggert's best meals, including rice pudding, of which he was very fond, Mr. Damon accompanied Tom to one of the big hangars where the new aeroplane had been set up. "So that's the Air Scout, is it, Tom?" asked Mr. Damon, as he viewed the machine. "Yes, that's the girl. 'Air Scout' is as good a name as any, until I see what she'll do." "It doesn't look different from one of your regular craft of the skies, Tom." "No, she isn't. The main difference is here," and Tom showed his friend where a peculiar apparatus had been attached to the motor. This was the silencer--the whole secret of the invention, so to speak. To Mr. Damon it seemed to consist of an amazing collection of pipes, valves, baffle-plates, chambers, cylinders and reducers, which took the hot exhaust gases as they came from the motor and "ate them up," as he expressed it. "The cylinders, too, and the spark plugs are differently arranged in the motor itself, if you could see them," said Tom to his friend. "But the main work of cutting down the noise is done right here," and he put his hand on the steel case attached to the motor, the case containing the apparatus already briefly described. "Well, I'm ready when you are, Tom," said Mr. Damon. "We'll go as soon as it's dark," was the reply. "But first I'll give you a demonstration. Start the motor, Jackson!" Tom called to his chief helper. Mr. Damon had ridden in aeroplanes before, and had stood near when Tom started them; so he was prepared for a great rush of air as the propellers whirled about, and for deafening explosions from the engine. The big blades, of new construction, were turned until the gas in the cylinders was sufficiently compressed. Then Jackson stepped back out of danger while Tom threw over the switch. "Contact!" cried the young inventor. Jackson gave the blades a quarter pull, and, a moment later, as he leaped back out of the way, they began to revolve with the swiftness of light. There was the familiar rush of air as the wooden wings cut through the atmosphere, but there was scarcely any noise. Mr. Damon could hardly believe his ears. "I'm not running her at full speed," said Tom. "If I did she'd tear loose from the holding blocks. But you can see what little racket she makes." "Bless my fountain pen!" cried Mr. Damon. "You are right, Tom Swift! Why, I can hear you talk almost as easily as if no engine were going. And I don't have to shout my head off, either." This was perfectly true. Tom could converse with Mr. Damon in almost ordinary tones. The exhaust from the motor was nearly completely muffled. "Out in the air it will seem even more quiet," said Tom. "I'll soon give you a chance to verify that statement." He ran the engine a little longer, the aeroplane quivering with the vibrations, but remaining almost silent. "I'm anxious to see what she'll do when in motion," said Tom, as he shut off the gas and spark. Soon after supper, when the shades of evening were falling, he and Mr. Damon took their places in the first of the Air Scouts, to give it the preliminary test in actual flying. Would Tom's hopes be justified or would he be disappointed? CHAPTER XII THE CRY FOR HELP "All ready, Mr. Damon?" asked Tom, as he looked to see that all the levers, wheels, valves, and other controls were in working order on his Air Scout. "As ready as I ever shall be, Tom," was the answer. "I don't know why it is, but somehow I feel that something is going to happen on this trip." "Nonsense!" laughed Tom. "You're nervous; that's all." "I suppose so. Don't think I'm going to back out, or anything like that, but I wish it were successfully over with, Tom Swift, I most certainly do." "It will be in a little while," returned Tom, as he settled himself comfortably in his seat and pulled the safety strap tight. "You've gone up in this same plane before, when it didn't have the silent motor aboard." "Yes, I know I have. Oh, I dare say it will be all right, Tom. And yet, somehow, I can't help feeling--" But Tom Swift felt that the best way to set Mr. Damon's premonitions to rest was to start the motor, and this he gave orders to have done, Jackson and some others of the men from the shops congregating about the craft to see the beginning of the night flight. Mr. Swift was there also, and Eradicate. Mary Nestor had been invited, but her Red Cross work engaged her that evening, she said. Ned Newton was away from town on Liberty Bond business, and he could not be present at the test. However, as Tom expected to have other trials when his motor was in even better shape, he was not exactly sorry for the absence of his friends. "Contact!" called the young inventor, when Jackson had stepped back, indicating it was time to throw over the switch. "Let her go!" cried Tom, and the next moment the motor was in operation, but so silently that his voice and that of Mr. Damon's could easily be heard above the machinery. "Good, Tom! That's good!" cried Mr. Swift, and Tom easily heard his father's voice, though under other, and ordinary, circumstances this would have been impossible. True, the hearing of Tom and Mr. Damon was muffled to a certain extent by the heavy leather and fur-lined caps they wore. But Tom had several small eyelet holes set into the flaps just over the opening of the ears, and these holes were sufficient to admit sounds, while keeping out most of the cold that obtains in the upper regions. The aeroplane moved swiftly along the level starting ground, and away from the lighted hangars. Faster and faster it swung along as Tom headed it into the wind, and then, as the speed of the motor increased, the Air Scout suddenly left the earth and went soaring aloft as she had done before. But there was this difference. She moved almost as silently as a great owl which swoops down out of the darkness--a bit of the velvety blackness itself. Up and up, and onward and onward, went the Air Scout. Tom Swift's improved, silent motor urged it onward, and as the young inventor listened to catch the noise of the machinery, his heart gave a bound of hope. For he could detect only very slight sounds. "She's a success!" exulted Tom to himself. "She's a success, but she isn't perfect yet," he added. "I've got to make the muffler bigger and put in more baffle-plates. Then I think I can turn the trick." He swung the machine out over the open country, and then, when they were up at a height and sailing along easily, he called back to Mr. Damon in the seat behind him: "How do you like it?" "Great!" exclaimed the eccentric man. "Bless my postage stamp, but it's great! Why, there's hardly a sound, Tom, and I can hear you quite easily." "And I can hear you," added Tom. "I don't believe, down below there," and he nodded toward the earth, though Mr. Damon could not see this, as the airship, save for a tiny light over the instrument board, was in darkness, "they know that we're flying over their heads." "I agree with you," was the answer. "Tom, my boy, I believe you've solved the trick! You have produced a silent aeroplane, and now it's up to the government to make use of it." "I'm not quite ready for that yet," replied the young inventor. "I have several improvements to make. But, when they are finished, I'll let Uncle Sam know what I have. Then it's up to him." "And you must be careful, Tom, that some of your rivals don't hear of your success and get it away from you," warned Mr. Damon, as Tom guided the Air Scout along the aerial way--an unlighted and limitless path in the silent darkness. "Oh, they'll have to get up pretty early in the morning to do that!" boasted Tom, and afterward he was to recall those words with a bit of chagrin. On and on they sailed, and as Tom increased the speed of the motor, and noted how silently it ran, he began to have high hopes that he had builded better than he knew. For even with the motor running at almost full speed there was not noise enough to hinder talk between himself and Mr. Damon. Of course there was some little sound. Even the most perfect electric motor has a sort of hum which can be detected when one is close to it. But at a little distance a great dynamo in operation appears to be silence itself. "I can go this one better, though," said Tom as he sailed along in the night. "I see where I've made a few mistakes in the baffle plate of the silencer. I'll correct that and--" As he spoke the machine gave a lurch, and the motor, instead of remaining silent, began to cough and splutter as in the former days. "Bless my rubber boots, Tom! what's the matter?" cried Mr. Damon. "Something's gone wrong," Tom answered, barely able to hear and make himself heard above the sudden noise. "I'll have to shut off the power and glide down. We can make a landing in this big field," for just then the moon came out from behind a cloud, and Tom saw, below them, a great meadow, not far from the home of Mary Nestor. He had often landed in this same place. "Something has broken in the muffler, I think, letting out some of the exhaust," he said to Mr. Damon, for, now that the motor was shut off, Tom could speak in his ordinary tones. "I'll soon have it fixed, or, if I can't, we can go back in the old style--with the machine making as much racket as it pleases." So Tom guided the machine down. It went silently now, of course, making, with the motor shut off, no more sound than a falling leaf. Down to the soft, springy turf in the green meadow Tom guided the machine. As it came to a stop, and he and Mr. Damon got out, there was borne to their ears a wild cry: "Help! Help!" CHAPTER XIII SOMETHING QUEER "Did you hear that?" asked Tom Swift of his companion. "Hear it? Bless my ear drums, I should say I did hear it! Some one is in trouble, Tom. Caught in a bog, most likely, the same as that spy chap who was at your place. That's it--caught in a bog!" "There isn't any bog or swamp around here, Mr. Damon. If there was I shouldn't have tried a landing. No, it's something else besides that. Hark!" Again the cry sounded, seeming to come from a point behind the landing place of the silent airship. It was clear and distinct: "Help! Help! They are--" The voice seemed to die away in a gurgle, as though the person's mouth had been covered quickly. "He's sinking, Tom! He's sinking!" cried Mr. Damon. "I once heard a man who almost drowned cry out, and it sounded exactly like that!" "But there isn't any water around here for any one to drown in," declared Tom. "It's a big, dry meadow. I know where we are." "Then what is it?" "I don't know, but we're going to find out. Some one attacked by some one else--or something, I should say," ventured the young inventor. "Something! do you mean a wild beast, Tom?" "No, for there aren't any of those here any more than there is water. Though it may be that some farmer's bull or a savage dog has got loose and has attacked some traveler. But, in that case I think we would hear bellows or barks, and all I heard was a cry for help." "The same with me, Tom. Let's investigate;" "That's what I intend doing. Come on. The airship will be all right until we come back." "Better take a light--hadn't you? It's dark, even if the moon does show now and then," suggested Mr. Damon. "Guess you are right," agreed Tom. Aboard his airship there were several small but powerful portable electric lights, and after securing one of these Tom and Mr. Damon started for the spot whence the call for help had come. As they walked along, their feet making no noise on the soft turf, they listened intently for a repetition of the call for aid. "I don't hear anything," said Tom, after a bit. "Nor I," added Mr. Damon. "We don't know exactly which way to go, Tom." "That's right. Guess we'd better give him a hail; whoever it is." Tom came to a halt, and raising his voice to a shout called: "Hello there! What's the matter? We'll help you if you can tell us which way to come!" They both listened intently, but no voice answered them. At the same time, however, they were aware of a sound as of hurrying feet, and there seemed to be muttered imprecations not far away. Tom and Mr. Damon looked in the direction of the sound, and the young inventor flashed his light. But there was a clump of bushes and trees at that point and the electrical rays did not penetrate very far. "Some one's over there!" exclaimed Tom in a whisper. "We'd better go and see what it is." "All right," agreed Mr. Damon, and he, too, spoke in a low voice. Why they did this when their previous talk had been in ordinary tones, and when Tom had shouted so loudly, they did not stop to reason about or explain just then. But later they both admitted that they whispered because they thought there was something wrong on foot--because they feared a crime was being committed and they wanted to surprise the perpetrators if they could. And it was this fact of their whispering that enabled the two to hear something that, otherwise, they might not have heard. And this was the sound of some vehicle hurrying away--an automobile, if Tom was any judge. The cries for help had been succeeded by stifled vocal sounds, and these, in turn, by the noise of wheels on the ground. "What does it all mean?" asked Mr. Damon in a whisper. "I don't know," answered Tom, resolutely, "but we've got to find out. Come on." They advanced toward the dark clump of trees and low bushes. There was no need to be especially cautious in regard to being silent, as their feet made little, if any, sound on the deep grass. And, as Tom walked in advance, now and then flashing his light, Mr. Damon suddenly caught him by the coat. "What is it?" asked the young inventor. "Look! Just over the top of that hill, where the moon shines. Don't you see an automobile outlined?" Tom looked quickly. "I do," he answered. "There's a road from here, just the other side of those trees, to that hill. The auto must have gone that way. Well, there's no use in trying to follow it now. Whoever it was has gotten away." "But they may have left some one behind, Tom. We'd better look in and around those trees." "I suppose we had, but I don't believe we'll find anything. I can pretty nearly guess, now, what it was." "What?" asked Mr. Damon. "Well, some chauffeur was out for a ride in his employer's car without permission. He got here, had an accident--maybe some friends he took for a ride were hurt and they called for help. The chauffeur knew if there was any publicity he'd be blamed, and so he got away as quickly as he could. Guess the accident--if that's what it was--didn't amount to much, or they couldn't have run the car off. We've had our trouble for our pains." "Well, maybe you're right, Tom Swift, but all the same, I'd like to have a look among those trees," said Mr. Damon. "Oh. we'll look, all right," assented Tom, "but I doubt if we find anything." And he was right. They walked in and about the little grove, flashing the light at intervals, but beyond marks of auto wheels in the dust of the road, which was near the clump of maples, there was nothing to indicate what had happened. "Though there was some sort of fracas," declared Tom. "Look where the dust is trampled down. There were several men here, perhaps skylarking, or perhaps it was a fight." "Some one must have been hurt, or they wouldn't have cried for help," said Mr. Damon. "Well, that's so. But perhaps it was some one not used to riding in autos, and he may have imagined the accident was worse than it was, and called for help involuntarily. There is no evidence of any serious accident having happened--no spots of blood, at any rate," and Tom laughed at his own grimness. "It was a new car, too, or at least one with new tires on." "How do you know?" asked Mr. Damon. "Tell by the plain marks of the rubber tread in the dust," was the answer. "Look," and Tom pointed to the wheel marks in the focus of his electric lamp. "It's a new tire, too, with square protuberances on the tread instead of the usual diamond or round ones. A new kind of tire, all right." He and Mr. Damon remained for a few minutes looking about the place whence had come the calls for help, and then the eccentric man remarked: "Well, as long as we can't do anything here, Tom, we might as well travel on; what do you say?" "I agree with you. There isn't any use in staying. We'll get the Air Scout fixed up and travel back home. But this was something queer," mused Tom. "I hope it doesn't turn out later that a crime has been committed, and we didn't show enough gumption to prevent it." "We couldn't prevent it. We heard the cries as soon as we landed." "Yes, but if we had rushed over at once we might have caught the fellows. But I guess it was only a slight accident, and some one was more frightened than hurt. We'll have to let it go at that." But the more he thought about it the more Tom Swift thought there was something queer in that weird cry for help on the lonely meadow in the darkness of the night. CHAPTER XIV THE TELEPHONE CALL The defect in the motor which had caused Tom Swift to shut off the power and drift down to earth was soon remedied, once the young inventor began an examination of the craft. One of the oil feeds had become choked and this automatically cut down the gasoline supply, causing one or more cylinders to miss. It was a safety device Tom had installed to prevent the motor running dry, and so being damaged. Once the clogged oil feed was cleared the motor ran as before, and just as silently, though, as Tom had said, he was not entirely satisfied with the quietness, but intended to do further work toward perfecting it. "I'll start the propellers now, Mr. Damon," said Tom, when the trouble had been remedied. "You know how to throw the switch, don't you?" "I guess so," was the answer. Mr. Damon and Tom had traveled so often together in gasoline craft that the young inventor had taught his friend certain fundamentals about them, and in an emergency the eccentric man could help start an aeroplane. This he now did, taking charge of the controls which could be operated from his seat as well as from Tom's. Tom whirled the propellers, and soon the motor was in motion. Mr. Damon, once the big wooden blades were revolving, slowed down the apparatus until Tom could jump aboard, after which the latter took charge and soon speeded up the machine, sending it aloft. As the green meadow, dimly seen in the light of the moon, seemed to drop away below them, and the clump of trees vanished from sight, both Tom and Mr. Damon wondered who it was that had called for help, and if the matter were at all serious. They were inclined to think it was not, but Tom could not rid himself of a faint suspicion that there might have been trouble. However, thoughts of his new silent Air Scout soon drove everything else from his mind, and as he guided the comparatively silent machine on its quiet way toward his own home he was thinking how he could best improve the muffler. "Well, here we are again, safe and sound," remarked Tom, as he brought the craft to a stop in front of the hangar, and Jackson and his helpers, who were awaiting the return, hurried out to take charge. "Yes, everything seems to point to success, Tom," agreed Mr. Damon. "That is, unless the slight accident we had means trouble." "Oh, no, that had nothing to do with the operation of the silencer. But I'm going to do better yet. Some day I'll take you for a ride in a silent machine which will make so little noise that you can hear a pin drop." "Well," remarked Mr. Damon' with a laugh, "I don't know that listening to falling pins will give me any great amount of pleasure, Tom, but I appreciate your meaning." "Everything all right?" asked Mr. Swift, as he came out to hear the details from his son. "Do you think you have solved the problem?" "Not completely, but I'll soon be able to write Q. E. D. after it. Some refinements are all that are needed, Dad." "Glad to hear it. I was a bit anxious." Mr. Swift questioned his son about the technical details of the trip, asking how the motor had acted under the pressure caused by so completely muffling the exhaust, and for some minutes the two inventors, young and old, indulged in talk which was not at all interesting to Mr. Damon. They went into the house, and Tom asked to have a little lunch, which Mrs. Baggert set out for him. "It's rather late to eat," said the young inventor, "but I always feel hungry after I test a new machine and find that it works pretty well. Will you join me in a sandwich or two, Mr. Damon?" "Why, bless my ketchup bottle, I believe I will." And so they ate and talked. Tom was on the point of telling his father something of the queer cry for help they had heard on the lonely meadow when Mrs. Baggert produced a letter which she said had come for Tom that afternoon, but had been mislaid by a new maid who had been engaged to help with the housework. "She took it to the shop after you had left, and only now told me about it," explained Mrs. Baggert. "So I sent Eradicate for it." "How long ago was that?" asked Tom, as he took the missive. "Oh, an hour ago," answered Mrs. Baggert, with a smile. "But don't blame poor Rad for that. He wanted to deliver the letter to you personally, and so did Koku. The result was your giant kept after Rad, trying to get the letter from him, and Rad kept hiding and slinking about for a chance to see you himself until I saw what was going on, a little while ago, and took the letter myself. Else you might never have gotten it, so jealous are those two," and Mrs. Baggert laughed. "Guess it isn't of much importance," Tom said, as he tore open the envelope. "It's from the Universal Flying Machine Company, of New York, and I imagine they're trying to get me to reconsider my refusal to link up with them." "Yes," he went on, as he read the missive, "that's it. They've raised the amount to thirty thousand a year now, Dad, and they say they feel sure I shall regret it if I do not accept. "This is a bit queer, though," went on the young inventor. "This letter was written three days ago, but it reached Shopton only to-day. And it says that unless they hear from me at once they will have to take steps that will cause me great inconvenience. They have nerve, at any rate, and impudence, too! I won't even bother to answer. But I wonder what they mean, and why this letter was delayed?" "The mails are all late on account of the transportation congestion caused by moving troops to the camps," said Mr. Damon. "Some of my letters are delayed a week. But, as you say, Tom, these fellows are very impudent to threaten that way." "It's all bluff," declared Tom. "I'm not worrying. And now, Dad, since I've almost reached the top of the hill with my Air Scout, I may be able to help you on that new electric motor you're puzzling over." "I wish you would, Tom. I am trying to invent a new system of interchangeable brush contacts, but so far I've been unable to make them work. However, there is no great hurry about that. If you are going to offer your silent machine to the government finish that first. We need all the aircraft we can get. The battles on the other side seem to be all in favor of the Germans, so far." "We haven't got into our stride yet," declared Mr. Damon. "Once Uncle Sam gets the boys over there in force, there'll be a different story to tell. I only wish--" At that moment the telephone set up an insistent ringing, breaking in on Mr. Damon's remarks. "I'll answer," said Tom, as Mrs. Baggert moved toward the instrument, which was an extension from the main one. "Hello!" called the young inventor into the transmitter, and as he received an answer a look of pleasure came over his face. "Yes, Mary, this is Tom," he said. He remained silent a moment, while it was evident he was listening to the voice at the other end of the wire. Then he suddenly exclaimed: "What's that? Tell him to come home? Why, he isn't here. I just came in and--what--wait a minute!" With a rather strange look on his face Tom covered the mouth-piece of the instrument with his hand, and, turning to his father, asked: "Is Mr. Nestor here?" "No," replied Mr. Swift slowly, "He was here, though. He came a little while after you and Mr. Damon started off in the Air Scout. But he didn't stay. Said he wanted to see you about something and would call again." "Oh," remarked the young man. "I didn't know he had been there." "I meant to tell you," said Mrs. Baggert; "but getting the lunch made me forget it, I guess." Tom uncovered the transmitter of the telephone again, and spoke to Mary Nestor. "Hello," he said. "I was wrong, Mary. Your father was here, but he left when he found I wasn't at home. How long ago? Wait a minute and I'll inquire. "How long ago did Mr. Nestor leave?" asked the young inventor of the housekeeper. "Nearly an hour," he said into the instrument, after he had received the answer. Then, after listening a moment, he added: "Yes, I guess he'll be home soon now. Probably stopped down town to see some of his friends. Yes, Mr. Damon and I tried out the Air Scout. Yes, she worked pretty well, for a starter, but there is something yet to be done. Oh, yes, now I'll have time to come over to see you, and take you for a ride too. We won't have to talk through a speaking tube, either. Tell your father I am sorry I was out when he called. I'll come to see him to-morrow, if he wants me to. Yes--yes. I guess so!" and Tom laughed, it being evident that his remarks at the end of the conversation had to do with personal matters. "A telegram has come for Mr. Nestor and they were anxious that he should get it," Tom explained to his little audience as he hung up the receiver and put aside the telephone. "I wonder what he wanted to see me about?" "He didn't say," replied Mrs. Baggert. Mr. Damon, Tom, and his father remained in conversation a little while longer, and the eccentric man was thinking that it was about time for him to return home, when the telephone rang again. "Hello," answered Tom, as he was nearest the instrument. "Oh, yes, Mary, this is he. What's that? Your father hasn't reached home yet? And your mother is worried? Oh tell her there is no cause for alarm. As I said, he probably stopped on his way to see some friends." Tom listened for perhaps half a minute to a talk that was inaudible to the others in the room, and they noticed a grave look come over his face. Then he said: "I'll be right over, Mary. Yes, I'll come at once. And tell your mother not to worry. I'm sure nothing could have happened. I'll be with you in a jiffy!" As Tom Swift hung up the receiver he said: "Mr. Nestor hasn't reached home yet, and as he promised to return at once in case he didn't find me, his wife is much worried. I'll go over and see what I can do." "I'll come along!" volunteered Mr. Damon. "It isn't late yet." "Yes, do come," urged Tom. "But I suppose when we get there we'll find our friend has arrived safely. We'll go over in the electric runabout." CHAPTER XV A VAIN SEARCH Tom Swift's speedy little electric car was soon at the door in readiness to take him and Mr. Damon to the Nestor home. The electric runabout was a machine Tom had evolved in his early inventive days, and though he had other automobiles, none was quite so fast or so simple to run as this, which well merited the name of the most rapid machine on the road. In it Tom had once won a great race, as has been related in the book bearing the title, "Tom Swift and His Electric Runabout." "Mary didn't telephone again, did she?" Tom asked his father, as he stopped at the house to get Mr. Damon, having gone out to see about getting the electric runabout in readiness. "No," was the answer. "The telephone hasn't rung since." "Then, I guess, Mr. Nestor can't have arrived home," said Tom. "It's a bit queer, his delay, but I'm sure it will be explained naturally. Only Mary and her mother are alone and, very likely, they're nervous. I'll telephone to let you know everything is all right as soon as I get there," Tom promised his father and Mrs. Baggert as he drove off down the road, partly illuminated by the new moon. Rapidly and almost as silently as his Air Scout Tom Swift drove the speedy car down the highway. It was about three miles from his home to that of Mary Nestor, and though the distance was quickly covered, to Tom, at least, the space seemed interminable. But at length he drove up to the door. There were lights in most of the rooms, which was unusual at this time of night. The sound of the wheels had not ceased echoing on the gravel of the drive before Mary was out on the porch, which she illuminated by an overhead light. "Oh, Tom," she cried, "he hasn't come yet, and we are so worried! Did you see anything of father as you came along?" "No," was Tom's answer. "But we didn't look for him along the road, as we came by the turnpike, and he wouldn't travel that way. But he will be along at any moment now. You must remember it's quite a walk from my house, and--" "But he was on his bicycle," said Mary. "We wanted him to go in the auto, but he said he wanted some exercise after supper, and he went over on his wheel. He said he'd be right back, but he hasn't come yet." "Oh, he will!" said Tom reassuringly. "He may have had a puncture, or something like that. Bicyclists are just as liable to them as autoists," he added with a laugh. "Well, I'm sure I hope it will be all right," sighed Mary. "I wish you could convince mother to that effect. She's as nervous as a cat. Come in and tell us what to do." "Oh, he'll be all right," declared Mr. Damon, adding his assurances to Tom's. They found Mrs. Nestor verging on an attack of hysteria. Though Mr. Nestor often went out during the evening, he seldom stayed late. "And he said he'd be right back if he found you weren't at home, Tom," said Mrs. Nestor. "I'm sure I don't know what can be keeping him!" "It's too soon to get worried yet," replied the young inventor cheerfully. "I'll wait a little while, and then, if he doesn't come, Mr. Damon and I will go back over the road and look carefully. He may have had a slight fall--sprained his ankle or something like that--and not be able to ride. We came by the turnpike, a road he probably wouldn't take on his wheel. He's all right, you may be sure of that." Tom tried to speak reassuringly, but somehow, he did not believe himself. He was beginning to think more and more how strange it was that Mr. Nestor did not return home. "We'll wait just a bit longer before setting out on a search," he told Mary and her mother. "But I'm sure he will be along any minute now." They went into the library, Mary and her mother, Tom and Mr. Damon. And there they sat waiting. Tom tried to entertain Mary and Mrs. Nestor with an account of his trial trip in the Air Scout, but the two women scarcely heard what he said. All sat watching the clock, and looking from that to the telephone, which they tried to hope would ring momentarily and transmit to them good news. Then they would listen for the sound of footsteps or bicycle wheels on the gravel walk. But they heard nothing, and as the seconds were ticked off on the clock the nervousness of Mrs. Nestor increased, until she exclaimed: "I can stand it no longer! We must notify the police--or do something!" "I wouldn't notify the police just yet," counseled Tom. "Mr. Damon and I will start out and look along the road. If it should happen, as will probably turn out to be the case, that Mr. Nestor has met with only a simple accident, he would not like the notoriety, or publicity, of having the police notified." "No, I am sure he would not," agreed Mary. "Tom's way is best, Mother." "All right, just as you say, only find my husband," and Mrs. Nestor sighed, and turned her head away. "Even if Mr. Nestor had had a fall," reasoned Tom, "he could call for help, and get some one to telephone, unless--" And as he reasoned thus Tom Swift gave a mental start at his own use of the word "help." That weird cry on the lonely meadow came back to him with startling distinctness. "Come on, Mr. Damon!" cried Tom, in a voice he tried to make cheerful. "We'll find that Mr. Nestor is probably walking along, carrying his disabled bicycle instead of having it carry him. We'll soon have him safe back to you," he called to the two women. "I wish I could go with you, and help search," observed Mary. "Oh, I couldn't bear to be left alone!" exclaimed her mother. "We'll telephone as soon as we find him," called Tom to Mrs. Nestor, as he and Mr. Damon again got into the runabout and started away from the place. "What do you think of it, Tom?" asked the eccentric man, when they were once more on the road. "Why, nothing much--as yet," Tom said. "That is, I think nothing more than a simple accident has happened, if, indeed, it is anything more than that he has delayed to talk to some friends." "Would he delay this long?" "I don't know." "And then, Tom--bless my spectacles! what of that cry we heard? Could that have been Mr. Nestor?" There! It was out! The suspicion that Tom had been trying to keep his mind away from came to the fore. Well, he might as well race the issue now as later. "I've been thinking of that," he told Mr. Damon. "It might have been Mary's father calling for help." "But we looked, Tom, near the trees, and couldn't discover anything. If he had been calling for help--" Mr. Damon did not finish. "He may have fallen from his wheel and been hurt," said Tom, as he turned the electric runabout into the highway that Mr. Nestor would, most likely, have taken on his way from Shopton. "Then he may have called for help, and some autoists, passing, may have heard and taken him away." "Yes, but where, Tom? Whoever called for help was taken away, that's sure. But where?" "To some hospital, I suppose." "Then hadn't we better inquire there? There are only two hospitals of any account around here. The one in Shopton and the one in Waterfield. My wife is on the board of Lady Managers there. We could call that hospital up and--" "We'll look along the road first," said Tom. "If we begin to make inquiries at the hospitals there will be a lot of questions asked, and a general alarm may be sent out. Mr. Nestor wouldn't like that, if he isn't in any danger. And it may turn out that he has met an old friend, and has been talking with him all this while, forgetting all about the passage of time." They were now driving along the highway that led from the little suburb where Mr. Nestor lived, to the main part of Shopton, just beyond which was Tom's home. This section was country-like, with very few houses and those placed at rather infrequent intervals. The road was a good one, though not the main-traveled one, and Mr. Nestor, as was known, frequently used it when he rode his bicycle, an exercise of which he was very fond. As Tom and Mr. Damon drove along, they scanned, as best they could in the light from the young moon and the powerful lamps on the runabout, every part of the highway. They were looking for some dark blot which might indicate where a man had fallen from his wheel and was lying in some huddled heap on the road. But they saw nothing like this, much to their relief. "Do you know, Tom," said Mr. Damon, when they were nearing the town, and their search, thus far, had been in vain, "I think we're going at this the wrong way." "Why, so?" "Because Mr. Nestor may have fallen, and been hurt, and have been carried into any one of a dozen houses along the road. In that case we wouldn't see him. We've passed over the most lonely part of the journey and haven't seen him. If the accident occurred near the houses his cries would have brought some one out to help him. He is well known around here, and, even if he were unconscious and couldn't tell who he was, he could be identified by papers in his pockets. Then his family would be notified by telephone." "Perhaps you are right, Mr. Damon. We may be wasting time this way. What do you suggest?" asked Tom. "That we don't delay any longer, but call up the hospitals at once. If he isn't in either of those he must be in some house, and in such condition that his identity cannot be established. In that event it is a case for the police. We haven't found him, and I think we had better give the alarm." Tom Swift thought it over for a moment. Then he came to a sudden decision. "You're right!" he told Mr. Damon. "We mustn't waste any more time. He isn't along the road he ought to have traveled in coming from my house to his home--that's sure. But before I call up the hospitals I want to try out one more idea." "What's that, Tom?" "I want to go to the place where we heard that cry for help." "Do you think that could have been Mr. Nestor?" "It may have been. We'll go and take another look around there. Some man was evidently hurt there, and was taken away. We may get a clew. The lights on the runabout will give us a better chance to look around than we had by the little pocket lamp. We'll try there, and, if we don't find anything, then I'll call up the hospitals." CHAPTER XVI THE LONG NIGHT With the speedy runabout it did not take Tom Swift and Mr. Damon long to reach the place where the Air Scout had been grounded a few hours before, and where they had heard the cry for help. All was as dark and as silent as when they had been there before. But, as Tom had said, the lights from his electric runabout would give a brilliant illumination, and these he now directed toward the clump of trees whence the cry for help had seemed to come. "Doesn't appear to have been visited by any one since we were here," remarked Tom, as he observed the marks of the new automobile tire in the dust. "Now we'll look about more carefully." This they did, but they were about to give up in despair and start for the nearest telephone to call up the hospitals, when Mr. Damon gave an exclamation. "What is it?" asked Tom. "Something bright and shining!" said his companion. "I saw it gleam in the light of the lamps. You nearly put your foot on it, Tom. Just step back a moment." Tom did so, and the eccentric man, with another exclamation, this time of satisfaction, reached down and picked something up from the dusty road. "It's a watch!" he exclaimed. "A gold watch! And it's been stepped on, evidently, or run over by an auto. Not much damaged, but the case is a bit bent and scratched. It's stopped, too!" he added as he held it to his ear. "What time does it show?" asked Tom. "Eight forty-seven," answered Mr. Damon, as he consulted the dial. "Why, Tom, that was just about when we heard the cries for help!" "Yes, it must have been. Let me see that watch." No sooner had the young inventor taken the timepiece into his hands than he, too, uttered a cry of amazement. "Do you recognize it?" asked Mr. Damon, in great excitement. "It's Mr. Nestor's watch!" cried Tom. "He must have fallen here, and been hurt. It was Mr. Nestor who cried for help, and who was taken away by the autoists. They've probably taken him to some hospital. There's been an accident all right." Tom and Mr. Damon were of one mind now in thinking that Mr. Nestor had met with some mishap on the road--an automobile accident most likely--and that he was the person who had called for help. "If they had only answered when we hallooed at them," said Tom, "we wouldn't be in all this stew now. We could have told the strangers who came to his aid who he was, and we might even have taken him to the hospital in the airship." "Well, it's too late to think of that now," returned Mr. Damon. "We had better get into communication with him as soon as we can, and then send word to his wife and daughter. I hope he isn't badly hurt." Tom hoped so, too, with all his heart. There was nothing to do but to get back in the runabout and make all speed for the nearest telephone, and Tom Swift lost little time in doing this. They found a drug store which was open a little later than usual, and at once Tom went into the booth and called up the Shopton hospital. He was well known there, as he and his father were liberal supporters of the institution, which was a private affair. Many of Tom's men were treated at the dispensary, and, as accidents were of more or less frequent occurrence at the works, the young inventor had frequent occasions to call up the place. "Mr. Nestor would ask to be taken there, as it's nearest his home--that is, if he was able to speak," Tom said to Mr. Damon, who agreed with him. There was a little delay in getting the hospital on the wire, but when Tom had it, and was talking to the superintendent, he was rather surprised, to tell the truth, to be told that Mr. Nestor had not been brought in. "We haven't had any accident cases all day, nor to-night, Mr. Swift," the superintendent reported. "Was this some one special you were inquiring about?" For Tom, determining not to give Mr. Nestor's name, except as a last resort, had merely inquired whether any recent accident cases had been brought in. "I'll let you know later, Mr. Millard," he told the superintendent, not exactly answering the question. He hung up the receiver, and, opening the door of the booth, said to Mr. Damon: "He isn't there." "Then try Waterfield," was the suggestion; and Tom did so, though he could not imagine why an injured man, such as Mr. Nestor might prove to be, should be taken as far as Waterfield, when the hospital at Shopton was nearer. "Unless," he told Mr. Damon, "the people which ran down Mary's father didn't know about our hospital." The reply from the institution in Mr. Damon's home town was just as discouraging as had been the answer from Shopton. At first, when Tom inquired, the head nurse had said there was an accident case at that moment being brought in. Tom was all excitement until she went to inquire the name and circumstances, and then he learned that it was the case of a little boy who had fallen downstairs at his home and broken a leg. There was no record of any one answering the description of Mr. Nestor having been brought in that evening. "Hum! This is getting to be mysterious," mused Tom, as he came out of the booth. "What shall we do--go back and tell Mrs. Nestor and Mary, or communicate with the police?" "Why not try the Alexian Hospital?" asked Mr. Damon. "That's away over in Centerford, to be sure, but it's more likely to be known to passing tourists than either of our institutions around here, especially if the autoists were strangers." "That's so," agreed Tom. The Alexian Hospital was operated under the direction of the Brothers of that faith, and was well known in that part of the state. Often cases of persons who had been injured by passing automobiles had been taken there for treatment, for, as Mr. Damon had said, it was well known, and Centerford was the nearest large city. "I can just about see how it happened," said Tom. "They ran Mr. Nestor down, and stopped to pick him up after they heard his cries for help. And the Alexian Hospital was the first one they thought of. We should have called that up first." But once more disappointment awaited the young inventor and his friend. Word came back over the wire that no accident case, which bore any resemblance to Mary's father, had been brought in. "Well, I'm stumped!" exclaimed Tom. "What shall we do now, Mr. Damon?" "Much as I dislike it," said the eccentric man who was too much worried, now, to do any "blessing," which was his favorite expression, "I think we ought to communicate with Mrs. Nestor. She will be very anxious." "I guess we'll have to," said Tom. "But wait! I'll call up my house first, and see if he has gone back there." But Mr. Nestor had not done this, and Mrs. Baggert, who answered the telephone, said Mary had been calling frantically for Tom, as her mother was now on the verge of complete collapse. "No help for it," said Tom, ruefully. "We've got to tell 'em we have no news, and can't find him." And, hearing this, Mrs. Nestor did collapse, and a doctor was called in. Thereupon Tom, who with Mr. Damon had gone back to the Nestor home, took charge of matters, sending for Mrs. Nestor's sister to come and stay with her and take charge of the house. "You'll need some one to stay with you," he told Mary. "Yes, I shall," she admitted, trying bravely not to give way to her emotion. "Oh, Tom, I wish you could stay, too. I'm sure something dreadful must have happened to poor father. Please stay and help us find him!" "I will," Tom promised. "As soon as your aunt comes I'll take Mr. Damon home, and then I'll give the rest of my time to you." And this Tom did, sending word home that he would remain at the Nestor's all night and part of the next day. Tom got but little sleep that night. He communicated with the police and saw to it that a general alarm was sent out. He called up all hospitals within a radius of fifty miles, but could get no trace of any injured man whose description resembled that of Mr. Nestor. "What can have happened?" asked Mary tearfully. "Well, the way I figure it out is this," said Tom. "Your father left my house soon after Mr. Damon and I did in the Air Scout. Mr. Nestor was riding his bicycle, and he must have been run into by an automobile. That is how his watch was damaged and that was when Mr. Damon and I heard the cries for help." "Oh, do you think he was badly hurt?" asked Mary. "No, I don't," and Tom answered truthfully. "The voice sounded as though he was in pain, certainly, but it was strong and vigorous, and not at all as though he was dangerously hurt." "And what do you think happened to him after he was hurt?" asked Mary. "The autoists took him away," decided Tom. "In fact, we heard the machine go, but of course we never connected the call for help and what followed with your father. The autoists took him away." "Where?" "I should say to some hospital. Perhaps a private one of which we know nothing, and which may be near here. I'll get a full list from the Board of Health to-morrow. Or it may be that the autoists, seeing the damage they had done, took your father to the home of one of themselves, and summoned a doctor there." "Why would they do that?" "Well, they may have been so frightened they didn't realize what they were doing, or they may have thought he would get better treatment in a private house, if he were not badly injured, than if he should be taken to a hospital. It may have been that one of the persons in the auto was a physician, and wished to try his own skill on the man he had hurt." "You make me feel more comfortable, Tom," said Mary. "But, even supposing all this, why couldn't they telephone to us that my father was all right? He always carries an identification card with him, and if he were unconscious it could be ascertained who he was." "That's what I can't understand," said Tom frankly. "It puzzles me. But we'll find him--never fear!" And so he kept on with his telephone inquiries, while a physician and her sister ministered to Mrs. Nestor. The night was very, very long, and no good news came in. CHAPTER XVII SILENT SAM Slowly the dawn broke through the mists of darkness, and made the earth light. The sun came straggling in through cracks in the shutters in the home of Mr. Nestor, the gradually increasing gleam paling the electric lights, in the glare of which Tom Swift, Mary, and her aunt sat, waiting for some word of the missing man. But none came. "What shall we do now?" asked Mary, as she looked at Tom. "Oh, there's lots to do," he said, trying to make his voice sound cheerful. "We'll be busy all day. I sent word to have one of my touring cars ready to hurry to any part of the country the moment we should get word from your father." "And do you think we shall get word, Tom?" the girl went on wistfully. "Of course we shall!" he cried. "Word may come in at any time. Now get ready, eat a good breakfast, and then you can go with me as soon as we hear anything definite. Come, we'll have breakfast!" "I can't eat a thing!" protested Mary. "Oh, yes you can," said her aunt, who was a cheerful sort of person. "I'll see about getting something for you and Mr. Swift, and see that your mother is all right." She left the room to give orders to the servant about the meal, and returned to say that Mrs. Nestor was sleeping quietly. She had been given a sedative. Mary managed to eat a little, and she gave Tom the address of several friends who were called up in the vain hope that, somehow, Mr. Nestor might have gone to see them. "Tom, what do you really think has happened?" asked Mary again, as they sat facing one another in the library, during a respite from the telephone. Tom Swift repeated, to the girl his theory of what had happened with an assumption of confidence he did not altogether feel. His prediction of a speedy end to the suspense did not come true that day, nor for many days. No news was heard of Mr. Nestor. After the first day, when there was no information and when no reports came of any one of his description having been hurt in an automobile accident or having been taken to any hospital, the police started an energetic search. The authorities in all near-by cities were notified, and all thought of keeping from the public what had happened was given over. Tom's story, of how he and Mr. Damon had heard the cry for help on the lonely meadow, was printed in the papers, though the young inventor did not say that he had been out trying his new aeroplane. That was a detail not needed in the finding of Mr. Nestor. But Mary's father was not found. The mystery regarding his disappearance deepened, and there was no trace of him after he had left Tom's house that eventful evening. Persons living along the roads he might have taken in riding his bicycle were questioned, but they had seen nothing of him, nor were they aware of any accident. Tom's testimony and that of Mr. Damon was all the clew there was. "I don't believe he's dead!" stoutly declared the young inventor, when this dire possibility had been hinted at. "I believe the persons who were responsible for the accident are afraid to reveal his whereabouts until he recovers from possible injuries. You'll see! Mr. Nestor will come back safe!" And, somehow, though her mother was skeptical, Mary believed what Tom said. The search was kept up, but without result, and Tom aided all he could. But there was not much he could do. The police and other authorities were at a total loss. In the intervals of visiting Mary and her mother, and doing what he could for them, Tom worked on his new motor. He knew that he was on the right track and that all that was needed now was to make certain refinements and adjustments in the apparatus he had already constructed, so that it would operate more quietly. "Absorbing the vibrations from the exhaust, caused by the exploded gases in the cylinders, does the trick," Tom told his father. "But there is enormous pressure to overcome, Tom. You must be sure your muffler will stand the strain. Otherwise she is going to blow out a gasket some day, when you least expect it. Then the sudden resumption of pressure outside the cylinders is going to cause a change in the equilibrium, and you may turn turtle in the air." "I've thought of that," said Tom. "At worst it can't be any more than looping the loop. But I'll make the muffler doubly strong." "Better provide an auxiliary chamber to take care of part of the exhaust in case your main apparatus breaks," advised the older inventor, and Tom said he would. He did, too, for he valued his father's expert advice. Meanwhile he was busy fitting one of his latest aeroplanes with the new motor. The motor he and Mr. Damon had used in their flight was one patched up from an old one. But now Tom was working on a complete new one, made after his revised model, and in which the silencer was an integral part, instead of being built on. While giving Mary and her mother all the assistance in his power, Tom still found time to work on his new, pet scheme. He had matters now where he did not fear any tampering with his plans, for he had filed away his papers in a safe place, and was making his new machine from memory. "But if some one got in and had a look at the inside of your silencer he could see how it is constructed, couldn't he?" asked Ned Newton. "Yes," assented Tom, "But they're not going to get in very easily. Koku sleeps in the experiment shop now, and my machine is there." "Oh, well that explains your confidence. I feel sorry for the burglar who makes the attempt, once Koku wakes up. Heard anything more from those Universal people?" "No, not directly. I understand they are working hard on some new type of plane for army use, but I haven't bothered my head about them. I'm too much occupied with my own affairs and trying to help Mary." "Very strange about Mr. Nestor, isn't it?" "Worse than strange," said Tom. "If this keeps on, and he isn't heard from, it will be tragic pretty soon." "He must be held a prisoner somewhere," declared Ned. "It begins to look that way," assented Tom. "Though who would have an object in that I can't understand. He had no enemies, as far as is known, and his business affairs were in excellent shape. Unless, as I said, the persons who ran him down are, through fear, keeping him hidden until he recovers, I can't imagine what has become of him." "Well, it certainly is a puzzle," said Ned. And Tom agreed with his chum. It was about a week after the disappearance of Mr. Nestor that Mr. Damon came over to see Tom. "Bless my shoe laces, Tom!" exclaimed the eccentric man, "but you are as busy as ever." For he found the young inventor in the experiment shop, surrounded by a mass of papers and all sorts of mechanical devices. "Yes, I'm working a little," said Tom. "But you are just in time. Come on out, I want to introduce you to Silent Sam." "'Silent Sam!'" exclaimed Mr. Damon. "Have you been taking a new trip to the Land of Wonders? Have you brought back some new kind of servant?" "Not exactly a servant," said Tom with a laugh, "though I hope Silent Sam will serve me well." "'Silent Sam?' What does it mean? Is that a joke?" asked the puzzled Mr. Damon. "I hope it doesn't turn out a joke," replied Tom. "But come on, I'll introduce you to him, Mr. Damon." He led the way to one of the big hangars where his various machines of the air were housed. On the way Mr. Damon asked about news of Mr. Nestor, but was told there was none. Tom Swift opened the big, swinging doors and pulled aside an enveloping canvas curtain. There stood revealed a big aeroplane, of somewhat new pattern, the wings gleaming like silver from the varnish that had been applied. In shape it was not unlike the machines already in use, except that the propellers were of somewhat different design. The engine was mounted in front, and even with his slight knowledge of mechanics Mr. Damon could tell that it was exceedingly powerful. But it was certain devices attached to the engine that attracted his attention, for they were totally different from any on any other aeroplane, though they bore some resemblance to apparatus on the plane in which Tom and the eccentric man had made the night flight. "Is this your new machine, Tom?" asked Mr. Damon. "Yes." "Well, I don't see anything of that fellow you spoke of--Silent Sam." "This is Silent Sam," returned Tom, with a laugh. "I've named my new noiseless aeroplane--my Air Scout--I've named that Silent Sam. Wait until you hear it, or rather, don't hear it, and I think you'll agree with me. Silent Sam for Uncle Sam!" "Good!" cried Mr. Damon. "Bless my dictionary, but that's a good name! Does it sail silently, Tom?" "I'll let you judge presently. Silent Sam is all ready for his first trial, and I'll be glad to have you with me. Now, I'll just--" Tom suddenly ceased speaking and held up a hand to enjoin silence. Then, while Mr. Damon watched, the young inventor began moving noiselessly toward the rear of the big shed, inside which was his new machine. CHAPTER XVIII SUSPICIONS "Who's there?" suddenly called Tom, and in such a sharp voice that Mr. Damon started, ready as he was for something unusual. There was no answer and Tom suddenly switched on all the lights in the shed. Up to then there had been only a few glowing--just enough for him to show the new Air Scout to his friend. "Who's there?" asked Tom again, sharply. "Bless my opera glasses, Tom!" cried Mr. Damon, "but are you seeing things?" "No; but I'm hearing them," answered Tom with a short laugh. "Did you think you heard some one moving around near the rudders of Silent Sam, Mr. Damon?" "No, I can't say that I did. Everything seems to me to be all right." "Well, it doesn't to me," went on Tom grimly. "I think there is an intruder in this shed, though how any one could get in when the doors have been locked all day, is more than I can figure out. But I'm going to have a look." "I'll help you," offered Mr. Damon, and, in the bright glare from many electric lights, the two began a search of the big hangar where the new craft was kept. But though the young inventor and his friend went around to the rear of the aeroplane, walking in opposite directions, they saw no one, nor did any one try to escape past them. "And yet I was sure I heard some one in here," declared Tom, when a search had revealed nothing. "It sounded as if some one were scuffling softly about in rubber-soled shoes, trying to hide." "Bless my suspenders!" cried Mr. Damon, "who do you think it could have been, Tom?" "Who else but some spy trying to get possession of my secrets?" was the answer. "But I guess I was too quick for them. They couldn't learn much from looking at the outside of my muffler, and it hasn't been disturbed, as far as I can see." "Who would want to gain a knowledge of it in that unlawful way?" asked Mr. Damon. "Perhaps some of the Universal crowd. They may have been disappointed in perfecting a silent motor themselves, and think stealing my idea would be the easiest way out of it." "Do they know you are working on such a model as this Silent Sam of yours, Tom?" "Yes, I imagine they do. One of the firm members, as you recall, overheard something, I think, that gave them a hint as to what my plans were, though, thanks to the time I fooled the spy, they haven't any real data to go by, I believe." "Let us hope not," said Mr. Damon. Tom and he made a thorough search of the big shed, but found no one, nor was there any trace of an intruder. Tom notified Jackson, who, in turn, told the guards and watchmen to be on the lookout for any suspicious strangers, but none was seen in the vicinity of the Swift works. "Well, everything seems to be all right, so we'll have the test," remarked Tom, after a further search of the premises. "Now, Mr. Damon, if all goes as I hope you will see what my new machine can do. Strain your ears for a sound, and let me know how much you hear." His men helping him, Tom started the new motor which was tried for the first time attached to the new craft. No flight was to be made yet, the motor being tested as though on the block, though, in reality, the craft was ready for instant flight if need be. Slowly the great propellers began to revolve, and then Tom, taking his place in the cockpit, turned on more power. The new craft--Silent Sam--was made fast so it could not progress even though the propellers revolved at high speed. "I'm not sending her to the limit," said Tom to his friend, as the young inventor throttled down the motor. "If I did I'd tear her loose from the holding blocks." "Her!" cried Mr. Damon. "Bless my typewriter, Tom! but I thought Silent Sam was a gentleman aeroplane. "So he is!" laughed the young man, frankly. "I forgot about 'Silent Sam.' Guess I'll have to say 'him' instead of 'her,' though the latter sounds more natural. Anyhow what do you think?" "I think it's wonderful!" exclaimed Mr. Damon. "There the motor is, going at almost full speed, and I can hardly hear a thing. You can the easier believe that when I say that I can hear you talk perfectly well. And I guess you hear me, don't you?" "Yes," replied Tom. "And we don't have to shout, either. This is the best test ever! I think everything is a success." "Are you going to take her aloft, Tom?" the eccentric man went on. "Yes, now that I'm sure the engine is all right. Will you go for a flight with me?" "I certainly will! I only wish we could find him, though. I'd go with a better heart." "Oh! Mr. Nestor?" "Yes, I can't imagine what has become of him. It is almost as if the earth had opened and swallowed him. His disappearance is a great mystery." "It surely is," agreed Tom. "Can't seem to get any trace of him. But if we hear another cry for help, when we have to land, you can make up your mind I'll investigate more quickly than I did at first." "I agree with you," said Mr. Damon. It was nearly evening then, and until it was dark enough for his flight Tom spent the time tuning up the engine and seeing that all was in readiness for the latest test. He had decided not to go aloft while it was light enough for curiosity seekers to note the flight. Tom rather wished Mary Nestor might have a sail with him in his latest improved silent Air Scout, but the girl was too much occupied at home and in trying to find some trace of her father. Tom, his father, and Mr. Damon had helped all they could, but there were no results. A private detective had been engaged, but he had no more of a clew than the regular police. At last it was dark enough for the flight, and Tom and Mr. Damon took their places in the machine. Once more the propellers were turned around, and when the compression had been made, and the spark switched on, around spun the big wooden blades, and the great craft moved over the grass. On and on and up and up sailed Tom and Mr. Damon, and as they left behind them the shops and the Swift homestead, the two passengers were aware of their almost silent flight. The big aeroplane, the exhaust of which, ordinarily, would have nearly deafened them, was now as silent as a bird. "Silent Sam for Uncle Sam!" cried Tom in delight, as he went on faster. "I'm sure the government ought to be glad to get this plane for air scout work. It's a success! A great success!" "Yes, so it is!" agreed Mr. Damon. "You do well to speak of it so, Tom." For, modest as the young inventor was, he felt, in justice to himself, that he must acknowledge the fact that his craft was a success. For it rose and sailed almost as silently as a bat, and a few hundred feet away no one, not seeing it, would have believed a big aeroplane was in motion. Tom and Mr. Damon flew about twenty miles at a swift pace, and all the fault Tom had to find was that the machine was not as steady in flight as she should have been. "But I can remedy that with the use of some of dad's gyroscope stabilizers," he told Mr. Damon. They returned to the hangar safely, and the first trip of the new Silent Sam was an assured success. It was the following day, when Tom was busy in the machine shop installing the gyroscopes spoken of, that Jackson came to tell him there was a visitor to see him. "Who is it?" asked the young inventor. "Mr. Gale of the Universal Company," was the answer. "I don't want to see him!" declared Tom quickly. "I have nothing to say to him after his clumsy threats." "He seems very much in earnest," said Jackson. "Better see him, if only for a minute or so." "All right, I will," assented Tom. "Show him in." Mr. Gale, as blusteringly bluff as ever, entered the shop. Tom had carefully put away all papers and models, as well as the finished machines, so he had no fear that his visitor might discover some secret. "Oh, Mr. Swift!" began the president of the Universal Company, when he met the young inventor, "I wish to assure you that what has been done was entirely without our knowledge. And, though this man may have acted as our agent at one time, we repudiate any acts of his that might--" "What are you talking about?" asked Tom in surprise. "Have I been so impolite as to sleep during part of your talk? I don't understand what you are driving at." "Oh, I thought you did," said Gale, and he showed surprise. "I understood that the man who--" "Do you mean there was some one here in the shed last night?" cried the young inventor suddenly, all his suspicions aroused. "Some one here last night?" repeated Mr. Gale. "No, I don't refer to last night. But perhaps I am making a mistake. I--er--I--" "Some one is making a mistake!" said Tom significantly. CHAPTER XIX ANOTHER FLIGHT For perhaps a quarter of a minute Tom Swift and the president of the Universal Flying Machine Company of New York sat staring at one another. Mr. Gale's face wore a puzzled expression, and so did Tom's. And, after the last remark of the young inventor, the man who had called to see him said: "Well, perhaps we are talking at cross purposes. I don't blame you for not feeling very friendly toward us, and if I had had my way that last correspondence with you would never have left our office." "It wasn't very business-like," said Tom dryly, referring to the veiled threats when he had refused to sell his services to the rival company. "I realize that," said Mr. Gale. "But we have some peculiar men working for us, and sometimes there is so much to do, so many possibilities of which to take advantage, that we may get a little off our balance. But what I called for was not to renew our offer to you. I understand that is definitely settled." "As far as I am concerned, it is," said Tom, as his caller seemed to want an answer. "Yes. Well, then, what I called to say was that if you are thinking of taking any legal action against us because of the action of that man Lydane, I wish to state that he had absolutely no authority to--" "Excuse me!" broke in Tom, "but by Lydane do you mean the man who also posed as Bower, the spy?" "No, I do not. Though I regret to say that Bower once worked for us. He, too, had no authority to come here and get a position. He was still in our service when he did that." "So I have suspected," said Tom. "I realize now that he was a spy, who came here to try to find out for you some of my secrets." "Not with my permission!" exclaimed Mr. Gale. "I was against that from the first and I came to tell you so. But Bower really did you no harm." "No, he didn't get the chance!" chuckled Tom. "Nor did that other spy--the one with the gold tooth. I wonder how he liked our mud hole?" "He was Lydane," said Mr. Gale. "It is about him I came." "You might have saved yourself the trouble," returned Tom. "I don't wish to discuss him." "But I wish to make sure," said Mr. Gale, "that what he has done will not come back on us. We repudiate him entirely. His methods we can not countenance. He is too daring--" "Oh, don't worry!" interrupted Tom. "He hasn't done anything to me--he didn't get the chance, as I guess he's told you. You needn't apologize on his account. He did me no harm, and--" "But I understood from him that--" "Now I don't want to seem impolite!" broke in Tom, "nor do I want to take pattern after some of your company's acts, if not your own. But I am very busy. I have an important test to make for the government, and my time is fully occupied. I am afraid I shall have to bid you good-morning and--" "But won't you give me a chance to--" began the president. "Now, the less we discuss this matter the better!" interrupted Tom. "Lydane, as you call the man with the gold tooth didn't really do anything to me nor any great harm to any of my possessions, as far as I can learn. His career is a closed book--a book with muddy covers!" and the young inventor laughed. "Oh, well, if you look at it that way, there is nothing further for me to say," said Mr. Gale stiffly. "I understood-- But hasn't my partner, Mr. Ware, seen you?" he asked Tom quickly. "No. And I don't care to see him." "Oh, then that accounts for it," was the quick answer. "Well, if you regard the matter as closed I suppose we should also. We are not to blame for what Lydane does when he is no longer in our employ, and we repudiate anything he may do, or may have done." This struck Tom, afterward, as being rather a queer remark, but he did not think so at the time. The truth was that the young inventor wished very much to try out a new device on his noiseless aeroplane and wanted to get rid of Mr. Gale before doing so. So he did not pay as much attention to the remarks of the president as, otherwise, he might have done. It was not until after Mr. Gale had taken his leave and Tom had finished the particular work on which he was engaged when the president of the rival company came in, that the young man did some hard thinking. And this thinking was done after he had received a telephone call from Mary Nestor, asking, if by any chance, he had heard anything like a clew as to the whereabouts of her father. Tom had been obliged to tell her that he had not. Everything possible was being done to find the missing man but he had disappeared as completely as though he had ridden on his bicycle into the crater of some extinct volcano on the meadow, and had fallen to the bottom. An effort was made to trace him through an automobile association which had a large membership. That is, the members were asked to make inquiries to ascertain, if possible, whether any one had heard of an unreported accident--one in which Mr. Nestor might have been carried away by persons who accidently ran him down. But this came to naught, and the police and other authorities were at a loss how farther to proceed. It was a theory in some quarters that Mr. Nestor was perfectly safe, but that he was out of his mind, and was either wandering around, not knowing who he was, or was, in this condition, detained somewhere, the persons having him in charge not realizing that he was the missing man so widely sought. This belief was a relief to Mrs. Nestor and Mary in many ways for it prevented them from giving way to the fear that Mr. Nestor was dead. That he was alive was Tom Swift's firm opinion, and he was doing all he could to prove it. It was not until the day after the visit of Mr. Gale that Tom, having concluded some intricate calculations about the strength of cylinder valves, uttered an exclamation. "I wonder if he could have meant that?" cried the young inventor. "I wonder if he could have meant that? I must find out at once! Queer I didn't think of that before!" He put in a long distance call to New York, asking to speak to Mr. Gale. But when, eventually, he was connected with the office of the Universal Flying Machine Company he was told that Mr. Gale and Mr. Ware had sailed for France that day, going over as government representatives to investigate aeroplane motors. Gale's visit to Tom had been just previous to taking the boat, it was said. "This is tough luck!" mused Tom, his suspicions doubly aroused now. "I can't let this rest here! I've got to get after it! As soon as I make this final test, and invite Uncle Sam's experts out to see how my noiseless motor works, I'll get after Gale and Ware if I have to follow them to the battlefields of France! I wonder if it was that he was hinting at all the while! I begin to believe it was!" Tom Swift had decided on another flight for his new craft before he would let the government experts see it. "Silent Sam must do his very best work for Uncle Sam before I turn him over," said the young inventor. "And after this flight I'll offer the machine to the government, and then devote all my time to finding Mr. Nestor," said Tom. "I'd do it now, but private matters, however deeply they affect us, must be put aside to help win the war. But this will end my inventive work until after Mr. Nestor is found--if he's alive." Preparations for the test flight went on apace, and one afternoon Tom and Jackson took their places in the big, new aeroplane. He no longer feared daylight crowds in case of an accident. They made a good start, and the motor was so quiet that as Tom passed over his own plant the men working in the yard, who did not know of the flight, did not look up to see what was going on. They could not hear the engine. "I think we've got everything just as we want it, Jackson," said Tom, much pleased. "I believe you," answered the mechanician. "It couldn't be better. Now if--" And at that moment there came a loud explosion, and Silent Sam began drifting rapidly toward the earth, as falls a bird with a broken wing. CHAPTER XX QUEER MARKS "What happened?" cried Jackson to Tom, as he leaned forward in his seat which was in the rear of the young inventor's. "Don't know, exactly," was the answer, as Tom quickly shifted the rudders to correct the slanting fall of his craft. "Sounded as though there was a tremendous back-fire, or else the muffler blew up. The engine is dead." "Can you take her down safely?" "Oh, yes, I guess so. She's a bit out of control, but the stabilizer will keep her on a level keel. Good thing we installed it." "You're right!" said Jackson. Now they were falling earthward with great rapidity, but, thanks to the gyroscope stabilizer, the "side-slipping," than which there is no motion more dreaded by an aviator, had nearly ceased. The craft was volplaning down as it ought, and Tom had it under as perfect control as was possible under the circumstances. "We'll get down all right if something else doesn't happen," he said to Jackson, with grim humor. "Well, let's hope that it won't," said the mechanic. "We're a good distance up yet." They were, as a matter of fact, for the explosion, or whatever had happened to the craft, had occurred at a height of over two miles, and they at once began falling. As yet Tom Swift was unaware of the exact nature of the accident or its cause. All he knew was that there had been a big noise and that the engine had stopped working. He could not see the silencer from where he sat, as it was constructed on the underside of the motor, but he had an idea that the same sort of mishap had occurred as on the occasion when the test machine had sailed through the roof of his workshop. "But, luckily, this wasn't as bad," mused Tom. "Anyhow the motor is out of business." And this was very evident. The young inventor had tried to start the apparatus after its stoppage by the explosion, but it had not responded to his efforts, and then he had desisted, fearing to cause some further damage, or, perhaps, endanger his own life and that of Jackson. Down, down swept Silent Sam--doubly silent now, and Tom began looking about for a good place to make a landing. This was nothing new for either him or his mechanician, and they accepted the outcome as a matter of course. "Not a very lively place down there," remarked Jackson, as he looked over the side of the cockpit. "If we have to depend for help on any one down there, I guess we'll be a long time waiting," agreed Tom. They were about to land in a very lonely spot. It was one he had never before visited, though he knew it could not be much more than twenty miles from his own home, as they had not flown much farther than that distance. But, somehow or other, Tom had not visited this particular section, and knew nothing of it. He saw below him, as Jackson had seen, a lonely stretch of country--a big field, once a wood-lot, evidently, as scattered about were some stumps and some second growth trees. There were also a number of evergreens--Christmas trees Jackson called them. And this was the only open place for miles, the surrounding country being a densely wooded one. There did not appear to be a house or other building in sight where they might seek help. "But maybe we can make the repairs ourselves and keep on," the lad thought. With practiced eye he picked out a smooth, grassy, level spot, in the midst of scattered evergreen trees, and there Tom Swift skillfully brought his Air Scout to rest. With a gentle thud the rubber-tired wheels struck the Earth, rolled along a little distance, and then called to a stop. Hardly had the aeroplane ceased moving when Tom and his companion jumped out and began eagerly to examine the machinery to see the extent of damage. "I thought so!" Tom exclaimed. "The silencer cracked under the strain. Those exhaust gases have more pressure that I believed possible. I increased the margin of safety on this muffler, too. But she's cracked, and I can't use the machine until I put on a new one. Good thing I didn't ask for a government inspection until after this trial flight." "That's so," agreed Jackson. "But can't you patch it up, or go on without a muffler, so we can get back home?" "I'm afraid not," Tom answered. "You see I removed all the old exhaust pipe fittings when I put on my new silencer. Now if I took off my attachment there wouldn't be anything to carry off the discharged gases, and they'd form a regular cloud about us. We couldn't stand it without gas masks, such as they use in the trenches, and we haven't any of those with us." "That's right," agreed Jackson. "Well, what do you want to do? Have me stay here and guard the machine while you go for help? Or shall I go?" "I don't know why we both can't go," said Tom. "There is no use trying to patch up this machine here. I'll have to send a truck after it, and dismantle it before I can get it home. "As for either of us staying here on guard, I don't quite see the need of that. This looks like the jumping-off place to me. I don't believe there's a native within miles. I didn't see any houses as we came down, and I think Silent Sam will be perfectly safe here. No one can run off with him, anyhow. He'd be as hard to start as an automobile with all four wheels gone. Let's leave it here and both walk back." "All right," agreed Jackson. "That suits me. Might as well leave our togs here, too. It will be easier walking without them," and he began taking off the fur-lined suit, his cap, and his goggles, such as he and Tom wore against the piercing cold of the upper regions. "We can stuff them in the cockpit and leave them," went on the mechanician, as he divested himself of his garments. As he stowed them away in his seat he gave one more look at the broken muffler. As Tom Swift said, his new silencer had literally blown up, a large piece having been torn from the gas chamber. Something that Jackson saw caused him to utter an exclamation that brought Tom Swift to his side. "What is it?" asked the young inventor. "Look!" was the answer. "See! Just at the edge of that break! It's been filed to make the metal thinner there than anywhere else. You didn't do that, did you?" "I should say not!" cried Tom. "Why, to file there would mean to weaken the whole structure." "And that's exactly what's happened!" declared Jackson, as he gave another look. "Some one has filed this nearly through--leaving only a thin metal skin, and when the gas pressure became too much it blew out. That's what happened!" Tom Swift made a quick but thorough examination. "You're right, Jackson!" he exclaimed. "That was filed deliberately to cause the accident. And it must have been done lately, for I carefully inspected the silencer when I put it on, and it was in perfect order. There's been spy work here. Some one got into the hangar and filed that casing. Then the accumulated pressure of the gases did the rest." "As sure as you're alive!" agreed Jackson. "Maybe that's what Gale did when he called." "No," returned Tom, shaking his head, "he didn't get a chance to do anything like that. I watched him all the while. But perhaps this is what he referred to when he said he and his company would repudiate any act of that spy with the gold tooth--Lydane, so Gale said his name was. Maybe that's what Lydane did." "He was capable of it," agreed the mechanic, "but he couldn't have done it that time you tripped him into the mud puddle. This silencer wasn't built then." "No, you're right," assented Tom. "Then he must have been around since, doing some of his tricky work!" "I don't see how that could have been," said Jackson slowly. "We've kept a very careful watch, and your shop has been specially guarded." "I know it has," said Tom. "There couldn't much get past Koku; but some one seems to have done it, or else how could that filing have been done?" Jackson shook his head. The problem was too much for him. He looked carefully at the exploded and broken silencer, and Tom, too, gave it a critical eye. There was no doubt but that it had been filed in several places to weaken the structure of the metal. "When did you last see that it was in perfect condition?" asked Jackson. Tom named a certain date. "That was just before Gale called," observed the mechanician. "He might have known of it." "I wish I'd known of it at the time," said Tom savagely. "He wouldn't have gotten away as easily as he did. Well, there's no use standing here talking about it. Let's get back to civilization and we'll send back one of the trucks. Luckily I have another silencer I can put on for the government test. This one will never be of any more use, though I may be able to save some of the valves and baffle plates." Slowly they turned from the disabled aeroplane and started to look for a path that would lead them out of the lonely place. Tom as the first to strike what seemed to be a cow path, or perhaps what had been a road into the wood lot in the early days. As he tramped along it, followed by Jackson, the young inventor suddenly stopped, as he came to a sandy place, and, stooping over, looked intently at some queer marks in the soil. "What is it?" asked the mechanician. "Looks like the marks of an automobile," said Tom slowly. "And I was just trying to remember where I'd seen marks like these before." CHAPTER XXI THE DESERTED CABIN For several seconds the young inventor remained bending over the queer marks in that little sandy path of the lonely field in the midst of the silent woods. Jackson watched him curiously, and then Tom straightened up, exclaiming as he did so: "I have it! Now I know where it was! I saw marks like these the night Mr. Nestor disappeared. Mr. Damon and I noticed the marks in the dust on the road the time we made the forced landing the first night we tried out the silent motor. That's it! They are the same marks! I'm sure of it!" "I wouldn't go so far as to say that," said Jackson slowly. He was more deliberate than Tom Swift, a fact for which the young inventor was often glad, as it saved him from impulsive mistakes. "This may not be the same auto," went on the mechanician. "I'll admit I never saw square tire marks like those before. Most of the usual ones are circular, diamond-shape or oblong. Some tire manufacturer must have tried a new stunt. But as for saying these marks were made by the same machine you saw evidences of the night Mr. Nestor disappeared, why, that's going a little too far, Tom." "Yes, I suppose it is," admitted the young inventor. "But it's a clew worth following. Maybe Mr. Nestor has been brought to some lonely place like this, and is being held." "Why would any one want to do that?" asked Jackson. "He had no enemies." "Well, perhaps those who ran him down and injured him are afraid to let him go for fear he will prosecute them and ask for heavy damages," suggested Tom. "They may be holding him a captive until he gets well, and aim on treating him so nicely that he won't bring suit." "That's a pretty far-fetched theory," said the mechanician as he carefully looked at the tracks. "But of course it may be true. Anyhow, these tire marks are rather recent, I should say, and they are made by a new tire. Do you think we can follow them?" "I'm going to try!" declared Tom. "The only trouble is we can't tell whether it was going or coming--that is we don't know which way to go." "That's so," agreed his companion. "And so the only thing to do is to travel a bit both ways. The path, or road, or whatever you call it, is plainly enough marked here, though you can't always pick out the tire marks. They show only on bare ground. The grass doesn't leave any tracks that we can see, though doubtless they are there. "But as for thinking this car is the same one the marks of which you saw on the lonely moor, the night you heard the call for help--that's going too far, Tom Swift." "Yes, I realize that. Of course there must be more than one car with tires which have square protuberances. But it's worth taking a chance on--following this clew." "Oh, sure!" agreed Jackson. "The only question is, then, which way to go," returned Tom. They settled that, arbitrarily enough, by going on in the direction they had started after leaving the stranded airship. They followed a half-defined path, and were rewarded by getting occasional glimpses on bare ground of the odd tire marks. Through a devious winding way, now hidden amid a lane of trees, and again cutting across an open space, the path led. They saw the marks often enough to make sure they were on the right trail, and in one place they saw several different patches of the odd marks. They went on perhaps half a mile more, when they came to a lonely road and saw where the car had turned from that into the wood-lot, as Tom called the place where his craft had settled down. "Look!" cried the young inventor to Jackson. "They've been here more than once, and have gone along the road in both directions. They seem to have used this turning into the lot as a sort of stopping place." This was plain enough from an examination of the marks in the sandy soil of the road, which was one not often used. The automobile with the queer, square marks on the tires had turned into the lot, coming and going in both directions. "This settles it!" cried Tom, when he finished making an examination. "There's something farther back in this lot that we've got to see. This auto has been coming and going, and we should have followed the tracks the other way from the point where we first saw them, instead of coming this way." "Except that we've learned the place of departure," suggested Jackson. "Evidently the wood-lot is a blind alley. The car goes in, but it can come out only just at this point, or, at least, it does." "That's right!" agreed Tom. "Now the thing to do is to follow our track back to where we started. There must be some place where the car went to--some headquarters, or meeting place with some one, farther back in the lot. If we can only follow the trail back as well as we did coming, we may find out something." "Well, let's try, anyhow," suggested Jackson. They had no difficulty in making their way back to the spot where they had first seen the queer marks. But from then on their task was not so easy. For sandy or bare patches of earth were not frequent, and they had to depend on these to give them direction, for the road was overgrown and not well defined. Often they would search about for some time after leaving one patch of the marks before they found another that would justify them in keeping on. "They have headquarters, or a rendezvous, somewhere back in this lot!" declared Tom, as they hurried on. "I think we're on the track of a mystery." "Unless it turns out that some farmer has treated himself to an auto with new tires of square tread, and is hauling wood," said Jackson. "It may turn out that way." "Yes, it may," agreed Tom. "But, taking everything into consideration, I think we're on the verge of finding out something. Even if we do discover that the owner of this auto is only hauling wood, he may be able to help us to a clew as to the whereabouts of Mr. Nestor." "How?" "Well, maybe he was in his machine on the moor the night the call for help came. He may even have aided to carry Mr. Nestor away. And if he doesn't know a thing about it--which, of course, is possible--the man who bought these queer tires can tell us who makes them, or who deals in them, and we can find out what autoists around here have their cars equipped with this odd tread." "Yes," agreed Jackson, "that can be done." And so they kept on, scouting here and there to either side of the half-defined path, until they were far back from the spot where they had left the Air Scout. "We don't appear to be getting any warmer, as the children say," remarked Jackson, as he straightened up and looked about, for his back ached from so much stooping over to look for the odd marks. "We haven't seen anything yet, I'll admit," said Tom. "But it won't be dark for another hour or so, and I vote that we keep on." "Oh, I wasn't thinking of giving up!" exclaimed Jackson. "If there's anything here--at the end of the route, as you might say--we'll find it. Only I hope it doesn't turn out to be just a wood pile, from which some farmer has been hauling logs." "That would be a disappointment," assented Tom. The day was waning, and they realized that they ought not to spend too much time on what might turn out to be a wild goose chase. They were in a lonely neighborhood, and while they were not at all apprehensive of danger, they felt it would be best to get to shelter before dark. "We'll want to send word to Mr. Swift that we're all right." "Yes," said Tom, "I'd like to get to a place where I can telephone to him or Mrs. Baggert. Well, if we don't find something pretty soon we'll have to turn back. I must complete work on the new motor, for if I'm to offer it to Uncle Sam for air scout purposes, the sooner I can do so the better. Things are getting pretty hot over in Europe, and if ever the United States needed aircraft on the western front they need them now. I want to help all I can, and I also want to help Mary--you understand--Miss Nestor." "I understand," said Jackson simply. "I only hope you can help her. But I'm afraid--this may turn out to be nothing--following these marks, you know." "And yet," said Tom slowly, "it would be strange if it was only a coincidence--the two tire marks being the same--the night Mr. Nestor disappeared and now." And so they kept on, hoping. The half-defined path through the wood-lot led them in a series of turns and twists, and it extended through a dense patch of woods, growing thickly, where it was so dark that it seemed as if night had fallen. "We can't spend much more time here," said Tom. "If we don't find something in the next half mile we'll go back and take up the search to-morrow. I'm going to find out what's at the end of this road--even if it's only a wood pile." For ten minutes more the two went on, making sure, by occasional glimpses at the marks, that they were on the right track. Then, suddenly, they saw something which made them feel sure they had reached their goal. In a clearing among the trees was a little cabin--a shack of logs--and from the appearance it was deserted. There was not a sign of life around. CHAPTER XXII CLEWS AT LAST For a moment, at sight of the deserted cabin, staring at Tom and his friend, as it were, from its hiding place amid the trees, the young inventor and his companion did not move. They just stood looking at the place. "Well," said Tom, at length, "we found it, didn't we?" "We found something anyhow," agreed Jackson. "Whether it amounts to anything or not, we've got to see." "Come on!" cried Tom, impulsively. "I'm going to see what's there." "There doesn't appear to be much of anything," said Jackson, as he looked toward the lonely cabin with critical eyes. "I should say that place hadn't been used, even as a chicken coop, in a long while." "We can soon tell!" exclaimed Tom, striding forward. "Wait just a minute!" cried his companion, catching him by the coat. "Don't be in such a hurry." "Why not?" asked Tom. "There isn't any danger, is there?" "I don't know about that. There's no telling who may be hidden in that cabin, in spite of its deserted appearance. And though there aren't any 'No Trespass' signs up, it may be that we wouldn't be welcome. If there are some tramps there, which is possible, they might take a notion to shoot at us first and ask questions as to our peaceable intentions afterward--when it would be too late." "Nonsense!" exclaimed Tom. "There aren't any tramps there and, if there were, they wouldn't dare shoot. I'm going to see what the mystery is--if there is one." But there was no sign of life, and, taking this as an indication that their advance would not be disputed, Jackson followed Tom. The latter advanced until he could take in all the details of the shack. It was made of logs, and once had been chinked with mud or clay. Some of this had fallen out, leaving spaces between the tree trunks. "It wasn't a bad little shack at one time," decided Tom. "Maybe it was a place where some one camped out during the summer. But it hasn't been used of late. I never knew there was such a place around here, and I thought I knew this locality pretty well." "I never heard of it, either," said Jackson. "Let's give a shout and see if there's any one around. They may be asleep. Hello, there!" he called in sufficiently vigorous tones to have awakened an ordinary sleeper. Put there was no answer, and as the shadows of the night began to fall, the place took on a most lonely aspect. "Let's go up and knock--or go in if the door's open," suggested Tom. "We can't lose any more time, if we're to get out of here before night." "Go ahead," said Jackson, and together they went to the cabin door. "Locked!" exclaimed Tom, as he saw a padlock attached to a chain. It appeared to be fastened through two staples, driven one into the door and the other into the jamb, at right angles to one another and overlapping. "Knock!" suggested Jackson. But when Tom had done so, and there was no answer, the machinist took hold of the lock. To his own surprise and that of Tom, one of the staples pulled out and the door swung open. The place had evidently been forced before, and the lock had not been opened by a key. The staple had been pulled out and replaced loosely in the holes. For a moment nothing could be made out in the dark interior of the shack. But as their eyes became used to the gloom, Tom and his companion were able to see that the shack consisted of two rooms. In the first one there was a rusty stove, a table, and some chairs, and it was evident, from pans and skillets hanging on the wall, as well as from a small cupboard built on one side, that this was the kitchen and living room combined. "Anybody here?" cried Tom, as he stepped inside. Only a dull echo answered. The two could now see where a door gave entrance to an inner room, and this, a quick glance showed, was the sleeping apartment, two bunks being built on the side walls. "Well, somebody had it pretty comfortable here," decided Tom, as he looked around. "They've been cooking and sleeping here, and not so very long ago, either. It wouldn't be such a bad place if it was cleaned out." "That's right," agreed Jackson. "Wouldn't mind camping here myself, if there was any fishing near." "The river can't be far away," suggested Tom. "And now let's see what we can find, and see if we can get a line on who has been here. But first we'll let in a little light." He opened a window in the sleeping room, and pushed back the heavy plank shutter that had been closed. When the light entered it was seen that both bunks bore evidence of having been lately slept in. The blankets were tossed back, as if the occupants had risen, and in the outer room, on the stove, were signs that indicated a meal had been served not many days gone by. "Now," observed Tom musingly, as he wandered about the place, "if we could only find out who owns this, and who has been here lately--" Jackson stooped over, and, thrusting aside an end of the blankets that trailed on the floor from one of the bunks, picked up something. "What is it?" asked Tom. "Looks like a leather pocketbook," was the answer. "That's what it is," the mechanic went on, as he held the object to the light. "It's a wallet." "Let me see it!" exclaimed Tom quickly. He took the wallet from the hands of Jackson. Then the young inventor uttered a cry. "A clew at last!" he exclaimed. "A clew at last! Mr. Nestor has been in this cabin!" "How do you know?" asked Jackson quickly. "This is his wallet," said Tom excitedly. "I've often seen him have it. In fact he had it with him on Earthquake Island, the time I sent the wireless message for help. I saw it several times then. He kept in it what few papers he had saved from the wreck. And I've seen it often enough since. That's Mr. Nestor's wallet all right. Besides, if you want any other evidence--look!" He opened the leather flaps and showed Jackson on one, stamped in gold letters, the name of Mary's father. "Well, what do you make of it, Tom?" asked the mechanician, as he finished his examination of the wallet. "What does it mean? The pocket-book is empty and that--" "Might mean almost anything," completed Tom. "But it's a clew all right! He's been here, and I'm pretty certain he was brought here in the auto with the odd tires--the one Mr. Damon and I saw traces of the night we heard the cries for help." "But that doesn't help us now," said Jackson. "The point is to find out how lately Mr. Nestor was here, and what has happened to him since. There isn't anything in the wallet, is there?" "Nothing," answered Tom, making a careful examination so as to be sure. "It's as empty as a last year's bird nest. He's been robbed--that's what has happened to Mr. Nestor. He was waylaid that night, instead of being run down as I thought--waylaid and robbed and then his body was brought here." "There you go again, Tom! Jumping to conclusions!" said Jackson, with a friendly smile, and with the familiarity of an old and valued helper. "Maybe he's in perfectly good health. Just because you found his empty wallet doesn't argue that your friend is in serious trouble. He may have dropped this on the road and some one picked it up. I'll admit they may have taken whatever was in it, but that doesn't prove anything. The thing for us to do is to find out who knows about this shack; who owns it, on whose land it is, and whether any one has been seen here lately." "They've been here lately whether they've been seen or not," said Tom positively. "There are the auto tracks. It rained two days ago, and the tracks were made since. Mr. Nestor must have been here within two days." "He may or may not," said Jackson. "Say, rather, that some one was here and left his wallet after him. Now see if we can find other clews!" They looked about in the fast fading light, but at first could discover nothing more than evidences that three or four persons had been living in the shack and at some recent date--probably within a day or two. They had had their meals there and had slept there. But this seemed to be all that could be established, other than that Mr. Nestor's wallet was there, stripped of its contents. Tom was looking through the closet, from which a frightened chipmunk sprang as he opened the door. There were the remains of some food, which accounted for the presence of the little striped animal. And, as Tom poked about, his hand came in contact with something wrapped in paper on an upper shelf. It was something that clinked metallicly. "What's that?" asked Jackson. "Knives, or some other weapons?" "Neither," answered Tom. "It's a couple of files, and they've been used lately. I can see something in the grooves yet and--" Suddenly Tom ceased speaking and drew from his pocket a small but powerful magnifying glass. Through this he looked at one of the files, taking it out in front of the shack where the light was better. "I thought so!" he cried. "Look here, Jackson!" "What is it?" "Another clew!" answered Tom. CHAPTER XXIII THE GOVERNMENT TEST For a moment Jackson thought Tom had discovered a clew to, or evidences of, some crime. He had an unpleasant suspicion, for an instant, that there was blood on the files, and that it might prove to be the blood of Mr. Nestor. But the satisfaction that showed on Tom's face did not seem to indicate such dire possibilities as these. "What is it?" asked Jackson, unable to guess at what Tom was looking through the powerful glass. "What do you see?" "Metal filings on the grooves of these files," said the young inventor. "And, unless I'm greatly mistaken, the particles of filings are from the case of my aircraft silencer!" "What!" cried the machinist. "Do you mean those are the files used in weakening the outer case of your new machine, so that it burst a little while ago?" "That's what I think," answered Tom. "I know it sounds pretty far-fetched," he went on. "But take a look for yourself. If those particles on, the files aren't exactly of the same color and texture as the material of which the silencer case is made, I'll never build another machine." Jackson peered through the powerful glass moving out a little farther from the shack, so as to get the best light possible on the subject of his examination. It was fast getting dark, but there was enough glow in the western sky for his purpose. "Am I right?" asked Tom. "You're right!" declared his helper. "This is exactly the same metal as that of which your silencer case is made. It's a peculiar mixture of aluminum and vanadium steel. I never knew it used in any shop but yours, and these filings are certainly of that metal. It would seem, Tom, that these were the files used to cut a crease in the case of your silencer to weaken it so it would burst." "My idea exactly!" cried Tom. "The spy, who got into my shop in some undiscovered manner, did his work and then fled here to hide. He left his files behind. Mr. Nestor must have been here, either before or after. No, I'll not say that, either. Finding his wallet here doesn't prove that he was here. It might have been brought here by one of the spies and dropped. But I'm sure we're on the track of the men who damaged my airship, as well as those who know something of the mystery of Mr. Nestor." "I agree with you," said Jackson. "Of course there's a possibility that the same peculiar metal you used in your silencer case may have been used in some other machine shop, and these files may have come from there, and have been employed in perfectly regular work. But the chances are--" "There's only one way to make sure," said Tom. "Let's take the files with us and see if they fit in the grooves where the break came. We'll take these back to where we left the Air Scout," and he clinked the files he held. "We can just about make it before it gets black dark," returned Jackson. "But that won't give us any more time to look around here," and he indicated the hut. "I fancy we've seen all there is to see here," said Tom. "Mr. Nestor isn't here, and whether he was or not is a question. Anyhow, some one was here who had something to do with him after his disappearance, I'm positive of that. And I'm sure some one was here who damaged my airship. Now we'll run down both those clews, find out who owns this place, who has been using it, and all we can along that line. So, if you're ready, let's travel." The two set out to make their way back to where they had left the stranded airship. It was fast becoming dark, but they could hurry along with more speed now, as they did not have to stop to look for the marks of the peculiar automobile tires. They had noticed the path along which they had traveled, and in half the time they had spent coming they were back where the Air Scout rested undisturbed in the meadow amid the trees. Making sure that, as far as they could tell, no one had visited the craft since they had left it, Tom and Jackson compared the file marks on what was left of the broken silencer case with the files they had found in the hut. They used a small, but powerful electric lamp to aid them in this examination, as it was too dark to see otherwise, and what they saw caused the young inventor to exclaim: "That settles it! These were the files used!" "That's right!" agreed his assistant. "You've called the turn, Tom. The next thing to do is to find who connects with the files." "Yes. To do that and find Mr. Nestor," said Tom. "We have plenty of work ahead of us. But let's get nearer civilization and send some word to the folks at home. They'll be getting worried." "It doesn't seem as if there was a way out of here without using an airship," remarked Jackson. But he and Tom finally reached the seldom-used road which ran along the field that contained the lonely shack, and, following this, they reached a farmhouse about a mile farther on. Greatly to their relief, there was a telephone in the place. True it was only a party line, set up by some neighboring farmers for their own private use, but one of the subscribers, to whose home the private line ran, had a long distance instrument, and after a talk with him, this man promised Tom to call up Mr. Swift and acquaint him with the fact that his son and Jackson were all right, and would be home later. "And now," said Tom, after thanking their temporary host, a farmer named Bloise, "can you tell us anything about an old cabin that stands back there?" and he indicated the location of the mysterious shack. "Well, yes, I can tell you a little about it, but not very much," said Mr. Bloise. "It was built, some years ago, by a rich New Yorker, who bought up a lot of land around here for a game preserve. But it didn't pan out. This cabin was only the start of what he was going to call a 'hunting lodge,' I believe it was. There was to be a big building on the same order, but it never was built. "Some say the fellow lost all his money in Wall Street, and others say the state wouldn't let him make a game preserve here. However it was, the thing petered out, and the old shack hasn't been used since." "Oh, yes, it has!" exclaimed Tom. "We just came from there, and there are signs which show some one has been sleeping there and eating there." "There has!" exclaimed the farmer. "Well, I didn't know that." "I did," said his son, a young man about Tom's age. "I meant to speak of it the other day. I saw an automobile turn into the old road that the men used when they built the shack. I thought it was kind of queer to see a touring car turn in there, and I meant to speak of it, but I forgot. Yes, some one has been at the old cabin lately." "Do you know who they are?" asked Tom eagerly. "We are looking for a Mr. Nestor, who disappeared mysteriously about two weeks ago, and I just found his wallet there in the shack!" "You did!" exclaimed Mr. Bloise. "That's queer! You relatives of this Mr. Nestor?" he asked. "Not exactly," Tom answered. "Just very close friends." "Well, it's too bad about his being missing in that way," went on the farmer. "I read about it in the paper, but I never suspected he was around here." "Oh, we're not sure that he was," said Tom quickly. "Finding his wallet doesn't prove that," and he told the story of his own and Jackson's appearance on the scene, to the no small wonder of the farmer and his family. Tom said nothing about the finding of the files, nor the evidence he deduced from them. That was another matter to be taken up later. "Who were in the auto you saw?" asked Tom of the farmer's son. "Was Mr. Nestor in the car?" "I couldn't be sure of that. There were two men in the machine, and they were both strangers to me. They were talking together, pretty earnestly, it seemed to me." "One did not appear as if he was being taken away against his will, did he?" asked Tom. "No, I can't say that he did," was the answers "They looked to me, and acted like, business men looking over land, or something like that. They just turned in on the road that leads to the old hunting cabin, as we call it around here, and didn't pay any attention to me. Then I forgot all about them." "Neither of them could have been Mr. Nestor," decided Tom. "At least it doesn't seem as if he'd talk at all companionably to a man who had treated him as we think Mr. Nestor has been treated. I guess that clew isn't going to amount to much." "It may!" insisted Jackson. "They may have had Mr. Nestor in the car all the while--concealed in the back you know. We've got to find out more about these men and their auto, Tom." "Well, yes, perhaps we have. But how?" "Station some one at the shack, or at the beginning of the private road. The men may come back." "That's so--they may. We'll do that!" cried the young inventor. "We must tell the police and Mr. Nestor's folks what we have learned. How can we get back to Shopton in a hurry?" he asked the farmer. "Well, I can drive you to the railroad station," was the answer. "Thank you," remarked Tom. "We'll accept your offer. And as soon as we get back we must send some one from the shop to stand guard over the airship," he added in an aside to Jackson. "Those file fellows may come back." "That's so, we can't take any chances." The farmer soon had his team at the door, and, after they had had a hasty but satisfying supper at the farmhouse, the son drove Tom and Jackson several miles to a railroad station, where they could catch a train for Shopton. In due season Tom's home was reached. He intended to stop but a minute, to assure his father that everything was all right, and then get out his speedy runabout to go to see Mary, to tell her the news. But when Tom sought his father in the library, he was told that there was a visitor in the house. "Tom," said his father, "this gentleman is from Washington. He wants to arrange for a government test of your silent airship. I told him I thought you were about ready for it." "A government test!" cried Tom. "Why, I didn't think the government even knew I was working on such an idea!" Tom was greatly surprised. CHAPTER XXIV IN THE MOONLIGHT With a reassuring smile the visitor from Washington looked at Tom Swift. "The government officials," he said, "know more than some people give them credit for--especially in these war times. Our intelligence bureau and secret service has been much enlarged of late. But don't be alarmed, Mr. Swift," went on the caller, whose name was Mr. Blair Terrill. "Your secret is safe with the government, but I think the time is ripe to use it now--that is, if you have perfected it to a point where we can use it." "Yes," answered Tom slowly, "the invention is practically finished and it is a success, except for a few minor matters that will not take long to complete. "Our accident this afternoon had nothing to do with the efficiency of the silencer," Tom went on. "It was deliberately damaged by some spy. I'll take that up later. That I am interested to know how you heard of my Air Scout, as I call it." "Well, we have agents, you know, watching all the inventors who have helped us in times past, and we haven't forgotten your giant cannon or big searchlight. I might say, to end your curiosity and lull your suspicions, that your friend, Ned Newton, who has been doing such good Liberty Bond work, informed us of your progress on the silent motor." "Oh, so it was Ned!" exclaimed Tom. "Yes. He told us the time was about ripe for us to make you an offer for your machine. I think we can use it to great advantage in scout work on the western front," went on the agent, and he soon convinced Tom that when it came to a knowledge of airships, he had some very pertinent facts at his disposal. "When can you give me a test?" Mr. Terrill asked Tom. "As soon as I can get my craft back to the shop and fit on a new outer case. That won't take long, as I have some spare ones. But I must help the Nestors," he went on, speaking to his father. "I didn't mention it over the wire," he added, "but we've found in the cabin a clew to the missing man. I must tell Mary and her mother, and help them all I can." "And allow me to help, too," begged Mr. Terrill. "Since this affects you, Mr. Swift, and since you are, in a way, working for Uncle Sam, you must let him help you. This is the first I have heard of the missing gentleman, of whom your father just told me something, but you must allow me to help search for him. I will get the United States Secret Service at work." "That will be fine!" cried Tom. "I wanted to get their aid, but I didn't see how I could, as I knew they were too busy with army matters and tracing seditious alien enemies, to bother with private cases. I'm sure the Secret Service men can get trace of the persons responsible for the detention of Mr. Nestor, wherever he is." "They'll do their best," said Mr. Terrill. "I'm a member of that body," he went on, "and I'll give my personal attention to the matter." Then followed a busy time. Tom did not get to bed until nearly morning. For he had to arrange to send some of his men to guard the stranded airship, and then he went to see Mary and her mother, taking them the good news that the search for Mr. Nestor would be prosecuted with unprecedented vigor. "If it isn't too late!" sadly said the missing man's wife. "Oh, I'm sure it isn't!" declared Tom. In addition to sending a guard to the airship, other men, some of them hastily summoned from the nearest federal agency, were sent to keep watch in the vicinity of the lonely cabin. They had orders to arrest whoever approached, and a relay of the men was provided, so that watch could be kept up night and day. Besides this, other men from the Secret Service began scouring the country around the locality of the cabin, seeking a trace of the two persons the farmer's son had seen in the automobile. "If Mr. Nestor is to be found, they'll find him!" declared Tom Swift. Mr. Damon, as might be expected, was very much excited and wrought up over all these happenings. "Bless my watch chain, Tom Swift!" cried the eccentric man, "but something is always happening to you. And to think I wasn't along when this latest happened!" "Well, you can be in at the finish," promised Tom, and it was strange how his promise was fulfilled. Meanwhile there was much to do. During the time the Secret Service men were busy looking up clews which might lead to the finding of Mr. Nestor and keeping watch in the vicinity of the hut, Tom had his airship brought back to the hangar, and a new silencer was attached. While this work was going on the place was guarded night and day by responsible men, so there was no chance for an enemy spy to get in and do further damage. An investigation was made of the Universal Flying Machine Company, but nothing could be proved to link them with the outrage. Gale and Ware were in Europe--ostensibly on government business, but it was said that if anything could be proved connecting them with the attempt made on Tom Swift's craft, they would be deprived of all official contracts and punished. All this took time, and the waits were wearisome, particularly in the case of Mr. Nestor. No further trace of him was found, though every effort was made. Tom began to feel that his boast of his enemies having to get up early in the morning to get ahead of him, had been premature, to say the least. Tom Swift worked hard on his new Air Scout. He determined there would be nothing lacking when it came to the government test, and not only did he make sure that no enemy could tamper with his machine, but he took pains to see that no inherent defect would mar the test. Jackson and the other men helped to the best of their ability, and Mr. Swift suggested some improvements which were incorporated in the new machine. One of the puzzles the Secret Service men had to solve was that of the connection, if any, between the men who had to do with the missing Mr. Nestor and those who had damaged Tom's airship by filing the muffler case so it was weakened and burst. That there was some connection Tom was certain, but he could not work it out, nor, so far, had the government men. At last the day came when the big government test was to be made. Tom had completed his Air Scout and had refined it to a point where even his critical judgment was satisfied. All that remained now was to give Mr. Terrill a chance to see how silently the big craft could fly, and to this end a flight was arranged. Tom had put the silencer on a larger machine than the one he and Jackson had used. It held three easily, and, on a pinch, four could be carried. Tom's plan was to take Mr. Damon and Mr. Terrill, fly with them for some time in the air, and demonstrate how quiet his new craft was. Then, by contrast, a machine without the muffler and the new motor with its improved propellers would be flown, making as much noise as the usual craft did. "I only wish," said Tom, as the time arrived for the official government test, "that Mary could be here to see it. She was the one who really started me on this idea, so to speak, as it was because I couldn't talk to her that I decided to get up a silent motor." But Mary Nestor was too grief-stricken over her missing father to come to the test, which was to take place late one afternoon, starting from the aerodrome of the Swift plant. "First," said Tom, to Mr. Terrill, "I'll show you how the machine works on the ground. I'll run the motor while the plane is held down by means of ropes and blocks. Then we'll go up in it." "That suits me," said the agent. "If it does all you say it will do, and as much as I believe it will do, Uncle Sam will be your debtor, Mr. Swift." "Well, we'll see," said Tom with a smile. Preparations were made with the greatest care, and Tom went over every detail of the machine twice to make certain that, in spite of the precautions, no spy had done any hidden damage, that might be manifested at an inopportune moment. But everything seemed all right, and, finally, the motor was started, while Mr. Terrill, and some of his colleagues from the Army Aviation department looked on. "Contact!" cried Tom, as Jackson indicated that the compression had been made. The mechanic nodded, gave the big propeller blades a quarter turn and jumped back. In an instant the motor was operating, and the craft would have leaped forward and cleaved the air but for the holding ropes and blocks. Tom speeded the machinery up to almost the last notch, but those in the aerodrome hardly heard a sound. It was as though some great, silent dynamo were working. "Fine!" "Wonderful!" "Wouldn't have believed it possible!" These were some of the comments of the government inspectors. "And now for the final test--that in the air," said Mr. Terrill. Previous to this he and his colleagues had made a minute examination of the machinery, and had been shown the interior construction of the silencer by means of one built so that a sectional view could be had. Tom's principles were pronounced fundamental and simple. "So simple, in fact, that it is a wonder no one thought of it before," said a navy aviation expert. "It is the last word in aircraft construction--a silent motor that will not apprise the enemy of its approach! You have done wonders, Mr. Swift!" "I'd rather hear you say that after the air test," replied Tom, with a laugh. "Are you ready, Mr. Terrill?" "Whenever you are." "How about you, Mr. Damon?" "Oh, I'm always ready to go with you, Tom Swift. Bless my trench helmet, but you can't sail any too soon for me!" There was a genial laugh at his impetuosity, and the three took their seats in the big craft. Once more the engine was started. It operated as silently as before, and the first good impressions were confirmed. Even as the machine moved along the ground, just previous to taking flight into the air, there was no noise, save the slight crunch made by the wheels. This, of course, would be obviated when Silent Sam was aloft. Up and up soared the great craft, with Tom at the engine and guide controls, while Mr. Terrill and Mr. Damon sat behind him, both eagerly watching. Mr. Terrill was there to find fault if he could, but he was glad he did not have to. "The machine works perfectly, Mr. Swift," he said. "My report cannot be otherwise than favorable." "We mustn't be in too much of a hurry," said Tom, who had learned caution some time ago. "I want to sail around for several hours. Sometimes a machine will work well at first, but defects will develop when it is overheated. I'm going to do my best to make a noise with this new motor." But it seemed impossible. The machinery worked perfectly, and though Silent Sam took his passengers high and low, in big circles and small ones, there was no appreciable noise from the motor. The passengers could converse as easily, and with as little effort, as in a balloon. "Of course that isn't the prime requisite," said Mr. Terrill, "but it is a good one. What we want is a machine that can sail over the enemy's lines at night without being heard, and I think this one will do it--in fact, I'm sure it will. Of course the ability of the passengers to converse and not have to use the uncertain tube is a great advantage." As Tom Swift sailed on and on, it became evident that the test was going to be a success. The afternoon passed, and it began to grow dark, but a glorious full moon came up. "Shall I take you down?" the young inventor asked Mr. Terrill. "Not quite yet. I thoroughly enjoy this, and it isn't often I get a chance for a moonlight airship ride. Go a little lower, if you please, and we'll see if we attract any attention from the inhabitants of the earth. We'll see if they can possibly hear the machine, though I don't see how they can." And they did not. Tom piloted the machine over Shopton, sailing directly over the center of the town, where there was a big crowd walking about. Though the airship sailed only a few hundred feet above their heads, not a person was aware of it, since the craft's lights were put out for this test. "That settles it," said Mr. Terrill. "You have succeeded, Tom Swift!" But Tom was not yet satisfied. He wanted a longer test. Hardly knowing why he did it he sent the craft in the direction of Mary Nestor's home. As he sailed across her lawn he saw, in the moonlight, that she and her mother were walking in the garden. They did not look up as the aircraft passed over their heads, and were totally unaware of its presence, unless they caught a glimpse of it as it flitted silently along, like some great bird of the night. "It is perfectly wonderful!" declared Mr. Terrill, and he spoke in ordinary tones, that carried perfectly to the ears of Tom and Mr. Damon. "Wonderful!" cried the eccentric man. "Bless my chimney, but it's the greatest invention in the world! Yes, it is! Don't tell me it 'isn't!" And no one did. Passing the Nestor home, the saddened occupants of which were unaware of the passage, Tom sent the Air Scout about in a circle, intending to proceed to the hangar. And then, some whim, perhaps, caused him to guide Silent Sam out toward the lonely hut. Mr. Damon and Mr. Tenrill seemed perfectly content to sail on and on indefinitely in the moonlight. Tom thought he would take them over a lonely neighborhood, and then bring them back. In a little while the craft was directly over the stretch of country where the aeroplane accident had occurred, and where Tom and Jackson had found the deserted hut. Rather idly Tom looked down, wondering if the Secret Service men were on the watch and if they had discovered anything. Suddenly Tom was aware of an automobile moving along the field path toward the cabin. There were two men in the car, both on the front seat, and as Tom looked down the brilliant moonlight showed him the figure of another man, behind, and huddled in the tonneau of the car. The aeroplane was low enough for all these details to be seen by the moon's gleam, but the men in the car, not hearing any noise, did not look up, so they were unconscious of this aerial espionage. "Look! Look!" exclaimed Tom in a low voice to his companions. "Doesn't that seem suspicious?" CHAPTER XXV THE GOLD TOOTH Eagerly Mr. Damon and the government agent leaned over and looked down. In the moonlight they saw the same sight that had attracted Tom Swift. The touring car, the two men in front, and the huddled, bound figure in the back. "Can you go down, Tom, without letting them hear you?" asked Mr. Damon, using a low voice, as if fearful the men in the automobile would hear him. "I guess so," answered the young inventor. "I can land nearer to the cabin than Jackson and I did, and then we can see what these fellows are up to. It looks suspicious to me. That is, unless they're some of the Secret Service men, and have made a capture," he added to Mr. Terrill. "Those aren't any of Uncle Sam's men," declared the agent. "That is, unless the bound one is. I can't see him very well. Better go down, and we'll see if we can surprise them." "My plan," voiced Tom. Quickly he shifted the rudder, and then, shutting off the motor, as he wanted to volplane down, he headed his craft for an open spot that showed in the bright moonlight. By this time the automobile and its occupants were out of sight behind a clump of trees, but Tom and his companions felt sure of the destination of the men--the deserted cabin in the wood. As silently as a wisp of grass falling, the big craft came down on a level spot, and then, leaping out, the young inventor and his two companions crept along the path toward the cabin. Mr. Terrill was armed, Tom carried a flashlight, while Mr. Damon picked up a heavy club. As soon as he came near a place where he thought the marks of the automobile wheels would show, Tom flashed his light. "I thought so!" he exclaimed, as he saw the square, knobby tread marks left by the tires. "It's the same gang, or some of them in the same car. If we can only capture them!" "The Secret Service men ought to do that," returned Mr. Terrill, but, as it developed later, they were not on hand, though through no fault of theirs. On and on crept Tom and the two men, until they came within sight of the cabin. They saw a light gleaming in it, and Tom whispered: "Now we have them! Work our way up quietly and make them surrender, if we find they're what we think." "Is there a rear door?" asked Mr. Terrill in a whisper. Tom answered in the negative, and then all three, in fan shape, crept up to the front portal. It was open, and silently reaching a place where they could make an observation, Tom and his companions looked in. What they saw filled them with wild and righteous rage, and brought to an end the mystery of the disappearance of Mr. Nestor. For there he sat, bound in a chair, and at a table in front of him were two forbidding-looking men. "What do you intend to do now?" asked Mr. Nestor in a faint voice. "I cannot stand this captivity much longer. You admit that you don't want me--that you never wanted me--so why do you keep me a prisoner? It cannot do the least good." "There's no use going over that again!" exclaimed the harsh voice of one of the men. "We told you that if you will promise to keep still about what happened to you, and not to give the police any information about us, we'll let you go gladly. We don't want you. It was all a mistake, capturing you. You were the wrong man. But we're not going to let you go and have you set the police on us as soon as you get a chance. Give us your promise to say nothing, and we'll let you join your friends. If you don't--" "Make no promises, Mr. Nestor!" cried Tom Swift in a ringing voice, as he leaped from his hiding place, followed by his companions. "Your friends are here, and you can tell them everything!" "Up with 'em!" called Mr. Terrill to the two conspirators as he confronted them with his automatic pistol ready for firing. He had no need to mention hands--they knew what he meant and took the characteristic attitude. "Tom! Tom Swift!" cried Mr. Nestor, struggling ineffectually at his bonds. "Is it really you?" "Well, I hope it isn't any imitation," was the grim answer. "We'll tell you all about it later. Jove, but I'm glad we found you! If it hadn't been for Silent Sam we might never have been able to." "Well, I don't know who Silent Sam is," said Mr. Nestor faintly. "But I'm sure I'm much obliged to him and your other friends. It has been very hard. Tell me, are my wife and Mary all right?" "In good health, yes, but, of course, worrying," said Tom. "We saw them in the garden a little while ago. Now don't talk until I set you free." And as Tom cut the ropes from Mr. Nestor, Mr. Damon used them to bind the two conspirators, while Mr. Terrill stood guard over them. And when they were safely bound, and Mr. Nestor had somewhat recovered from the shock, Tom had a chance to examine the prisoners. "What does it all mean? Who are you fellows, anyhow, and what's your game?" he demanded. "Guess it--since you're so smart!" snapped one. And no sooner had he opened his mouth and Tom had a glance of something gleaming brightly yellow, than the young inventor cried: "The gold tooth! So it's you again, is it, you spy?" The man shrugged his shoulders with an assumption of indifference. And, as Tom took a closer look, he became aware that the man was surely none other than Lydane, the spy he had chased into the mud puddle some weeks before. His companion was a stranger to Tom. "What does it all mean, Mr. Nestor?" asked Tom. "Have these men held you a prisoner ever since you called for help on the moor that night?" "Yes, Tom, they have. And I did call for help after they attacked me as I was riding my wheel, but I didn't know any one heard me. I began to be afraid no one would ever help me." "We've been trying to, a long time," said Mr. Damon, "but we couldn't find you. Where did they keep you?" "Here, part of the time," was Mr. Nestor's answer. "And in other lonely houses. They bound and gagged me when they took me from place to place." "But what was their object?" asked Tom, concluding it was useless to question the two captives. "Why did they make you a prisoner, Mr. Nestor?" "Because they took me for you, Tom." "For me?" "Yes. The night I called at your house, and found you were not at home, I put back in my pocket a bundle of papers I had brought over to show you. They were plans of a little kitchen appliance a friend of mine had invented, and I wanted to ask your opinion of it." "These scoundrels must have followed me, or have seen the bundle of papers, and, mistaking me for you, they followed, attacked me in a lonely spot and, bundling me and my wrecked wheel into an auto, carried me off. They first demanded that I gave up the 'plans,' and when I wouldn't they choked off my cries for help and knocked me into unconsciousness. Then they brought me here, and kept me here for several days. "They soon learned that the plans I had weren't those they wanted, though what they were then after I couldn't imagine. Only, from what I later overheard, I knew they mistook me for you and that they were bitterly disappointed in not getting plans of some new airship you were working on. They have kept me a prisoner ever since, and though they offered to let me go if I would keep silent, I refused. I did not think, to secure my own comfort, I should let such men go unpunished if I could bring about their arrest." "I should say not!" cried Tom. "Did they treat you brutally, Mr. Nestor?" asked Mr. Damon. "Not after they found out who I was, by looking through my wallet. Of course they didn't behave very decently, but they weren't actually cruel, except that they bound and gagged me. Oh, but I'm glad you came, Tom! How did it happen?" Then they told Mr. Nestor their story, and how the test of the new Air Scout had led to his rescue. "But where are the Secret Service men?" asked Mr. Terrill, when it became evident that none them was on guard at the cabin. Later it developed that, by following a false clew, the Secret Service men had been drawn miles away from the cabin. And only that Tom and his companions in the silent airship saw the men. Mr. Nestor might not have been rescued for some further time. His version of what had happened was correct. He had been mistaken for Tom, and the spy with the gold tooth and his accomplice had waylaid Mary's father, under the belief that it was Tom Swift with the plans of the new silent motor. Mr. Nestor had been attacked while riding his wheel in a lonely place, and had been carried off and kept in hiding, a prisoner even after his identity became known. "Well, this is a good night's work!" exclaimed Tom, when the two rogues had been sent to jail and Mr. Nestor taken to the Bloise farmhouse, to be refreshed before he went home. Word of his rescue was telephoned to Mary and her mother, and it can be imagined how they regarded Tom Swift for his part in the affair. Little the worse for his experience, save that he was very nervous, Mr. Nestor was taken home. He gave the details of his being waylaid, and told how the men, for many days, were at their wits' ends to keep him concealed when they found what a stir his disappearance had created. The conspirators were well supplied with money, and in the automobile they took their prisoner from one place to another. They had usurped the use of the cabin and had lived there nearly a week in hiding, leaving just before the first visit of Tom and Jackson. The rifled wallet had been dropped by accident. And it did not take much delving to disclose the fact that, Lydane, "Gold Tooth," as he was called, and his crony, were spies in the pay of the Universal Flying Machine Company. As the men went under several aliases there is no need of giving their names. It is to be doubted if they ever used their real ones--or if they had any. Of course, there was quite a sensation when Mr. Nestor was found, and a greater one when it became known the part the Universal Flying Machine people had in his disappearance in mistake for Tom. The officials of the company were indicted, and several of the minor ones sent to jail but Gale and Ware escaped by remaining abroad. It came out that they both knew of the acts of Lydane and his companion in crime, and that the two officials realized the mistake that had been made by their clumsy operatives. It was believed that this knowledge led to the visit of Gale to Tom, the time the latter's suspicions were first aroused. Gale made a clumsy attempt to clear his own skirts of the conspiracy, but in vain, though he did escape his just punishment. What had happened, in brief, was this. Gale and Ware, unable to secure Tom's services, even by the offer of a large sum of money, had stooped to the sending of spies to his shop, to get possession of information about his silent motor. This was after Gale had, by accident, heard Tom speaking of it to Mr. Damon. But, thanks to Tom's vigilance, Bower was discovered. The man tripped into the mud hole lost in the muck the plans Bower passed to him. They were never recovered. Then Lydane tried again. He managed, through bribery, to gain access to the hangar where the new silent machine was kept, and, unable to get the silencer apart, tried to file it. In doing so he weakened it so that it burst. The attempt to waylay Tom, and so get the plans from him, had been tried before this, only a mistake had been made, and Mr. Nestor was caught instead. Finding out their error, Lydane and his companions did not tell the Universal people of their mistake, though Gale and Ware knew the attempt was to be made against Tom Swift. Later, hearing that the young inventor was still at work on his invention, Gale was much surprised, and paid his queer visit, in an attempt to repudiate the actions of Lydane. At this time it was assumed that Gale and his partner did not know that it was Mr. Nestor who had been kidnapped by mistake or they might have insisted on his release. As it was, Lydane had Mary's father, and was afraid to let him go, though really their prisoner became a white elephant on the hands of the conspirators and kidnappers. And it was after all this was cleared up, and Mr. Nestor restored to his family and friends, that one day, Tom Swift received another visit from Mr. Terrill, the government agent. "Well, Mr. Swift," was the genial greeting, "I have come to tell you that the favorable report made by my friends and myself as to the performance of your noiseless motor, has been accepted by the War Department, and I have come to ask what your terms are. For how much will you sell your patent to the United States?" Tom Swift arose. "The United States hasn't money enough to buy my patent of a noiseless motor," he said. "Wha--what!" faltered Mr. Terrill. "Why, I understood--you don't mean--they told me you were rather patriotic, and--" "I hope I am patriotic!" interrupted Tom with a smile. "And when I say that the United States hasn't money enough to buy my latest invention I mean just that." "My Air Scout is not for sale!" "You mean," faltered the government agent. "You say--" "I mean," went on Tom, "that Silent Sam is for Uncle Sam without one cent of cost! My father and I take great pleasure in presenting such machines as are already manufactured, those in process of making, and the entire patents, and all other rights, to the government for the winning of the war!" "Oh!" said Mr. Terrill in rather a strange voice. "Oh!" And that was all he could say for a little while. But Tom Swift reckoned without a knowledge of a peculiar law which prohibits the United States from accepting gifts totally without compensation, and so, in due season, the young inventor received a check for the sum of one dollar in full payment for his silent motor, and the patent rights thereto. And Tom has that check framed, and hanging over his desk. And so the silent motor became an accomplished fact and a great success. Those of you who have read of its work against the Boches, and how it helped Uncle Sam to gain the mastery of the sky, need not be reminded of this. By it many surprise attacks were made, and much valuable information was obtained that otherwise could not have been brought in. One day, after the rogues had been sent to prison for long terms, and Tom had turned over to his government his silent aircraft--except one which he was induced to keep for his own personal use--the young inventor went to call on Mary Nestor. The object of his call, as I believe he stated it, was to see how Mr. Nestor was, but that, of course, was camouflage. "Would you like to come for a ride, Mary, in the silent airship?" asked Tom, after he had paid his respects to Mr. Nestor and his wife. "We can talk very easily on board Silent Sam without the use of a speaking tube. Come on--we'll go for a moonlight sky ride." "It sounds enticing," said Mary, with a shy look at Tom. "But wouldn't you just as soon sit on a bench in the garden? It's moonlight there, and we can talk, and--and--" "I'd just as soon!" said Tom quickly. And out they went into the beautiful moonlight; and here we will leave them and say good-bye. THE END ---------------------------------------------------------------- THE TOM SWIFT SERIES By VICTOR APPLETON These spirited tales convey in a realistic way, the wonderful advances in land and sea locomotion. Stories like these are impressed upon the memory and their reading is productive only of good. TOM SWIFT AND HIS MOTOR CYCLE TOM SWIFT AND HIS MOTOR BOAT TOM SWIFT AND HIS AIRSHIP TOM SWIFT AND HIS SUBMARINE BOAT TOM SWIFT AND HIS ELECTRIC RUNABOUT TOM SWIFT AND HIS WIRELESS MESSAGE TOM SWIFT AMONG THE DIAMOND MAKERS TOM SWIFT IN THE CAVES OF ICE TOM SWIFT AND HIS SKY RACER TOM SWIFT AND HIS ELECTRIC RIFLE TOM SWIFT IN THE CITY OF GOLD TOM SWIFT AND HIS AIR GLIDER TOM SWIFT IN CAPTIVITY TOM SWIFT AND HIS WIZARD CAMERA TOM SWIFT AND HIS GREAT SEARCHLIGHT TOM SWIFT AND HIS GIANT CANNON TOM SWIFT AND HIS PHOTO TELEPHONE TOM SWIFT AND HIS AERIAL WARSHIP TOM SWIFT AND HIS BIG TUNNEL TOM SWIFT IN THE LAND OF WONDERS TOM SWIFT AND HIS WAR TANK TOM SWIFT AND HIS AIR SCOUT TOM SWIFT AND HIS UNDERSEA SEARCH TOM SWIFT AMONG THE FIRE FIGHTERS TOM SWIFT AND HIS ELECTRIC LOCOMOTIVE SIX LITTLE BUNKERS SERIES By LAURA LEE HOPE Author of "The Bobbsey Twins Books," "The Bunny Brown Series," "The Make-Believe Series," Etc. Delightful stories for little boys and girls which sprung into immediate popularity. To know the six little Bunkers is to take them at once to your heart, they are so intensely human, so full of fun and cute sayings. Each story has a little plot of its own--one that can be easily followed--and all are written in Miss Hope's most entertaining manner. Clean, wholesome volumes which ought to be on the bookshelf of every child in the land. SIX LITTLE BUNKERS AT GRANDMA BELL'S SIX LITTLE BUNKERS AT AUNT JO'S SIX LITTLE BUNKERS AT COUSIN TOM'S SIX LITTLE BUNKERS AT GRANDPA FORDS SIX LITTLE BUNKERS AT UNCLE FRED'S SIX LITTLE BUNKERS AT CAPTAIN BEN'S SIX LITTLE BUNKERS AT COWBOY JACK'S THE MOVING PICTURE BOYS SERIES THE MOVING PICTURE BOYS THE MOVING PICTURE BOYS IN THE WEST THE MOVING PICTURE BOYS ON THE COAST THE MOVING PICTURE BOYS IN THE JUNGLE THE MOVING PICTURE BOYS IN EARTHQUAKE LAND THE MOVING PICTURE BOYS AND THE FLOOD THE MOVING PICTURE BOYS AT PANAMA THE MOVING PICTURE BOYS UNDER THE SEA THE MOVING PICTURE BOYS ON THE WAR FRONT THE MOTION PICTURE CHUMS SERIES THE MOTION PICTURE CHUMS' FIRST VENTURE THE MOTION PICTURE CHUMS AT SEASIDE PARK THE MOTION PICTURE CHUMS ON BROADWAY THE MOTION PICTURE CHUMS' OUTDOOR EXHIBITION THE MOTION PICTURE CHUMS' NEW IDEA THE MOTION PICTURE CHUMS AT THE FAIR THE MOTION PICTURE CHUMS' WAR SPECTACLE 
1283	----	TOM SWIFT AND HIS WIZARD CAMERA or Thrilling Adventures While Taking Moving Pictures by VICTOR APPLETON CONTENTS CHAPTER I A STRANGE OFFER II A MAN IN THE SNOW BANK III TOM MAKES UP HIS MIND IV HELD FAST V TOM GETS A WARNING VI TRYING THE CAMERA VII WHAT THE CAMERA CAUGHT VIII PHOTOS FROM THE AIRSHIP IX OFF FOR INDIA X UNEXPECTED EXCITEMENT XI AN ELEPHANT STAMPEDE XII THE LION FIGHT XIII A SHOT IN TIME XIV IN A GREAT GALE XV SNAPPING AN AVALANCHE XVI TELEGRAPH ORDERS XVII SUSPICIOUS STRANGERS XVIII THE NATIVE BATTLE XIX A HEAVY LOSS XX AFTER THE ENGLISHMEN XXI THE JUNGLE FIRE XXII A DANGEROUS COMMISSION XXIII AT THE VOLCANO XXIV THE MOLTEN RIM XXV THE EARTHQUAKE--CONCLUSION TOM SWIFT AND HIS WIZARD CAMERA CHAPTER I A STRANGE OFFER "Some one to see you, Mr. Tom." It was Koku, or August, as he was sometimes called, the new giant servant of Tom Swift, who made this announcement to the young inventor. "Who is it, Koku?" inquired Tom, looking up from his work-bench in the machine shop, where he was busy over a part of the motor for his new noiseless airship. "Any one I know? Is it the 'Blessing Man?'" for so Koku had come to call Mr. Damon, an eccentric friend of Tom's. "No, not him. A strange man. I never see before. He say he got quick business." "Quick business; eh? I guess you mean important, Koku," for this gigantic man, one of a pair that Tom had brought with him after his captivity in "Giant Land," as he called it, could not speak English very well, as yet. "Important business; eh, Koku? Did he send in his card?" "No, Mr. Tom. Him say he have no card. You not know him, but he very much what you call--recited." "Excited I guess you mean, Koku. Well, tell him to wait a few minutes, and I'll see him. You can show him in then. But I say, Koku," and Tom paused as he looked at the big man, who had attached himself to our hero, as a sort of personal helper and bodyguard. "Yes, Mr. Tom; what is it?" "Don't let him go poking around the shop. He might look at some of my machines that I haven't got fully patented yet. Is he in the front office?" "That's where him am. He be lookin' at pictures on the walls." "Oh, that's all right then. Just keep him there. And, Koku, don't let him come back in the shop here, until I get ready to see him. I'll ring the bell when I am." "All right, Mr. Tom." Koku, very proud of his mission of keeping guard over the strange visitor, marched from the room with his big strides, his long arms and powerful hands swinging at his sides, for Koku, or August, as Tom had rechristened him, and as he often called him (for it was in the month of August that he had located the giants) was a very powerful man. A veritable giant, being extremely tall, and big in proportion. "Be sure. Don't let him in here, Koku!" called Tom, in an additional warning, as his new servant left the main shop. "Sure not!" exclaimed Koku, very earnestly. "I don't know who he may be," mused Tom, as he began putting away the parts to his new noiseless motor, so that the stranger could not see them, and profit thereby. "It looks rather funny, not sending in his name. It may be some one who thinks he can spring a trick on me, and get some points about my inventions, or dad's. "It may even be somebody sent on by Andy Foger, or his father. I can't be too careful. I'll just put everything away that isn't fully covered by patents, and then if he wants to infringe on any of the machines I can sue him." Tom looked about the shop, which was filled with strange machinery, most of which had been made by himself, or his father, or under their combined directions. There was a big biplane in one corner, a small monoplane in another, parts of a submarine boat hanging up overhead, and a small, but very powerful, electric auto waiting to have some repairs made to it, for on his last trip in it Tom Swift had suffered a slight accident. "There, I guess he can't see anything but what I want him to," mused Tom, as he put away the last part of a new kind of motor, from which he hoped great things. "Let's see, yes, it's out of sight now. I wish Ned Newton, or Mr. Damon were here to be a witness in case he starts anything. But then I have Koku, even if he doesn't speak much English yet. If it comes to blows--well, I wouldn't want that giant to hit me," finished Tom with a laugh, as he rang the bell to announce to his servant that the visitor might be shown in. There was a sound outside the door that separated the business office from the main shop, and Tom heard Koku exclaim: "Hold on! Wait! I go first. You wait!" "What's the matter with me going ahead?" demanded a quick, snappy voice. "I'm in a hurry, and--" "You wait! I go first," was the giant's reply, and then came the sound of a scuffle. "Ouch! Say! Hold on there, my man! Take your hand off my shoulder! You're crushing me with those big fingers of yours!" This was evidently the visitor remonstrating with the giant. "Humph! I guess Koku must have grabbed him," said Tom softly. "I don't like that sort of a visitor. What's his hurry getting in here?" and our hero looked about, to see if he had a weapon at hand in case of an attack. Often cranks had forced their way into his shop, with pet inventions which they wanted him to perfect after they had themselves failed. Tom saw a heavy iron bar at hand, and knew this would serve to protect him. "You come after me!" exclaimed Koku, when the voice of the other had ceased. "Do you stand under me?" "Oh, yes, I understand all right. I'll keep back. But I didn't mean anything. I'm just in a hurry to see Tom Swift, that is all. I'm always in a hurry in fact. I've lost nearly a thousand dollars this morning, just by this delay. I want to see Mr. Swift at once; and have a talk with him." "Another crank, I guess," mused Tom. "Well, I'm not going to waste much time on him." A moment later the door opened, and into the shop stepped Koku, followed by a short, stout, fussy little man, wearing a flaming red tie, but otherwise his clothes were not remarkable. "Is this Mr. Tom Swift?" asked the stranger, as he advanced and held out his hand to the young man. "Yes," answered Tom, looking carefully at the visitor. He did not seem to be dangerous, he had no weapon, and, Tom was relieved to note that he did not carry some absurd machine, or appliance, that he had made, hoping to get help in completing it. The youth was trying to remember if he had ever seen the stranger before, but came to the conclusion that he had not. "Sorry to take up your time," went on the man, "but I just had to see you. No one else will do. I've heard lots about you. That was a great stunt you pulled off, getting those giants for the circus. This is one; isn't he?" and he nodded toward Koku. "Yes," replied Tom, wondering if the little man was in such a hurry why he did not get down to business. "I thought so," the caller went on, as he shook hands with Tom. "Once you felt his grip you'd know he was a giant, even if you didn't see him. Yes, that was a great stunt. And going to the caves of ice, too, and that diamond-making affair. All of 'em great. I--" "How did you know about them?" interrupted Tom, wishing the man would tell his errand. "Oh, you're better known than you have any idea of, Tom Swift. As soon as I got this idea of mine I said right away, to some of the others in my business, I says, says I, 'Tom Swift is the boy for us. I'll get him to undertake this work, and then it will be done to the Queen's taste. Tom's the boy who can do it,' I says, and they all agreed with me. So I came here to-day, and I'm sorry I had to wait to see you, for I'm the busiest man in the world, I believe, and, as I said, I've lost about a thousand dollars waiting to have a talk with you. I--" "I am sorry," interrupted Tom, and he was not very cordial. "But I was busy, and--" "All right! All right! Don't apologize!" broke in the man in rapid tones, while both Tom, and his servant, Koku, looked in surprise at the quick flow of language that came from him. "Don't apologize for the world. It's my fault for bothering you. And I'll lose several thousand dollars, willingly, if you'll undertake this job. I'll make money from it as it is. It's worth ten thousand dollars to you, I should say, and I'm willing to pay that." He looked about, as though for a seat, and Tom, apologizing for his neglect in offering one, shoved a box forward. "We don't have chairs in here," said the young inventor with a smile. "Now if you will tell me what you--" "I'm coming right to it. I'll get down to business in a moment," interrupted the man as he sat down on the box, not without a grunt or two, for he was very stout. "I'm going to introduce myself in just a second, and then I'm going to tell you who I am. And I hope you'll take up my offer, though it may seem a strange one." The man took out a pocketbook, and began searching through it, evidently for some card or paper. "He's as odd as Mr. Damon is, when he's blessing everything," mused Tom, as he watched the man. "I thought I had a card with me, but I haven't," the visitor went on. "No matter. I'm James Period--promoter of all kinds of amusement enterprises, from a merry-go-'round to a theatrical performance. I want you to--" "No more going after giants," interrupted. Tom. "It's too dangerous, and I haven't time--" "No, it has nothing to do with giants," spoke Mr. Period, as he glanced up at Koku, who towered over him as he sat on the box near Tom. "Well?" returned Tom. "This is something entirely new. It has never been done before, though if you should happen to be able to get a picture of giants don't miss the opportunity." "Get a picture?" exclaimed Tom, wondering if, after all, his visitor might not be a little insane. "Pictures, yes. Listen. I'm James Period. Jim, if you like it better, or just plain 'Spotty.' That's what most of my friends call me. Get the idea? A period is a spot. I'm a Period, therefor I'm a spot. But that isn't the real reason. It's because I'm always Johnny on the Spot when anything is happening. If it's a big boxing exhibition, I'm there. If it's a coronation, I'm there, or some of my men are. If it's a Durbar in India, you'll find Spotty on the spot. That's me. If there's going to be a building blown up with dynamite--I'm on hand; or some of my men. If there's a fire I get there as soon as the engines do--if it's a big one. Always on the spot--that's me--James Period--Spotty for short. Do you get me?" and he drew a long breath and looked at Tom, his head on one side. "I understand that you are--" "In the moving picture business," interrupted Mr. Period, who never seemed to let Tom finish a sentence. "I'm the biggest moving picture man in the world--not in size, but in business. I make all the best films. You've seen some of 'em I guess. Every one of 'em has my picture on the end of the film. Shows up great. Advertising scheme--get me?" "Yes," replied Tom, as he recalled that he had seen some of the films in question, and good ones they were too. "I see your point, but--" "You want to know why I come to you; don't you?" again interrupted "Spotty," with a laugh. "Well, I'll tell you. I need you in my business. I want you to invent a new kind of moving picture camera. A small light one--worked by electricity--a regular wizard camera. I want you to take it up in an airship with you, and then go to all sorts of wild and strange countries, Africa, India--the jungles--get pictures of wild animals at peace and fighting--herds of elephants--get scenes of native wars--earthquakes--eruptions of volcanoes--all the newest and most wonderful pictures you can. You'll have to make a new kind of camera to do it. The kind we use won't do the trick. "Now do you get me? I'm going to give you ten thousand dollars, above all your expenses, for some films such as I've been speaking of. I want novelty. Got to have it in my business! You can do it. Now will you?" "I hardly think--" began Tom. "Don't answer me now," broke in Mr. Period. "Take four minutes to think it over. Or even five. I guess I can wait that long. Take five minutes. I'll wait while you make up your mind, but I know you'll do it. Five minutes--no more," and hastily getting up off the box Mr. Period began impatiently pacing up and down the shop. CHAPTER II A MAN IN THE SNOW BANK Tom Swift looked somewhat in surprise at his strange visitor. It had all happened so suddenly, the offer had been such a strange one, the man himself--Mr. Period--was so odd, that our hero hardly knew what to think. The moving picture agent continued pacing up and down the room now and then looking at his watch as if to note when the five minutes had passed. "No," said Tom to himself. "I'm not going to take this offer. There's too much work and risk attached to it. I want to stay at home and work on my noiseless motor for the airship. After that--well--I don't know what I'll do. I'll tell Mr. Period that he needn't wait the five minutes. My mind is made up now!" But as Tom was about to make this announcement, and dismiss his caller, he looked again at the visitor. There was something attractive about him--about his hasty way of talking, about his manner of interrupting, about the way he proposed matters. Tom was interested in spite of himself. "Well," he reflected, "I may as well wait until the five minutes are up, anyhow." Koku, the giant servant, glanced at his young master, as if to ask if there was anything that he could do. Tom shook his head, and then the big man strolled over to the other side of the machine shop, at the same time keeping a careful eye on Mr. Period. While Tom is waiting for the time to expire, I will take a few minutes to tell you something more about him. Those of my friends who have read the previous books in this series need no introduction to my hero, but those who may chance upon this as their first book in the Tom Swift series, will like to be more formally introduced. Tom, whose mother had been dead some years, lived with his father, Barton Swift, in the town of Shopton. Mr. Swift was an inventor of prominence, and his son was fast following in his footsteps. A Mrs. Baggert kept house for the Swifts, and another member of the household was Eradicate Sampson, an aged colored man, who said he used to "eradicate" the dirt. He had been with Tom on many trips, but of late was getting old and feeble. Then there was Garret Jackson, an engineer employed by the Swifts. These were all the immediate members of the household. Tom had a chum, Ned Newton, who used to work in a bank, and there was a girl, Mary Nestor, a daughter of Amos Nestor, in which young lady Tom was much interested. Eradicate Sampson had a mule, Boomerang, of whom he thought almost as much as he did of Tom. Eradicate was a faithful friend and servant, but, of late, Koku, or August, the giant, had rather supplanted him. I must not forget Mr. Wakefield Damon, of Waterfield, a village near Shopton. Mr. Damon was an odd man, always blessing everything. He and Tom were good friends, and had been on many trips together. The first book of the series was called "Tom Swift and His Motor-Cycle," and related how Tom bought the cycle from Mr. Damon, after the latter had met with an accident on it, and it was in this way that our hero became acquainted with the odd man. Tom had many adventures on his motor-cycle, and, later on he secured a motor-boat, in which he beat his enemy, Andy Foger, in a race. Next Tom built an airship, and in this he went on a wonderful trip. Returning from this he and his father heard about a treasure sunken under the ocean. In his submarine boat Tom secured the valuables, and made a large sum for himself. In his electric runabout, which was the swiftest car on the road, Tom was able to save from ruin a bank in which his father was interested, and, a short time after that, he went on a trip in an airship, with a man who had invented a new kind. The airship was smashed, and fell to Earthquake Island, where there were some refugees from a shipwreck, among them being the parents of Mary Nestor. In the volume called "Tom Swift and His Wireless Message," I told how he saved these people. When Tom went among the diamond makers he had more strange adventures, on that trip discovering the secret of phantom mountain. He had bad luck when he went to the caves of ice, for there his airship was wrecked. When Tom made the trip in his sky racer he broke all records for an aerial flight, incidentally saving his father's life. It was some time after this when he invented an electric rifle, and went to elephant land, to rescue some missionaries from the red pygmies. The eleventh volume of the series is called "Tom Swift in the Land of Gold," and relates his adventures underground, while the next one tells of a new machine he invented--an air-glider--which he used to save the exiles of Siberia, incidentally, on that trip, finding a valuable deposit of platinum. As I have said, it was on his trip to giant land that Tom got his big servant. This book, the thirteenth of the series, is called "Tom Swift in Captivity," for the giants captured him and his friends, and it was only by means of their airship that they made their daring escape. Tom had been back from the strange land some time now. One giant he had turned over to the circus representative for whom he had undertaken the mission, and the other he retained to work around his shop, as Eradicate was getting too old. It was now winter, and there had been quite a fall of snow the day before Mr. Period, the odd moving picture man, called on Tom. There were many big drifts outside the building. Tom had fitted up a well-equipped shop, where he and his father worked on their inventions. Occasionally Ned Newton, or Mr. Damon, would come over to help them, but of late Tom had been so busy on his noiseless motor that he had not had time to even see his friends. "Well, I guess the five minutes have passed, and my mind is made up," thought Tom, as he looked at his watch. "I might as well tell Mr. Period that I can't undertake his commission. In the first place it isn't going to be an easy matter to make an electric moving picture camera. I'd have to spend a lot of time studying up the subject, and then I might not be able to get it to work right. "And, again, I can't spare the time to go to all sorts of wild and impossible places to get the pictures. It's all well enough to talk about getting moving pictures of natives in battle, or wild beasts fighting, or volcanoes in action, but it isn't so easy to do it. Then, too, I'd have to make some changes in my airship if I went on that trip. No, I can't go. I'll tell him he'll have to find some one else." Mr. Period pulled out his watch, opened it quickly, snapped it shut again, and exclaimed: "Well, how about it, Tom Swift? When can you start! The sooner the better for me! You'll want some money for expenses I think. I brought my check book along, also a fountain pen. I'll give you a thousand dollars now, for I know making an electric moving picture camera isn't going to be cheap work. Then, when you get ready to start off in your airship, you'll need more money. I'll be Johnny-on-the-spot all right, and have it ready for you. Now when do you think you can start?" He sat down at a bench, and began filling out a check. "Hold on!" cried Tom, amused in spite of himself. "Don't sign that check, Mr. Period. I'm not going." "Not going?" The man's face showed blank amazement. "No," went on Tom. "I can't spare the time. I'm sorry, but you'll have to get some one else." "Some one else? But who can I get?" "Why, there are plenty who would be glad of the chance." "But they can't invent an electric moving picture camera, and, if they could, they wouldn't know enough to take pictures with it. It's got to be you or no one, Tom Swift. Look here, I'll make it fifteen thousand dollars above expenses." "No, I'm sorry, but I can't go. My work here keeps me too busy. "Oh, pshaw! Now, look here, Tom Swift! Do you know who sent me to see you?" "It was Mr. Nestor, who has a daughter named Mary, I believe. Mr. Nestor is one of the directors in our company, and one day, when he told me about you sending a wireless message from Earthquake Island, I knew you would be the very man for me. So now you see you'll be doing Mr. Nestor a favor, as well as me, if you go on this trip." Tom was somewhat surprised, yet he realized that Mr. Period was speaking the truth. Mr. Nestor was identified with many new enterprises. Yet the youth was firm. "I really can't go," said our hero. "I'd like to, but I can't. I'd like to oblige Mr. Nestor, for--well, for more reasons than one," and Tom blushed slightly. "But it is out of the question. I really can't go." "But you must!" insisted the camera man. "I won't take 'no' for an answer. You've got to go, Tom Swift, do you hear that? You've go to go?" Mr. Period was apparently very much excited. He strode over to Tom and smote his hands together to emphasize what he said. Then he shook his finger at Tom, to impress the importance of the matter on our hero. "You've just got to go!" he cried. "You're the only one who can help me, Tom. Do go! I'll pay you well, and--oh, well, I know you don't need the money, exactly, but--say, you've got to go!" In his earnestness Mr. Period laid his hand on Tom's arm. The next instant something happened. With a few big strides Koku was beside the picture man. With great quickness he grasped Mr. Period by the coat collar, lifted him off his feet with one hand, and walked over to a window with him, easily lifting him above the floor. With one fling the giant tossed the short, stout gentleman out into a snow bank, while Tom looked on, too surprised to do anything, even if he had had the chance. "There. You touch Tom Swift again, and I sit on you and keep you under snow!" cried the giant, while Mr. Period kicked and squirmed about in the drift, as Tom made a leap forward to help him out. CHAPTER III TOM MAKES UP HIS MIND "Great Scott!" yelled the picture man. "What in the world happened to me? Did I get kicked by that mule Boomerang of Eradicate's, that I've heard so much about? Or was it an earthquake, such as I want to get a picture of? What happened?" He was still floundering about in the deep bank of snow that was just outside the window. Fortunately the sash had been up, and Koku had tossed Mr. Period through the open window. Otherwise, had there been glass, the well-meaning, but unreasoning giant would probably have thrown his victim through that, and he might have been badly cut. Tom had the window open for fresh air, as it was rather close in the shop. "Why, Koku!" exclaimed the young inventor, as he leaned out of the window, and extended his hand to the moving picture man to help him out of the drift. "What do you mean by that? Have you gone crazy?" "No, but no one shall lay hands on my master!" declared the giant half savagely. "I have vowed to always protect you from danger, in return for what you did for me. I saw this man lay his hand on you. In another moment he might have killed you, had not Koku been here. There is no danger when I am by," and he stretched out his huge arms, and looked ferocious. "I have turned over that man, your enemy!" he added. "Yes, you overturned me all right," admitted Mr. Period, as he got to his feet, and crawled in through the window to the shop again. "I went head over heels. I'm glad it was clean snow, and not a mud bank, Tom. What in the world is the matter with him?" "I guess he thought you were going to harm me," said Tom in a low voice, as the picture man came in the shop. "Koku is very devoted to me, and sometimes he makes trouble," the youth went on. "But he means it all for the best. I am very sorry for what happened," and Tom aided Mr. Period in brushing the snow off his garments. "Koku, you must beg the pardon of this gentleman," Tom directed. "What for?" the giant wanted to know. "For throwing him into the snow. It is not allowed to do such things in this country, even though it is in Giant Land. Beg his pardon. "I shall not," said the giant calmly, for Tom had taught him to speak fairly good English, though sometimes he got his words backwards. "The man was about to kill you, and I stopped him--I will stop him once more, though if he does not like the snow, I can throw him somewhere else." "No! No! You must not do it!" cried Tom. "He meant no harm. He is my friend." "I am glad to hear you say that," exclaimed the picture man. "I have hopes that you will do what I want." "He your friend?" asked Koku wonderingly. "Certainly; and you must beg his pardon for what you did," insisted Tom. "Very well. I am glad you did not hurt yourself," said the giant, and with that "apology" he stalked out of the room, his feelings evidently very much disturbed. "Ha! Ha!" laughed Mr. Period. "I guess he can't see any one but you, Tom. But never mind. I know he didn't mean anything, and, as I'm none the worse I'll forgive him. My necktie isn't spotted; is it?" "No, the snow didn't seem to do that any harm," replied the young inventor, as he looked at the brilliant piece of red silk around Mr. Period's collar. "I am very particular about my neckties," went on the picture man. "I always wear one color. My friends never forget me then." Tom wondered how they could ever forget him, even though he wore no tie, for his figure and face were such as to not easily be forgotten. "I'm glad it's not soiled," went on "Spotty" as he liked to be called. "Now, Tom, you said you were my friend. Prove it by accepting my offer. Build that wizard camera, and get me some moving pictures that will be a sensation. Say you will!" He looked appealingly at Tom, and, remembering the rather rude and unexpected treatment to which Koku had submitted the gentleman, Tom felt his mind changing. Still he was not yet ready to give in. He rather liked the idea the more he thought of it, but he felt that he had other duties, and much to occupy him at home, especially if he perfected his silent motor. "Will you go?" asked Mr. Period, picking up his fountain pen and check book, that he had laid aside when he walked over to Tom, just before the giant grasped him. "Say you will." The young inventor was silent a moment. He thought over the many adventures he had gone through--in the caves of ice, in the city of gold, escaping from the giants, and the red pygmies--He went over the details of his trips through the air, of the dangers under the seas, of those he had escaped from on Earthquake Island. Surely he was entitled to a little rest at home. And yet there was a lure to it all. A certain fascination that was hard to resist. Mr. Period must have seen what was going on in Tom's mind, for he said: "I know you're going. I can see it. Why, it will be just the very thing you need. You'll get more fame out of this thing than from any of your other inventions. Come, say you'll do it. "I'll tell you what I'll do!" he went on eagerly. "After you make the camera, and take a lot of films, showing strange and wonderful scenes, I'll put at the end of each film, next to my picture, your name, and a statement showing that you took the originals. How's that? Talk about being advertised! Why you can't beat it! Millions of people will read your name at the picture shows every night." "I am not looking for advertisements," said Tom, with a laugh. "Well, then, think of the benefit you will be to science," went on Mr. Period quickly. "Think of the few people who have seen wild animals as they are, of those who have ever seen an earthquake, or a volcano in action. You can go to Japan, and get pictures of earthquakes. They have them on tap there. And as for volcanoes, why the Andes mountains are full of 'em. Think of how many people will be thankful to you for showing them these wonderful scenes." "And think of what might happen if I should take a tumble into a crack in the earth, or down a hot volcano, or fall into a jungle when there was a fight on among the elephants," suggested Tom. "My airship might take a notion to go down when I was doing the photographing," he added. "No. Nothing like that will happen to Tom Swift," was the confident answer of the picture man. "I've read of your doings. You don't have accidents that you can't get the better of. But come, I know you're thinking of it, and I'm sure you'll go. Let me make you out this check, sign a contract which I have all ready, and then get to work on the camera." Tom was silent a moment. Then he said: "Well, I admit that there is something attractive about it. I hoped I was going to stay home for a long time. But--" "Then you'll go!" cried Mr. Period eagerly. "Here's the money," and he quickly filled out a check for Tom's first expenses, holding the slip of paper toward the young inventor. "Wait a minute! Hold on!" cried Tom. "Not so fast if you please. I haven't yet made up my mind." "But you will; won't you?" asked Mr. Period. "Well, I'll make up my mind, one way or the other," replied the young man. "I won't say I'll go, but--" "I'll tell you what I'll do!" interrupted Mr. Period. "I'm a busy man, and every second is worth money to me. But I'll wait for you to make up your mind. I'll give you until to-morrow night. How's that? Fair, isn't it?" "Yes--I think so. I am afraid--" "I'm not!" broke in the picture man. "I know you'll decide to go. Think of the fun and excitement you'll have. Now I've taken up a lot of your time, and I'm going to leave you alone. I'll be back tomorrow evening for my answer. But I know you're going to get those moving pictures for me. Is that giant of yours anywhere about?" he asked, as he looked cautiously around before leaving the shop. "I don't want to fall into his hands again." "I don't blame you," agreed Tom. "I never knew him to act that way before. But I'll go to the gate with you, and Koku will behave himself. I am sorry--" "Don't mention it!" broke in the picture man. "It was worth all I suffered, if you go, and I know you will. Don't trouble yourself to come out. I can find my way, and if your giant comes after me, I'll call for help." He hurried out before Tom could follow, and, hearing the gate click a little later, and no call for help coming, our hero concluded that his visitor had gotten safely away. "Well, what am I going to do about it?" mused Tom, as he resumed work on his silent motor. He had not been long engaged in readjusting some of the valves, when he was again interrupted. This time it was his chum, Ned Newton, who entered, and, as Ned was well known to the giant, nothing happened. "Well, what's up, Tom?" asked Ned. "Why, did you notice anything unusual?" asked Tom. "I saw Koku standing at the gate a while ago, looking down the road at a short stout man, with a red tie. Your giant seemed rather excited about something." "Oh, yes. I'll tell you about it," and Tom related the details of Mr. Period's visit. "Are you going to take his offer?" asked Ned. "I've got until tomorrow to make up my mind. What would you do, Ned?" "Why, I'd take it in a minute, if I knew how to make an electric camera. I suppose it has to be a very speedy one, to take the kind of pictures he wants. Wait, hold on, I've just thought of a joke. It must be a swift camera--catch on--you're Swift, and you make a swift camera; see the point?" "I do," confessed Tom, with a laugh. "Well, Ned, I've been thinking it over, but I can't decide right away. I will tomorrow night, though." "Then I'm coming over, and hear what it is. If you decide to go, maybe you'll take me along." "I certainly will, and Mr. Damon, too." "How about the giant?" "Well, I guess there'll be room for him. But I haven't decided yet. Hand me that wrench over there; will you," and then Tom and Ned began talking about the new apparatus on which the young inventor was working. True to his promise Mr. Period called the next evening. He found Tom, Ned and Mr. Swift in the library, talking over various matters. "Well, Tom, have you made up your mind?" asked the caller, when Mrs. Baggert, the housekeeper, had shown him into the room. "I hope you have, and I hope it is favorable to me." "Yes," said Tom slowly, "I've thought it all over, and I have decided that I will--" At that moment there was a loud shouting outside the house, and the sound of some one running rapidly through the garden that was just outside the low library window--a garden now buried deep under snow. "What's that?" cried Ned, jumping to his feet. "That was Koku's voice," replied Tom, "and I guess he was chasing after some one." "They'll need help if that giant gets hold of them," spoke Mr. Period solemnly, while the noise outside increased in volume. CHAPTER IV HELD FAST "Here, Tom! Come back! Where are you going?" cried aged Mr. Swift, as his son started toward the window. "I'm going to see what's up, and who it is that Koku is chasing," replied the young inventor. As he spoke he opened the window, which went all the way down to the floor. He stepped out on a small balcony, put his hand on the railing, and was about to leap over. Back of him was his father, Mr. Period and Ned. "Come back! You may get hurt!" urged Mr. Swift. He had aged rapidly in the last few months, and had been obliged to give up most of his inventive work. Naturally, he was very nervous about his son. "Don't worry, dad," replied the youth. "I'm not in much danger when Koku is around." "That's right," agreed the moving picture man. "I'd sooner have that giant look after me than half a dozen policemen." The noise had now grown fainter, but the sound of the pursuit could still be heard. Koku was shouting in his hearty tones, and there was the noise of breaking twigs as the chase wound in and out of the garden shrubbery. Tom paused a moment, to let his eyes get somewhat used to the darkness. There was a crescent moon, that gave a little light, and the snow on the ground made it possible to notice objects fairly well. "See anything?" asked Ned, as he joined his chum on the balcony. "No, but I'm going to have a closer look. Here goes!" and Tom leaped to the ground. "I'm with you," added Ned, as he followed. Then came another voice, shouting: "Dat's de way! Catch him! I'se comm', I is! Ef we gits him we'll tie him up, an' let Boomerang walk on him!" "Here comes Eradicate," announced Tom, with a look back toward his chum, and a moment later the aged colored man, who had evidently started on the chase with Koku, but who had been left far behind, swung totteringly around the corner of the house. "Did ye cotch him, Massa Tom?" asked Eradicate. "Did ye cotch de raskil?" "Not yet, Rad. But Koku is after him. Who was he, and what did he do?" "Didn't do nuffin yit, Massa Tom, 'case as how he didn't git no chance," replied the colored man, as he hurried along as rapidly as he could beside the two youths. "Koku and I was too quick for him. Koku an' me was a-sittin' in my shack, sort of talkin' togedder, when we hears a racket neah de chicken house. I'se mighty partial t' de chickens, an' I didn't want nobody t' 'sturb 'em. Koku was jes' de same, an' when we hears dat noise, up we jumps, an' gits t' chasm.' He runned dis way, an' us was arter him, but land lub yo', ole Eradicate ain't so spry as he uster be an' Koku an' de chicken thief got ahead ob me. Leastwise he ain't no chicken thief yit, 'case as how he didn't git in de coop, but he meant t' be one, jes' de same." "Are you sure he was after the chickens?" asked Tom, with quick suspicion in his mind, for, several times of late, unscrupulous persons had tried to enter his shop, to get knowledge of his valuable inventions before they were patented. "Course he were arter de chickens," replied Eradicate. "But he didn't git none." "Come on, Ned!" cried Tom, breaking into a run. "I want to catch whoever this was. Did you see him, Rad?" "Only jes' had a glimpse ob his back." "Well, you go back to the house and tell father and Mr. Period about it. Ned and I will go on with Koku. I hope to get the fellow." "Why, Tom?" asked his chum. "Because I think he was after bigger game than chickens. My noiseless motor, for the new airship, is nearly complete, and it may have been some one trying to get that. I received an offer from a concern the other day, who wished to purchase it, and, when I refused to sell, they seemed rather put out." The two lads raced on, while Eradicate tottered back to the house, where he found Mr. Swift and the picture man awaiting him. "I guess he got away," remarked Ned, after he and his chum had covered nearly the length of the big garden. "I'm afraid so," agreed Tom. "I can't hear Koku any more. Still, I'm not going to give up." Pantingly they ran on, and, a little later, they met the big man coming back. "Did he get away?" asked Tom. "Yes, Mr. Tom, he scaped me all right." "Escaped you mean, Koku. Well, never mind. You did your best." "I would like to have hold of him," spoke the giant, as he stretched out his big arms. "Did you know who he was?" inquired Ned. "No, I couldn't see his face," and he gave the same description of the affair as had Eradicate. "Was it a full grown man, or some one about my size?" Tom wanted to know. "A man," replied the giant. "Why do you ask that?" inquired Ned, as the big fellow went on to resume his talk with Eradicate, and the two chums turned to go into the house, after the fruitless chase. "Because, I thought it might be Andy Foger," was Tom's reply. "It would be just like him, but if it was a man, it couldn't be him. Andy's rather short." "Besides, he doesn't live here any more," said Ned. "I know, but I heard Sam Snedecker, who used to be pretty thick with him, saying the other day that he expected a visit from Andy. I hope he doesn't come back to Shopton, even for a day, for he always tries to make trouble for me. Well, let's go in, and tell 'em all about our chase after a chicken thief." "And so he got away?" remarked Mr. Swift, when Tom had completed his story. "Yes," answered the young inventor, as he closed, and locked, the low library window, for there was a chilly breeze blowing. "I think I will have to rig up the burglar alarm on my shop again. I don't want to take any chances." "Do you remember what we were talking about, when that interruption came?" asked Mr. Period, after a pause. "You were saying, Tom, that you had made up your mind, and that was as far as you got. What is your answer to my offer?" "Well," spoke the lad slowly, and with a smile, "I think I will--" "Now don't say 'no'"; interrupted the picture man. "If you are going to say 'no' take five minutes more, or even ten, and think it over carefully. I want you--" "I wasn't going to say 'no,'" replied Tom. "I have decided to accept your offer, and I'll get right at work on the electrical camera, and see what I can do in the way of getting moving pictures for you." "You will? Say, that's great! That's fine! I knew you would accept, but I was the least bit afraid you might not, without more urging." "Of course," began Tom, "it will take--" "Not another word. Just wait a minute," interrupted Mr. Period in his breezy fashion. "Take this." He quickly filled out a check and handed it to Tom. "Now sign this contract, which merely says that you will do your best to get pictures for me, and that you won't do it for any other concern, and everything will be all right. Sign there," he added, pointing to a dotted line, and thrusting a fountain pen into Tom's hand. The lad read over the agreement, which was fair enough, and signed it, and Ned affixed his name as a witness. "Now when can you go?" asked Mr. Period eagerly. "Not before Spring, I'm afraid," replied Torn. "I have first to make the camera, and then my airship needs overhauling if I am to go on such long trips as will be necessary in case I am to get views of wild beasts in the jungle." "Well, make it as soon as you can," begged Mr. Period. "I can have the films early next Fall then, and they will be in season for the Winter runs at the theatres. Now, I'm the busiest man in the world, and I believe I have lost five hundred dollars by coming here to-night. Still, I don't regret it. I'm going back now, and I'll expect to hear from you when you are ready to start. There's my address. Good-bye," and thrusting a card into Tom's hand he hurried out of the room. "Won't you stop all night?" called Mr. Swift after him. "Sorry. I'd like to but can't. Got a big contract I must close in New York to-morrow morning. I've ordered a special train to be at the Shopton station in half an hour, and I must catch that. Good night!" and Mr. Period hurried away. "Say, he's a hustler all right!" exclaimed Ned. "Yes, and I've got to hustle if I invent that camera," added Tom. "It's got to be a specially fast one, and one that can take pictures from a long distance. Electricity is the thing to use, I guess." "Then you are really going off on this trip. Tom?" asked his father, rather wistfully. "I'm afraid I am," replied his son. "I thought I could stay at home for a while, but it seems not." "I was in hopes you could give me a little time to help me on my gyroscope invention," went on the aged man. "But I suppose it will keep until you come back. It is nearly finished." "Yes, and I don't like stopping work on my noiseless motor," spoke Tom. "But that will have to wait, too." "Do you know where you are going?" inquired Ned. "Well, I'll have to do considerable traveling I suppose to get all the films he wants. But once I'm started I'll like it I guess. Of course you're coming, Ned." "I hope so." "Of course you are!" insisted Tom, as if that settled it. "And I'm sure Mr. Damon will go also. I haven't seen him in some time. I hope he isn't ill." Tom started work on his Wizard Camera, as he called it, the next day--that is he began drawing the designs, and planning how to construct it. Ned helped him, and Koku was on hand in case he was needed, but there was little he could do, as yet. Tom made an inspection of his shop the morning after the chicken thief scare, but nothing seemed to have been disturbed. A week passed, and Tom had all the plans drawn for the camera. He had made several experiments with different forms of electricity for operating the mechanism, and had decided on a small, but very powerful, storage battery to move the film, and take the pictures. This storage battery, which would be inside the camera, would operate it automatically. That is, the camera could be set up any place, in the jungle, or on the desert, it could be left alone, and would take pictures without any one being near it. Tom planned to have it operate at a certain set time, and stop at a certain time, and he could set the dials to make this time any moment of the day or night. For there was to be a powerful light in connection with the camera, in order that night views might be taken. Besides being automatic the camera could be worked by hand. When it was not necessary to have the camera operate by the storage battery, it could be connected to wires and worked by an ordinary set of batteries, or by a dynamo. This was for use on the airship, where there was a big electrical machine. I shall tell you more about the camera as the story proceeds. One afternoon Tom was alone in the shop, for he had sent Koku on an errand, and Eradicate was off in a distant part of the grounds, doing some whitewashing, which was his specialty. Ned had not come over, and Mr. Swift, having gone to see some friends, and Mrs. Baggert being at the store, Tom, at this particular time, was rather isolated. He was conducting some delicate electrical experiments, and to keep the measuring instruments steady he had closed all the windows and doors of his shop. The young inventor was working at a bench in one corner, and near him, standing upright, was a heavy shaft of iron, part of his submarine, wrapped in burlap, and padded, to keep it from rusting. "Now," said Tom to himself, as he mixed two kinds of acid in a jar, to produce a new sort of electrical current, "I will see if this is any better than the first way in which I did it." He was careful about pouring out the powerful stuff, but, in spite of this, he spilled a drop on his finger. It burned like fire, and, instinctively, he jerked his hand back. The next instant there was a series of happenings. Tom's elbow came in contact with another jar of acid, knocking it over, and spilling it into the retort where he had been mixing the first two liquids. There was a hissing sound, as the acids combined, and a thick, white vapor arose, puffing into Tom's face, and making him gasp. He staggered back, brushed against the heavy iron shaft in the corner, and it fell sideways against him, knocking him to the floor, and dropping across his thighs. The padding on it saved him from broken bones, but the shaft was so heavy, that after it was on him, Tom could not move. He was held fast on the floor of his shop, unable to use his legs, and prevented from getting up. For a moment Tom was stunned, and then he called: "Help! Help! Eradicate! Koku! Help!" He waited a moment, but there was only a silence. And then Tom smelled a strange odor--an odor of a choking gas that seemed to smother him. "It's the acids!" he cried. "They're generating gas! And I'm held fast here! The place is closed up tight, and I can't move! Help! Help!" But there was no one at hand to aid Tom, and every moment the fumes of the gas became stronger. Desperately the youth struggled to rid himself of the weight of the shaft, but he could not. And then he felt his senses leaving him, for the powerful gas was making him unconscious. CHAPTER V TOM GETS A WARNING "Bless my shoe buttons!" exclaimed a voice, as a man came toward Tom's shop, a little later. "Bless my very necktie! This is odd. I go to the house, and find no one there. I come out here, and not a soul is about. Tom Swift can't have gone off on another one of his wonderful trips, without sending me word. I know he wouldn't do that. And yet, bless my watch and chain, I can't find any one!" It was Mr. Damon who spoke, as my old readers have already guessed. He peered into one of the shop windows, and saw something like a fog filling the place. "That's strange," he went on. "I don't see Tom there, and yet it looks as if an experiment was going on. I wonder--" Mr. Damon heard some one coming up behind him, and turned to see Koku the giant, who was returning from the errand on which Tom had sent him. "Oh, Koku, it's you; is it?" the odd man asked. "Bless my cuff buttons! Where is Tom?" "In shop I guess." "I don't see him. Still I had better look. There doesn't seem to be any one about." Mr. Damon opened the shop door, and was met by such an outward rush of choking gas that he staggered back. "Bless my--" he began but he had to stop, to cough and gasp. "There must have been some sort of an accident," he cried, as he got his lungs full of fresh air. "A bad accident! Tom could never work in that atmosphere. Whew!" "Accident! What is matter?" cried Koku stepping to the doorway. He, too choked and gasped, but his was such a strong and rugged nature, and his lungs held such a supply of air, that it took more than mere gas to knock him out. He peered in through the wreaths of the acid vapor, and saw the body of his master, lying on the floor--held down by the heavy iron. In another instant Koku had rushed in, holding his breath, for, now that he was inside the place, the gas made even him feel weak. "Come back! Come back!" cried Mr. Damon. "You'll be smothered! Wait until the gas escapes!" "Then Mr. Tom die!" cried the giant. "I get him--or I no come out." With one heave of his powerful right arm, Koku lifted the heavy shaft from Tom's legs. Then, gathering the lad up in his left arm, as if he were a baby, Koku staggered out into the fresh air, almost falling with his burden, as he neared Mr. Damon, for the giant was, well-nigh overcome. "Bless my soul!" cried the odd man. "Is he--is he--" He did not finish the sentence, but, as Koku laid Tom down on the overcoat of Mr. Damon, which the latter quickly spread on the snow, the eccentric man put his hand over the heart of the young inventor. "It beats!" he murmured. "He's alive, but very weak. We must get a doctor at once. I'll do what I can. There's no time to spare. Bless my--" But Mr. Damon concluded that there was no time for blessing anything, and so he stopped short. "Carry him up to the house, Koku," he said. "I know where there are some medicines, and I'll try to revive him while we're waiting for the doctor Hurry!" Tom was laid on a lounge, and, just then, Mrs. Baggert came in. "Telephone for the doctor!" cried Mr. Damon to the housekeeper, who kept her nerve, and did not get excited. "I'll give Tom some ammonia, and other stimulants, and see if I can bring him around. Koku, get me some cold water." The telephone was soon carrying the message to the doctor, who promised to come at once. Koku, in spite of his size, was quick, and soon brought the water, into which Mr. Damon put some strong medicine, that he found in a closet. Tom's eyelids fluttered as the others forced some liquid between his lips. "He's coming around!" cried the eccentric man. "I guess he'll be all right, Koku." "Koku glad," said the giant simply, for he loved Tom with a deep devotion. "Yes, Koku, if it hadn't been for you, though, I don't believe that he would be alive. That was powerful gas, and a few seconds more in there might have meant the end of Tom. I didn't see him lying on the floor, until after you rushed in. Bless my thermometer! It is very strange." They gave Tom more medicine, rubbed his arms and legs, and held ammonia under his nose. Slowly he opened his eyes, and in a faint voice asked: "Where--am--I?" "In your own house," replied Mr. Damon, cheerfully. "How do you feel?" "I'm--all--right--now," said Tom slowly. He, felt his strength coming gradually back, and he remembered what had happened, though he did not yet know how he had been saved. The doctor came in at this moment, with a small medical battery, which completed the restorative work begun by the others. Soon Tom could sit up, though he was still weak and rather sick. "Who brought me out?" he asked, when he had briefly told how the accident occurred. "Koku did," replied Mr. Damon. "I guess none of the rest of us could have lifted the iron shaft from your legs." "It's queer how that fell," said Tom, with a puzzled look on his face. "I didn't hit it hard enough to bring it down. Beside, I had it tied to nails, driven into the wall, to prevent just such an accident as this. I must see about it when I get well." "Not for a couple of days," exclaimed the doctor grimly. "You've got to stay in bed a while yet. You had a narrow escape, Tom Swift." "Well, I'm glad I went to Giant Land," said the young inventor, with a wan smile. "Otherwise I'd never have Koku," and he looked affectionately at the big man, who laughed happily. In nature Koku was much like a child. Mr. Swift came home a little later, and Ned Newton called, both being very much surprised to hear of the accident. As for Eradicate, the poor old colored man was much affected, and would have sat beside Tom's bed all night, had they allowed him. Our hero recovered rapidly, once the fumes of the gas left his system, and, two days later, he was able to go out to the shop again. At his request everything had been left just as it was after he had been brought out. Of course the fumes of the gas were soon dissipated, when the door was opened, and the acids, after mingling and giving off the vapor, had become neutralized, so that they were now harmless. "Now I'm going to see what made that shaft fall," said Tom to Ned, as the two chums walked over to the bench where the young inventor had been working. "The tap I gave it never ought to have brought it down." Together they examined the thin, but strong, cords that had been passed around the shaft, having been fastened to two nails, driven into the wall. "Look!" cried Tom, pointing to one of the cords. "What is it?" asked Ned. "The strands were partly cut through, so that only a little jar was enough to break the remaining ones," went on Tom. "They've been cut with a knife, too, and not frayed by vibration against the nail, as might be the case. Ned, someone has been in my shop, meddling, and he wanted this shaft to fall. This is a trick!" "Great Scott, Tom! You don't suppose any one wanted that shaft to fall on you; do you?" "No, I don't believe that. Probably some one wanted to damage the shaft, or he might have thought it would topple over against the bench, and break some of my tools, instruments or machinery. I do delicate experiments here, and it wouldn't take much of a blow to spoil them. That's why those cords were cut." "Who did it? Do you think Andy Foger--" "No, I think it was the man Koku thought was a chicken thief, and whom we chased the other night. I've got to be on my guard. I wonder if--" Tom was interrupted by the appearance of Koku, who came out of the shop with a letter the postman had just left. "I don't know that writing very well, and yet it looks familiar," said Tom, as he tore open the missive. "Hello, here's more trouble!" he exclaimed as he hastily read it. "What's up now?" asked Ned. "This is from Mr. Period, the picture man," went on the young inventor. "It's a warning." "A warning?" "Yes. He says: "'Dear Tom. Be on your guard. I understand that a rival moving picture concern is after you. They want to make you an offer, and get you away from me. But I trust you. Don't have anything to do with these other fellows. And, at the same time, don't give them a hint as to our plans. Don't tell them anything about your new camera. There is a lot of jealousy and rivalry in this business and they are all after me. They'll probably come to see you, but be on your guard. They know that I have been negotiating with you. Remember the alarm the other night.'" CHAPTER VI TRYING THE CAMERA "Well, what do you think of that?" cried Ned, as his chum finished. "It certainly isn't very pleasant," replied Tom. "I wonder why those chaps can't let me alone? Why don't they invent cameras of their own? Why are they always trying to get my secret inventions?" "I suppose they can't do things for themselves," answered Ned. "And then, again, your machinery always works, Tom, and some that your rivals make, doesn't." "Well, maybe that's it," admitted our hero, as he put away the letter. "I will be on the watch, just as I have been before. I've got the burglar alarm wires adjusted on the shop now, and when these rival moving picture men come after me they'll get a short answer." For several days nothing happened, and Tom and Ned worked hard on the Wizard Camera. It was nearing completion, and they were planning, soon, to give it a test, when, one afternoon, two strangers, in a powerful automobile, came to the Swift homestead. They inquired for Tom, and, as he was out in the shop, with Ned and Koku, and as he often received visitors out there, Mrs. Baggert sent out the two men, who left their car in front of the house. As usual, Tom had the inner door to his shop locked, and when Koku brought in a message that two strangers would like to see the young inventor, Tom remarked: "I guess it's the rival picture men, Ned. We'll see what they have to say." "Which of you is Tom Swift?" asked the elder of the two men, as Tom and Ned entered the front office, for our hero knew better than to admit the strangers to the shop. "I am," replied Tom. "Well, we're men of business," went on the speaker, "and there is no use beating about the bush. I am Mr. Wilson Turbot, and this is my partner, Mr. William Eckert. We are in the business of making moving picture films, and I understand that you are associated with Mr. Period in this line. 'Spotty' we call him." "Yes, I am doing some work for Mr. Period," admitted Tom, cautiously. "Have you done any yet?" "No, but I expect to." "What kind of a camera are you going to use?" asked Mr. Eckert eagerly. "I must decline to answer that," replied Tom, a bit stiffly. "Oh, that's all right," spoke Mr. Turbot, good naturedly. "Only 'Spotty' was bragging that you were making a new kind of film for him, and we wondered if it was on the market." "We are always looking for improvements," added Mr. Eckert. "This camera isn't on the market," replied Tom, on his guard as to how he answered. The two men whispered together for a moment, and then Mr. Turbot said: "Well, as I remarked, we're men of business, and there's no use beating about the bush. We've heard of you, Tom Swift, and we know you can do things. Usually, in this world, every man has his price, and we're willing to pay big to get what we want. I don't know what offer Mr. Period made to you, but I'll say this: We'll give you double what he offered, for the exclusive rights to your camera, whenever it's on the market, and we'll pay you a handsome salary to work for us." "I'm sorry, but I can't consider the offer," replied Tom firmly. "I have given my word to Mr. Period. I have a contract with him, and I cannot break it." "Offer him three times what Period did," said Mr. Eckert, in a hoarse whisper that Tom heard. "It would be useless!" exclaimed our hero. "I wouldn't go back on my word for a hundred times the price I am to get. I am not in this business so much for the money, as I am for the pleasure of it." The men were silent a moment. There were ugly looks on their faces. They looked sharply at Tom and Ned. Then Mr. Eckert said: "You'll regret this, Tom Swift. We are the biggest firm of moving picture promoters in the world. We always get what we want." "You won't get my camera," replied Tom calmly. "I don't know about that!" exclaimed Mr. Turbot, as he made a hasty stride toward Tom, who stood in front of the door leading to the shop--the shop where his camera, almost ready for use, was on a bench. "I guess if we--" "Koku!" suddenly called Tom. The giant stepped into the front office. He had been standing near the door, inside the main shop. Mr. Turbot who had stretched forth his hand, as though to seize Tom, and his companion, who had advanced toward Ned, fairly jumped back in fright at the sight of the big man. "Koku," went on Tom, in even tones, "just show these gentlemen to the front door--and lock it after them," he added significantly, as he turned back into the shop, followed by Ned. "Yes, Mr. Tom," answered the giant, and then, with his big hand, and brawny fist, he gently turned the two men toward the outer door. They were gasping in surprise as they looked at the giant. "You'll be sorry for this, Tom Swift!" exclaimed Mr. Turbot. "You'll regret not having taken our offer. This Period chat is only a small dealer. We can do better by you. You'll regret--" "You'll regret coming here again," snapped Tom, as he closed the door of his shop, leaving Koku to escort the baffled plotters to their auto. Shortly afterward Tom and Ned heard the car puffing away. "Well, they came, just as Mr. Period said they would," spoke Tom, slowly. "Yes, and they went away again!" exclaimed Ned with a laugh. "They had their trip for nothing. Say, did you see how they stared at Koku?" "Yes, he's a helper worth having, in cases like these." Tom wrote a full account of what had happened and sent it to Mr. Period. He received in reply a few words, thanking him for his loyalty, and again warning him to be on his guard. In the meanwhile, work went on rapidly on the Wizard Camera. Briefly described it was a small square box, with a lens projecting from it. Inside, however, was complicated machinery, much too complicated for me to describe. Tom Swift had put in his best work on this wonderful machine. As I have said, it could be worked by a storage battery, by ordinary electric current from a dynamo, or by hand. On top was a new kind of electric light. This was small and compact, but it threw out powerful beams. With the automatic arrangement set, and the light turned on, the camera could be left at a certain place after dark, and whatever went on in front of it would be reproduced on the moving roll of film inside. In the morning the film could be taken out, developed, and the pictures thrown on a screen in the usual way, familiar to all who have been in a moving picture theatre. With the reproducing machines Tom had nothing to do, as they were already perfected. His task had been to make the new-style camera, and it was nearly completed. A number of rolls of films could be packed into the camera, and they could be taken out, or inserted, in daylight. Of course after one film had been made, showing any particular scene any number of films could be made from this "master" one. Just as is done with the ordinary moving picture camera. Tom had an attachment to show when one roll was used, and when another needed inserting. For some time after the visit of the rival moving picture men, Tom was on his guard. Both house and shop were fitted with burglar alarms, but they did not ring. Eradicate and Koku were told to be on watch, but there was nothing for them to do. "Well," remarked Tom to Ned, one afternoon, when they had both worked hard, "I think it's about finished. Of course it needs polishing, and there may be some adjusting to do, but my camera is now ready to take pictures--at least I'm going to give it a test." "Have you the rolls of films?" "Yes, half a dozen of 'em And I'm going to try the hardest test first." "Which one is that?" "The night test. I'm going to place the camera out in the yard, facing my shop. Then you and I, and some of the others, will go out, pass in front of it, do various stunts, and, in the morning we'll develop the films and see what we have." "Why, are you going to leave the camera out, all night?" "Sure. I'm going to give it the hardest kind of a test." "But are you and I going to stay up all night to do stunts in front of it?" "No, indeed. I'm going to let it take what ever pictures happen to come along to be taken after we get through making some special early ones. You see my camera will be a sort of watch dog, only of course it won't catch any one--that is, only their images will be caught on the film. "Oh, I see," exclaimed Ned, and then he helped Tom fix the machine for the test. CHAPTER VII WHAT THE CAMERA CAUGHT "Well, is she working, Tom?" asked our hero's chum, a little later, when they had set the camera up on a box in the garden. It pointed toward the main shop door, and from the machine came a clicking sound. The electric light was glowing. "Yes, it's all ready," replied Tom. "Now just act as if it wasn't there. You walk toward the shop. Do anything you please. Pretend you are coming in to see me on business. Act as if it was daytime. I'll stand here and receive you. Later, I'll get dad out here, Koku and Eradicate. I wish Mr. Period was here to see the test, but perhaps it's just as well for me to make sure it works before he sees it." "All right, Tom, here I come." Ned advanced toward the shop. He tried to act as though the camera was not taking pictures of him, at the rate of several a second, but he forgot himself, and turned to look at the staring lens. Then Tom, with a laugh, advanced to meet him, shaking hands with him. Then the lads indulged in a little skylarking. They threw snowballs at each other, taking care, however to keep within range of the lens. Of course when Tom worked the camera himself, he could point it wherever he wanted to, but it was now automatic. Then the lads went to the shop, and came out again. They did several other things. Later Koku, and Eradicate did some "stunts," as Tom called them. Mr. Swift, too, was snapped, but Mrs. Baggert refused to come out. "Well, I guess that will do for now," said Tom, as he stopped the mechanism. "I've just thought of something," he added. "If I leave the light burning, it will scare away, before they got in front of the lens, any one who might come along. I'll have to change that part of it." "How can you fix it?" asked Ned. "Easily. I'll rig up some flash lights, just ordinary photographing flashlights, you know. I'll time them to go off one after the other, and connect them with an electric wire to the door of my shop." "Then your idea is--" began Ned. "That some rascals may try to enter my shop at night. Not this particular night, but any night. If they come to-night we'll be ready for them." "An' can't yo'-all take a picture ob de chicken coop?" asked Eradicate. "Dat feller may come back t' rob mah hens." "With the lens pointing toward the shop," spoke Tom, "it will also take snap shots of any one who tries to enter the coop. So, if the chicken thief does come, Rad, we'll have a picture of him." Tom and Ned soon had the flashlights in place, and then they went to bed, listening, at times, for the puff that would indicate that the camera was working. But the night passed without incident, rather to Tom's disappointment. However, in the morning, he developed the film of the first pictures taken in the evening. Soon they were dry enough to be used in the moving picture machine, which Tom had bought, and set up in a dark room. "There we are!" he cried, as the first images were thrown on the white screen. "As natural as life, Ned! My camera works all right!" "That's so. Look! There's where I hit you with a snowball!" cried his chum, as the skylarking scene was reached. "Mah goodness!" cried Eradicate, when he saw himself walking about on the screen, as large as life. "Dat shorely am wonderful." "It is spirits!" cried Koku, as he saw himself depicted. "I wish we had some of the other pictures to show," spoke Tom. "I mean some unexpected midnight visitors." For several nights in succession the camera was set to "snap" any one who might try to enter the shop. The flashlights were also in place. Tom and Ned, the latter staying at his chum's house that week, were beginning to think they would have their trouble for their pains. But one night something happened. It was very dark, but the snow on the ground made a sort of glow that relieved the blackness. The camera had been set as usual, and Tom and Ned went to bed. It must have been about midnight when they were both awakened by hearing the burglar alarm go off. At the same time there were several flashes of fire from the garden. "There she goes!" cried Ned. "Yes, they're trying to get into the shed," added Tom, as a glance at the burglar-alarm indicator on the wall of the room, showed that the shop door was being tried. "Come on!" "I'm with you!" yelled Ned. They lost little time getting into their clothes, for they had laid them out in readiness for putting on quickly. Down the stairs they raced, but ere they reached the garden they heard footsteps running along the wall toward the road. "Who's there?" cried Tom, but there was no answer. "Koku! Eradicate!" yelled Ned. "Yais, sah, I'se comm'!" answered the colored man, and the voice of the giant was also heard. The flashlights had ceased popping before this, and when the two lads and their helpers had reached the shop, there was no one in sight. "The camera's there all right!" cried Tom in relief as he picked it up from the box. "Now to see what it caught. Did you see anything of the fellows, Koku, or Eradicate?" Both said they had not, but Eradicate, after examining the chicken house door by the aid of a lighted match, cried out: "Somebody's been tryin' t' git in heah, Massa Tom. I kin see where de do's been scratched." "Well, maybe we'll have the picture for you to look at in the morning," said Tom. The films were developed in the usual way in the morning, but the pictures were so small that Tom could not make out the features or forms of the men. And it was plain that at least three men had been around the coop and shop. By the use of alcohol and an electric fan Tom soon had the films dry enough to use. Then the moving picture machine was set up in a dark room, and all gathered to see what would be thrown on the screen, greatly enlarged. First came several brilliant flashes of light, and then, as the entrance to the shop loomed into view, a dark figure seemed to walk across the canvas. But it did not stop at the shop door. Instead it went to the chicken coop, and, as the man reached that door, he began working to get it open. Of course it had all taken place in a few seconds, for, as soon as the flashlights went off, the intruders had run away. But they had been there long enough to have their pictures taken. The man at the chicken coop turned around as the lights flashed, and he was looking squarely at the camera. Of course this made his face very plain to the audience, as Tom turned the crank of the reproducing machine. "Why, it's a colored man!" cried Ned in surprise. "Yes, I guess it's only an ordinary chicken thief, after all," remarked Tom. There was a gasp from Eradicate. "Fo' de land sakes!" he cried. "De raskil! Ef dat ain't mah own second cousin, what libs down by de ribber! An' to t'ink dat Samuel 'Rastus Washington Jackson Johnson, mah own second cousin, should try t' rob mah chicken coop! Oh, won't I gib it t' him!" "Are you sure, Rad?" asked Tom. "Suah? Sartin I'se suah, Massa Tom," was the answer as the startled colored man on the screen stared at the small audience. "I'd know dat face ob his'n anywhere." "Well, I guess he's the only one we caught last night," said Tom, as the disappointed chicken thief ran away, and so out of focus. But the next instant there came another series of flashlight explosions on the screen, and there, almost as plainly as if our friends were looking at them, they saw two men stealthily approaching the shop. They, too, as the chicken thief had done, tried the door, and then, they also, startled by the flashes, turned around. "Look!" cried Ned. "Great Scott!" exclaimed Tom. "Those are the two rivals of Mr. Period! They are Mr. Turbot and Mr. Eckert!" "Same men I pushed out!" cried Koku, much excited. There was no doubt of it, and, as the images faded from the screen, caused by the men running away, Tom and Ned realized that their rivals had tried to put their threat into execution--the threat of making Tom wish he had taken their offer. "I guess they came to take my camera,--but, instead the camera took them," said the young inventor grimly. CHAPTER VIII PHOTOS FROM THE AIRSHIP "Well, Tom, how is it going?" asked a voice at the door of the shop where the young inventor was working. He looked up quickly to behold Mr. Nestor, father of Mary, in which young lady, as I have said, Tom was much interested. "How is the moving picture camera coming on?" "Pretty good, Mr. Nestor. Come in. I guess Koku knew you all right. I told him to let in any of my friends, but I have to keep him there on guard." "So I understand. They nearly got in the other night, but I hear that your camera caught them." "Yes, that proved that the machine is a success, even if we didn't succeed in arresting the men." "Did you try?" "Yes, I sent copies of the film, showing Turbot and Eckert trying to break into my shop, to Mr. Period, and he had enlarged photographs made, and went to the police. They said it was rather flimsy evidence on which to arrest anybody, and so they didn't act. However, we sent copies of the pictures to Turbot and Eckert themselves, so they know that we know they were here, and I guess they'll steer clear of me after this." "I guess so, Tom," agreed Mr. Nestor with a laugh. "But what about the chicken thief?" "Oh, Eradicate attended to his second cousin. He went to see him, showed him a print from the film, and gave him to understand that he'd be blown up with dynamite, or kicked by Boomerang, if he ever came around here again, and so Samuel 'Rastus Washington Jackson Johnson will be careful about visiting strange chicken coops, after this." "I believe you, Tom. But how is the camera coming on?" "Very well. I am making a few changes in it, and I expect to get my biggest airship in readiness for the trip in about a week, and then I'll try taking pictures from her. But I understand that you are interested in Mr. Period's business, Mr. Nestor?" "Yes, I own some stock in the company, and, Tom, that's what I came over to see you about. I need a vacation. Mary and her mother are going away this Spring for a long visit, and I was wondering if you couldn't take me with you on the trips you will make to get moving pictures for our concern." "Of course I can, Mr. Nestor. I'll be glad to do it." "And there is another thing, Tom," went on Mr. Nestor, soberly. "I've got a good deal of my fortune tied up in this moving picture affair. I want to see you win out--I don't want our rivals to get ahead of us." "They shan't get ahead of us." "You see, Tom, it's this way. There is a bitter fight on between our concern and that controlled by our rivals. Each is trying to get the business of a large chain of moving picture theatres throughout the United States. These theatre men are watching us both, and the contracts for next season will go to the concern showing the best line of films. If our rivals get ahead of us--well, it will just about ruin our company,--and about ruin me too, I guess." "I shall do my very best," answered our hero. "Is Mr. Damon going along?" "Well, I have just written to ask him. I sent the letter yesterday. "Doesn't he know what you contemplate?" "Not exactly. You see when he came, that time I was overcome by the fumes from the acids, everything was so upset that I didn't get a chance to tell him. He's been away on business ever since, but returned yesterday. I certainly hope that he goes with us. Ned Newton is coming, and with you, and Koku and myself, it will be a nicer party." "Then you are going to take Koku?" "I think I will. I'm a little worried about what these rival moving picture men might do, and if I get into trouble with them, my giant helper would come in very useful, to pick one up and throw him over a tree top, for instance." "Indeed, yes," agreed Mr. Nestor, with a laugh. "But I hope nothing like that happens." "Nothing like that happens?" suddenly asked a voice. "Bless my bookcase! but there always seems to be something going on here. What's up now, Tom Swift?" "Nothing much, Mr. Damon," replied our hero, as he recognized his odd friend. "We were just talking about moving pictures, Mr. Damon, and about you. Did you get my letter?" "I did, Tom." "And are you going with us?" "Tom, did you ever know me to refuse an invitation from you? I guess not! Of course I'm going. But, for mercy sakes, don't tell my wife! She mustn't know about it until the last minute, and then she'll be so surprised, when I tell her, that she won't think of objecting. Don't let her know." Tom laughed, and promised, and then the three began talking of the prospective trip. After a bit Ned Newton joined the party. Tom showed the two men how his new camera worked. He had made several improvements on it since the first pictures were taken, and now it was almost perfect. Mr. Period had been out to see it work, and said it was just the apparatus needed. "You can get films with that machine," he said, "that will be better than any pictures ever thrown on a screen. My fortune will be made, Tom, and yours too, if you can only get pictures that are out of the ordinary. There will be some hair-raising work, I expect, but you can do it." "I'll try," spoke Tom. "I have--" "Hold on! I know what you are going to say," interrupted Mr. Period. "You are going to say that you've gone through some strenuous times already. I know you have, but you're going to have more soon. I think I'll send you to India first." "To India!" exclaimed Tom, for Mr. Period had spoken of that as if it was but a journey downtown. "Yes, India. I want a picture of an elephant drive, and if you can get pictures of the big beasts in a stampede, so much the better. Then, too, the Durbar is on now, and that will make a good film. How soon can you start for Calcutta?" "Well, I've got to overhaul the airship," said Tom. "That will take about three weeks. The camera is practically finished. I can leave in a month, I guess." "Good. We'll have fine weather by that time. Are you going all the way by your airship?" "No, I think it will be best to take that apart, ship it by steamer, and go that way ourselves. I can put the airship together in India, and then use it to get to any other part of Europe, Asia or Africa you happen to want pictures from." "Good! Well, get to work now, and I'll see you again." In the days that followed, Tom and Ned were kept busy. There was considerable to do on the airship, in the way of overhauling it. This craft was Tom's largest, and was almost like the one in which he had gone to the caves of ice, where it was wrecked. It had been, however, much improved. The craft was a sort of combined dirigible balloon, and aeroplane, and could be used as either. There was a machine on board for generating gas, to use in the balloon part of it, and the ship, which was named the Flyer, could carry several persons. "Bless my shoe laces!" cried Mr. Damon one day as he looked at Koku. "If we take him along in the airship, will we be able to float, Tom?" "Oh, yes. The airship is plenty big enough. Besides, we are not going to take along a very large party, and the camera is not heavy. Oh, we'll be all right. I suppose you'll be on hand to-morrow, Mr. Damon?" "To-morrow? What for?" "We're going to take the picture machine up in the airship, and get some photos from the sky. I expect to make some films from high in the air, as well as some in the regular way, on the ground, and I want a little practice. Come around about two o'clock, and we'll have a trial flight." "All right. I will. But don't let my wife know I'm going up in an airship again. She's read of so many accidents lately, that she's nervous about having me take a trip." "Oh, I won't tell," promised Tom with a laugh, and he worked away harder than ever, for there were many little details to perfect. The weather was now getting warm, as there was an early spring, and it was pleasant out of doors. The moving picture camera was gotten in readiness. Extra rolls of films were on hand, and the big airship, in which they were to go up, for their first test of taking pictures from high in the air, had been wheeled out of the shed. "Are you going up very far?" asked Mr. Nestor of Tom, and the young inventor thought that Mary's father was a trifle nervous. He had not made many flights, and then only a little way above the ground, with Tom. "Not very high," replied our hero. "You see I want to get pictures that will be large, and if I'm too far away I can't do it." "Glad to hear it," replied Mr. Nestor, with a note of relief in his voice. "Though I suppose to fall a thousand feet isn't much different from falling a hundred when you consider the results." "Not much," admitted Tom frankly. "Bless my feather bed!" cried Mr. Damon. "Please don't talk of falling, when we're going up in an airship. It makes me nervous." "We'll not fall!" declared Tom confidently. Mr. Period sent his regrets, that he could not be present at the trial, stating in his letter that he was the busiest man in the world, and that his time was worth about a dollar a minute just at present. He, however, wished Tom all success. Tom's first effort was to sail along, with the lens of the camera pointed straight toward the earth. He would thus get, if successful, a picture that, when thrown on the screen, would give the spectators the idea that they were looking down from a moving balloon. For that reason Tom was not going to fly very high, as he wanted to get all the details possible. "All aboard!" cried the young inventor, when he had seen to it that his airship was in readiness for a flight. The camera had been put aboard, and the lens pointed toward earth through a hole in the main cabin floor. All who were expected to make the trip with Tom were on hand, Koku taking the place of Eradicate this time, as the colored man was too aged and feeble to go along. "All ready?" asked Ned, who stood in the steering tower, with his hand on the starting lever, while Tom was at the camera to see that it worked properly. "All ready," answered the young inventor, and, an instant later, they shot upward, as the big propellers whizzed around. Tom at once started the camera to taking pictures rapidly, as he wanted the future audience to get a perfect idea of how it looked to go up in a balloon, leaving the earth behind. Then as the Flyer moved swiftly over woods and fields, Tom moved the lens from side to side, to get different views. "Say! This is great!" cried Mr. Nestor, to whom air-riding was much of a novelty. "Are you getting good pictures, Tom?" "I can't tell until we develop them. But the machine seems to be working all right. I'm going to sail back now, and get some views of our own house from up above." They had sailed around the town of Shopton, to the neighboring villages, over woods and fields. Now they were approaching Shopton again. "Bless my heart!" suddenly exclaimed Mr. Damon, who was looking toward the earth, as they neared Tom's house. "What is it?" asked our hero, glancing up from the picture machine, the registering dial of which he was examining. "Look there! At your shop, Tom! There seems to be a lot of smoke coming from it!" They were almost over Tom's shop now, and, as Mr. Damon had said, there was considerable smoke rolling above it. "I guess Eradicate is burning up papers and trash," was Ned's opinion. Tom looked to where the camera pointed, he was right over his shop now, and could see a dense vapor issuing from the door. "That isn't Eradicate!" cried the young inventor. "My shop is on fire! I've got to make a quick drop, and save it! There are a lot of valuable models, and machines in there! Send us down, Ned, as fast as she'll go!" CHAPTER IX OFF FOR INDIA "Bless my hose reel!" cried Mr. Damon, as the airship took a quick lurch toward the earth. "Things are always happening to you, Tom Swift! Your shop on fire! How did it happen?" "Look!" suddenly cried Ned, before Tom had a chance to answer. "There's a man running away from the shop, Tom!" All saw him, and, as the airship rushed downward it could be seen that he was a fellow dressed in ragged garments, a veritable tramp. "I guess that fire didn't happen," said Tom significantly. "It was deliberately set. Oh, if we can only get there before it gains too much headway!" "I like to catch that fellow!" exclaimed Koku, shaking his big fist at the retreating tramp. "I fix him!" On rushed the airship, and the man who had probably started the fire, glanced up at it. Tom suddenly turned the lens of his Wizard Camera toward him. The mechanism inside, which had been stopped, started clicking again, as the young inventor switched on the electric current. "What are you doing?" cried Ned, as he guided the airship toward the shop, whence clouds of smoke were rolling. "Taking his picture," replied Tom. "It may come in useful for evidence." But he was not able to get many views of the fellow, for the latter must have suspected what was going on. He quickly made a dive for the bushes, and was soon lost to sight. Tom shut off his camera. "Bless my life preserver!" cried Mr. Damon. "There comes your father, Tom, and Mrs. Baggert! They've got buckets! They're going to put out the fire!" "Why don't they think to use the hose?" cried the young inventor, for he had his shop equipped with many hose lines, and an electrically driven pump. "The hose! The hose, dad!" shouted Tom, but it is doubtful if his father or Mrs. Baggert heard him, for the engine of the airship was making much noise. However, the two with the buckets looked up, and waved their hands to those on the Flyer. "There's Eradicate!" yelled Ned. "He's got the hose all right!" The colored man was beginning to unreel a line. "That's what it needs!" exclaimed Tom. "Now there's some chance to save the shop." "We'll be there ourselves to take a hand in a few seconds!" cried Mr. Damon, forgetting to bless anything. "The scoundrel who started this fire, and those back of him, ought to be imprisoned for life!" declared Mr. Nestor. A moment later Ned had landed the airship within a short distance of the shop. In an instant the occupants of the craft had leaped out, and Tom, after a hasty glance to see that his valuable camera was safe, dashed toward the building crying: "Never mind the pails, dad! Use the hose! there's a nozzle at the back door. Go around there, and play the water on from that end." Eradicate, with his line of hose, had disappeared into the shop through the front door, and the others pressed in after him, heedless of the dense smoke. "Is it blazing much, Rad?" cried Tom. "Can't see no blaze at all, Massa Tom," replied the colored man. "Dere's a heap of suffin in de middle ob de flo', an' dat's what's raisin' all de rumpus." They all saw it a moment later, a smoldering heap of rags and paper on the concrete floor of the shop. Eradicate turned his hose on it, there was a hissing sound, a cloud of steam arose, and the fire was practically out, though much smoke remained. "Jove! that was a lucky escape!" exclaimed Tom, as he looked around when the vapor had partly cleared away. "No damage done at all, as far as I can see. I wonder what the game was? Did you see anything of a tramp around here?" he asked of his father. "No, Tom. I have been busy in the house. So has Mrs. Baggert. Suddenly she called my attention to the smoke coming from the door, and we ran out." "I seen it, too," added Eradicate. "I was doin' some whitewashin', an' I run up as soon as I could." "We saw the tramp all right, but he got away," said Tom, and he told how he had taken pictures of him. "I don't believe it would be much use to look for him now, though." "Me look," spoke Koku significantly, as he hurried off in the direction taken by the tramp. He came back later, not having found him. "What do you think of it, Tom?" asked Ned, when the excitement had calmed down, and the pile of burned rags had been removed. It was found that oil and chemicals had been put on them to cause a dense smoke. "I think it was the work of those fellows who are after my camera," replied the young inventor. "They are evidently watching me, and when they saw us all go off in the airship they thought probably that the coast was clear." "But why should they start a fire?" "I don't know, but probably to create a lot of smoke, and excitement, so that they could search, and not be detected. Maybe the fellow after he found that the camera was gone, wanted to draw those in the house out to the shop, so he could have a clear field to search in my room for any drawings that would give him a clew as to how my machine works. They certainly did not want to burn the shop, for that pile of rags could have smoldered all day on the concrete floor, without doing any harm. Robbery was the motive, I think." "The police ought to be notified," declared Mr. Nestor. "Develop those pictures, Tom, and I'll take the matter up with the police. Maybe they can identify the tramp from the photographs." But this proved impossible. Tom had secured several good films, not only in the first views he took, giving the spectators the impression that they were going up in an airship, but also those showing the shop on fire, and the tramp running away, were very plain. The police made a search for the incendiary, but of course did not find him. Mr. Period came to Shopton, and declared it was his belief that his rivals, Turbot and Eckert, had had a hand in the matter. But it was only a suspicion, though Tom himself believed the same thing. Still nothing could be accomplished. "The thing to do, now that the camera works all right, is for you to hit the trail for India at once," suggested the picture man. "They won't follow you there. Get me some pictures of the Durbar, of elephants being captured, of tiger fights, anything exciting." "I'll do my--" began Tom. "Wait, I'm not through," interrupted the excitable man. "Then go get some volcanoes, earthquakes--anything that you think would be interesting. I'll keep in touch with you, and cable occasionally. Get all the films you can. When will you start?" "I can leave inside of two weeks," replied Tom. "Then do it, and, meanwhile, be on your guard." It was found that a few changes were needed on the camera, and some adjustments to the airship. Another trial flight was made, and some excellent pictures taken. Then Tom and his friends prepared to take the airship apart, and pack it for shipment to Calcutta. It was to go on the same steamer as themselves, and of course the Wizard Camera would accompany Tom. He took along many rolls of films, enough, he thought, for many views. He was also to send back to Mr. Period from time to time, the exposed rolls of film, so they could be developed, and printed in the United States, as Tom would not have very good facilities for this on the airship, and to reproduce them there was almost out of the question. Still he did fit up a small dark room aboard the Flyer, where he could develop pictures if he wished. There was much to be done, but hard work accomplished it, and finally the party was ready to start for India. Tom said good-bye to Mary Nestor, of course, and her father accompanied our hero from the Nestor house to the Swift homestead, where the start was to take place. Eradicate bade his master a tearful good-bye, and there was moisture in the eyes of Mr. Swift, as he shook hands with his son. "Take care of yourself, Tom," he said. "Don't run too many risks. This moving picture taking isn't as easy as it sounds. It's more than just pointing your camera at things. Write if you get a chance, or send me a message." Tom promised, and then bade farewell to Mrs. Baggert. All were assembled, Koku, Mr. Damon, who blessed everything he saw, and some things he did not, Ned, Mr. Nestor and Tom. The five were to go by train to New York, there to go aboard the steamer. Their journey to the metropolis was uneventful. Mr. Period met them at the steamship dock, after Tom had seen to it that the baggage, and the parts of the airship were safely aboard. "I wish I were going along!" exclaimed the picture man. "It's going to be a great trip. But I can't spare the time. I'm the busiest man in the world. I lose about a thousand dollars just coming down to see you off, but it's a good investment. I don't mind it. Now, Tom, good luck, and don't forget, I want exciting views." "I'll try--" began our hero. "Wait, I know what you're going to say!" interrupted Mr. Period. "You'll do it, of course. Well, I must be going. I will-- Great Scott!" and Mr. Period interrupted himself. "He has the nerve to come here!" "Who?" asked Tom. "Wilson Turbot, the rascal! He's trying to balk me at the last minute, I believe. I'm going to see what he means!" and with this, the excited Mr. Period rushed down the gangplank, toward the man at whom he had pointed--one of the men who had tried to buy Tom's picture taking camera. A moment later the steamer's whistle blew, the last belated passenger rushed up the gangplank, it was drawn in, and the vessel began to move away from the dock. Tom and his friends were on their way to India, and the last glimpse they had of Mr. Period was as he was chasing along the pier, after Mr. Turbot. CHAPTER X UNEXPECTED EXCITEMENT "Well, what do you know about that, Tom?" asked Ned, as they stood on deck watching the chase. "Isn't he the greatest ever--Mr. Period, I mean?" "He certainly is. I'd like to see what happens when he catches that Turbot chap." "Bless my pocket handkerchief!" cried Mr. Damon. "I don't believe he will. Mr. Period's legs aren't long enough for fast running." "Those scoundrels were after us, up to the last minute," spoke Mr. Nestor, as the ship moved farther out from the dock. Tom and his friends could no longer see the excitable picture man after his rival, but there was a commotion in the crowd, and it seemed as if he had caught the fellow. "Well, we're free of him now," spoke the young inventor, with a breath of relief. "That is, unless they have set some one else on our trail," and he looked carefully at the passengers near him, to detect, if possible, any who might look like spies in the pay of the rival moving picture concern, or any suspicious characters who might try to steal the valuable camera, that was now safely locked in Tom's cabin. Our hero, however, saw no one to worry about. He resolved to remain on his guard. Friends and relatives were waving farewells to one another, and the band was playing, as the big vessel drew out into the North, or Hudson, river, and steamed for the open sea. Little of interest marked the first week of the voyage. All save Koku had done much traveling before, and it was no novelty to them. The giant, however, was amused and delighted with everything, even the most commonplace things he saw. He was a source of wonder to all the other passengers, and, in a way, he furnished much excitement. One day several of the sailors were on deck, shifting one of the heavy anchors. They went about it in their usual way, all taking hold, and "heaving" together with a "chanty," or song, to enliven their work. But they did not make much progress, and one of the mates got rather excited about it. "Here, shiver my timbers!" he cried. "Lively now! Lay about you, and get that over to the side!" "Yo! Heave! Ho!" called the leader of the sailor gang. The anchor did not move, for it had either caught on some projection, or the men were not using their strength. "Lively! Lively!" cried the mate. Suddenly Koku, who was in the crowd of passengers watching the work, pushed his way to where the anchor lay. With a powerful, but not rough action, he shoved the sailors aside. Then, stooping over, he took a firm grip of the big piece of iron, planted his feet well apart on the deck, and lifted the immense mass in his arms. There was a round of applause from the group of passengers. "Where you want him?" Koku calmly asked of the mate, as he stood holding the anchor. "Blast my marlin spikes!" cried the mate. "I never see the like of this afore! Put her over there, shipmate. If I had you on a voyage or two you'd be running the ship, instead of letting the screw push her along. Put her over there," and he indicated where he wanted the anchor. Koku calmly walked along the deck, laid the anchor down as if it was an ordinary weight, and passed over to where Tom stood looking on in amused silence. There were murmurs of surprise from the passengers at the giant's strength, and the sailors went forward much abashed. "Say, I'd give a good bit to have a bodyguard like that," exclaimed a well-known millionaire passenger, who, it was reported, was in constant fear of attacks, though they had never taken place. "I wonder if I could get him." He spoke to Tom about it, but our hero would not listen to a proposition to part with Koku. Besides, it is doubtful if the simple giant would leave the lad who had brought him away from his South American home. But, if Koku was wonderfully strong, and, seemingly afraid of nothing, there were certain things he feared. One afternoon, for the amusement of the passengers, a net was put overboard, sunk to a considerable depth, and hauled up with a number of fishes in it. Some of the finny specimens were good for eating, and others were freaks, strange and curious. Koku was in the throng that gathered on deck to look at the haul. Suddenly a small fish, but very hideous to look at, leaped from the net and flopped toward the giant. With a scream of fear Koku jumped to one side, and ran down to his stateroom. He could not be induced to come on deck until Tom assured him that the fishes had been disposed of. Thus Koku was a mixture of giant and baby. But he was a general favorite on the ship, and often gave exhibitions of his strength. Meanwhile Tom and his friends had been on the lookout for any one who might be trailing them. But they saw no suspicious characters among the passengers, and, gradually, they began to feel that they had left their enemies behind. The weather was pleasant, and the voyage very enjoyable. Tom and the others had little to do, and they were getting rather impatient for the time to come when they could put the airship together, and sail off over the jungle, to get moving pictures of the elephants. "Have you any films in the camera now?" asked Ned of his chum on day, as they sat on deck together. "Yes, it's all ready for instant use. Even the storage battery is charged. Why?" "Oh, I was just wondering. I was thinking we might somehow see something we could take pictures of." "Not much out here," said Tom, as he looked across the watery expanse. As he did so, he saw a haze of smoke dead ahead. "We'll pass a steamer soon," he went on, "but that wouldn't make a good picture. It's too common." As the two lads watched, the smoke became blacker, and the cloud it formed grew much larger. "They're burning a lot of coal on that ship," remarked Ned. "Must be trying for a speed record." A little later a sailor stationed himself in the crow's nest, and focused a telescope on the smoke. An officer, on deck, seemed to be waiting for a report from the man aloft. "That's rather odd," remarked Ned. "I never knew them to take so much interest in a passing steamer before; and we've gone by several of late." "That's right," agreed Tom. "I wonder--" At that moment the officer, looking up, called out: "Main top!" "Aye, aye, sir," answered the sailor with the glass. "She's a small steamer, sir, and she's on fire!" "That's what I feared. Come down. I'll tell the captain. We must crowd on all steam, and go to the rescue." "Did you hear that?" cried Ned to Tom, as the officer hurried to the bridge, where the captain awaited him. "A steamer on fire at sea, Tom! why don't you--" "I'm going to!" interrupted the young inventor, as he started for his cabin on the run. "I'm going to get some moving pictures of the rescue! That will be a film worth having." A moment later the Belchar, the vessel on which our friends had embarked, increased her speed, while sudden excitement developed on board. As the Belchar approached the burning steamer, which had evidently seen her, and was making all speed toward her, the cloud of smoke became more dense, and a dull flame could be seen reflected in the water. "She's going fast!" cried Mr. Nestor, as he joined Ned on deck. "Bless my insurance policy!" cried Mr. Damon. "What a strange happening! Where's Tom Swift?" "Gone for his camera," answered his chum. "He's going to get some pictures of the rescue." "All hands man the life boats!" cried an officer, and several sailors sprang to the davits, ready to lower the boats, when the steamers should be near enough together. Up on deck came Tom, with his wonderful camera. "Here you go, Ned!" he called. "Give me a hand. I'm going to start the film now." CHAPTER XI AN ELEPHANT STAMPEDE "Lower away!" "Stand by the life boats!" "Let go! Pull hearty!" These and other commands marked the beginning of the rescue, as the sailors manned the davit-falls, and put the boats into the water. The burning steamer had now come to a stop, not far away from the Belchar, which was also lay-to. There was scarcely any sea running, and no wind, so that the work of rescuing was not difficult from an ordinary standpoint. But there was grave danger, because the fire on the doomed vessel was gaining rapidly. "That's oil burning," remarked an officer, and it seemed so, from the dense clouds of smoke that rolled upward. "Is she working, Tom?" asked Ned, as he helped his chum to hold the wonderful camera steady on the rail, so that a good view of the burning steamer could be had. "Yes, the film is running. Say, I wonder if they'll get 'em all off?" "Oh, I think so. There aren't many passengers. I guess it's a tramp freighter." They could look across the gap of water, and see the terrified passengers and crew crowding to the rail, holding out their hands appealingly to the brave sailors who were lustily and rapidly, pulling toward them in life boats. At times a swirl of smoke would hide those on the doomed vessel from the sight of the passengers on the Belchar, and on such occasions the frightened screams of women could be heard. Once, as the smoke cleared away, a woman, with a child in her arms, giving a backward glance toward the flames that were now enveloping the stern of the vessel, attempted to leap overboard. Many hands caught her, however, and all this was registered on the film of Tom's camera, which was working automatically. As the two vessels drifted along, Tom and Ned shifted the lens so as to keep the burning steamer, and the approaching lifeboats, in focus. "There's the first rescue!" cried Ned, as the woman who had attempted to leap overboard, was, with her child, carefully lowered into a boat. "Did you get that, Tom?" "I certainly did. This will make a good picture. I think I'll send it back to Mr. Period as soon as we reach port." "Maybe you could develop it on board here, and show it. I understand there's a dark room, and the captain said one of his officers, who used to be in the moving picture business, had a reproducing machine." "Then that's what I'll do!" cried Tom. "I'll have our captain charge all the Belchar passengers admission, and we'll get up a fund for the fire sufferers. They'll probably lose all their baggage." "That will be great!" exclaimed Ned. The rescue was now in full swing, and, in a short time all the passengers and crew had been transferred to the life boats. Tom got a good picture of the captain of the burning steamer being the last to leave his vessel. Then the approaching life boats, with their loads of sailors, and rescued ones, were caught on the films. "Are you all off?" cried the captain of the Belchar to the unfortunate skipper of the doomed ship. "All off, yes, thank you. It is a mercy you were at hand. I have a cargo of oil. You had better stand off, for she'll explode in a few minutes." "I must get a picture of that!" declared Tom as the Belchar got under way again. "That will cap the climax, and make a film that will be hard to beat." A few moments later there was a tremendous explosion on the tramp oiler. A column of wreckage and black smoke shot skyward, and Tom secured a fine view of it. Then the wreck disappeared beneath the waves, while the rescuing steamer sailed on, with those who had been saved. They had brought off only the things they wore, for the fire had occurred suddenly, and spread rapidly. Kind persons aboard the Belchar looked after the unfortunates. Luckily there was not a large passenger list on the tramp. And the crew was comparatively small, so it was not hard work to make room for them, or take care of them, aboard the Belchar. Tom developed his pictures, and produced them in one of the large saloons, on a machine he borrowed from the man of whom Ned had spoken. A dollar admission was charged, and the crowd was so large that Tom had to give two performances. The films, showing the burning steamer and the rescue, were excellent, and enough money was realized to aid, most substantially, the unfortunate passengers and crew. A few days later a New York bound steamer was spoken, and on it Tom sent the roll of developed films to Mr. Period, with a letter of explanation. I will not give all the details of the rest of the voyage. Sufficient to say that no accidents marred it, nor did Tom discover any suspicious characters aboard. In due time our friends arrived at Calcutta, and were met by an agent of Mr. Period, for he had men in all quarters of the world, making films for him. This agent took Tom and his party to a hotel, and arranged to have the airship parts sent to a large open shed, not far away, where it could be put together. The wonderful scenes in the Indian city interested Tom and his companions for a time, but they had observed so many strange sights from time to time that they did not marvel greatly. Koku, however, was much delighted. He was like a child. "What are you going to do first?" asked Ned, when they had recovered from the fatigue of the ocean voyage and had settled themselves in the hotel. "Put the airship together," replied our hero, "and then, after getting some Durbar pictures, we'll head for the jungle. I want to get some elephant pictures, showing the big beasts being captured." Mr. Period's agent was a great help to them in this. He secured native helpers, who aided Tom in assembling the airship, and in a week or two it was ready for a flight. The wonderful camera, too, was looked over, and the picture agent said he had never seen a better one. "It can take the kind of pictures I never could," he said. "I get Calcutta street scenes for Mr. Period, and occasionally I strike a good one. But I wish I had your chance." Tom invited him to come along in the airship, but the agent, who only looked after Mr. Period's interests as a side issue, could not leave his work. The airship was ready for a flight, stores and provisions had been put on board, there was enough gasoline for the motor, and gas for the balloon bag, to carry the Flyer thousands of miles. The moving picture camera had been tested after the sea voyage, and had been found to work perfectly. Many rolls of films were taken along. Tom got some fine views of the Durbar of India, and his airship created a great sensation. "Now I guess we're all ready for the elephants," said Tom one day as he came back from an inspection of the airship as it rested in the big shed. "We'll start to-morrow morning, and head for the jungle." Amid the cries from a throng of wondering and awed natives, and with the farewells of Mr. Period's agent ringing in their ears, Tom and his party made an early start. The Flyer rose like a bird, and shot across the city, while on the house tops many people watched the strange sight. Tom did not start his camera working, as Mr. Period's agent said he had made many pictures of the Indian city, and even one taken from an airship, would not be much of a novelty. Tom had made inquiries, and learned that by a day's travel in his airship (though it would have been much longer ordinarily) he could reach a jungle where elephants might be found. Of course there was nothing certain about it, as the big animals roamed all over, being in one district one day, and on the next, many miles off. Gradually the city was left behind, and some time later the airship was sailing along over the jungle. After the start, when Ned and Tom, with Mr. Damon helping occasionally, had gotten the machinery into proper adjustment, the Flyer almost ran herself. Then Tom took his station forward, with his camera in readiness, and a powerful spyglass at hand, so that he might see the elephants from a distance. He had been told that, somewhere in the district for which he was headed, an elephant drive was contemplated. He hoped to be on hand to get pictures of it, and so sent his airship ahead at top speed. On and on they rode, being as much at ease in the air as they would have been if traveling in a parlor car. They did not fly high, as it was necessary to be fairly close to the earth to get good pictures. "Well, I guess we won't have any luck to-day," remarked Ned, as night approached, and they had had no sight of the elephants. They had gone over mile after mile of jungle, but had seen few wild beasts in sufficient numbers to make it worth while to focus the camera on them. "We'll float along to-night," decided Tom, "and try again in the morning." It was about ten o'clock the next day, when Ned, who had relieved Tom on watch, uttered a cry: "What is it?" asked his chum, as he rushed forward. "Has anything happened?" "Lots!" cried Ned. "Look!" He pointed down below. Tom saw, crashing through the jungle, a big herd of elephants. Behind them, almost surrounding them, in fact, was a crowd of natives in charge of white hunters, who were driving the herd toward a stockade. "There's a chance for a grand picture!" exclaimed Tom, as he got the camera ready. "Take charge of the ship, Ned. Keep her right over the big animals, and I'll work the camera." Quickly he focused the lens on the strange scene below him. There was a riot of trumpeting from the elephants. The beaters and hunters shouted and yelled. Then they saw the airship and waved their hands to Tom and his friends, but whether to welcome them, or warn them away, could not be told. The elephants were slowly advancing toward the stockade. Tom was taking picture after picture of them, when suddenly as the airship came lower, in response to a signal to Ned from the young inventor, one of the huge pachyderms looked up, and saw the strange sight. He might have taken it for an immense bird. At any rate he gave a trumpet of alarm, and the next minute, with screams of rage and fear, the elephants turned, and charged in a wild stampede on those who were driving them toward the stockade. "Look!" cried Ned. "Those hunters and natives will be killed!" "I'm afraid so!" shouted Tom, as he continued to focus his camera on the wonderful sight. CHAPTER XII THE LION FIGHT Crashing through the jungle the huge beasts turned against those who had, been driving them on toward the stockade. With wild shouts and yells, the hunters and their native helpers tried to turn back the elephant tide, but it was useless. The animals had been frightened by the airship, and were following their leader, a big bull, that went crashing against great trees, snapping them off as if they were pipe stems. "Say, this is something like!" cried Ned, as he guided the airship over the closely packed body of elephants, so Tom could get good pictures, for the herd had divided, and a small number had gone off with one of the other bulls. "Yes, I'll get some great pictures," agreed Tom, as he looked in through a red covered opening in the camera, to see how much film was left. The airship was now so low down that Tom, and the others, could easily make out the faces of the hunters, and the native helpers. One of the hunters, evidently the chief, shaking his fist at our hero, cried: "Can't you take your blooming ship out of the way, my man? It's scaring the beasts, and we've been a couple of weeks on this drive. We don't want to lose all our work. Take your bloody ship away!" "I guess he must be an Englishman," remarked Mr. Nestor, with a laugh. "Bless my dictionary, I should say so," agreed Mr. Damon. "Bloody, blooming ship! The idea!" "Well, I suppose we have scared the beasts," said Tom. "We ought to get out of the way. Put her up, Ned, and we'll come down some distance in advance." "Why, aren't you going to take any more views of the elephants?" "Yes, but I've got enough of a view from above. Besides, I've got to put in a fresh reel of film, and I might as well get out of their sight to do it. Maybe that will quiet them, and the hunters can turn them back toward the stockade. If they do, I have another plan." "What is it?" his chum wanted to know. "I'm going to make a landing, set up my camera at the entrance to the stockade, and get a series of pictures as the animals come in. I think that will be a novelty. "That certainly will," agreed Mr. Nestor. "I am sure Mr. Period will appreciate that. But won't it be dangerous, Tom?" "I suppose so, but I'm getting used to danger," replied our hero, with a laugh. Ned put the ship high into the air, as Tom shut off the power from the camera. Then the Flyer was sent well on in advance of the stampede of elephants, so they could no longer see it, or hear the throb of the powerful engines. Tom hoped that this would serve to quiet the immense creatures. As the travelers flew on, over the jungle, they could still hear the racket made by the hunters and beaters, and the shrill trumpeting of the elephants, as they crashed through the forest. Tom at once began changing the film in the camera, and Ned altered the course of the airship, to send it back toward the stockade, which they had passed just before coming upon the herd of elephants. I presume most of my readers know what an elephant drive is like. A stockade, consisting of heavy trees, is made in the jungle. It is like the old fashioned forts our forefathers used to make, for a defense against the Indians. There is a broad entrance to it, and, when all is in readiness, the beaters go out into the jungle, with the white hunters, to round up the elephants. A number of tame pachyderms are taken along to persuade the wild ones to follow. Gradually the elephants are gathered together in a large body, and gently driven toward the stockade. The tame elephants go in first, and the others follow. Then the entrance is closed, and all that remains to be done is to tame the wild beasts, a not very easy task. "Are you all ready?" asked Ned, after a bit, as he saw Tom come forward with the camera. "Yes, I'm loaded for some more excitement. You can put me right over the stockade now, Ned, and when we see the herd coming back I'll go down, and take some views from the ground." "I think they've got 'em turned," said Mr. Damon. "It sounds as if they were coming back this way." A moment later they had a glimpse of the herd down below. It was true that the hunters had succeeded in stopping the stampede, and once more the huge beasts were going in the right direction. "There's a good place to make a landing," suggested Tom, as he saw a comparatively clear place in the jungle. "It's near the stockade, and, in case of danger, I can make a quick get-away." "What kind of danger are you looking for?" asked Ned, as he shifted the deflecting rudder. "Oh, one of the beasts might take a notion to chase me." The landing was made, and Tom, taking Ned and Mr. Nestor with him, and leaving the others to manage the airship in case a quick flight would be necessary, made his way along a jungle trail to the entrance to the stockade. He carried his camera with him, for it was not heavy. On came the elephants, frightened by the shouts and cries of the beaters, and the firing of guns. The young inventor took his place near the stockade entrance, and, as the elephants advanced through the forest, tearing up trees and bushes, Tom got some good pictures of them. Suddenly the advance of the brutes was checked, and the foremost of them raised their trunks, trumpeted in anger, and were about to turn back again. "Get away from that bloomin' gate!" shouted a hunter to Tom. "You're scaring them as bad as your airship did." "Yes, they won't go in with you there!" added another man. Tom slipped around the corner of the stockade, out of sight, and from that vantage point he took scores of pictures, as the tame animals led the wild ones into the fenced enclosure. Then began another wild scene as the gate was closed. The terrified animals rushed about, trying in vain to find a way of escape. Tom managed to climb up on top of the logs, and got some splendid pictures. But this was nearly his undoing. For, just as the last elephant rushed in, a big bull charged against the stockade, and jarred Tom so that he was on the point of falling. His one thought was about his camera, and he looked to see if he could drop it on the soft grass, so it would not be damaged. He saw Koku standing below him, the giant having slipped out of the airship, to see the beasts at closer range. "Catch this, Koku!" cried Tom, tossing the big man his precious camera, and the giant caught it safely. But Tom's troubles were not over. A moment later, as the huge elephant again rammed the fence, Tom fell off, but fortunately outside. Then the large beast, seeing a small opening in the gate that was not yet entirely closed, made for it. A moment later he was rushing straight at Tom, who was somewhat stunned by his fall, though it was not a severe one. "Look out!" yelled Ned. "Take a tree, Tom!" cried Mr. Nestor. The elephant paid no attention to any one but Tom, whom he seemed to think had caused all his trouble. The young inventor dashed to one side, and then started to run toward the airship, for which Ned and Mr. Nestor were already making. The elephant hunters at last succeeded in closing the gate, blocking the chance of any more animals to escape. "Run, Tom! Run!" yelled Ned, and Tom ran as he had never run before. The elephant was close after him though, crashing through the jungle. Tom could see the airship just ahead of him. Suddenly he felt something grasp him from behind. He thought surely it was the elephant's trunk, but a quick glance over his shoulder showed him the friendly face of Koku, the giant. "Me run for you," said Koku, as he caught Tom up under one arm, and, carrying the camera under the other, he set off at top speed. Now Koku could run well at times, and this time he did. He easily outdistanced the elephant, and, a little later, he set Tom down on the deck of the airship, with the camera beside him. Then Ned and Mr. Nestor came up panting, having run to one side. "Quick!" cried Tom. "We must get away before the elephant charges the Flyer." "He has stopped," shouted Mr. Nestor, and it was indeed so. The big beast, seeing again the strange craft that had frightened him before, stood still for a moment, and then plunged off into the jungle, trumpeting with rage. "Safe!" gasped Tom, as he looked at his camera to see if it had been damaged. It seemed all right. "Bless my latch key!" cried Mr. Damon. "This moving picture business isn't the most peaceful one in the world." "No, it has plenty of perils," agreed Mr. Nestor. "Come on, let's get out of here while we have the chance," suggested Tom. "There may be another herd upon us before we know it." The airship was soon ascending, and Tom and his companions could look down and see the tame elephants in the stockade trying to calm the wild ones. Then the scene faded from sight. "Well, if these pictures come out all right I'll have some fine ones," exclaimed Tom as he carried his camera to the room where he kept the films. "I fancy an elephant drive and stampede are novelties in this line." "Indeed they are," agreed Mr. Nestor. "Mr. Period made no mistake when he picked you out, Tom, for this work. What are you going to try for next?" "I'd like to get some lion and tiger pictures," said the young inventor. "I understand this is a good district for that. As soon as those elephants get quieted down, I'm going back to the stockade and have a talk with the hunters." This he did, circling about in the airship until nearly evening. When they again approached the stockade all was quiet, and they came to earth. A native showed them where the white hunters had their headquarters, in some bungalows, and Tom and his party were made welcome. They apologized for frightening the big beasts, and the hunters accepted their excuses. "As long as we got 'em, it's all right," said the head man, "though for awhile, I didn't like your bloomin' machine." Tom entertained the hunters aboard his craft, at which they marvelled much, and they gave him all the information they had about the lions and tigers in the vicinity. "You won't find lions and tigers in herds, like elephants though," said the head hunter. "And you may have to photograph 'em at night, as then is when they come out to hunt, and drink." "Well, I can take pictures at night," said Tom, as he showed his camera apparatus. The next day, in the airship, they left for another district, where, so the natives reported, several lions had been seen of late. They had done much damage, too, carrying off the native cattle, and killing several Indians. For nearly a week Tom circled about in his airship, keeping a sharp lookout down below for a sign of lions that he might photograph them. But he saw none, though he did get some pictures of a herd of Indian deer that were well worth his trouble. "I think I'll have to try for a night photograph," decided Tom at last. "I'll locate a spring where wild beasts are in the habit of coming, set the camera with the light going, and leave it there." "But will the lions come up if they see the light?" asked Ned. "I think so," replied his chum. "I'll take a chance, anyhow. If that doesn't work then I'll hide near by, and see what happens." "Bless my cartridge belt!" cried Mr. Damon. "You don't mean that; do you Tom?" "Of course. Come to think of it, I'm not going to leave my camera out there for a lion to jump on, and break. As soon as I get a series of pictures I'll bring it back to the ship, I think." By inquiry among the natives they learned the location of a spring where, it was said, lions were in the habit of coming nightly to drink. "That's the place I want!" cried Tom. Accordingly the airship was headed for it, and one evening it came gently to earth in a little clearing on the edge of the jungle, while Koku, as was his habit, got supper. After the meal Tom and Ned set the camera, and then, picking out a good spot nearby, they hid themselves to wait for what might happen. The lens was focused on the spring, and the powerful electric light set going. It glowed brightly, and our hero thought it might have the effect of keeping the beasts away, but Tom figured that, after they had looked at it for a while, and seen that it did not harm them, they would lose their suspicions, and come within range of his machine. "The camera will do the rest," he said. In order not to waste films uselessly Tom arranged a long electric wire, running it from the camera to where he and Ned were hid. By pressing a button he could start or stop the camera any time he wished, and, as he had a view of the spring from his vantage point, he could have the apparatus begin taking pictures as soon as there was some animal within focus. "Well, I'm getting stiff," said Ned, after an hour or so had passed in silent darkness, the only light being the distant one on the camera. "So am I," said Tom. "I don't believe anything will come to-night," went on his chum. "Let's go back and--" He stopped suddenly, for there was a crackling in the underbrush, and the next moment the jungle vibrated to the mighty roar of a lion. "He's coming!" hoarsely whispered Tom. Both lads glanced through the trees toward the camera, and, in the light, they saw a magnificent, tawny beast standing on the edge of the spring. Once more he roared, as if in defiance, and then, as if deciding that the light was not harmful, he stooped to lap up the water. Hardly had he done so than there was another roar, and a moment later a second lion leaped from the dense jungle into the clearing about the spring. The two monarchs of the forest stood there in the glare of the light, and Tom excitedly pressed the button that started the shutter to working, and the film to moving back of the lens. There was a slight clicking sound in the camera, and the lions turned startedly. Then both growled again, and the next instant they sprang at each other, roaring mightily. "A fight!" cried Tom. "A lion fight, and right in front of my camera! It couldn't be better. This is great! This will be a film." "Quiet!" begged Ned. "They'll hear you, and come for us. I don't want to be chewed up!" "No danger of them hearing me!" cried Tom, and he had to shout to be heard above the roaring of the two tawny beasts, as they bit and clawed each other, while the camera took picture after picture of them. CHAPTER XIII A SHOT IN TIME "Tom, did you ever see anything like it in your life?" "I never did, Ned! It's wonderful! fearful! And to think that we are here watching it, and that thousands of people will see the same thing thrown on a screen. Oh, look at the big one. The small lion has him down!" The two lads, much thrilled, crouched down behind a screen of bushes, watching the midnight fight between the lions. On the airship, not far distant, there was no little alarm, for those left behind heard the terrific roars, and feared Tom and Ned might be in some danger. But the lions were too much occupied with their battle, to pay any attention to anything else, and no other wild beasts were likely to come to the spring while the two "kings" were at each other. It was a magnificent, but terrible battle. The big cats bit and tore at each other, using their terrific claws and their powerful paws, one stroke of which is said to be sufficient to break a bullock's back. Sometimes they would roll out of the focus of the camera, and, at such times, Tom wished he was at the machine to swing the lens around, but he knew it would be dangerous to move. Then the beasts would roll back into the rays of light again, and more pictures of them would be taken. "I guess the small one is going to win!" said Tom, after the two lions had fought for ten minutes, and the bigger one had been down several times. "He's younger," agreed Ned, "and I guess the other one has had his share of fights. Maybe this is a battle to see which one is to rule this part of the jungle." "I guess so," spoke the young inventor, as he pressed the button to stop the camera, as the lions rolled out of focus. "Oh, look!" he cried a moment later, as the animals again rolled into view. Tom started the camera once more. "This is near the end," he said. The small lion had, by a sudden spring, landed on the back of his rival. There was a terrific struggle, and the older beast went down, the younger one clawing him terribly. Then, so quickly did it happen that the boys could not take in all the details, the older lion rolled over and over, and rid himself of his antagonist. Quickly he got to his feet, while the smaller lion did the same. They stood for a moment eyeing each other, their tails twitching, the hair on their backs bristling, and all the while they uttered frightful roars. An instant later the larger beast sprang toward his rival. One terrible paw was upraised. The small lion tried to dodge, but was not quick enough. Down came the paw with terrific force, and the boys could hear the back bone snap. Then, clawing his antagonist terribly, as he lay disabled, the older lion, with a roar of triumph, lapped up water, and sprang off through the jungle, leaving his dying rival beside the spring. "That's the end," cried Tom, as the small lion died, and the young inventor pressed the button stopping his camera. There was a rustle in the leaves back of Tom and Ned, and they sprang up in alarm, but they need not have feared, for it was only Koku, the giant, who, with a portable electrical torch, had come to see how they had fared. "Mr. Tom all right?" asked the big man, anxiously. "Yes, and I got some fine pictures. You can carry the camera back now, Koku. I think that roll of film is pretty well filled." The three of them looked at the body of the dead lion, before they went back to the airship. I have called him "small," but, in reality, the beast was small only in comparison with his rival, who was a tremendous lion in size. I might add that of all the pictures Tom took, few were more highly prized than that reel of the lion fight. "Bless my bear cage!" cried Mr. Damon, as Tom came back, "you certainly have nerve, my boy." "You have to, in this business," agreed Tom with a laugh. "I never did this before, and I don't know that I would want it for a steady position, but it's exciting for a change." They remained near the "lion spring" as they called it all night, and in the morning, after Koku had served a tasty breakfast, Tom headed the airship for a district where it was said there were many antelope, and buffaloes, also zebus. "I don't want to get all exciting pictures," our hero said to Mr. Nestor. "I think that films showing wild animals at play, or quietly feeding, will be good." "I'm sure they will," said Mary's father. "Get some peaceful scenes, by all means." They sailed on for several days, taking a number of pictures from the airship, when they passed over a part of the country where the view was magnificent, and finally, stopping at a good sized village they learned that, about ten miles out, was a district where antelope abounded. "We'll go there," decided Tom, "and I'll take the camera around with me on a sort of walking trip. In that way I'll get a variety of views, and I can make a good film." This plan was followed out. The airship came to rest in a beautiful green valley, and Ned and Tom, with Mr. Damon, who begged to be taken along, started off. "You can follow me in about half an hour, Koku," said Tom, "and carry the camera back. I guess you can easily pick up our trail." "Oh, sure," replied the giant. Indeed, to one who had lived in the forest, as he had all his life, before Tom found him, it was no difficult matter to follow a trail, such as the three friends would leave. Tom found signs that showed him where the antelopes were in the habit of passing, and, with Ned and Mr. Damon, stationed himself in a secluded spot. He had not long to wait before a herd of deer came past. Tom took many pictures of the graceful creatures, for it was daylight now, and he needed no light. Consequently there was nothing to alarm the herd. After having made several films of the antelope, Tom and his two companions went farther on. They were fortunate enough to find a place that seemed to be a regular playground of the deer. There was a large herd there, and, getting as near as he dared, Tom focused his camera, and began taking pictures. "It's as good as a play," whispered Mr. Damon, as he and Ned watched the creatures, for they had to speak quietly. The camera made scarcely any noise. "I'm glad I came on this trip." "So am I," said Ned. "Look, Tom, see the mother deer all together, and the fawns near them. It's just as if it was a kindergarten meeting." "I see," whispered Tom. "I'm getting a picture of that." For some little time longer Tom photographed the deer, and then, suddenly, the timid creatures all at once lifted up their heads, and darted off. Tom and Ned, wondering what had startled them, looked across the glade just in time to see a big tiger leap out of the tall grass. The striped animal had been stalking the antelope, but they had scented him just in time. "Get him, Tom," urged Ned, and the young inventor did so, securing several fine views before the tiger bounded into the grass again, and took after his prey. "Bless my china teacup! What's that!" suddenly cried Mr. Damon. As he spoke there was a crashing in the bushes and, an instant later as two-horned rhinoceros sprang into view, charging straight for the group. "Look out!" yelled Ned. "Bless my--" began Mr. Damon, but he did not finish, for, in starting to run his foot caught in the grass, and he went down heavily. Tom leaped to one side, holding his camera so as not to damage it. But he stumbled over Mr. Damon, and went down. With a "wuff" of rage the clumsy beast, came on, moving more rapidly than Tom had any idea he was capable of. Hampered by his camera our hero could not arise. The rhinoceros was almost upon him, and Ned, catching up a club, was just going to make a rush to the rescue, when the brute seemed suddenly to crumple up. It fell down in a heap, not five feet from where Tom and Mr. Damon lay. "Good!" cried Ned. "He's dead. Shot through the heart! Who did it?" "I did," answered Koku quietly, stepping out of the bushes, with one of Tom's Swift's electric rifles in his hand. CHAPTER XIV IN A GREAT GALE Tom Swift rose slowly to his feet, carefully setting his camera down, after making sure that it was not injured. Then he looked at the huge beast which lay dead in front of him, and, going over to the giant he held out his hand to him. "Koku, you saved my life," spoke Tom. "Probably the life of Mr. Damon also. I can't begin to thank you. It isn't the first time you've done it, either. But I want to say that you can have anything you want, that I've got." "Me like this gun pretty much," said the giant simply. "Then it's yours!" exclaimed Tom. "And you're the only one, except myself, who has ever owned one." Tom's wonderful electric rifle, of which I have told you in the book bearing that name, was one of his most cherished inventions. He guarded jealously the secret of how it worked, and never sold or gave one away, for fear that unscrupulous men might learn how to make them, and to cause fearful havoc. For the rifle was a terrible weapon. Koku seemed to appreciate the honor done him, as he handled the gun, and looked from it to the dead rhinoceros. "Bless my blank cartridge!" exclaimed Mr. Damon, as he also got up and came to examine the dead beast. It was the first thing he had said since the animal had rushed at him, and he had not moved after he fell down. He had seemingly been in a daze, but when the others heard him use one of his favorite expressions they knew that he was all right again. "Bless my hat!" went on the odd man. "What happened, Tom? Is that beast really dead? How did Koku come to arrive in time?" "I guess he's dead all right," said Tom, giving the rhinoceros a kick. "But I don't know how Koku happened to arrive in the nick of time, and with the gun, too." "I think maybe I see something to shoot when I come after you, like you tell me to do," spoke the giant. "I follow your trail, but I see nothing to shoot until I come here. Then I see that animal run for you, and I shoot." "And a good thing you did, too," put in Ned. "Well let's go back. My nerves are on edge, and I want to sit quiet for a while." "Take the camera, Koku," ordered Tom, "and I'll carry the electric rifle--your rifle, now," he added, and the giant grinned in delight. They reached the airship without further incident, and, after a cup of tea, Tom took out the exposed films and put a fresh roll in his camera, ready for whatever new might happen. "Where is your next stopping place, Tom?" asked Ned, as they sat in the main room of the airship that evening, talking over the events of the day. They had decided to stay all night anchored on the ground, and start off in the morning. "I hardly know," answered the young inventor. "I am going to set the camera to-night, near a small spring I saw, to get some pictures of deer coming to drink. I may get a picture of a lion or a tiger attacking them. If I could it would be another fine film. To-morrow I think we will start for Switzerland. But now I'm going to get the camera ready for a night exposure. "Bless my check book!" cried Mr. Damon. "You don't mean to say that you are going to stay out at a spring again, Tom, and run the chance of a tiger getting you." "No, I'm merely going to set the camera, attach the light and let it work automatically this time. I've put in an extra long roll of film, for I'm going to keep it going for a long while, and part of the time there may be no animals there to take pictures of. No, I'm not going to sit out to-night. I'm too tired. I'll conceal the camera in the bushes so it won't be damaged if there's a fight. Then, as I said, we'll start for Switzerland to-morrow." "Switzerland!" cried Ned. "What in the world do you want to go make a big jump like that for? And what do you expect to get in that mountain land?" "I'm going to try for a picture of an avalanche," said Tom. "Mr. Period wants one, if I can get it. It is quite a jump, but then we'll be flying over civilized countries most of the time, and if any accident happens we can go down and easily make repairs. We can also get gasolene for the motor, though I have quite a supply in the tanks, and perhaps enough for the entire trip. At the same time we won't take any chances. So we'll be off for Switzerland in the morning. "I think some avalanche pictures will be great, if you can get them," remarked Mr. Nestor. "But, Tom, you know those big slides of ice, snow and earth aren't made to order." "Oh, I know," agreed the young inventor with a smile. "I'll just have to take my chances, and wait until one happens." "Bless my insurance policy!" exclaimed Mr. Damon. "And when it does happen, Tom, are you going to stand in front of it, and snap-shot it?" "Indeed I'm not. This business is risky and dangerous enough, without looking for trouble. I'm going to the mountain region, and hover around in the air, until we see an avalanche 'happen' if that is the right word. Then I'll focus the camera on it, and the films and machinery will do the rest." "Oh, that's different," remarked the odd man, with an air of relief. Tom and Ned soon had the camera set near the spring and then, everyone being tired with the day's work and excitement, they retired. In the morning there were signs around the spring that many animals had been there in the night. There were also marks as if there had been a fight, but of course what sort, or how desperate, no one could say. "If anything happened the camera got it, I'm sure of that much," remarked Tom, as he brought in the apparatus. "I'm not going to develop the roll, for I don't want to take the time now. I guess we must have something, anyhow." "If there isn't it won't so much matter for you have plenty of other good views," said Mr. Nestor. I will not go into details of the long trip to Switzerland, where, amid the mountains of that country, Tom hoped to get the view he wanted. Sufficient to say that the airship made good time after leaving India. Sometimes Tom sent the craft low down, in order to get views, and again, it would be above the clouds. "Well, another day will bring us there," said Tom one evening, as he was loading the camera with a fresh roll of films. "Then we'll have to be on the lookout for an avalanche." "Yes, we're making pretty good time," remarked Ned, as he looked at the speed gage. "I didn't know you had the motor working so fast, Tom." "I haven't," was the young inventor's answer, as he looked up in surprise. "Why, we are going quite fast! It's the wind, Ned. It's right with us, and it's carrying us along." Tom arose and went to the anemometer, or wind-registering instrument. He gave a low whistle, half of alarm. "Fifty miles an hour she's blowing now," he said. "It came on suddenly, too, for a little while ago it was only ten." "Is there any danger?" asked Mr. Nestor, for he was not very familiar with airship perils. "Well, we've been in big blows before, and we generally came out all right," returned Tom. "Still, I don't like this. Why she went up five points since I've been looking at it!" and he pointed to the needle of the gage, which now registered fifty-five miles an hour. "Bless my appendix!" gasped Mr. Damon. "It's a hurricane Tom!" "Something like that," put in Ned, in a low voice. With a suddenness that was startling, the wind increased in violence still more. Tom ran to the pilot house. "What are you going to do?" Ned called. "See if we can't go down a bit," was Tom's answer. "I don't like this. It may be calmer below. We're up too high as it is." He tried to throw over the lever controlling the deflecting rudder, which would send the Flyer down, but he could not move it. "Give me a hand!" he called to Ned, but even the strength of the two lads was not sufficient to shift it. "Call Koku!" gasped Tom. "If anybody can budge it the giant can!" Meanwhile the airship was being carried onward in the grip of a mighty wind, so strong that its pressure on the surface of the deflecting rudder prevented it from being shifted. CHAPTER XV SNAPPING AN AVALANCHE "Bless my thermometer!" gasped Mr. Damon. "This is terrible!" The airship was plunging and swaying about in the awful gale. "Can't something be done, Tom?" "What has happened?" cried Mr. Nestor. "We were on a level keel before. What is it?" "It's the automatic balancing rudder!" answered Tom. "Something has happened to it. The wind may have broken it! Come on, Ned!" and he led the way to the engine room. "What are you going to do? Don't you want Koku to shift the deflecting rudder? Here he is," Ned added, as the giant came forward, in response to a signal bell that Tom's chum had rung. "It's too late to try the deflecting rudder!" tried Tom. "I must see what is the matter with our balancer." As he spoke the ship gave a terrific plunge, and the occupants were thrown sideways. The next moment it was on a level keel again, scudding along with the gale, but there was no telling when the craft would again nearly capsize. Tom looked at the mechanism controlling the equalizing and equilibrium rudder. It was out of order, and he guessed that the terrific wind was responsible for it. "What can we do?" cried Ned, as the airship nearly rolled over. "Can't we do anything, Tom?" "Yes. I'm going to try. Keep calm now. We may come out all right. This is the worst blow we've been in since we were in Russia. Start the gas machine full blast. I want all the vapor I can get." As I have explained the Flyer was a combined dirigible balloon and aeroplane. It could be used as either, or both, in combination. At present the gas bag was not fully inflated, and Tom had been sending his craft along as an aeroplane. "What are you going to do?" cried Ned, as he pulled over the lever that set the gas generating machine in operation. "I'm going up as high as I can go!" cried Tom. "If we can't go down we must go up. I'll get above the hurricane instead of below it. Give me all the gas you can, Ned!" The vapor hissed as it rushed into the big bag overhead. Tom carried aboard his craft the chemicals needed to generate the powerful lifting gas, of which he alone had the secret. It was more powerful than hydrogen, and simple to make. The balloon of the Flyer was now being distended. Meanwhile Tom, with Koku, Mr. Damon and Mr. Nestor to help him, worked over the deflecting rudder, and also on the equilibrium mechanism. But they could not get either to operate. Ned stood by the gas machine, and worked it to the limit. But even with all that energy, so powerful was the wind, that the Flyer rose slowly, the gale actually holding her down as a water-logged craft is held below the waves. Ordinarily, with the gas machine set at its limit the craft would have shot up rapidly. At times the airship would skim along on the level, and again it would be pitched and tossed about, until it was all the occupants could do to keep their feet. Mr. Damon was continually blessing everything he could remember. "Now she's going!" suddenly cried Ned, as he looked at the dials registering the pressure of the gas, and showing the height of the airship above the earth. "Going how?" gasped Tom, as he looked over from where he was working at the equilibrium apparatus. "Going down?" "Going up!" shouted Ned. "I guess we'll be all right soon!" It was true. Now that the bag was filled with the powerful lifting gas, under pressure, the Flyer was beginning to get out of the dangerous predicament into which the gale had blown her. Up and up she went, and every foot she climbed the power of the wind became less. "Maybe it all happened for the best," said Tom, as he noted the height gage. "If we had gone down, the wind might have been worse nearer the earth." Later they learned that this was so. The most destructive wind storm ever known swept across the southern part of Europe, over which they were flying that night, and, had the airship gone down, she would probably have been destroyed. But, going up, she got above the wind-strata. Up and up she climbed, until, when three miles above the earth, she was in a calm zone. It was rather hard to breathe at this height, and Tom set the oxygen apparatus at work. This created in the interior of the craft an atmosphere almost like that on the earth, and the travelers were made more at their ease. Getting out of the terrible wind pressure made it possible to work the deflecting rudder, though Tom had no idea of going down, as long as the blow lasted. "We'll just sail along at this height until morning," he said, "and by then the gale may be over, or we may be beyond the zone of it. Start the propellers, Ned. I think I can manage to repair the equilibrium rudder now." The propellers, which gave the forward motion to the airship, had been stopped when it was found that the wind was carrying her along, but they were now put in motion again, sending the Flyer forward. In a short time Tom had the equilibrium machine in order, and matters were now normal again. "But that was a strenuous time while it lasted," remarked the young inventor, as he sat down. "It sure was," agreed Ned. "Bless my pen wiper!" cried Mr. Damon. "That was one of the few times when I wish I'd never come with you, Tom Swift," and everyone laughed at that. The Flyer was now out of danger, going along high in the air through the night, while the gale raged below her. At Tom's suggestion, Koku got a lunch ready, for they were all tired with their labors, and somewhat nervous from the danger and excitement. "And now for sleep!" exclaimed Tom, as he pushed back his plate. "Ned, set the automatic steering gear, and we'll see where we bring up by morning." An examination, through a powerful telescope in the bright light of morning, showed the travelers that they were over the outskirts of a large city, which, later, they learned was Rome, Italy. "We've made a good trip," said Tom. "The gale had us worried, but it sent us along at a lively clip. Now for Switzerland, and the avalanches!" They made a landing at a village just outside the "Holy City," as Rome is often called, and renewed their supply of gasolene. Naturally they attracted a crowd of curious persons, many of whom had never seen an airship before. Certainly few of them had ever seen one like Tom Swift's. The next day found them hovering over the Alps, where Tom hoped to be able to get the pictures of snow slides. They went down to earth at a town near one of the big mountain ranges, and there made inquiries as to where would be the best location to look for big avalanches. If they went but a few miles to the north, they were told, they would be in the desired region, and they departed for that vicinity. "And now we've just got to take our time, and wait for an avalanche to happen," remarked Tom, as they were flying along over the mountain ranges. "As Mr. Damon said, these things aren't made to order. They just happen." For three days they sailed in and out over the great snow-covered peaks of the Alps. They did not go high up, for they wanted to be near earth when an avalanche would occur, so that near-view pictures could be secured. Occasionally they saw parties of mountain climbers ascending some celebrated peak, and for want of something better to photograph, Tom "snapped" the tourists. "Well, I guess they're all out of avalanches this season," remarked Ned one afternoon, when they had circled back and forth over a mountain where, so it was said, the big snow slides were frequent. "It does seem so," agreed Tom. "Still, we're in no hurry. It is easier to be up here, than it is walking around in a jungle, not knowing what minute a tiger may jump out at you." "Bless my rubbers, yes!" agreed Mr. Damon. The sky was covered with lowering clouds, and there were occasionally flurries of snow. Tom's airship was well above the snow line on the mountains. The young inventor and Ned sat in the pilot house, taking observations through a spyglass of the mountain chain below them. Suddenly Ned, who had the glass focused on a mighty peak, cried out: "There she is, Tom!" "What?" "The avalanche! The snow is beginning to slide down the mountain! Say, it's going to be a big one, too. Got your camera ready?" "Sure! I've had it ready for the last three days. Put me over there, Ned. You look after the airship, and I'll take the pictures!" Tom sprang to get his apparatus, while his chum hurried to the levers, wheels and handles that controlled the Flyer. As they approached the avalanche they could see the great mass of ice, snow, big stones, and earth sliding down the mountain side, carrying tall trees with it. "This is just what I wanted!" cried Tom, as he set his camera working. "Put me closer, Ned." Ned obeyed, and the airship was now hovering directly over the avalanche, and right in its path. The big landslide, as it would have been called in this country, met no village in its path, fortunately, or it would have wiped it out completely. It was in a wild and desolate region that it occurred. "I want to get a real close view!" cried Tom, as he got some pictures showing a whole grove of giant trees uprooted and carried off. "Get closer Ned, and--" Tom was interrupted by a cry of alarm from his chum. "We're falling!" yelled Ned. "Something has gone wrong. We're going down into the avalanche!". CHAPTER XVI TELEGRAPH ORDERS There was confusion aboard the airship. Tom, hearing Ned's cry, left his camera, to rush to the engine room, but not before he had set the picture apparatus to working automatically. Mr. Damon, Mr. Nestor and Koku, alarmed by Ned's cries, ran back from the forward part of the craft, where they had been watching the mighty mass of ice and earth as it rushed down the side of the mountain. "What's wrong, Ned?" cried Tom excitedly. "I don't know! The propellers have stopped! We were running as an aeroplane you know. Now we're going down!" "Bless my suspenders!" shouted Mr. Damon. "If we land in the midst of that conglomeration of ice it will be the end of us." "But we're not going to land there!" cried Tom. "How are you going to stop it?" demanded Mr. Nestor. "By the gas machine!" answered Tom. "That will stop us from falling. Start it up, Ned!" "That's right! I always forget about that! I'll have it going in a second!" "Less than a second," called Tom, as he saw how near to the mighty, rushing avalanche they were coming. Ned worked rapidly, and in a very short time the downward course of the airship was checked. It floated easily above the rushing flood of ice and earth, and Tom, seeing that his craft, and those on it, were safe, hurried back to his camera. Meanwhile the machine had automatically been taking pictures, but now with the young inventor to manage it, better results would be obtained. Tom aimed it here and there, at the most spectacular parts of the avalanche. The others gathered around him, after Ned had made an inspection, and found that a broken electrical wire had caused the propellers to stop. This was soon repaired and then, as they were hanging in the air like a balloon, Tom took picture after picture of the wonderful sight below them. Forest after forest was demolished. "This will be a great film!" Tom shouted to Ned, as the latter informed him that the machinery was all right again. "Send me up a little. I want to get a view from the top, looking down." His chum made the necessary adjustments to the mechanism and then, there being nothing more to slide down the mountainside the avalanche was ended. But what a mass of wreck and ruin there was! It was as if a mighty earthquake had torn the mountain asunder. "It's a good thing it wasn't on a side of the mountain where people lived," commented Ned, as the airship rose high toward the clouds. "If it had been, there'd be nothing left of 'em. What hair-raising stunt are you going to try next, Tom?" "I don't know. I expect to hear from Mr. Period soon. "Hear from Mr. Period?" exclaimed Mr. Nestor. "How are you going to do that, Tom?" "He said he would telegraph me at Berne, Switzerland, at a certain date, as he knew I was coming to the Alps to try for some avalanche pictures. It's two or three days yet, before I can expect the telegram, which of course will have to come part way by cable. In the meanwhile, I think we'll take a little rest, and a vacation. I want to give the airship an overhauling, and look to my camera. There's no telling what Mr. Period may want next." "Then he didn't make out your programme completely before you started?" asked Mr. Nestor. "No, he said he'd communicate with me from time to time. He is in touch with what is going on in the world, you know, and if he hears of anything exciting at any place, I'm to go there at once. You see he wants the most sensational films he can get." "Yes, our company is out to give the best pictures we can secure," spoke Mary's father, "and I think we are lucky to have Tom Swift working for us. We already have films that no other concern can get. And we need them." "I wonder what became of those men who started to make so much trouble for you, Tom?" asked Mr. Damon. "Well, they seem to have disappeared," replied our hero. "Of course they may be after me any day now, but for the time being, I've thrown them off my track." "So then you don't know where you're going next?" asked Ned. "No, it may be to Japan, or to the North Pole. Well, I'm ready for anything. We've got plenty of gasolene, and the Flyer can certainly go," said Tom. They went down to earth in a quiet spot, just outside of a little village, and there they remained three days, to the no small wonder of the inhabitants. Tom wanted to see if his camera was working properly. So he developed some of the avalanche pictures, and found them excellent. The rest of the time was spent in making some needed repairs to the airship, while the young inventor overhauled his Wizard machine, that he found needed a few adjustments. Their arrival in Berne created quite a sensation, but they were used to that. Tom anchored his airship just outside the city, and, accompanied by Ned, made his way to the telegraph office. Some of the officials there could speak English, though not very well. "I am expecting a message," said Tom. "Yes? Who for?" asked the clerk. "Tom Swift. It will be from America." As Tom said this he observed a man sitting in the corner of the office get up hurriedly and go out. All at once his suspicions were aroused. He thought of the attempts that had been made to get his Wizard Camera away from him. "Who was that man?" he quickly asked the agent. "Him? Oh, he, too, is expecting a message from America. He has been here some time." "Why did he go out so quickly?" Ned wanted to know. "Why, I can not tell. He is an Englishman. They do strange things." "My telegram? Is it here?" asked Tom impatiently. He wanted to get whatever word there was from Mr. Period, and be on his way to whatever destination the picture man might select. Perhaps, after all, his suspicions, against the man who had so suddenly left, were unfounded. "Yes, there is a cablegram here for you, Monsieur Swift," said the man, who was French. "There are charges on it, however." "Pay 'em, Ned, while I see what this is," directed the young inventor, as he tore open the envelope. "Whew!" he whistled a moment later. "This is going some." "Where to now?" asked Ned. "The North Pole?" "No, just the opposite. Mr. Period wants me to go to Africa--the Congo Free State. There's an uprising among the natives there, and he wants some war pictures. Well, I guess I'll have to go." As Tom spoke he looked toward the door of the telegraph office, and he saw the man, who had so hurriedly gone out a few moments before, looking in at him. CHAPTER XVII SUSPICIOUS STRANGERS "Off to Africa; eh?" remarked Ned, as Tom put the envelope in his pocket. "That's another long jump. But I guess the Flyer can do it." "Yes, I think so. I say Ned, not so loud," said Tom, who had hurried to the side of his chum, whispered the last words. "What's up?" inquired Ned quickly. "Anything wrong?" "I don't know. But I think we are being watched. Did you notice that fellow who was in here a minute ago, when I asked for a telegram?" "Yes, what about him?" "Well, he's looking in the door now I think. Don't turn round. Just look up into that mirror on the wall, and you can see his reflection." "I understand," whispered Ned, as he turned his gaze toward the mirror in question, a large one, with advertisements around the frame. "I see him," he went on. "There's some one with him." "That's what I thought," replied Tom. "Take a good look. Whom do you think the other chap is?" Ned looked long and earnestly. By means of the mirror, he could see, perfectly plain, two men standing just outside the door of the telegraph office. The portal was only partly open. Ned drew an old letter from his pocket, and pretended to be showing it to Tom. But, all the while he was gazing earnestly at the two men. Suddenly one of them moved, giving Tom's chum a better view of his face. "By Jove, Tom!" the lad exclaimed in a tense whisper. "If it isn't that Eckert fellow I'm a cow." "That's what I thought," spoke Tom coolly. "Not that you're a cow, Ned, but I believe that this man is one of the moving picture partners, who are rivals of Mr. Period. I wasn't quite sure myself after the first glance I had of him, so I wanted you to take a look. Do you know the other chap--the one who ran out when I asked for my telegram?" "No, I've never seen him before as far as I know." "Same here. Come on." "What are you going to do?" "Go back to the airship, and tell Mr. Nestor. As one of the directors in the concern I'm working for. I want his advice." "Good idea," replied Ned, and they turned to leave the office. The spying stranger, and William Eckert, were not in sight when the two lads came out. "They got away mighty quick," remarked Tom, as he looked up and down the street. "Yes, they probably saw us turn to come out, and made a quick get-away. They might be in any one of these places along here," for the street, on either side of the telegraph office, contained a number of hotels, with doors opening on the sidewalk. "They must be on your trail yet," decided Mr. Nestor when Tom, reaching the anchored airship, told what had happened. "Well, my advice is to go to Africa as soon as we can. In that way we'll leave them behind, and they won't have any chance to get your camera." "But what I can't understand," said Tom, "is how they knew I was coming here. It was just as if that one man had been waiting in the telegraph office for me to appear. I'm sorry, now, that I mentioned to Ned where we were ordered to. But I didn't think." "They probably knew, anyway," was Mr. Nestor's opinion. "I think this may explain it. The rival concern in New York has been keeping track of Mr. Period's movements. Probably they have a paid spy who may be in his employ. They knew when he sent you a telegram, what it contained, and where it was directed to. Then, of course, they knew you would call here for it. What they did not know was when you would come, and so they had to wait. That one spy was on guard, and, as soon as you came, he went and summoned Eckert, who was waiting somewhere in the neighborhood." "Bless my detective story!" cried Mr. Damon. "What a state of affairs! They ought to be arrested, Tom." "It would be useless," said Mr. Nestor. "They are probably far enough away by this time. Or else they have put others on Tom's track." "I'll fight my own battles!" exclaimed the young inventor. "I don't go much on the police in a case like this, especially foreign police. Well, my camera is all right, so far," he went on, as he took a look at it, in the compartment where he kept it. "Some one must always remain near it, after this. But we'll soon start for Africa, to get some pictures of a native battle. I hope it isn't the red pygmies we have to photograph." "Bless my shoe laces! Don't suggest such a thing," begged Mr. Damon, as he recalled the strenuous times when the dwarfs held the missionaries captive. It was necessary to lay in some stores and provisions, and for this reason Tom could not at once head the airship for the African jungles. As she remained at anchor, just outside the city, crowds of Swiss people came out to look at the wonderful craft. But Tom and his companions took care that no one got aboard, and they kept a strict lookout for Americans, or Englishmen, thinking perhaps that Mr. Eckert, or the spy, might try to get the camera. However, they did not see them, and a few days after the receipt of the message from Mr. Period, having stocked up, they rose high into the air, and set out to cross the Mediterranean Sea for Africa. Tom laid a route over Tripoli, the Sahara Desert, the French Congo, and so into the Congo Free State. In his telegram, Mr. Period had said that the expected uprising was to take place near Stanley Falls, on the Congo River. "And supposing it does not happen?" asked Mr. Damon. "What if the natives don't fight, Tom? You'll have your trip for nothing, and will run a lot of risk besides." "It's one of the chances I'm taking," replied the young inventor, and truly, as he thought of it, he realized that the perils of the moving picture business were greater than he had imagined. Tom hoped to get a quick trip to the Congo, but, as they were sailing over the big desert, there was an accident to the main motor, and the airship suddenly began shooting toward the sands. She was easily brought up, by means of the gas bags, and allowed to settle gently to the ground, in the vicinity of a large oasis. But, when Tom looked at the broken machinery, he said: "This means a week's delay. It will take that, and longer, to fix it so we can go on." "Too bad!" exclaimed Mr. Nestor. "The war may be over when we get there. But it can't be helped." It took Tom and his friends even longer than he had thought to make the repairs. In the meanwhile they camped in the desert place, which was far from being unpleasant. Occasionally a caravan halted there, but, for the most part, they were alone. "No danger of Eckert, or any of his spies coming here, I guess," said Tom grimly as he blew on a portable forge, to weld two pieces of iron together. In due time they were again on the wing, and without further incident they were soon in the vicinity of Stanley Falls. They managed to locate a village where there were some American missionaries established. They were friends of Mr. and Mrs. Illington, the missionaries whom Tom had saved from the red pygmies, as told in the "Electric Rifle" volume of this series, and they made our hero and his friends welcome. "Is it true?" asked Tom, of the missionaries who lived not far from Stanley Falls, "that there is to be a native battle? Or are we too late for it?" "I am sorry to say, I fear there will be fighting among the tribesmen," replied Mr. Janeway, one of the Christian workers. "It has not yet taken place, though." "Then I'm not too late!" cried Tom, and there was exultation in his voice. "I don't mean to be barbarous," he went on, as he saw that the missionaries looked shocked, "but as long as they are going to fight I want to get the pictures." "Oh, they'll fight all right," spoke Mrs. Janeway. "The poor, ignorant natives here are always ready to fight. This time I think it is about some cattle that one tribe took from another." "And where will the battle take place?" asked Tom. "Well, the rumors we have, seem to indicate that the fight will take place about ten miles north of here. We will have notice of it before it starts, as some of the natives, whom we have succeeded in converting, belong to the tribe that is to be attacked. They will be summoned to the defense of their town and then it will be time enough for you to go. Oh, war is a terrible thing! I do not like to talk about it. Tell me how you rescued our friends from the red pygmies," and Tom was obliged to relate that story, which I have told in detail elsewhere. Several days passed, and Tom and his friends spent a pleasant time in the African village with the missionaries. The airship and camera were in readiness for instant use, and during this period of idleness our hero got several fine films of animal scenes, including a number of night-fights among the beasts at the drinking pools. One tiger battle was especially good, from a photographic standpoint. One afternoon, a number of native bearers came into the town. They preceded two white men, who were evidently sportsmen, or explorers, and the latter had a well equipped caravan. The strangers sought the advice of the missionaries about where big game might be found, and Tom happened to be at the cottage of Mr. Janeway when the strangers arrived. The young inventor looked at them critically, as he was introduced to them. Both men spoke with an English accent, one introducing himself as Bruce Montgomery, and the other as Wade Kenneth. Tom decided that they were of the ordinary type of globe-trotting Britishers, until, on his way to his airship, he passed the place where the native bearers had set down the luggage of the Englishmen. "Whew!" whistled Tom, as he caught sight of a peculiarly shaped box. "See that, Ned?" "Yes, what is it? A new kind of magazine gun?" "It's a moving picture camera, or I lose my guess!" whispered Tom. "One of the old fashioned kind. Those men are no more tourists, or after big game, than I am! They're moving picture men, and they're here to get views of that native battle! Ned, we've got to be on our guard. They may be in the pay of that Turbot and Eckert firm, and they may try to do us some harm!" "That's so!" exclaimed Ned. "We'll keep watch of them, Tom." As they neared their airship, there came, running down what served as the main village street, an African who showed evidence of having come from afar. As he ran on, he called out something in a strange tongue. Instantly from their huts the other natives swarmed. "What's up now?" cried Ned. "Something important, I'll wager," replied Tom. "Ned, you go back to the missionaries house, and find out what it is. I'm going to stand guard over my camera." "It's come!" cried Ned a little later, as he hurried into the interior of the airship, where Tom was busy working over a new attachment he intended putting on his picture machine. "What has?" "War! That native, whom we saw running in, brought news that the battle would take place day after to-morrow. The enemies of his tribe are on the march, so the African spies say, and he came to summon all the warriors from this town. We've got to get busy!" "That's so. What about those Englishmen?" "They were talking to the missionaries when the runner came in. They pretended to have no interest in it, but I saw one wink to the other, and then, very soon, they went out, and I saw them talking to their native bearers, while they were busy over that box you said was a picture machine." "I knew it, Ned! I was sure of it! Those fellows came here to trick us, though how they ever followed our trail I don't know. Probably they came by a fast steamer to the West Coast, and struck inland, while we were delayed on the desert. I don't care if they are only straight out-and-out rivals--and not chaps that are trying to take an unfair advantage. I suppose all the big picture concerns have a tip about this war, and they may have representatives here. I hope we get the best views. Now come on, and give me a hand. We've got our work cut out for us, all right." "Bless my red cross bandage!" cried Mr. Damon, when he heard the news. "A native fight, eh? That will be something I haven't seen in some time. Will there be any danger, Tom, do you think?" "Not unless our airship tumbles down between the two African forces," replied our hero, "and I'll take care that it doesn't do that. We'll be well out of reach of any of their blow guns, or arrows." "But I understand that many of the tribes have powder weapons," said Mr. Nestor. "They have," admitted Tom, "but they are 'trader's' rifles, and don't carry far. We won't run any risk from such old-fashioned guns." "A big fight; eh?" asked Koku when they told him what was before them. "Me like to help." "Yes, and I guess both sides would give a premium for your services," remarked Tom, as he gazed at his big servant. "But we'll need you with us, Koku." "Oh, me stay with you, Mr. Tom," exclaimed the big man, with a grin. Somewhat to Tom's surprise the two Englishmen showed no further interest in him and his airship, after the introduction at the missionaries' bungalow. With the stolidity of their race the Britishers did not show any surprise, as, some time afterward, they strolled down toward Tom's big craft, after supper, and looked it over. Soon they went back to their own camp, and a little later, Koku, who walked toward it, brought word that the Englishmen were packing up. "They're going to start for the seat of war the first thing in the morning," decided Tom. "Well, we'll get ahead of them. Though we can travel faster than they can, we'll start now, and be on the ground in good season. Besides, I don't like staying all night in the same neighborhood with them. Get ready for a start, Ned." Tom did not stop to say good-bye to the Englishmen, though he bade farewell to the missionaries, who had been so kind to him. There was much excitement in the native town, for many of the tribesmen were getting ready to depart to help their friends or relatives in the impending battle. As dusk was falling, the big airship arose, and soon her powerful propellers were sending her across the jungle, toward Stanley Falls in the vicinity of which the battle was expected to take place. CHAPTER XVIII THE NATIVE BATTLE "By Jove, Tom, here they come!" "From over by that drinking pool?" "Yes, just as the spies said they would. Wow, what a crowd of the black beggars there are! And some of 'em have regular guns, too. But most of 'em have clubs, bows and arrows, blow guns, or spears." Tom and Ned were standing on the forward part of the airship, which was moving slowly along, over an open plateau, in the jungle where the native battle was about to take place. Our friends had left the town where the missionaries lived, and had hovered over the jungle, until they saw signs of the coming struggle. They had seen nothing of their English rivals since coming away, but had no doubt but that the Britishers were somewhere in the neighborhood. The two forces of black men, who had gone to war over a dispute about some cattle, approached each other. There was the beating of tom-toms, and skin drums, and many weird shouts. From their vantage point in the air, Tom and his companions had an excellent view. The Wizard Camera was loaded with a long reel of film, and ready for action. "Bless my handkerchief!" cried Mr. Damon, as he looked down on the forces that were about to clash. "I never saw anything like this before!" "I either," admitted Tom. "But, if things go right, I'm going to get some dandy films!" Nearer and nearer the rival forces advanced. At first they had stared, and shouted in wonder at the sight of the airship, hovering above them, but their anger soon drew their attention to the fighting at hand, and, after useless gestures toward the craft of the air, and after some of them had vainly fired their guns or arrows at it, they paid no more attention, but rushed on with their shouts and cries and amid the beating of their rude drums. "I think I'll begin to take pictures now," said Tom, as Ned, in charge of the ship, sent it about in a circle, giving a general view of the rival forces. "I'll show a scene of the two crowds getting ready for business, and, later on, when they're actually giving each other cats and dogs, I'll get all the pictures possible." The camera was started while, safe in the air those on the Flyer watched what went on below them. Suddenly the forward squads of the two small armies of blacks met. With wild, weird yells they rushed at each other. The air was filled with flying arrows and spears. The sound of the old-fashioned muzzle-loading guns could be heard, and clouds of smoke arose. Tilting his camera, and arranging the newly attached reflecting mirrors so as to give the effect as if a spectator was looking at the battle from in front, instead of from above, Tom Swift took picture after picture. The fight was now on. With yells of rage and defiance the Africans came together, giving blow for blow. It was a wild melee, and those on the airship looked on fascinated, though greatly wishing that such horrors could be stopped. "How about it, Tom?" cried Ned. "Everything going good! I don't like this business, but now I'm in it I'm going to stick. Put me down a little lower," answered the young inventor. "All right. I say Tom, look over there." "Where?" "By that lightning-struck gum tree. See those two men, and some sort of a machine they've got stuck up on stilts? See it?" "Sure. Those are the two Englishmen--my rivals! They're taking pictures, too!" And then, with a crash and roar, with wild shouts and yells, with volley after volley of firearms, clouds of smoke and flights of arrows and spears, the native battle was in full swing, while the young inventor, sailing above it in his airship, reeled off view after view of the strange sight. CHAPTER XIX A HEAVY LOSS "Bless my battle axe, but this is awful!" cried Mr. Damon. "War is always a fearful thing," spoke Mr. Nestor. "But this is not as bad as if the natives fought with modern weapons. See! most of them are fighting with clubs, and their fists. They don't seem to hurt each other very much." "That's so," agreed Mr. Damon. The two gentlemen were in the main cabin, looking down on the fight below them, while Tom, with Ned to help him change the reels of films, as they became filled with pictures, attended to the camera. Koku was steering the craft, as he had readily learned how to manage it. "Are those Englishmen taking pictures yet?" asked Tom, too busy to turn his head, and look for himself. "Yes, they're still at," replied Ned. "But they seem to be having trouble with their machine," he added as he saw one of the men leave the apparatus, and run hurriedly back to where they had made a temporary camp. "I guess it's an old-fashioned kind," commented Tom. "Say, this is getting fierce!" he cried, as the natives got in closer contact with each other. It was now a hand-to-hand battle. "I should say so!" yelled Ned. "It's a wonder those Englishmen aren't afraid to be down on the same level with the black fighters." "Oh, a white person is considered almost sacred by the natives here, so the missionaries told me," said Tom. "A black man would never think of raising his hand to one, and the Englishmen probably know this. They're safe enough. In fact I'm thinking of soon going down myself, and getting some views from the ground." "Bless my gizzard, Tom!" cried Mr. Damon. "Don't do it!" "Yes, I think I will. Why, it's safe enough. Besides, if they attack us we have the electric rifles. Ned, you tell Koku to get the guns out, to have in readiness, and then you put the ship down. I'll take a chance." "Jove! You've been doing nothing but take chances since we came on this trip!" exclaimed Ned, admiringly. "All right! Here we go," and he went to relieve Koku at the wheel, while the giant, grinning cheerfully at the prospect of taking part in the fight himself, got out the rifles, including his own. Meanwhile the native battle went on fiercely. Many on both sides fell, and not a few ran away, when they got the chance, their companions yelling at them, evidently trying to shame them into coming back. As the airship landed, Mr. Damon, Mr. Nestor, Ned and Koku stood ready with the deadly electric rifles, in case an attack should be made on them. But the fighting natives paid no more attention to our friends than they did to the two Englishmen. The latter moved their clumsy camera from place to place, in order to get various views of the fighting. "This is the best yet!" cried Tom, as, after a lull in the fight, when the two opposing armies had drawn a little apart, they came together again more desperately than before. "I hope the pictures are being recorded all right. I have to go at this thing pretty much in the dark. Say, look at the beggars fight!" he finished. But a battle, even between uncivilized blacks, cannot go on for very long at a time. Many had fallen, some being quite severely injured it seemed, being carried off by their friends. Then, with a sudden rush, the side which, as our friends learned later, had been robbed of their cattle, made a fierce attack, overwhelming their enemies, and compelling them to retreat. Across the open plain the vanquished army fled, with the others after them. Tom, meanwhile, taking pictures as fast as he could. "This ends it!" he remarked to Ned, when the warriors were too far away to make any more good views. "Now we can take a rest." "The Englishmen gave up some time ago," said his chum, motioning to the two men who were taking their machine off the tripod. "Guess their films gave out," spoke Tom. "Well, you see it didn't do any harm to come down, and I got some better views here." "Here they come back!" exclaimed Ned, as a horde of the black fellows emerged from the jungle, and came on over the plain. "Hear 'em sing!" commented Tom, as the sound of a rude chant came to their ears. "They must be the winners all right." "I guess so," agreed Ned. "But what about staying here now? Maybe they won't be so friendly to us when they haven't any fighting to occupy their minds." "Don't worry," advised Tom. "They won't bother us." And the blacks did not. They were caring for their wounded, who had not already been taken from the field, and they paid no attention to our friends, save to look curiously at the airship. "Bless my newspaper!" cried Mr. Damon, with an air of relief. "I'm glad that's over, and we didn't have to use the electric rifles, after all." "Here come the Englishmen to pay us a visit," spoke Ned a little later, as they sat about the cabin of the Flyer. The two rival picture men soon climbed on deck. "Beg pardon," said the taller of the two, addressing our hero, "but could you lend us a roll of film? Ours are all used up, and we want to get some more pictures before going back to our main camp." "I'm sorry," replied Tom, "but I use a special size, and it fits no camera but my own." "Ah! might we see your camera?" asked the other Englishman. "That is, see how it works?" "I don't like to be disobliging," was Tom's answer, "but it is not yet patented and--well--" he hesitated. "Oh, I see!" sneered the taller visitor. "You're afraid we might steal some of your ideas. Hum! Come on Montgomery," and, swinging on his heels, with a military air, he hurried away, followed by his companion. "They don't like that, but I can't help it," remarked Tom to his friends a little later. "I can't afford to take any chances." "No, you did just right," said Mr. Nestor. "Those men may be all right, but from the fact that they are in the picture taking business I'd be suspicious of them." "Well, what's next on the programme?" asked Ned as Tom put his camera away. "Oh, I think we'll stay here over night," was our hero's reply. "It's a nice location, and the gas machine needs cleaning. We can do it here, and maybe I can get some more pictures." They were busy the rest of the day on the gas generator, but the main body of natives did not come back, and the Englishmen seemed to have disappeared. Everyone slept soundly that night. So soundly, in fact, that the sun was very high when Koku was the first to awaken, His head felt strangely dizzy, and he wondered at a queer smell in the room he had to himself. "Nobody up yet," he exclaimed in surprise, as he staggered into the main cabin. There, too, was the strange, sweetish, sickly smell. "Mr. Tom, where you be? Time to get up!" the giant called to his master, as he went in, and gently shook the young inventor by the shoulder. "Eh? What's that? What's the matter?" began Tom, and then he suddenly sat up. "Oh, my head!" he exclaimed, putting his hands to his aching temples. "And that queer smell!" added Ned, who was also awake now. "Bless my talcum powder!" cried Mr. Damon. "I have a splitting headache." "Hum! Chloroform, if I'm any judge!" called Mr. Nestor from his berth. "Chloroform!" cried Tom, staggering to his feet. "I wonder." He did not finish his sentence, but made his way to the room where his camera was kept. "It's gone!" he cried. "We have been chloroformed in the night, and some one has taken my Wizard Camera." CHAPTER XX AFTER THE ENGLISHMEN "The camera gone!" gasped Ned. "Did they chloroform us?" exclaimed Mr. Damon. "Bless my--" but for one of the few times in his life, he did not know what to bless. "Get all the fresh air you can," hastily advised Mr. Nestor. "Koku, open all the doors and windows," for, though it was hot during the day in the jungle, the nights were cool, and the airship was generally closed up. With the inrush of the fresh air every one soon felt better. "Is anything else gone?" asked Ned, as he followed Tom into the camera room. "Yes, several rolls of unexposed films. Oh, if only they haven't got too much of a start! I'll get it away from them!" declared Tom with energy. "From who? Who took it?" asked Ned. "Those Englishmen, of course! Who else? I believe they are in the pay of Turbot and Eckert. Their taking pictures was only a bluff! They got on my trail and stuck to it. The delays we had, gave them a chance to catch up to us. They came over to the airship, to pretend to borrow films, just to get a look at the place, and size it up, so they could chloroform us, and get the camera." "I believe you're right," declared Mr. Nestor. "We must get after those scoundrels as quickly as possible!" "Bless my shoulder braces!" cried Mr. Damon. "How do you imagine they worked that trick on us?" "Easily enough," was Mr. Nestor's opinion. "We were all dead tired last night, and slept like tops. They watched their chance, sneaked up, and got in. After that it was no hard matter to chloroform each one of us in turn, and they had the ship to themselves. They looked around, found the camera, and made off with it." "Well, I'm going to get right after them!" cried Tom. "Ned, start the motor. I'll steer for a while." "Hold on! Wait a minute," suggested Mr. Nestor. "I wouldn't go off in the ship just yet, Tom." "Why not?" "Because you don't know which way to go. We must find out which trail the Englishmen took. They have African porters with them, and those porters doubtless know some of the blacks around here. We must inquire of the natives which way the porters went, in carrying the goods of our rivals, for those Englishmen would not abandon camp without taking their baggage with them." "That's so," admitted the young inventor. "That will be the best plan. Once I find which way they have gone I can easily overtake them in the airship. And when I find 'em--" Tom paused significantly. "Me help you fix 'em!" cried Koku, clenching his big fist. "They will probably figure it out that you will take after them," said Mr. Nestor, "but they may not count on you doing it in the Flyer, and so they may not try to hide. It isn't going to be an easy matter to pick a small party out of the jungle though, Tom." "Well, I've done more difficult things in my airships," spoke our hero. "I'll fly low, and use the glass. I guess we can pick out their crowd of porters, though they won't have many. Oh, my camera! I hope they won't damage it." "They won't," was Ned's opinion. "It's too valuable. They want it to take pictures with, themselves." "Maybe. I hope they don't open it, and see how it's made. And I'm glad I thought to hide the picture films I've taken so far. They didn't get those away from us, only some of the blank ones," and Tom looked again in a secret closet, where he kept the battle-films, and the others, in the dark, to prevent them from being light-struck, by any possible chance. "Well, if we're going to make some inquiries, let's do it," suggested Mr. Nestor. "I think I see some of the Africans over there. They have made a temporary camp, it seems, to attend to some of their wounded." "Do you think we can make them understand what we want?" asked Ned. "I don't believe they speak English." "Oh these blacks have been trading with white men," said Tom, "for they have 'trader's' guns, built to look at, and not to shoot very well. I fancy we can make ourselves understood. If not, we can use signs." Leaving Koku and Mr. Damon to guard the airship, Tom, Ned and Mr. Nestor went to the African camp. There was a large party of men there, and they seemed friendly enough. Probably winning the battle the day before had put them in good humor, even though many of them were hurt. To Tom's delight he found one native who could speak a little English, and of him they made inquiries as to what direction the Englishmen had taken. The black talked for a while among his fellows, and then reported to our friends that, late in the night, one of the porters, hired by Montgomery and Kenneth, had come to camp to bid a brother good-bye. This porter had said that his masters were in a hurry to get away, and had started west. "That's it!" cried Mr. Nestor. "They're going to get somewhere so they can make their way to the coast. They want to get out of Africa as fast as they can." "And I'm going to get after 'em as fast as I can!" cried Tom grimly. "Come on!" They hurried back to the airship, finding Koku and Mr. Damon peacefully engaged in talk, no one having disturbed them. "Start the motor, Ned!" called his chum. "We'll see what luck we have!" Up into the air went the Flyer, her great propellers revolving rapidly. Over the jungle she shot, and then, when he found that everything was working well, and that the cleaned gas generator was operating as good as when it was new, the young inventor slowed up, and brought the craft down to a lower level. "For we don't want to run past these fellows, or shoot over their heads in our hurry," Tom explained. "Ned, get out the binoculars. They're easier to handle than the telescope. Then go up forward, and keep a sharp lookout. There is something like a jungle trail below us, and it looks to be the only one around here. They probably took that." Soon after leaving the place where they had camped after the battle, Tom had seen a rude path through the forest, and had followed that lead. On sped the Flyer, after the two Englishmen, while Tom thought regretfully of his stolen camera. CHAPTER XXI THE JUNGLE FIRE "Well, Tom, I don't seem to see anything of them," remarked Ned that afternoon, as he sat in the bow of the air craft, gazing from time to time through the powerful glasses. "No, and I can't understand it, either," responded the young inventor, who had come forward to relieve his chum. "They didn't have much the start of us, and they'll have to travel very slowly. It isn't as if they could hop on a train; and, even if they did, I could overtake them in a short time. But they have to travel on foot through the jungle, and can't have gone far." "Maybe they have bullock carts," suggested Mr. Damon. "The trail isn't wide enough for that," declared Tom. "We've come quite a distance now, even if we have been running at low speed, and we haven't seen even a black man on the trail," and he motioned to the rude path below them. "They may have taken a boat and slipped down that river we crossed a little while ago," suggested Ned. "That's so!" cried Tom. "Why didn't I think of it? Say! I'm going to turn back." "Turn back?" "Yes, and go up and down the stream a way. We have time, for we can easily run at top speed on the return trip. Then, if we don't see anything of them on the water, we'll pick up the trail again. Put her around, Ned, and I'll take the glasses for a while." The Flyer was soon shooting back over the same trail our friends had covered, and, as Ned set the propellers going at top speed, they were quickly hovering over a broad but shallow river, which cut through the jungle. "Try it down stream first," suggested Tom, who was peering through the binoculars. "They'd be most likely to go down, as it would be easier." Along over the stream swept the airship, covering several miles. "There's a boat!" suddenly exclaimed Mr. Nestor, pointing to a native canoe below them. "Bless my paddle wheel! So it is!" cried Mr. Damon. "I believe it's them, Tom!" "No, there are only natives in that craft," answered the young inventor a moment later, as he brought the binoculars into focus. "I wish it was them, though." A few more miles were covered down stream, and then Tom tried the opposite direction. But all to no purpose. A number of boats were seen, and several rafts, but they had no white men on them. "Maybe the Englishmen disguised themselves like natives, Tom," suggested Ned. Our hero shook his head. "I could see everything in the boats, through these powerful glasses," he replied, "and there was nothing like my camera. I'd know that a mile off. No, they didn't take to this stream, though they probably crossed it. We'll have to keep on the way we were going. It will soon be night, and we'll have to camp. Then we'll take up the search to-morrow." It was just getting dusk, and Tom was looking about for a good place to land in the jungle, when Ned, who was standing in the bow, cried: "I say, Tom, here's a native village just ahead. There's a good place to stop, and we can stay there over night." "Good!" exclaimed Tom. "And, what's more, we can make some inquiries as to whether or not the Englishmen have passed here. This is great! Maybe we'll come out all right, after all! They can't travel at night--or at least I don't believe they will--and if they have passed this village we can catch them to-morrow. We'll go down." They were now over the native town, which was in a natural clearing in the jungle. The natives had by this time caught sight of the big airship over them, and were running about in terror. There was not a man, woman or child in sight when the Flyer came down, for the inhabitants had all fled in fright. "Not much of a chance to make inquiries of these folks," said Mr. Nestor. "Oh, they'll come back," predicted Tom. "They are naturally curious, and when they see that the thing isn't going to blow up, they'll gather around. I've seen the same thing happen before." Tom proved a true prophet. In a little while some of the men began straggling back, when they saw our friends walking about the airship, as it rested on the ground. Then came the children, and then the women, until the whole population was gathered about the airship, staring at it wonderingly. Tom made signs of friendship, and was lucky enough to find a native who knew a few French words. Tom was not much of a French scholar, but he could frame a question as to the Englishmen. "Oui!" exclaimed the native, when he understood. Then he rattled off something, which Tom, after having it repeated, and making signs to the man to make sure he understood, said meant that the Englishmen had passed through the village that morning. "We're on the right trail!" cried the young inventor. "They're only a day's travel ahead of us. We'll catch them to-morrow, and get my camera back." The natives soon lost all fear of the airship, and some of the chief men even consented to come aboard. Tom gave them a few trifles for presents, and won their friendship to such an extent that a great feast was hastily gotten up in honor of the travelers. Big fires were lighted, and fowls by the score were roasted. "Say, I'm glad we struck this place!" exclaimed Ned, as he sat on the ground with the others, eating roast fowl. "This is all to the chicken salad!" "Things are coming our way at last," remarked Tom. "We'll start the first thing in the morning. I wish I had my camera now. I'd take a picture of this scene. Dad would enjoy it, and so would Mrs. Baggert. Oh, I almost wish I was home again. But if I get my camera I've got a lot more work ahead of me." "What kind?" asked Ned. "I don't know. I'm to stop in Paris for the next instructions from Mr. Period. He is keeping in touch with the big happenings of the world, and he may send us to Japan, to get some earthquake pictures." The night was quiet after the feast, and in the morning Tom and his friends sailed off in their airship, leaving behind the wondering and pleased natives, for our hero handed out more presents, of small value to him, but yet such things as the blacks prized highly. Once more they were flying over the trail, and they put on more speed now, for they were fairly sure that the men they sought were ahead of them about a day's travel. This meant perhaps twenty miles, and Tom figured that he could cover fifteen in a hurry, and then go over the remaining five slowly, so as not to miss his quarry. "Say, don't you smell something?" asked Ned a little later, when the airship had been slowed down. "Something like smoke?" "Humph! I believe I do get an odor of something burning," admitted Tom, sniffing the atmosphere. "Bless my pocket book!" exclaimed Mr. Damon, "look down there, boys!" He pointed below, and, to the surprise of the lads, and no less of himself, he saw many animals hurrying back along the jungle trail. There were scores of deer, leaping along, here and there a tawny lion, and one or two tigers. Off to one side a rhinoceros crashed his way through the tangle, and occasionally an elephant was seen. "That's queer," cried Ned. "And they're not paying any attention to each other, either." "Something is happening," was Mr. Nestor's opinion. "Those animals are running away from something." "Maybe it's an elephant drive," spoke Tom. "I think--" But he did not finish. The smell of smoke suddenly became stronger, and, a moment later, as the airship rose higher, in response to a change in the angle of the deflecting rudder, which Ned shifted, all on board saw a great volume of black smoke rolling toward the sky. "A jungle fire!" cried Tom. "The jungle is burning! That's why the animals are running back this way." "We'd better not go on!" shouted Ned, choking a bit, as the smoke rolled nearer. "No, we've got to turn back!" decided Tom. "Say, this will stop the Englishmen! They can't go on. We'll go back to the village we left, and wait for them. They're trapped!" And then he added soberly: "I hope my camera doesn't get burnt up!" CHAPTER XXII A DANGEROUS COMMISSION "Look at that smoke!" yelled Ned, as he sent the airship about in a great circle on the backward trail. "And there's plenty of blaze, too," added Tom. "See the flames eating away! This stuff is as dry as tinder for there hasn't been any rain for months." "Much hot!" was the comment of the giant, when he felt the warm wind of the fire. "Bless my fountain pen!" gasped Mr. Damon, as he looked down into the jungle. "See all those animals!" The trail was now thick with deer, and many small beasts, the names of which Tom did not know. On either side could be heard larger brutes, crashing their way forward to escape the fire behind them. "Oh, if you only had your camera now!" cried Ned. "You could get a wonderful picture, Tom." "What's the use of wishing for it. Those Englishmen have it, and--" "Maybe they're using it!" interrupted Ned. "No, I don't think they would know how to work it. Do you see anything of them, Ned?" "Not a sight. But they'll surely have to come back, just as you said, unless they got ahead of the fire. They can't go on, and it would be madness to get off the trail in a jungle like this." "I don't believe they could have gotten ahead of the fire," spoke Tom. "They couldn't travel fast enough for that, and see how broad the blaze is." They were now higher up, well out of the heat and smoke of the conflagration, and they could see that it extended for many miles along the trail, and for a mile or so on either side of it. "We're far enough in advance, now, to go down a bit, I guess," said Tom, a little later. "I want to get a good view of the path, and I can't do that from up here. I have an idea that--" Tom did not finish, for as the airship approached nearer the ground, he caught up a pair of binoculars, and focussed them on something on the trail below. "What is it?" cried Ned, startled by something in his chum's manner. "It's them! The Englishmen!" cried Tom. "See, they are racing back along the trail. Their porters have deserted them. But they have my camera! I can see it! I'm going down, and get it! Ned, stand by the wheel, and make a quick landing. Then we'll go up again!" Tom handed the glasses to his chum, and Ned quickly verified the young inventor's statement. There were the two rascally Englishmen. The fire was still some distance in the rear, but was coming on rapidly. There were no animals to be seen, for they had probably gone off on a side trail, or had slunk deeper into the jungle. Above the distant roar of the blaze sounded the throb of the airship's motor. The Englishmen heard it, and looked up. Then, suddenly, they motioned to Tom to descend. "That's what I'm going to do," he said aloud, but of course they could not hear him. "They're waiting for us!" cried Ned. "I wonder why?" for the rascals had come to a halt, setting down the packs they carried on the trail. One of the things they had was undoubtedly Tom's camera. "They probably want us to save their lives," said Tom. "They know they can't out-run this fire. They've given up! We have them now!" "Are you going to save them?" asked Mr. Damon. "Of course. I wouldn't let my worst enemy run the chances of danger in that terrible blaze. I'd save them even if they had smashed my camera. I'll go down, and get them, and take them back to the native village, but that's as far as I will carry them. They'll have to get away as best they can, after that." It was the work of but a few minutes to lower the airship to the trail. Fortunately it widened a bit at this point, or Tom could never have gotten his craft down through the trees. "Hand up that camera!" ordered our hero curtly, when he had stopped near the Englishmen. "Yes, my dear chap," spoke the tall Britisher, "but will you oblige us, by taking us--" "Hand up the camera first!" sharply ordered Tom again. They passed it to him. "I know we treated you beastly mean," went on Kenneth, "but, my dear chap--" "Get aboard," was all Tom said, and when the rascals, with fearful glances back into the burning jungle, did so, our hero sent his craft high into the air again. "Where are you taking us, my dear chap?" asked the tall rascal. "Don't 'dear chap' me!" retorted Tom. "I don't want to talk to you. I'm going to drop you at the native village." "But that will burn!" cried the Englishman. "The wind is changing," was our hero's answer. "The fire won't get to the village. You'll be safe. Have you damaged my camera?" he asked as he began to examine it, while Ned managed the ship. "No, my dear chap. You mustn't think too hard of us. We were both down on our luck, and a chap offered us a big sum to get on your trail, and secure the camera. He said you had filched it from him, and that he had a right to it. Understand, we wouldn't have taken it had we known--" "Don't talk to me!" interrupted Tom, as he saw that his apparatus had not been damaged. "The man who hired you was a rascal--that's all I'll say. Put on a little more speed, Ned. I want to get rid of these 'dear chaps' and take some pictures of the jungle fire." As Tom had said, the wind had changed, and was blowing the flames away off to one side, so that the native village would be in no danger. It was soon reached, and the Africans were surprised to see Tom's airship back again. But he did not stay long, descending only to let the Englishmen alight. They pleaded to be taken to the coast, making all sorts of promises, and stating that, had they known that Turbot and Eckert (for whom they admitted they had acted) were not telling the truth, they never would have taken Tom's camera. "Don't leave us here!" they pleaded. "I wouldn't have you on board my airship another minute for a fortune!" declared Tom, as he signalled to Ned to start the motor. Then the Flyer ascended on high, leaving the plotters and started back for the fire, of which Tom got a series of fine moving pictures. A week later our friends were in Paris, having made a quick trip, on which little of incident occurred, though Tom managed to get quite a number of good views on the way. He found a message awaiting him, from Mr. Period. "Well, where to now?" asked Ned, as his chum read the cablegram. "Great Scott!" cried our hero. "Talk about hair-raising jobs, this certainly is the limit!" "Why, what's the matter?" "I've got to get some moving pictures of a volcano in action," was the answer. "Say, if I'd known what sort of things 'Spotty' wanted, I'd never have consented to take this trip. A volcano in action, and maybe an earthquake on the side! This is certainly going some!" CHAPTER XXIII AT THE VOLCANO "And you've got to snap-shot a volcano?" remarked Ned to his chum, after a moment of surprised silence. "Any particular one? Is it Vesuvius? If it is we haven't far to go. But how does Mr. Period know that it's going to get into action when we want it to?" "No, it isn't Vesuvius," replied Tom. "We've got to take another long trip, and we'll have to go by steamer again. The message says that the Arequipa volcano, near the city of the same name, in Peru, has started to 'erupt,' and, according to rumor, it's acting as it did many years ago, just before a big upheaval." "Bless my Pumice stones!" cried Mr. Damon. "And are you expected to get pictures of it shooting out flames and smoke, Tom?" "Of course. An inactive volcano wouldn't make much of a moving picture. Well, if we go to Peru, we won't be far from the United States, and we can fly back home in the airship. But we've got to take the Flyer apart, and pack up again." "Will you have time?" asked Mr. Nestor. "Maybe the volcano will get into action before you arrive, and the performance will be all over with." "I think not," spoke Tom, as he again read the cablegram. "Mr. Period says he has advices from Peru to the effect that, on other occasions, it took about a month from the time smoke was first seen coming from the crater, before the fireworks started up. I guess we've got time enough, but we won't waste any." "And I guess Montgomery and Kenneth won't be there to make trouble for us," put in Ned. "It will be some time before they get away from that African town, I think." They began work that day on taking the airship apart for transportation to the steamer that was to carry them across the ocean. Tom decided on going to Panama, to get a series of pictures on the work of digging that vast canal. On inquiry he learned that a steamer was soon to sail for Colon, so he took passage for his friends and himself on that, also arranging for the carrying of the parts of his airship. It was rather hard work to take the Flyer apart, but it was finally done, and, in about a week from the time of arriving in Paris, they left that beautiful city. The pictures already taken were forwarded to Mr. Period, with a letter of explanation of Tom's adventures thus far, and an account of how his rivals had acted. Just before sailing, Tom received another message from his strange employer. The cablegram read: "Understand our rivals are also going to try for volcano pictures. Can't find out who will represent Turbot and Eckert, but watch out. Be suspicious of strangers." "That's what I will!" cried Tom. "If they get my camera away from me again, it will be my own fault." The voyage to Colon was not specially interesting. They ran into a terrific storm, about half way over, and Tom took some pictures from the steamer's bridge, the captain allowing him to do so, but warning him to be careful. "I'll take Koku up there with me," said the young inventor, "and if a wave tries to wash me overboard he'll grab me." And it was a good thing that he took this precaution, for, while a wave did not get as high as the bridge, one big, green roller smashed over the bow of the vessel, staggering her so that Tom was tossed against the rail. He would have been seriously hurt, and his camera might have been broken, but for the quickness of the giant. Koku caught his master, camera and all, in a mighty arm, and with the other clung to a stanchion, holding Tom in safety until the ship was on a level keel once more. "Thanks, Koku!" gasped Tom. "You always seem to be around when I need you." The giant grinned happily. The storm blew out in a few days, and, from then on, there was pleasant sailing. When Tom's airship had been reassembled at Colon, it created quite a sensation among the small army of canal workers, and, for their benefit, our hero gave several flying exhibitions. He then took some of the engineers on a little trip, and in turn, they did him the favor of letting him get moving pictures of parts of the work not usually seen. "And now for the volcano!" cried Tom one morning, when having shipped to Mr. Period the canal pictures, the Flyer was sent aloft, and her nose pointed toward Arequipa. "We've got quite a run before us." "How long?" asked Ned. "About two thousand miles. But I'm going to speed her up to the limit." Tom was as good as his word, and soon the Flyer was shooting along at her best rate, reeling off mile after mile, just below the clouds. It was a wild and desolate region over which the travelers found themselves most of the time, though the scenery was magnificent. They sailed over Quito, that city on the equator, and, a little later, they passed above the Cotopaxi and Chimbarazo volcanoes. But neither of them was in action. The Andes Mountains, as you all know, has many volcanoes scattered along the range. Lima was the next large city, and there Tom made a descent to inquire about the burning mountain he was shortly to photograph. "It will soon be in action," the United States counsel said. "I had a letter from a correspondent near there only yesterday, and he said the people in the town were getting anxious. They are fearing a shower of burning ashes, or that the eruption may be accompanied by an earthquake." "Good!" cried Tom. "Oh, I don't mean it exactly that way," he hastened to add, as he saw the counsel looking queerly at him. "I meant that I could get pictures of both earthquake and volcano then. I don't wish the poor people any harm." "Well, you're the first one I ever saw who was anxious to get next door to a volcano," remarked the counsel. "Hold on, though, that's not quite right. I heard yesterday that a couple of young fellows passed through here on their way to the same place. Come to think of it, they were moving picture men, also." "Great Scott!" cried Tom. "Those must be my rivals, I'll wager. I must get right on the job. Thanks for the information," and hurrying from the office he joined his friends on the airship, and was soon aloft again. "Look, Tom, what's that?" cried Ned, about noon the next day when the Flyer, according to their calculations must be nearing the city of Arequipa. "See that black cloud over there. I hope it isn't a tornado, or a cyclone, or whatever they call the big wind storms down here." Tom, and the others, looked to where Ned pointed. There was a column of dense smoke hovering in the air, lazily swirling this way and that. The airship was rapidly approaching it. "Why that--" began Tom, but before he could complete the sentence the smoke was blown violently upward. It became streaked with fire, and, a moment later, there was the echo of a tremendous explosion. "The volcano!" cried Tom. "The Arequipa volcano! We're here just in time, for she's in eruption now! Come on, Ned, help me get out the camera! Mr. Damon, you and Mr. Nestor manage the airship! Put us as close as you dare! I'm going to get some crackerjack pictures!" Once more came a great report. "Bless my toothpick!" gasped Mr. Damon. "This is awful!" And the airship rushed on toward the volcano which could be plainly seen now, belching forth fire, smoke and ashes. CHAPTER XXIV THE MOLTEN RIVER "Whew!" gasped Ned, as he stood beside Tom in the bow of the airship. "What's that choking us, Tom?" "Sulphur, I guess, and gases from the volcano. The wind blew 'em over this way. They're not dangerous, as long as there is no carbonic acid gas given off, and I don't smell any of that, yet. Say, Ned, it's erupting all right, isn't it?" "I should say so!" cried his chum. "Put us a little to one side, Mr. Damon," called Tom to his friend, who was in the pilot house. "I can't get good pictures through so much smoke. It's clearer off to the left." "Bless my bath robe!" cried the odd man. "You're as cool about it, Tom, as though you were just in an ordinary race, at an aeroplane meet." "And why shouldn't I be?" asked our hero with a laugh, as he stopped the mechanism of the camera until he should have a clearer view of the volcano. "There's not much danger up here, but I want to get some views from the level, later, and then--" "You don't get me down there!" interrupted Mr. Nestor, with a grim laugh. They were now hovering over the volcano, but high enough up so that none of the great stones that were being thrown out could reach them. The column of black smoke, amid which could be seen the gleams of the molten fires in the crater, rolled toward them, and the smell of sulphur became stronger. But when, in accordance with Tom's suggestion, the airship had been sent over to one side, they were clear of the vapor and the noxious gas. Then, too, a better view could be had of the volcano below them. "Hold her down!" cried Tom, as he got in a good position, and the propellers were slowed down so that they just overcame the influence of a slight wind. Thus the Flyer hovered in the air, while below her the volcano belched forth red-hot rocks, some of them immense in size, and quantities of hot ashes and cinders. Tom had the camera going again now, and there was every prospect of getting a startling and wonderful, as well as rare series of moving pictures. "Wow! That was a big one!" cried Ned, as an unusually large mass of rocks was thrown out, and the column of fire and smoke ascended nearly to the hovering craft. A moment later came an explosion, louder than any that had preceded. "We'd better be going up; hadn't we Tom?" his chum asked. "A little, yes, but not too far. I want to get as many near views as I can." "Bless my overshoes!" gasped Mr. Damon, as he heard Tom say that. Then he sent some of the vapor from the generating machine into the gas bag, and the Flyer arose slightly. Ned looked in the direction of the town, but could not see it, on account of the haze. Then he directed his attention to the terrifying sight below him. "It's a good thing it isn't very near the city," he said to Tom, who was engaged in watching the automatic apparatus of the camera, to see when he would have to put in a fresh film. "It wouldn't take much of this sort of thing to destroy a big city. But I don't see any streams of burning lava, such as they always say come out of a volcano." "It isn't time for that yet," replied Tom. "The lava comes out last, after the top layer of stones and ashes have been blown out. They are a sort of stopper to the volcano, I guess, like the cork of a bottle, and, when they're out of the way, the red-hot melted rock comes out. Then there's trouble. I want to get pictures of that." "Well, keep far enough away," advised Mr. Nestor, who had come forward. "Don't take any chances. I guess your rivals won't get here in time to take any pictures, for they can't travel as fast as we did." "No," agreed the young inventor, "unless some other party of them were here ahead of us. They'll have their own troubles, though, making pictures anything like as good as we're getting." "There goes another blast!" cried Ned, as a terrific explosion sounded, and a shower of hot stuff was thrown high into the air. "If I lived in Arequipa I'd be moving out about now." "There isn't much danger I guess, except from showers of burning ashes, and volcanic dust," spoke Mr. Nestor, "and the wind is blowing it away from the town. If it continues this way the people will be saved." "Unless there is so much of the red-hot lava that it will bury the city," suggested Tom. "I hope that doesn't happen," and he could not repress a shudder as he looked down on the awful scene below him. After that last explosion the volcano appeared to subside somewhat, though great clouds of smoke and tongues of fire leaped upward. "I've got to put in a new reel of film!" suddenly exclaimed Tom. "While I stop the camera, Mr. Damon, I think you and Mr. Nestor might put the airship down to the ground. I want some views on the level." "What! Go down to earth with this awful volcano spouting fire?" cried Mr. Damon. "Bless my comb and brush!" "We can get well down the side of the mountain," said Tom. "I won't go into any danger, much less ask any one else to do so, and I certainly don't want my ship damaged. We can land down there," he said, pointing to a spot on the side of the volcanic mountain, that was some distance removed from the mouth of the crater. "It won't take me long to get one reel of views, and then I'll come up again." The two men finally gave in to Tom's argument, that there was comparatively little danger, for they admitted that they could quickly rise up at the first sign of danger, and accordingly the Flyer descended. Tom quickly had a fresh reel of film inserted, and started his camera to working, standing it on a tripod some distance from the airship. Once more the volcano was "doing its prettiest," as Tom expressed it. He glanced around, as another big explosion took place, to see if any other picture men were on hand, but the terrible mountain seemed deserted, though of course someone might be on the other side. "What's that?" suddenly cried Ned, looking apprehensively at his chum. At the same time Tom jumped to his feet, for he had been kneeling near the camera. "Bless my--" began Mr. Damon, but he got no farther, for suddenly the solid ground began to tremble and shake. "An earthquake!" shouted Mr. Nestor. "Come, Tom! Get back to the ship!" The young inventor and Ned had been the only ones to leave it, as it rested on a spur of the mountain. As Tom and Ned leaped forward to save the camera which was toppling to one side, there came a great fissure in the side of the volcano, and a stream of molten rock, glowing white with heat, gushed out. It was a veritable river of melted stone, and it was coming straight for the two lads. "Run! Run!" cried Mr. Nestor. "We have everything ready for a quick flight. Run, Tom! Ned!" The lads leaped for the Flyer, the molten rock coming nearer and nearer, and then with a cry Koku sprang overboard and made a dash toward his master. CHAPTER XXV THE EARTHQUAKE--CONCLUSION "Here, Mr. Tom. Me carry you an' Ned. You hold picture machine!" cried the giant. "Me run faster." As he spoke he lifted Ned up under one arm, and caught Tom in the other. For they were but as children to his immense strength. Tom held on to his camera, and, thus laden down, Koku ran as he had never run before, toward the waiting airship. "Come on! Come on!" shouted Mr. Damon, for he could see what Tom, Ned and Koku could not, that the stream of lava was nearing them rapidly. "It's hot!" cried Ned, as a wave of warm air fanned his cheek. "I should say so!" cried Tom. "The volcano is full of red-hot melted stone." There came a sickening shake of the earth. Koku staggered as he ran on, but he kept his feet, and did not fall. Again came a tremendous explosion, and a shower of fine ashes sifted over the airship, and on Koku and his living burdens. "This is the worst ever!" gasped Tom. "But I've got some dandy pictures, if we ever get away from here alive to develop them." "Hurry, Koku! Hurry!" begged Mr. Nestor. "Bless my shoe laces!" yelled Mr. Damon, who was fairly jumping up and down on the deck of the Flyer. "I'll never go near a volcano again!" Once more the ground shook and trembled, as the earthquake rent it. Several cracks appeared in Koku's path, but he leaped over them with tremendous energy. A moment later he had thrust Tom and Ned over the rail, to the deck, and leaped aboard himself. "Let her go!" cried Tom. "I'll do the rest of my moving picture work, around volcanoes and earthquakes, from up in the air!" The Flyer shot upward, and scarcely a moment too soon, for, an instant after she left the ground, the stream of hot, burning and bubbling lava rolled beneath her, and those on board could feel the heat of it ascending. "Say, I'm glad we got out of that when we did," gasped Ned, as he looked down. "You're all right, Koku." "That no trouble," replied the giant with a cheerful grin. "Me carry four fellows like you," and he stretched out his big arms. Tom had at once set his camera to working again, taking view after view. It was a terrifying but magnificent sight that our friends beheld, for the earth was trembling and heaving. Great fissures opened in many places. Into some of them streams of lava poured, for now the volcano had opened in several places, and from each crack the melted rocks belched out. The crater, however, was not sending into the air such volumes of smoke and ashes as before, as most of the tremendous energy had passed, or was being used to spout out the lava. The earthquake was confined to the region right about the volcano, or there might have been a great loss of life in the city. As it was, the damage done was comparatively slight. Tom continued to take views, some showing the earth as it was twisted and torn, and other different aspects of the crater. Then, as suddenly as the earthquake had begun, it subsided, and the volcano was less active. "My! I'm glad to see that!" exclaimed Mr. Damon. "I've had about enough of horrors!" "And I have too," added Tom. "I'm on my last roll of film, and I can't take many more pictures. But I guess I have all Mr. Period needs, and we'll start for home, as soon as I finish the next roll. But I'm going to save that for a night view. That will be a novelty." The volcano became active again after dark, and presented a magnificent though terrifying aspect. As the airship hovered above it, Tom got some of his best pictures, and then, as the last bit of film slipped along back of the lens, the airship was headed north. "Now for Shopton!" cried Tom. "Our trip is ended." "It's too had you didn't have more film," said Ned. "I thought you had plenty." "Well, I used more than I counted on, but there are enough pictures as it is." "Plenty," agreed Mr. Nestor. "I'm sure our company will be very well satisfied with them, Tom. We can't get home any too soon to suit me. I've had enough excitement." "And we didn't see anything of those other fellows whom we heard about," spoke Mr. Damon, as the big airship flew on. "No," said Tom. "But I'm not worrying about them." They made another stop in Lima, on their homeward trip, to renew their supply of gasolene, and there learned that the rival picture men had arrived at the volcano too late to see it in operation. This news came to a relative of one of the two men who lived in Lima. "Then our views of the earthquake and the smoking mountain will be the only ones, and your company can control the rights," said Tom to Mr. Nestor, who agreed with him. In due time, and without anything out of the ordinary happening the Flyer reached Shopton, where Tom found a warm welcome awaiting him, not only from his father, but from a certain young lady, whose name I do not need to mention. "And so you got everything you went after, didn't you, Tom," exclaimed Mr. Period, a few days later, when he had come from New York to get the remainder of the films. "Yes, and some things I didn't expect," replied Tom. "There was--" "Yes! Yes! I know!" interrupted the odd picture man. "It was that jungle fire. That's a magnificent series. None better. And those scoundrels took your camera; eh?" "Yes. Could you connect them with Turbot and Eckert?" asked Tom. "No, but I'm sure they were acting for them just the same. I had no legal evidence to act on, however, so I had to let it go. Turbot and Eckert won't be in it when I start selling duplicates of the films you have. And these last ought to be the best of all. I didn't catch that fellow when I raced after him on the dock. He got away, and has steered clear of me since," finished Mr. Period. "And our rivals didn't secure any views like ours," said Tom. "I'm glad of it," spoke Mr. Period. "Turbot and Eckert bribed one of my men, and so found out where I was sending messages to you. They even got a copy of my cablegram. But it did them no good." "Were all the films clear that I sent you?" asked our hero. "Every one. Couldn't be better. The animal views were particularly fine. You must have had your nerve with you to get some of 'em." "Oh, Tom always has his nerve," laughed Ned. "Well, how soon will you be ready to start out again?" asked the picture man, as he packed up the last of the films which Tom gave him. "I'd like to get some views of a Japanese earthquake, and we haven't any polar views. I want some of them, taken as near the North Pole as you can get." Tom gently shook his head. "What! You don't mean to say you won't get them for me?" cried Mr. Period. "With that wonderful camera of yours you can get views no one else ever could." "Then some one else will have to take them," remarked the young inventor. "I'll lend you the camera, and an airship, and you can go yourself, Mr. Period. I'm going to stay home for a while. I did what I set out to do, and that's enough." "I'm glad you'll stay home, Tom," said his father. "Now perhaps I'll get my gyroscope finished." "And I, my noiseless airship," went on our hero. "No, Mr. Period, you'll have to excuse me this time. Why don't you go yourself?" he asked. "You would know just what kind of pictures you wanted." "No, I'm a promoter of the moving picture business, and I sell films, but I don't know how to take them," was the answer. "Besides I--er--well, I don't exactly care for airships, Tom Swift," he finished with a laugh. "Well, I can't thank you enough for what you did for me, and I've brought you a check to cover your expenses, and pay you as I agreed. All the same I'm sorry you won't start for Japan, or the North Pole." "Nothing doing," said Tom with a laugh; and Mr. Period departed. "Have you any idea what you will do next?" asked Ned, a day or so later, when he and Tom were in the workshop. "I can't tell until I finish my noiseless airship," was the answer. "Then something may happen." Something did, as I shall have the pleasure of telling you about in the next volume of this series, to be called, "Tom Swift and His Great Searchlight; or, On the Border for Uncle Sam," and in it will be given an account of a great lantern our hero made, and how he baffled the smugglers with it. "Oh, Tom, weren't you dreadfully frightened when you saw that burning river of lava coming toward you?" asked Mary Nestor, when the young inventor called on her later and told her some of his adventures. "I should have been scared to death." "Well, I didn't have time to get scared," answered Tom. "It all happened so quickly, and then, too I was thinking of my camera. Next I knew Koku grabbed me, and it was all over." "But those wild beasts! Didn't they frighten you, especially when the rhinoceros charged you?" "If you won't let it get out, I'll make a confession to you," said Tom, lowering his voice. "I was scared stiff that time, but don't let Ned know it." "I won't," promised Mary with a laugh. And now, when Tom is in such pleasant company, we will take leave of him for a while, knowing that, sooner or later, he will be seeking new adventures as exciting as those of the past. THE END ----------------------------------------------------------------- THE TOM SWIFT SERIES By VICTOR APPLETON 12mo. CLOTH. UNIFORM STYLE OF BINDING. COLORED WRAPPERS. These spirited tales convey In a realistic way the wonderful advances in land and sea locomotion. Stories like these are impressed upon the memory and their reading is productive only of good. TOM SWIFT AND HIS MOTOR CYCLE Or Fun and Adventure on the Road TOM SWIFT AND HIS MOTOR BOAT Or The Rivals of Lake Carlopa TOM SWIFT AND HIS AIRSHIP Or The Stirring cruise of the Red Cloud TOM SWIFT AND HIS SUBMARINE BOAT Or Under the Ocean for Sunken Treasure TOM SWIFT AND HIS ELECTRIC RUNABOUT Or The Speediest car on the Road TOM SWIFT AND HIS WIRELESS MESSAGE Or The castaways of Earthquake Island TOM SWIFT AMONG THE DIAMOND MAKERS Or The Secret of Phantom Mountain TOM SWIFT IN THE CAVES OF ICE Or The Wreck of the Airship TOM SWIFT AND HIS SKY RACER Or The Quickest Flight on Record TOM SWIFT AND HIS ELECTRIC RIFLE Or Daring Adventures In Elephant Land TOM SWIFT IN THE CITY OF GOLD Or Marvelous Adventures Underground TOM SWIFT AND HIS AIR GLIDER Or Seeking the Platinum Treasure TOM SWIFT IN CAPTIVITY Or A Daring Escape by Airship TOM SWIFT AND HIS WIZARD CAMERA Or The Perils of Moving Picture Taking TOM SWIFT AND HIS GREAT SEARCHLIGHT Or On the Border for Uncle Sam TOM SWIFT AND HIS GIANT CANNON Or The Longest Shots on Record TOM SWIFT AND HIS PHOTO TELEPHONE Or The Picture that Saved a Fortune TOM SWIFT AND HIS AERIAL WARSHIP Or The Naval Terror of the Seas TOM SWIFT AND HIS BIG TUNNEL Or The Hidden city of the Andes THE BUNNY BROWN SERIES By LAURA LEE HOPE Author of the Popular "Bobbsey Twins" Books wrapper and text illustrations drawn by FLORENCE ENGLAND NOSWORTHY 12mo. DURABLY BOUND. ILLUSTRATED. UNIFORM STYLE OF BINDING These stories by the author of the "Bobbsey Twins" Books are eagerly welcomed by the little folks from about five to ten years of age. Their eyes fairly dance with delight at the lively doings of inquisitive little Bunny Brown and his cunning, trustful sister Sue. Bunny was a lively little boy, very inquisitive. When he did anything, Sue followed his leadership. They had many adventures, some comical in the extreme. BUNNY BROWN AND HIS SISTER SUE BUNNY BROWN AND HIS SISTER SUE ON GRANDPA'S FARM BUNNY BROWN AND HIS SISTER SUE PLAYING CIRCUS BUNNY BROWN AND HIS SISTER SUE AT CAMP REST-A-WHILE BUNNY BROWN AND HIS SISTER SUE AT AUNT LU'S CITY HOME BUNNY BROWN AND HIS SISTER SUE IN THE BIG WOODS BUNNY BROWN AND HIS SISTER SUE ON AN AUTO TOUR BUNNY BROWN AND HIS SISTER SUE AND THEIR SHETLAND PONY BUNNY BROWN AND HIS SISTER SUE GIVING A SHOW BUNNY BROWN AND HIS SISTER SUE AT CHRISTMAS TREE COVE THE BOBBSEY TWINS BOOKS For Little Men and Women By LAURA LEE HOPE Author of "The Bunny Brown" Series. Etc. 12mo. DURABLY BOUND. ILLUSTRATED. UNIFORM STYLE OF BINDING Copyright publications which cannot be obtained elsewhere. Books that charm the hearts of the little ones, and of which they never tire. THE BOBBSEY TWINS THE BOBBSEY TWINS IN THE COUNTRY THE BOBBSEY TWINS AT THE SEASHORE THE BOBBSEY TWINS AT SCHOOL THE BOBBSEY TWINS AT SNOW LODGE THE BOBBSEY TWINS ON A HOUSEBOAT THE BOBBSEY TWINS AT MEADOW BROOK THE BOBBSEY TWINS AT HOME THE BOBBSEY TWINS IN A GREAT CITY THE BOBBSEY TWINS ON BLUEBERRY ISLAND THE BOBBSEY TWINS ON THE DEEP BLUE SEA THE BOBBSEY TWINS IN THE GREAT WEST THE MOVING PICTURE GIRLS SERIES By LAURA LEE HOPE Author of "The Bobbsey Twins Series." 12mo. BOUND IN CLOTH. ILLUSTRATED. UNIFORM STYLE OF BINDING The adventures of Ruth and Alice DeVere. Their father, a widower, is an actor who has taken up work for the "movies." Both girls wish to aid him in his work and visit various localities to act in all sorts of pictures. THE MOVING PICTURE GIRLS Or First Appearance in Photo Dramas. Having lost his voice, the father of the girls goes into the movies and the girls follow. Tells how many "parlor dramas" are filmed. THE MOVING PICTURE GIRLS AT OAK FARM Or Queer Happenings While Taking Rural Plays. Full of fun in the country, the haps and mishaps of taking film plays, and giving an account of two unusual discoveries. THE MOVING PICTURE GIRLS SNOWBOUND Or The Proof on the Film. A tale of winter adventures in the wilderness, showing how the photo-play actors sometimes suffer. THE MOVING PICTURE GIRLS UNDER THE PALMS Or Lost in the Wilds of Florida. How they went to the land of palms, played many parts in dramas before the camera; were lost, and aided others who were also lost. THE MOVING PICTURE GIRLS AT ROCKY RANCH Or Great Days Among the Cowboys. All who have ever seen moving pictures of the rest west will want to know just how they are made. This volume gives every detail and is full of clean fun and excitement. THE MOVING PICTURE GIRLS AT SEA Or a Pictured Shipwreck that Became Real. A thrilling account of the girls' experiences on the water. THE MOVING PICTURE GIRLS IN WAR PLAYS Or The Sham Battles at Oak Farm. The girls play important parts in big battle scenes and have plenty of hard work along with considerable fun. THE OUTDOOR CHUMS SERIES By CAPTAIN QUINCY ALLEN The outdoor chums are four wide-awake lads, sons of wealthy men of a small city located on a lake. The boys love outdoor life, and are greatly interested in hunting, fishing, and picture taking. They have motor cycles, motor boats, canoes, etc., and during their vacations go everywhere and have all sorts of thrilling adventures. The stories give full directions for camping out, how to fish, how to hunt wild animals and prepare the skins for stuffing, how to manage a canoe, how to swim, etc. Full of the spirit of outdoor life. THE OUTDOOR CHUMS Or The First Tour of the Rod, Gun and Camera Club. THE OUTDOOR CHUMS ON THE LAKE Or Lively Adventures on Wildcat Island. THE OUTDOOR CHUMS IN THE FOREST Or Laying the Ghost of Oak Ridge. THE OUTDOOR CHUMS ON THE GULF Or Rescuing the Lost Balloonists. THE OUTDOOR CHUMS AFTER BIG GAME. Or Perilous Adventures in the Wilderness. THE OUTDOOR CHUMS ON A HOUSEBOAT Or The Rivals of the Mississippi. THE OUTDOOR CHUMS IN THE BIG WOODS Or The Rival Hunters at Lumber Run. THE OUTDOOR CHUMS AT CABIN POINT Or The Golden Cup Mystery. 12mo. Averaging 240 pages. Illustrated. Handsomely bound in Cloth. THE GIRLS OF CENTRAL HIGH SERIES By GERTRUDE W. MORRISON 12mo. BOUND IN CLOTH. ILLUSTRATED. UNIFORM STYLE OF BINDING. Here is a series full of the spirit of high school life of today. The girls are real flesh-and-blood characters, and we follow them with interest in school and out. There are many contested matches on track and field, and on the water, as well as doings in the classroom and on the school stage. There it plenty of fun and excitement, all clean, pure and wholesome. THE GIRLS OF CENTRAL HIGH Or Rivals for all Honors. A stirring tale of high school life, full of fun, with a tomb of mystery and a strange initiation. THE GIRLS OF CENTRAL HIGH ON LAKE LUNA Or The Crew That Won. Telling of water sports and fun galore, and of fine times in camp. THE GIRLS OF CENTRAL HIGH AT BASKETBALL Or The Great Gymnasium Mystery. Here we have a number of thrilling contests at basketball and in addition, the solving of a mystery which had bothered the high school authorities for a long while. THE GIRLS OF CENTRAL HIGH ON THE STAGE Or The Play That Took the Prize. How the girls went In for theatricals and how one of them wrote a play which afterward was made over for the professional stage and brought in some much-needed money. THE GIRLS OF CENTRAL HIGH ON TRACK AND FIELD Or The Girl Champions of the School League This story takes in high school athletics In their most approved and up-to-date fashion. Full of fun and excitement. THE GIRLS OF CENTRAL HIGH IN CAMP Or The Old Professor's Secret The girls went camping on Acorn Island and had a delightful time at boating, swimming and picnic parties. THE BOYS OF COLUMBIA HIGH SERIES By GRAHAM B. FORBES Never was there a cleaner, brighter, more manly boy than Frank Allen, the hero of this series of boys' tales, and never was there a better crowd of lads to associate with than the students of the School. All boys will read these stories with deep interest. The rivalry between the towns along the river was of the keenest, and plots and counterplot to win the champions, at baseball, at football, at boat racing, at track athletics, and at ice hockey, were without number. Any lad reading one volume of this series will surely want the others. THE BOYS OF COLUMBIA HIGH Or The All Around Rivals of the School THE BOYS OF COLUMBIA HIGH ON THE DIAMOND Or Winning Out by Pluck THE BOYS OF COLUMBIA HIGH ON THE RIVER Or The Boat Race Plot that Failed THE BOYS OF COLUMBIA HIGH ON THE GRIDIRON Or The Struggle for the Silver Cup THE BOYS OF COLUMBIA HIGH ON THE ICE Or Out for the Hockey Championship THE BOYS OF COLUMBIA HIGH IN TRACK ATHLETICS Or A Long Run that Won THE BOYS OF COLUMBIA HIGH IN WINTER SPORTS Or Stirring Doings on Skates and Iceboats 12mo. Illustrated. Handsomely bound In cloth, with cover design and wrappers in color. THE MOVING PICTURE BOYS SERIES By VICTOR APPLETON 12mo. BOUND IN CLOTH. ILLUSTRATED. UNIFORM STYLE OF BINDING. Moving pictures and photo plays are famous the world over, and in this line of books the reader is given a full description of how the films are made--the scenes of little dramas, indoors and out, trick pictures to satisfy the curious, soul-stirring pictures of city affairs, life in the Wild West, among the cowboys and Indians, thrilling rescues along the seacoast, the daring of picture hunters in the jungle among savage beasts, and the great risks run in picturing conditions in a land of earthquakes. The volumes teem with adventures and will be found interesting from first chapter to last. THE MOVING PICTURE BOYS Or Perils of a Great City Depicted. THE MOVING PICTURE BOYS IN THE WEST Or Taking Scenes Among the Cowboys and Indians. THE MOVING PICTURE BOYS ON THE COAST Or Showing the Perils of the Deep. THE MOVING PICTURE BOYS IN THE JUNGLE Or Stirring Times Among the Wild Animals. THE MOVING PICTURE BOYS IN EARTHQUAKE LAND Or Working Amid Many Perils. THE MOVING PICTURE BOYS AND THE FLOOD Or Perilous Days on the Mississippi. THE MOVING PICTURE BOYS AT PANAMA Or Stirring Adventures Along the Great Canal. THE MOVING PICTURE BOYS UNDER THE SEA Or The Treasure of the Lost Ship. THE OUTDOOR GIRLS SERIES By LAURA LEE HOPE Author of the "Bobbsey Twin Books" and "Bunny Brown" Series. These tales take in the various adventures participated in by several bright, up-to-date girls who love outdoor life. They are clean and wholesome, free from sensationalism, absorbing from the first chapter to the last. THE OUTDOOR GIRLS OF DEEPDALE Or Camping and Tramping for Fun and Health. Telling bow the girls organized their Camping and Tramping Club, how they went on a tour, and of various adventures which befell them. THE OUTDOOR GIRLS AT RAINBOW LAKE Or Stirring Cruise of the Motor Boat Gem. One of the girls becomes the proud possessor of a motor boat and invites her club members to take a trip down the river to Rainbow Lake, a beautiful sheet of water lying between the mountains. THE OUTDOOR GIRLS IN A MOTOR CAR Or The Haunted Mansion of Shadow Valley. One of the girls has learned to run a big motor ear, and she invited the club to go on a tour to visit some distant relatives. On the way they stop at a deserted mansion and make a surprising discovery. THE OUTDOOR GIRLS IN A WINTER CAMP Or Glorious Days on Skates and Ice Boats. In this story, the scene is shifted to a winter season. The girls have some jolly times skating and ice boating, and visit a hunters ramp in the big woods. THE OUTDOOR GIRLS IN FLORIDA Or Wintering in the Sunny South. The parents of one of the girls have bought an orange grove in Florida, and her companions are invited to visit the place. They take a trip into the interior, where several unusual things happen. THE OUTDOOR GIRLS AT OCEAN VIEW Or The Box that Was Found in the Sand. The girls have great fun and solve a mystery while on an outing along the New England coast. THE OUTDOOR GIRLS ON PINE ISLAND Or A Cave and What it Contained. A bright, healthful story, full of good times at a bungalow camp on Pine Island. CHARMING BOOKS FOR GIRLS WHEN PATTY WENT TO COLLEGE, By Jean Webster. Illustrated by C. D. Williams. One of the best stories of life in a girl's college that has ever been written. It is bright, whimsical and entertaining, lifelike, laughable and thoroughly human. JUST PATTY, By Jean Webster. Illustrated by C. M. Relyea. Patty is full of the joy of living, fun-loving, given to ingenious mischief for its own sake, with a disregard for pretty convention which is an unfailing source of joy to her fellows. THE POOR LITTLE RICH GIRL, By Eleanor Gates. With four full page illustrations. This story relates the experience of one of those unfortunate children whose early days are passed in the companionship of a governess, seldom seeing either parent, and famishing for natural love and tenderness. A charming play as dramatized by the author. REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM, By Kate Douglas Wiggin. One of the most beautiful studies of childhood--Rebecca's artistic, unusual and quaintly charming qualities stand out midst a circle of austere New Englanders. The stage version is making a phenomenal dramatic record. NEW CHRONICLES OF REBECCA, By Kate Douglas Wiggin. Illustrated by F. C. Yohn. Additional episodes in the girlhood of this delightful heroine that carry Rebecca through various stages to her eighteenth birthday. REBECCA MARY, By Annie Hamilton Donnell. Illustrated by Elizabeth Shippen Green. This author possesses the rare gift of portraying all the grotesque little joys and sorrows and scruples of this very small girl with a pathos that is peculiarly genuine and appealing. EMMY LOU: Her Book and Heart, By George Madden Martin, illustrated by Charles Louis Hinton. Emmy Lou is irresistibly lovable, because she is so absolutely real. She is just a bewitchingly innocent, hugable little maid. The book is wonderfully human. BOOKS BY VICTOR APPLETON THE TOM SWIFT SERIES TOM SWIFT AND HIS MOTOR-CYCLE Or Fun and Adventures on the Road TOM SWIFT AND HIS MOTOR-BOAT Or The Rivals of Lake Carlopa TOM SWIFT AND HIS AIRSHIP Or the Stirring Cruise of the Red cloud TOM SWIFT AND HIS SUBMARINE BOAT Or Under the Ocean for Sunken Treasure TOM SWIFT AND HIS ELECTRIC RUNABOUT Or the Speediest Car on the Road TOM SWIFT AND HIS WIRELESS MESSAGE Or the castaways of Earthquake Island TOM SWIFT AMONG THE DIAMOND MAKERS Or the Secret of Phantom Mountain TOM SWIFT IN THE CAVES OF ICE Or the Wreck of the Airship TOM SWIFT AND HIS SKY RACER Or The Quickest Flight on Record TOM SWIFT AND HIS ELECTRIC RIFLE Or Daring Adventures in Elephant Land TOM SWIFT IN THE CITY OF GOLD Or Marvelous Adventures Underground TOM SWIFT AND HIS AIR GLIDER Or Seeking the Platinum Treasure TOM SWIFT IN CAPTIVITY Or A Daring Escape by Airship TOM SWIFT AND HIS WIZARD CAMERA Or Thrilling Adventures While Taking Moving Pictures TOM SWIFT AND HIS GREAT SEARCHLIGHT Or On the Border for Uncle Sam 
1361	----	TOM SWIFT AND HIS GIANT CANNON or The Longest Shots on Record by Victor Appleton CONTENTS CHAPTER I ON A LIVE WIRE II "WE'LL TAKE A CHANCE!" III PLANNING A BIG GUN IV KOKU'S BRAVE ACT V OFF TO SANDY HOOK VI TESTING THE WALLER GUN VII THE IMPOSSIBLE OCCURS VIII A BIG PROBLEM IX THE NEW POWDER X SOMETHING WRONG XI FAILURE AND SUCCESS XII A POWERFUL BLAST XIII CASTING THE CANNON XIV A NIGHT INTRUDER XV READY FOR THE TEST XVI A WARNING XVII THE BURSTING DAM XVIII THE DOPED POWDER XIX BLOWING DOWN THE BARRIER XX THE GOVERNMENT ACCEPTS XXI OFF FOR PANAMA XXII AT GATUN LOCKS XXIII NEWS OF THE MINE XXIV THE LONGEST SHOT XXV THE LONG-LOST MINE TOM SWIFT AND HIS GIANT CANNON CHAPTER I ON A LIVE WIRE "Now, see here, Mr. Swift, you may think it all a sort of dream, and imagine that I don't know what I'm talking about; but I do! If you'll consent to finance this expedition to the extent of, say, ten thousand dollars, I'll practically guarantee to give you back five times that sum." "I don't know, Alec, I don't know," slowly responded the aged inventor. "I've heard those stories before, and in my experience nothing ever came of them. Buried treasure, and lost vessels filled with gold, are all well and good, but hunting for an opal mine on some little-heard-of island goes them one better." "Then you don't feel like backing me up in this matter, Mr. Swift?" "No, Alec, I can't say I do. Why, just stop and think for a minute. You're asking me to put ten thousand dollars into a company, to fit out an expedition to go to this island--somewhere down near Panama, you say it is--and try to locate the lost mine from which, some centuries ago, opals and other precious stones came. It doesn't seem reasonable." "But I'm sure I can find the mine, Mr. Swift!" persisted Alec Peterson, who was almost as elderly a man as the one he addressed. "I have the old documents that tell how rich the mine once was, how the old Mexican rulers used to get their opals from it, and how all trace of it was lost in the last century. I have all the landmarks down pat, and I'm sure I can find it. Come on now, take a chance. Put in this ten thousand dollars. I can manage the rest. You'll get back more than five times your investment." "If you find the mine--yes." "I tell you I will find it! Come now, Mr. Swift," and the visitor's voice was very pleading, "you and your son Tom have made a fortune for yourselves out of your different inventions. Be generous, and lend me this ten thousand dollars." Mr. Swift shook his head. "I've heard you talk the same way before, Alec," he replied. "None of your schemes ever amounted to anything. You've been a fortune-hunter all your life, nearly; and what have you gotten out of it? Just a bare living." "That's right, Mr. Swift, but I've had bad luck. I did find the lost gold mine I went after some years ago, you remember." "Yes, only to lose it because the missing heirs turned up, and took it away from you. You could have made more at straight mining in the time you spent on that scheme." "Yes, I suppose I could; but this is going to be a success--I feel it in my bones." "That's what you say, every time, Alec. No, I don't believe I want to go into this thing." "Oh, come--do! For the sake of old times. Don't you recall how you and I used to prospect together out in the gold country; how we shared our failures and successes?" "Yes, I remember that, Alec. Mighty few successes we had, though, in those days." "But now you've struck it rich, pardner," went on the pleader. "Help me out in this scheme--do!" "No, Alec. I'd rather give you three or four thousand dollars for yourself, if you'd settle down to some steady work, instead of chasing all over the country after visionary fortunes. You're getting too old to do that." "Well, it's a fact I'm no longer young. But I'm afraid I'm too old to settle down. You can't teach an old dog new tricks, pardner. This is my life, and I'll have to live it until I pass out. Well, if you won't, you won't, I suppose. By the way, where is Tom? I'd like to see him before I go back. He's a mighty fine boy." "That's what he is!" broke in a new voice. "Bless my overshoes, but he is a smart lad! A wonderful lad, that's what! Why, bless my necktie, there isn't anything he can't invent; from a button-hook to a battleship! Wonderful boy--that's what!" "I guess Tom's ears would burn if he could hear your praises, Mr. Damon," laughed Mr. Swift. "Don't spoil him." "Spoil Tom Swift? You couldn't do it in a hundred years!" cried Mr. Damon, enthusiastically. "Bless my topknot! Not in a thousand years--no, sir!" "But where is he?" asked Mr. Peterson, who was evidently unused to the extravagant manner of Mr. Damon. "There he goes now!" exclaimed the gentleman who frequently blessed himself, some article of his apparel, or some other object. "There he goes now, flying over the house in that Humming Bird airship of his. He said he was going to try out a new magneto he'd invented, and it seems to be working all right. He said he wasn't going to take much of a flight, and I guess he'll soon be back. Look at him! Isn't he a great one, though!" "He certainly is," agreed Mr. Peterson, as he and Mr. Swift went to the window, from which Mr. Damon had caught a glimpse of the youthful Inventor in his airship. "A great lad. I wish he could come on this mine-hunt with me, though I'd never consent to go in an airship. They're too risky for an old man like me." "They're as safe as a church when Tom Swift runs them!" declared Mr. Damon. "I'm no boy, but I'd go anywhere with Tom." "I'm afraid you wouldn't get Tom to go with you, Alec," went on Mr. Swift, as he resumed his chair, the young inventor in his airship having passed out of sight. "He's busy on some new invention now, I believe. I think I heard him say something about a new rifle." "Cannon it was, Mr. Swift," said Mr. Damon. "Tom has an idea that he can make the biggest cannon in the world; but it's only an idea yet." "Well, then I guess there's no hope of my interesting him in my opal mine," said the fortune-hunter, with rather a disappointed smile. "Nor you either, Mr. Swift." "No, Alec, I'm afraid not. As I said, I'd rather give you outright three or four thousand dollars, if you wanted it, provided that you used it for your own personal needs, and promised not to sink it in some visionary search." Mr. Peterson shook his head. "I'm not actually in want," he said, "and I couldn't accept a gift of money, Mr. Swift. This is a straight business proposition." "Not much straight business in hunting for a mine that's been lost for over a century," replied the aged inventor, with a glance at Mr. Damon, who was still at the window, watching for a glimpse of Tom on his return trip in the air craft. "If Tom would go, I'd trail along," said the odd man. "We haven't done anything worth speaking of since he used his great searchlight to detect the smugglers. But I don't believe he'll go. That mining proposition sounds good." "It is good!" cried Mr. Peterson, with fervor, hoping he had found a new "prospect" in Mr. Damon. "But not business-good," declared Mr. Swift, and for some time the three argued the matter, Mr. Swift continuing to shake his head. Suddenly into the room there ran an aged colored man, much excited. "Fo' de land sakes!" he cried. "Somebody oughter go out an' help Massa Tom!" "Why, what's the matter, Eradicate?" asked Mr. Swift, leaping to his feet, an example followed by the other two men. "What has happened to my son?" "I dunno, Massa Swift, but I looked up jest now, an' dere he be, in dat air-contraption ob his'n he calls de Hummin' Burd. He's ketched up fast on de balloon shed roof, an' dere he's hangin' wif sparks an' flames a-shootin' outer de airship suffin' scandalous! It's jest spittin' fire, dat's what it's a-doin', an' ef somebody don't do suffin' fo' Massa Tom mighty quick, dere ain't gwin t' be any Massa Tom; now dat's what I'se a-tellin' you!" "Bless my shoe buttons!" gasped Mr. Damon. "Come on out, everybody! We've got to help Tom!" "Yes!" assented Mr. Swift. "Call someone on the telephone! Get a doctor! Maybe he's shocked! Where's Koku, the giant? Maybe he can help!" "Now doan't yo' go t' gittin' all excited-laik," objected Eradicate Sampson, the aged colored man. "Remember yo' all has got a weak heart, Massa Swift!" "I know it; but I must save my son. Hurry!" Mr. Swift ran from the room, followed by Mr. Damon and Mr. Peterson, while Eradicate trailed after them as fast as his tottering limbs would carry him, murmuring to himself. "There he is!" cried Mr. Damon, as he caught sight of the young inventor in his airship, in a position of peril. Truly it was as Eradicate had said. Caught on the slope of the roof of his big balloon shed, Tom Swift was in great danger. From his airship there shot dazzling sparks, and streamers of green and violet fire. There was a snapping, cracking sound that could be heard above the whir of the craft's propellers, for the motor was still running. "Oh, Tom! Tom! What is it? What has happened?" cried his father. "Keep back! Don't come too close!" yelled the young inventor, as he clung to the seat of the aeroplane, that was tilted at a dangerous angle. "Keep away!" "What's the matter?" demanded Mr. Damon. "Bless my pocket comb--what is it?" "A live wire!" answered Tom. "I'm caught in a live wire! The trailer attached to the wireless outfit on my airship is crossed with the wire from the power plant. There's a short circuit somewhere. Don't come too close, for it may burn through any second and drop down. Then it will twist about like a snake!" "Land ob massy!" cried Eradicate. "What can we do to help you?" called Mr. Swift. "Shall I run and shut off the power?" for in the shop where Tom did most of his inventive work there was a powerful dynamo, and it was on one of the wires extending from it, that brought current into the house, that the craft had caught. "Yes, shut it off if you can!" Tom shouted back. "But be careful. Don't get shocked! Wow! I got a touch of it myself that time!" and he could be seen to writhe in his seat. "Oh, hurry! hurry! Find Koku!" cried Mr. Swift to Mr. Damon, who had started for the power house on the run. The sparks and lances of fire seemed to increase around the young inventor. The airship could be seen to slip slowly down the sloping roof. "Land ob massy! He am suah gwine t' fall!" yelled Eradicate. "Oh, he'll never get that current shut off in time!" murmured Mr. Swift, as he started after Mr. Damon. "Wait! I think I have a plan!" called Mr. Peterson. "I think I can save Tom!" He did not waste further time in talk, but, running to a nearby shed, he got a long ladder that he saw standing under it. With this over his shoulder he retraced his steps to the balloon hangar and placed the ladder against the side. Then he started to climb up. "What are you going to do?" yelled Tom, leaning over from his seat to watch the elderly fortune-hunter. "I'm going to cut that wire!" was the answer. "Don't! If you touch it you'll be shocked to death! I may be able to get out of here. So far I've only had light shocks, but the insulation is burning out of my magneto, and that will soon stop. When it does I can't run the motor, and--" "I'm going to cut that wire!" again shouted Mr. Peterson. "But you can't, without pliers and rubber gloves!" yelled Tom. "Keep away, I tell you!" The man on the ladder hesitated. Evidently he had not thought of the necessity of protecting his hands by rubber covering, in order that the electricity might be made harmless. He backed down to the ground. "I saw a pair of old gloves in the shed!" he cried. "I'll get them--they look like rubber." "They are!" cried Tom, remembering now that he had been putting up a new wire that day, and had left his rubber gloves there. "But you haven't any pliers!" the lad went. "How can you cut wire without them? There's a pair in the shop, but--" "Heah dey be! Heah dey be!" cried Eradicate, as he produced a heavy pair from his pocket. "I--I couldn't find de can-opener fo' Mrs. Baggert, an' I jest got yo' pliers, Massa Tom. Oh, how glad I is dat I did. Here's de pincers, Massa Peterson." He handed them to the fortune-hunter, who came running back with the rubber gloves. Mr. Damon was no more than half way to the power house, which was quite a distance from the Swift homestead. Meanwhile Tom's airship was slipping more and more, and a thick, pungent smoke now surrounded it, coming from the burning insulation. The sparks and electrical flames were worse than ever. "Just a moment now, and I'll have you safe!" cried the fortune-hunter, as he again mounted the ladder. Luckily the charged wire was near enough to be reached by going nearly to the top of the ladder. Holding the pincers in his rubber-gloved hands, the old man quickly snipped the wire. There was a flash of sparks as the copper conductor was severed, and then the shower of sparks about Tom's airship ceased. In another second he had turned on full power, the propellers whizzed with the quickness of light, and he rose in the air, off the shed roof, the live wire no longer entangling him. Then he made a short circuit of the work-shop yard, and came to the ground safely a little distance from the balloon hangar. "Saved! Tom is saved!" cried Mr. Swift, who had seen the act of Mr. Peterson from a distance. "He saved my boy's life!" "Thanks, Mr. Peterson!" exclaimed the young inventor, as he left his seat and walked up to the fortune-hunter. "You certainly did me a good turn then. It was touch and go! I couldn't have stayed there many seconds longer. Next time I'll know better than to fly with a wireless trailer over a live conductor," and he held out his hand to Mr. Peterson. "I'm glad I could help you, Tom," spoke the other, warmly. "I was afraid that if you had to wait until they shut off the power it would be too late." "It would--it would--er--I feel--I--" Tom's voice trailed off into a whisper and he swayed on his feet. "Cotch him!" cried Eradicate. "Cotch him! Massa Tom's hurt!" and only just in time did Mr. Peterson clutch the young inventor in his arms. For Tom, white of face, had fallen back in a dead faint. CHAPTER II "WE'LL TAKE A CHANCE!" "Carry him into the house!" cried Mr. Swift, as he came running to where Mr. Peterson was loosening Tom's collar. "Git a doctor!" murmured Eradicate. "Call someone on de tellifoam! Git fo' doctors!" "We must get him into the house first," declared Mr. Damon, who, seeing that Tom was off the shed roof, had stopped mid-way to the powerhouse, and retraced his steps. "Let's carry him into the house. Bless my pocketbook! but he must have been shocked worse than he thought." They lifted the inert form of our hero and walked toward the mansion with him, Mrs. Baggert, the housekeeper, standing in the doorway in dismay, uncertain what to do. And while Tom is being cared for I will take just a moment to tell my new readers something more about him and his inventions, as they have been related in the previous books of this series. The first volume was called "Tom Swift and His Motor-Cycle," and this machine was the means of his becoming acquainted with Mr. Wakefield Damon, the odd gentleman who so often blessed things. On his motor-cycle Tom had many adventures. The lad was of an inventive mind, as was his father, and in the succeeding books of the series, which you will find named in detail elsewhere, I related how Tom got a motorboat, made an airship, and later a submarine, in all of which craft he had strenuous times and adventures. His electric runabout was quite the fastest car on the road, and when he sent his wonderful wireless message he saved himself and others from Earthquake Island. He solved the secret of the diamond makers, and, though he lost a fine balloon in the caves of ice, he soon had another air craft--a regular sky-racer. His electric rifle saved a party from the red pygmies in Elephant Land, and in his air glider he found the platinum treasure. With his wizard camera, Tom took wonderful moving pictures, and in the volume immediately preceding this present one, called "Tom Swift and His Great Searchlight," I had the pleasure of telling you how the lad captured the smugglers who were working against Uncle Sam over the border. Tom, as you will see, had, with the help of his father, perfected many wonderful inventions. The lad lived with his aged parent, his mother being dead, in the village of Shopton, in New York State. While the house, which was presided over by the motherly Mrs. Baggert, was large, it was almost lost now amid the many buildings surrounding it, from balloon and airship hangars, to shops where varied work was carried on. For Tom did most of his labor himself, of course with men to help him at the heavier tasks. Occasionally he had to call on outside shops. In the household, beside his father, himself and Mrs. Baggert, was Eradicate Sampson, an aged colored man-of-all-work, who said he was called "Eradicate" because he eradicated dirt. There was also Koku, a veritable giant, one of two brothers whom Tom had brought with him from Giant Land, when he escaped from captivity there, as related in the book of that name. Mr. Damon was, with Ned Newton, Tom's chum, the warmest friend of the family, and was often at Tom's home, coming from the neighboring town of Waterford, where he lived. Tom had been back some time now from working for the government in detecting the smugglers, but, as you may well suppose, he had not been idle. Inventing a number of small things, including useful articles for the house, was a sort of recreation for him, but his mind was busy on one great scheme, which I will tell you about in due time. Among other things he had just perfected a new style of magneto for one of his airships. The magneto, as you know, is a sort of small dynamo, that supplies the necessary spark to the cylinder, to explode the mixture of air and gasoline vapor. He was trying out this magneto in the Humming Bird when the accident I have related in the first chapter occurred. "There! He's coming to!" exclaimed Mrs. Baggert, as she leaned over Tom, who was stretched out on the sofa in the library. "Give him another smell of this ammonia," she went on, handing the bottle to Mr. Swift. "No--no," faintly murmured Tom, opening his eyes. "I--I've had enough of that, if you please! I'm all right." "Are you sure, Tom?" asked his father. "Aren't you hurt anywhere?" "Not a bit, Dad! It was foolish of me to go off that way; but I couldn't seem to help it. It all got black in front of me, and--well, I just keeled over." "I should say you did," spoke Mr. Peterson. "An' ef he hadn't a-been there to cotch yo' all," put in Eradicate, "yo' all suah would hab hit de ground mighty hard." "That's two services he did for me today," said Tom, as he managed to sit up. "Cutting that wire--well, it saved my life, that's certain." "I believe you, Tom," said Mr. Swift, solemnly, and he held out his hand to his old mining partner. "Do you need the doctor?" asked Mr. Damon, who was at the telephone. "He says he'll come right over--I can get him in Tom's electric runabout, if you say so. He's on the wire now." "No, I don't need him," replied the young inventor. "Thank him just the same. It was only an ordinary faint, caused by the slight electrical shocks, and by getting a bit nervous, I guess. I'm all right--see," and he proved it by standing up. "He's all right--don't come, doctor," said Mr. Damon into the telephone. "Bless my keyring!" he exclaimed, "but that was a strenuous time!" "I've been in some tight places before," went on Tom, as he sat down in an easy chair, "and I've had any number of shocks when I've been experimenting, but this was a sort of double combination, and it sure had me guessing. But I'm feeling better every minute." "A cup of hot tea will do you good," said motherly Mrs. Baggert, as she bustled out of the room. "I'll make it for you." "You cut that wire as neatly as any lineman could," went on Tom, glancing from Mr. Peterson out of the window to where one of his workmen was repairing the break. "When I flew over it in my airship I never gave a thought to the trailer from my wireless outfit. The first I knew I was caught back, and then pulled down to the balloon shed roof, for I tilted the deflecting rudder by mistake. "But, Mr. Peterson," Tom went on, "I haven't seen you in some time. Anything new on, that brings you here?" for the fortune-hunter had called at the Swift house after Tom had gone out to the shop to get his airship ready for the flight to try the magneto. "Well, Tom, I have something rather new on," replied Mr. Peterson. "I hoped to interest your father in it, but he doesn't seem to care to take a chance. It's a lost opal mine on a little-known island in the Caribbean Sea not far from the city of Colon. I say not far--by that I mean about twenty miles. But your father doesn't want to invest, say, ten thousand dollars in it, though I can almost guarantee that he'll get five times that sum back. So, as long as he doesn't feel that he can help me out, I guess I'd better be traveling on." "Hold on! Wait a minute. Don't be in a hurry," said Mr. Swift. Mr. Peterson was an old friend, and when he and Mr. Swift were young men they had prospected and grub-staked together. But Mr. Swift soon gave that up to devote his time to his inventions, while Mr. Peterson became a sort of rolling stone. He was a good man, but somewhat visionary, and a bit inclined to "take chances"--such as looking for lost treasure--rather than to devote himself to some steady employment. The result was that he led rather a precarious life, though never being actually in want. "No, pardner," he said to Mr. Swift. "It's kind of you to ask me to stay; but this mine business has got a grip on me. I want to try it out. If you won't finance the project someone else may. I'll say good-bye, and--" "Now just a minute," said Mr. Swift. "It's true, Alec, I had about made up my mind not to go into this thing, when this accident happened to Tom. Now you practically saved his life. You--" "Oh, pshaw! I only acted on the spur of the moment. Anyone could have done what I did," protested the fortune-hunter. "Oh, but you did it!" insisted Mr. Swift, "and you did it in the nick of time. Now I wouldn't for a moment think of offering you a reward for saving my son's life. But I do feel mighty friendly toward you--not that I didn't before--but I do want to help you. Alec, I will go into this business with you. We'll take a chance! I'll invest ten thousand dollars, and I'm not so awful worried about getting it back, either--though I don't believe in throwing money away." "You won't throw it away in this case!" declared Mr. Peterson, eagerly. "I'm sure to find that mine; but it will take a little capital to work it. That's what I need--capital!" "Well, I'll supply it to the extent of ten thousand dollars," said Mr. Swift. "Tom, what do you think of it? Am I foolish or not?" "Not a bit of it, Dad!" cried the young man, who was now himself again. "I'm glad you took that chance, for, if you hadn't--well, I would have supplied the money myself--that's all," and he smiled at the fortune-hunter. CHAPTER III PLANNING A BIG GUN "BUT, Tom, I don't see how in the world you can ever hope to make a bigger gun than that." "I think it can be done, Ned," was the quiet answer of the young inventor. He looked up from some drawings on the table in the office of one of his shops. "Now I'll just show you--" "Hold on, Tom. You know I have a very poor head for figures, even if I do help you out once in a while on some of your work. Skip the technical details, and give me the main facts." The two young men--Ned Newton being Tom's special chum--were talking together over Tom's latest scheme. It was several days after Tom's accident in the airship, when he had been saved by the prompt action of Mr. Peterson. That fortune-hunter, once he had the promise of Mr. Swift to invest in his somewhat visionary plan of locating a lost opal mine near the Panama Canal, had left the Swift homestead to arrange for fitting out the expedition of discovery. He had tried to prevail on Tom to accompany him, and, failing in that, tried to work on Mr. Damon. "Bless my watch chain!" exclaimed that odd gentleman. "I would like to go with you first rate. But I'm so busy--so very busy--that I can't think of it. I have simply neglected all my affairs, chasing around the country with Tom Swift. But if Tom goes I--ahem! I think perhaps I could manage it--ahem!" "I thought you were busy," laughed Tom. "Oh, well, perhaps I could get a few weeks off. But I'm not going--no, bless my check book, I must get back to business!" But as Mr. Damon was a retired gentleman of wealth, his "business" was more or less of a joke among his friends. So then, a few days after the departure of Mr. Peterson, Tom and Ned sat in the former's office, discussing the young inventor's latest scheme. "How big is the biggest gun ever made, Tom?" asked his chum. "I mean in feet, in inches, or in muzzle diameter, however they are measured." "Well," began Tom, "of course some nation may, in secret, be making a bigger gun than any I have ever heard of. As far as I know, however, the largest one ever made for the United States was a sixteen-inch rifled cannon--that is, it was sixteen inches across at the muzzle, and I forget just how long. It weighed many tons, however, and it now lies, or did a few years ago, in a ditch at the Sandy Hook proving grounds. It was a failure." "And yet you are figuring on making a cannon with a muzzle thirty inches across--almost a yard--and fifty feet long and to weigh--" "No one can tell exactly how much it will weigh," interrupted Tom. "And I'm not altogether certain about the muzzle measurement, nor of the length. It's sort of in the air at present. Only I don't see why a larger gun than any that has yet been made, can't be constructed." "If anybody can invent one, you can, Tom Swift!" exclaimed Ned, admiringly. "You flatter me!" exclaimed his chum, with a mock bow. "But what good will it be?" went on Ned. "Making big guns doesn't help any in war, that I can see." "Ned!" exclaimed Tom, "you don't look far enough ahead. Now here's my scheme in a nutshell. You know what Uncle Sam is doing down in his big ditch; don't you?" "You mean digging the Panama Canal?" Yes, the greatest engineering feat of centuries. It is going to make a big change in the whole world, and the United States is going to become--if she is not already--a world-power. Now that canal has to be protected--I mean against the possibility of war. For, though it may never come, and the chances are it never will, still it may. "Uncle Sam has to be ready for it. There never was a more true saying than 'in time of peace prepare for war.' Preparing for war is, in my opinion, the best way not to have one. "Once the Panama Canal is in operation, and the world-changes incidental to it have been made, if it should pass into the hands of some foreign country--as it very possibly might do--the United States would not only be the laughing-stock of the world, but she would lose the high place she holds. "Now, then, to protect the canal, several things are necessary. Among them are big guns--cannon that can shoot a long distance--for if a foreign nation should send some of their new dreadnaughts over here--vessels with guns that can shoot many miles--where would the canal be once a bombardment was opened? It would be ruined in a day--the immense lock-gates would be destroyed. And, not only from the guns aboard ships would there be danger, but from siege cannon planted in Costa Rica, or some South American country below the canal zone. "Now, to protect the canal against such an attack we need guns that can shoot farther, straighter and more powerfully than any at present in use, and we've got to have the most powerful explosive. In other words, we've got to beat the biggest guns that are now in existence. And I'm going to do it, Ned!" "You are?" "Yes, I'm going to invent a cannon that will make the longest shots on record. I'm going to make a world-beater gun; or, rather, I'm going to invent it, and have it made, for I guess it would tax this place to the limit. "I've been thinking of this for some time, Ned. I've been puttering around inventing new magnetos, potato-parers and the like, but this is my latest hobby. The Panama Canal is a big thing--one of the biggest things in the world. We need the biggest guns in the world to protect it. "And, listen: Uncle Sam thinks the same way. I understand that the best men in the service--at West Point, Annapolis and Sandy Hook, as well as elsewhere--are working in the interest of the United States to perfect a bigger cannon than any ever before made. In fact, one has just been constructed, and is going to be tried at the Sandy Hook proving grounds soon. I'm going to see the test if I can. "And here's another thing. Foreign nations are trying to steal Uncle Sam's secrets. If this country gets a big cannon, some other nation will want a bigger one. It's a constant warfare. I'm going to devote my talents--such as they are--to Uncle Sam. I'm going to make the biggest cannon in the world--the one that will shoot the farthest and knock into smithereens all the other big guns. That's the only way to protect the canal. Do you understand, Ned?" "Somewhat, Tom. Since I gave up my place in the bank, and became a sort of handy-lad for you, I know more about your work. But isn't it going to be dangerous to make a cannon like that?" "Well, in a way, yes, Ned. But we've got to take chances, just as father did when he invested ten thousand dollars in that opal mine. He'll never see his money again." "Don't you think so?" "No, Ned." "And when do you expect to start on your gun, Tom?" "Right away. I'm making some plans now. I'm going down to Sandy Hook and witness the test of this new big cannon. You can come along, if you like." "Well, I sure will like. When is it?" "Oh, in about a week. I'll have to look--" "'Scuse me, Massa Tom," broke in Eradicate, as he put his head through the half-opened office door. "'Scuse me, but dere's a express gen'men outside, wif his auto truck, an' he's got some packages fo' yo' all, marked 'dangerous--explosive--an' keep away fom de fire.' He want t' know what he all gwine t' do wif 'em, Massa Tom?" "Do with 'em? Oh, I guess it's that new giant powder I sent for. Why, Eradicate, have him bring 'em right in here." "Yais, sah, Massa Tom. Dat's all right; but he jest can't bring 'em in," and Eradicate looked behind him somewhat apprehensively. "Can't bring 'em in? Why not, I'd like to know?" exclaimed Tom. "He's paid for it." "'Scuse me, Massa Tom," said the colored man, "but dat express gen'men can't bring dem explosive powder boxes in heah, 'case as how his autermobile hab done ketched fire an' he cain't get near it nohow. Dat's why, Massa Tom!" "Caesar's ghost!" yelled the young inventor. "The auto on fire, and that powder in it! Come on Ned!" and he made a rush for the door. CHAPTER IV KOKU'S BRAVE ACT "Tom! Tom!" cried Ned, as he watched the disappearing figure of his chum. "Come back here! If there's going to be an explosion we ought to run out of the back door!" "I'm not running away!" flashed back Tom. "I'm going to get that powder out of the auto before it goes up! If it does we'll be blown to kingdom come, back door or front door! Come on!" "Bacon and eggs!" yelled Ned. "He's running an awful risk! But I can't let him go alone! I guess we're in for it!" Then he, too, rushed from the office toward the front of the shop, before which, in a sort of private road, stood the blazing auto. And Ned, who had now lost sight of Tom, because of our hero having turned a corner in the corridor, heard excited shouts coming from the seat of trouble. "If that's some new kind of powder Tom's sent for, to test for his new big gun, and it goes up," Ned said to himself, as he rushed on, "this place will be blown to smithereens. All Tom's valuable machinery and patents will be ruined!" Ned had now reached the front door of the shop. He had a glimpse of the burning auto--a small express truck, well loaded with various packages. And, through the smoke, which from the odor must have been caused by burning gasoline, Ned could see several boxes marked in red letters: DANGEROUS EXPLOSIVE KEEP AWAY FROM FIRE "Keep away from fire!" murmured the panting lad. "If they can get any nearer fire I don't see how." "Oh, mah golly!" gasped Eradicate, who had lumbered on behind Ned. "Oh, mah golly! Oh, good land ob massy! Look at Massa Tom!" "I've got to help him!" cried Ned, for he saw that his chum had rushed to the rear of the auto, and was endeavoring to drag one of the powder boxes across the lowered tail-board. Tom was straining and tugging at it, but did not seem able to move the case. It was heavy, as Ned learned later, and was also held down by the weight of other express packages on top of it. "Oh, mah golly!" cried Eradicate. "Git some watah, somebody, an' put out dat fire!" "No--no water!" yelled Tom, who heard him. "Water will only make it worse--it'll scatter the blazing gasoline. The feed pipe from the tank must have burst. Throw on sand--sand is the only thing to use!" "I'll git a shubble!" cried Eradicate. "I'll git a sand-shubble!" and he tottered off. "Wait, Tom, I'll give you a hand!" cried Ned, as he saw his chum step away from the end of the auto for a moment, as a burst of flame, and choking smoke, driven by the wind, was blown almost in his face. "I'll help you!" "We've got to be lively, then, Ned!" gasped Tom. "This is getting hotter every minute! Where's that Koku? He could yank these boxes out in a jiffy!" And indeed a giant's strength was needed at that moment. Ned glanced around to see if he could catch a glimpse of the big man whom Tom had brought from Giant Land, but Koku was not in sight. "Let's have another try now, Ned!" suggested Tom, when a shift in the wind left the rear of the auto comparatively free from smoke and flame. "You fellows had better skip!" cried the expressman, who had been throwing light packages off his vehicle from in front, where, as yet, there was no fire. "That powder'll go up in another minute. Some of the boxes are beginning to catch now!" he yelled. "Look out!" "That's right!" shouted Tom, as he saw that the edge of one of the wooden cases containing the powder was blazing slightly. "Lively, Ned!" Ned held back only for a second. Then, realizing that the time to act was now or never, and that even if he ran he could hardly save himself, he advanced to Tom's side. The smoke was choking and stifling them, and the flames, coming from beneath the auto truck, made them gasp for breath. Together Tom and Ned tugged at the nearest case of powder--the one that was ablaze. "We--we can't budge it!" panted Tom. "It--it's caught somewhere," added Ned. "Oh, if Koku were only here!" There was a sound behind the lads. A voice exclaimed: "Master want shovel, so Eradicate say--here it is!" They turned and saw a big, powerful man, with a simple, child-like face, standing calmly looking at the burning auto. "Koku!" cried Tom. "Quick! Never mind the shovel! Get those powder boxes out of that cart before they go up! Yank 'em out! They're too much for Ned and me! Quick!" "Oh, of a courseness I will so do!" said Koku, to whom, even yet, the English language was somewhat of a mystery. He dropped the shovel, and, heedless of the thick smoke from the burning gasoline, reached over and took hold of the nearest box. It seemed as though he pulled it from the auto truck as easily as Tom might have lifted a cork. Then, carrying the box, which was now burning quite fiercely on one corner, over toward Tom and Ned, who had moved back, the giant asked: "What you want of him, Master?" "Put it down, Koku, and get out all the others! Lively, now, Koku!" "I do," was the simple answer. The giant put the box on the grass and ran back toward the auto. "Quick, Ned!" shouted Tom. "Throw some sand on this burning box! That will put out the fire!" A few handfuls of earth served to extinguish the little blaze, and by this time Koku had come back with another box of powder. "Get 'em all, Koku, get 'em all! Then we can put out the fire on the auto." For the giant it was but child's play to carry the heavy boxes of powder, and soon he had them all removed from the truck. Then, with the danger thus narrowly averted, they all, including the expressman, turned in and began throwing sand on the fire, which now had a good hold on the body of the auto. The shovel, which Eradicate had sent by Koku, who could use more speed than could the aged colored man, came in handy. Soon the fire was out, though not before the truck had been badly damaged, and some of its load destroyed. But, beyond a charring of some of the powder boxes, the explosive was intact. "Whew! That was a lucky escape," murmured Tom, as he sat down on one of the boxes, and wiped the smoke and sweat from his face. "A little later and there'd only been a hole in the ground to tell what happened. Hot work; eh, Ned?" "I guess yes, Tom." "I thought of the powder as soon as I saw that the truck was on fire," explained the expressman; "but I didn't know what to do. I was kinder flustered, I guess. This is the second time this old truck has caught fire from a leaky gasoline pipe. I guess that will be the last--it will for me, anyhow. I'll resign if they don't give me another machine. Will you sign for your stuff?" he asked Tom, holding out the receipt book, which had escaped the flames. "Yes, and I'm mighty glad I'm here to sign for it," replied the young inventor. "Now, Koku, I guess you can take that stuff up to the shop; but be careful where you put it." "I do, Master," replied the giant. "What sort of powder is that, Tom?" asked Ned a little later, when they were again back in the office, the excitement having calmed down. The expressman had gone back to town afoot, to arrange about getting another vehicle for what remained of his load. "Is it the kind they use in big guns?" "One of the kinds," replied Tom. "I sent for several samples, and this is one. I'm going to conduct some tests to see what kind I'll need for my own big gun. But I expect I'll have to invent an explosive as well as a cannon, for I want the most powerful I can get. Want to look at some of this powder?" "Yes, if you think it's safe." "Oh, it's safe enough if you treat it right. I'll show you," and working carefully Tom soon had one of the boxes open. Reaching into the depths he held up a handful of something that looked like sticks of macaroni. "There it is," he said. "That powder?" cried Ned. "That's a queer kind. I've seen the kind they use in some guns on the battleships. That powder was in hexagonal form, about two inches across, and had a hole in the centre. It was colored brown." "Well, powder is made in many forms," explained Tom. "A person who has only seen black gunpowder, with its little grains, would not believe that this was one grain of the new powder." "That macaroni stick a grain of powder?" cried Ned. "Yes, we'll call it a grain," went on the young inventor, "just as the brown, hexagonal cube you saw was a grain. You see, Ned, the idea is to explode all the powder at once--to get instantaneous action. It must all burn up at once as soon as it is detonated, or set off. "To do that you have to have every grain acted on at the same moment, and that could not be done if the powder was in one solid chunk, or closely packed. For that reason they make it in different shapes, so it will lie loose in the firing chamber, just as a lot of jack-straws are piled up. In fact, some of the new powder looks like jack-straws. Some, as this, for instance, looks like macaroni. Other is in cubes, and some in long strings." As he spoke Tom struck a match and held the flames near the end of one of the "macaroni" sticks. "Caesar's grandmother!" yelled Ned. "Are you crazy, Tom?" as he started to leap for a window. "Don't get excited," spoke Tom, quietly. "There's no danger," and he actually set fire to the stick of queer powder, which burned like some wax taper. "But--but--" stammered Ned. "It is only when powder is confined that it explodes," Tom explained. "If it can burn in the open it's as harmless as water, provided you don't burn too much at once. But put it in something where the resulting gases accumulate and can't escape, and then--why, you have an explosion--that's all." "Yes--that's all," remarked Ned, grimly, as he nervously watched the burning stick of powder. Tom let it flame for a few seconds, and then calmly blew it out. "You know what a little puff black gunpowder gives, if you burn some openly on the ground," went on Tom; "don't you, Ned?" "Sure, I've often done that." "But put that same powder in a tight box, and set fire to it, and you have a bang instead of a puff. It's the same way with this powder, only it doesn't even puff, for it burns more slowly. "An explosion, you see, is the sudden liberation at one time of the gases which result when the powder is burned. If the gases are given off gradually, and in the open, no harm is done. But put a stick like this in, say, a steel box, all closed up, save a hole for the fuse, and what do you have? An explosion. That's the principle of all guns and cannon. "But say, Ned, I'm getting to be a regular lecturer. I didn't know I was running on so. Why didn't you stop me?" "Because I was interested. Go on, tell me some more." "Not now. I want to get this powder in a safe place. I'm a little nervous about it after that fire. You see if it had caught, when tightly packed in the boxes, there would have been a terrific explosion, though it does burn so harmlessly in the open air. Now let me see--" Tom was interrupted by the postman's whistle, and a little later Eradicate came in with the mail that had been left in the box at the shop door. Tom rapidly looked over the letters. "Here's the note I want, I think," he said, Selecting one. "Yes, this is it. 'Permission is hereby granted,' he read, 'to Thomas Swift to visit,' and so on, and so on. This is the stuff, Ned!" he cried. "What is it?" "A permit to visit the government proving grounds at Sandy Hook, Ned, and see 'em test that new big gun I was telling you about. Hurray! We'll go down there, and I'll see how my ideas fit in with those of the government's experts." "Did you say 'we' would go down, Tom?" "I sure did. You'll go with me; won't you?" "Well, I hadn't thought very much about it, but I guess I will. When is it?" "A week from today, and I'm going to need all that time to get ready. Now let's get busy, and we'll arrange to go to Sandy Hook. I've had trouble enough to get this permit--I guess I'll put it where it won't get lost," and he locked it in a secret drawer of his desk. Then the lads stored the powder in a safe place, and soon were busy about several matters in the shop. CHAPTER V OFF TO SANDY HOOK "What's the idea of this government test of the big gun, Tom?" asked Ned. "I got so excited about that near-explosion the other day, that I didn't think to ask you all the particulars." "Why, the idea is to see if the gun will work, and do all that the inventor claims for it," was the answer. "They always put a new gun through more severe tests than anything it will be called on to stand in actual warfare. They want to see just how much margin of safety there is." "Oh I see. And is this one of the guns that are to be used in fortifying the Panama Canal?" "Well, Ned, I don't know, exactly. You see, the government isn't telling all its secrets. I assume that it is, and that's why I'm anxious to see what sort of a gun it is. "As a matter of fact, I'm going into this thing on a sort of chance, just as dad did when he invested in Mr. Peterson's opal mine." "Do you think anything will come of that, Tom?" "I don't know. If we get down to Panama, after I have made my big gun, we may take a run over, and see how he is making out. But, as I said, I'm going into this big cannon business on a sort of gamble. I have heard, indirectly, that Uncle Sam intends to use a new type of gun in fortifying the Panama Canal. It's about forty-nine miles long, you know, and it will take many guns to cover the whole route, as well as to protect the two entrances." "Not so very many if you make a gun that will shoot thirty miles," remarked Ned, with a smile. "I'm not so sure I can do it," went on Tom. "But, even at that, quite a number of guns will be needed. For if any foreign nation, or any combination of nations, intend to get the canal away from us, they won't make the attack from one point. They'll come at us seven different ways for Sunday, and I've never heard yet of a gun that can shoot seven ways at once. That's why so many will be needed. "But, as I said, I don't know just what type the Ordnance Department will favor, and I want to get a line. Then, even if I invent a cannon that will outshoot all the others, they may not take mine. Though if they do, and buy a number of them, I'll be more than repaid for my labor, besides having the satisfaction of helping my country." "Good for you, Tom! I wish it was time to go to Sandy Hook now. I'm anxious to see that big gun. Do you know anything about it?" "Not very much. I have heard that it is not quite as large as the old sixteen-inch rifle that they had to throw away because of some trouble, I don't know just what. It was impractical, in spite of its size and great range. But this new gun they are going to test is considerably smaller, I understand. "It was invented by a General Waller, and is, I think, about twelve inches across at the muzzle. In spite of that comparatively small size, it fires a projectile weighing a thousand pounds, or half a ton, and takes five hundred pounds of powder. Its range, of course, no one knows yet, though I have heard it said that General Waller claims it will shoot twenty miles." "Whew! Some shot!" "I'm going to beat it," declared Tom, "and I want to do it without making such a monstrous gun that it will be difficult to cast it. "You see, Ned, there is, theoretically, nothing to prevent the casting of a steel rifled cannon that would be fifty inches across at the muzzle, and making it a hundred feet long. I mean it could be done on paper--figured out and all that. But whether you would get a corresponding increase in power or range, and be able to throw a relatively larger projectile, is something no one knows, for there never has been such a gun made. Besides, the strain of the big charge of powder needed would be enormous. So I don't want merely to make a giant cannon. I want one that will do a giant's work, and still be somewhere in the middle-sized class." "I see. Well, you'll probably get some points at Sandy Hook." "I think so. We go day after tomorrow." "Is Mr. Damon going?' "I think not. If he does I'll have to get another pass, for mine only calls for two persons. I got it through a Captain Badger, a friend of mine, stationed at the Sandy Hook barracks. He doesn't have anything to do with the coast defense guns, but he got the pass to the proving grounds for me." Tom and his chum talked for some time about the prospects for making a giant cannon, and then the young inventor, with Ned's aid, made some powder tests, using some of the explosive that had so nearly caught fire. "It isn't just what I want," Tom decided, after he had put small quantities in little steel bombs, and exploded them, at a safe distance, and under a bank of earth, by means of an electric primer. "Why, Tom, that powder certainly burst the bombs all to pieces," said Ned, picking up a shattered piece of steel. "I know, but it isn't powerful enough for me. I'm going to send for samples of another kind, and if I can't get what I want I'll make my own powder. But come on now, this stuff gives me a headache. Let's take a little flight in the Humming Bird. We'll go see Mr. Damon," and soon the two lads were in the speedy little monoplane, skimming along like the birds. The fresh air soon blew away their headaches, caused by the fumes from the nitro-glycerine, which was the basis of the powder. Dynamite will often produce a headache in those who work with it. Two days later Tom and Ned set off for Sandy Hook. This long, neck-like strip of land on the New Jersey coast is, as most of you know, one of the principal defenses of our country. Foreign vessels that steam into New York harbor first have to pass the line of terrible guns that, back of the earth and concrete defenses, look frowningly out to sea. It is a wonderful place. On the Sandy Hook Bay side of the Hook there is a life-saving station. Right across, on the sea side, are the big guns. Between are the barracks where the soldiers live, and part of the land is given over to a proving ground, where many of the big guns are taken to be tested. Tom and Ned reached New York City without incident of moment, and, after a night spent at a hotel, they went to the Battery, whence the small government steamer leaves every day for Sandy Hook. It is a trip of twenty-one miles, and as the bay was rather rough that day, Tom and Ned had a taste of a real sea voyage. But they were too experienced travelers to mind that, though some other visitors were made quite ill. A landing was made on the bay side of the Hook, it being too rough to permit of a dock being constructed on the ocean side. "Now we'll see what luck we have," spoke Tom, as he and Ned, inquiring the way to the proving grounds from a soldier on duty, started for them. On the way they passed some of the fortifications. "Look at that gun!" exclaimed Ned, pointing to a big cannon which seemed to be crouched down in a sort of concrete pit. "How can they fire that, Tom? The muzzle points directly at the stone wall. Does the wall open when they want to fire?" "No, the gun raises up, peeps over the wall, so speak, shoots out its projectile, and then crouches down again." "Oh, you mean a disappearing gun." "That's it, Ned. See, it works by compressed air," and Tom showed his chum how, when the gun was loaded, the projectile in place, and the breech-block screwed fast, the officer in charge of the firing squad would, on getting the range from the soldier detailed to calculate it, make the necessary adjustments, and pull the lever. The compressed air would fill the cylinders, forcing the gun to rise on toggle-jointed arms, so that the muzzle was above the bomb-proof wall. Then it would be fired, and sink back again, out of sight of the enemy. The boys looked at several different types of big rifled cannon, and then passed on. They could hear firing in the distance, some of the explosions shaking the ground. "They're making some tests now," said Tom, hurrying forward. Ned followed until, passing a sort of machine shop, the lads came to where a sentry paced up and down a concrete walk. "Are these the proving grounds?" asked Tom. "This is the entrance to them," replied the soldier, bringing his rifle to "port," according to the regulations. "What do you want?" "To go in and watch the gun tests," replied Tom. "I have a permit," and he held it out so the soldier could see it. "That permit is no good here;" the sentry exclaimed. "No good?" faltered Tom. "No, it has to be countersigned by General Waller. And, as he's on the proving grounds now, you can't see him. He's getting ready for the test of his new cannon." "But that's just what we want to see!" cried Tom. "We want to get in there purposely for that. Can't you send word to General Waller?" "I can't leave my post," replied the sentry, shortly. "You'll have to come another time, when the General isn't busy. You can't get in unless he countersigns that permit." "Then it may be too late to witness the test," objected the young inventor. "Isn't there some way I can get word to him?" "I don't think so," replied the sentry. "And I'll have to ask you to leave this vicinity. No strangers are allowed on the proving grounds without a proper pass." CHAPTER VI TESTING THE WALLER GUN Tom looked at Ned in dismay. After all their work and planning, to be thus thwarted, and by a mere technicality! As they stood there, hardly knowing what to do, the sound of a tremendous explosion came to their ears from behind the big pile of earth and concrete that formed the bomb-proof around the testing ground. "What's that?" cried Ned, as the earth shook. "Just trying some of the big guns," explained the sentry, who was not a bad-natured chap. He had to do his duty. "You'd better move on," he suggested. "If anything happens the government isn't responsible, you know." "I wish there was some way of getting in there," murmured Tom. "You can see General Waller after the test, and he will probably countersign the permit," explained the sentry. "And we won't see the test of the gun I'm most interested in," objected Tom. "If I could only--" He stopped as he noticed the sentry salute someone coming up from the rear. Tom and Ned turned to behold a pleasant-faced officer, who, at the sight of the young inventor, exclaimed: "Well, well! If it isn't my old friend Tom Swift! So you got here on my permit after all?" "Yes, Captain Badger," replied the lad, and then with a rueful face he added: "But it doesn't seem to be doing me much good. I can't get into the proving grounds." "You can't? Why not?" and he looked sharply at the sentry. "Very sorry, sir," spoke the man on guard, "but General Waller has left orders, Captain Badger, that no outsiders can enter the proving grounds when his new gun is being tested unless he countersigns the permits. And he's engaged just now. I'm sorry, but--" "Oh, that's all right, Flynn," said Captain Badger. "It isn't your fault, of course. I suppose there is no rule against my going in there?" and he smiled. "Certainly not, sir. Any officer may go in," and the guard stepped to one side. "Let me have that pass, Tom, and wait here for me," said the Captain. "I'll see what I can do for you," and the young officer, whose acquaintance Tom had made at the tests when the government was purchasing some aeroplanes for the army, hurried off. He came back presently, and by his face the lads knew he had been successful. "It's all right," he said with a smile. "General Waller countersigned the pass without even looking at it. He's so excited over the coming test of his gun that he hardly knows what he is doing. Come on in, boys. I'll go with you." "Then they haven't tested his gun yet?" Asked Tom, eagerly, anxious to know whether he had missed anything. "No, they're going to do so in about half an hour. You'll have time to look around a bit. Come on," and showing the sentinel the counter-signed pass, Captain Badger led the two youths into the proving grounds. Tom and Ned saw so much to interest them that they did not know at which to look first. In some places officers and firing squads were testing small-calibre machine guns, which shot off a round with a noise like a string of firecrackers on the Chinese New Year's. On other barbettes larger guns were being tested, the noise being almost deafening. "Stand on your tiptoes, and open your mouth when you see a big cannon about to be fired," advised Captain Badger, as he walked alongside the boys. "What good does that do?" inquired Ned. "It makes your contact with the earth as small as possible--standing on your toes," the officer explained, "and so reduces the tremor. Opening your mouth, in a measure, equalizes the changed air pressure, caused by the vacuum made when the powder explodes. In other words, you get the same sort of pressure down inside your throat, and in the tubes leading to the ear--the same pressure inside, as outside. "Often the firing of big guns will burst the ear drums of the officers near the cannon, and this may often be prevented by opening the mouth. It's just like going through a deep tunnel, or sometimes when an elevator descends quickly from a great height. There is too much outside air pressure on the ear drums. By opening your mouth and swallowing rapidly, the pressure is nearly equaled, and you feel no discomfort." The boys tried this when the next big gun was fired, and they found it true. They noticed quite a crowd of officers and men about a certain large barbette, and Captain Badger led them in that direction. "Is that General Waller's gun?" asked Tom. "That's where they are going to test it," was the answer. Eagerly Tom and Ned pressed forward. No one of the many officers and soldiers grouped about the new cannon seemed to notice them. A tall man, who seemed very nervous and excited, was hurrying here and there, giving orders rapidly. "How is that range now?" he asked. "Let me take a look! Are you sure the patrol vessels are far enough out? I think this projectile is going farther than any of you gentlemen have calculated." "I believe we have correctly estimated the distance," answered someone, and the two entered into a discussion. "That excited officer is General Waller," explained Captain Badger, in a low voice, to Tom and Ned. "I guessed as much," replied the young inventor. Then he went closer to get a better look at the big cannon. I say big cannon, and yet it was not the largest the government had. In fact, Tom estimated the calibre to be less than twelve inches, but the cannon was very long--much longer in proportion than guns of greater muzzle diameter. Then, too, the breech, or rear part, was very thick and heavy. "He must be going to use a tremendous lot of powder," said Tom. "He is," answered Captain Badger. "Some of us think he is going to use too much, but he says it is impossible to burst his gun. He wants to make a long-range record shot, and maybe he will." "That's a new kind of breech block," commented Tom, as he watched the mechanism being operated. "Yes, that's General Waller's patent, too. They're going to fire soon." I might explain, briefly, for the benefit of you boys who have never seen a big, modern cannon, that it consists of a central core of cast steel. This is rifled, just as a small rifle is bored, with twisted grooves throughout its length. The grooves, or rifling, impart a twisting motion to the projectiles, and keep them in a straighter line. After the central core is made and rifled, thick jackets of steel are "shrunk" on over the rear part of the gun. Sometimes several jackets are put on, one over the other, to make the gun stronger. If you have ever seen a blacksmith put a tire on a wheel you will understand what I mean. The tire is heated, and this expands it, or makes it larger. It is put on hot, and when it cools it shrinks, getting smaller, and gripping the rim of the wheel in a strong embrace. That is what the jackets of steel do to the big guns. A big rifled cannon is loaded from the rear, or breech, just as is a breech-loading shotgun or rifle. That is, the cannon is opened at the back and the projectile is put in by means of a derrick, for often the projectiles weigh a thousand pounds or more. Next comes the powder--hundreds of pounds of it--and then it is necessary to close the breech. The breech block does this. That block is a ponderous piece of steel, quite complicated, and it swings on a hinge fastened to one side of the rear of the gun. Once it is swung back into place, it is made fast by means of screw threads, wedges or in whatever way the inventor of the gun deems best. The breech block must be very strong, and held firmly in place, or the terrific force of the powder would blow it out, wreck the gun and kill those behind it. You see, the breech block really stands a great part of the strain. The powder is between it and the projectile, and there is a sort of warfare to see which will give way--the projectile or the block. In most cases the projectile gracefully bows, so to speak, and skips out of the muzzle of the gun, though sometimes the big breech block will be shattered. With eager eyes Tom and Ned watched the preparations for firing the big gun. The charge of powder was hoisted out of the bomb-proof chamber below the barbette, and then the great projectile was brought up in slings. At the sight of that Tom realized that the gun was no ordinary one, for the great piece of steel was nearly three feet long, and must have weighed nearly a thousand pounds. Truly, much powder would be needed to send that on its way. "I'm afraid, General, that you are using too much of that strong powder," Tom heard one officer say to the inventor of the gun. "It may burst the breech." "Nonsense, Colonel Washburn. I tell you it is impossible to burst my gun--impossible, sir! I have allowed for every emergency, and calculated every strain. I have a margin of safety equal to fifty per cent." "Very well, I hope it proves a success." "Of course it will. It is impossible to burst my gun! Now, are we ready for the test." The gun was rather crude in form, not having received its final polish, and it was mounted on a temporary carriage. But even with that Tom could see that it was a wonderful weapon, though he thought he would have put on another jacket toward the muzzle, to further strengthen that portion. "I'm going to make a gun bigger than that," said Tom to Ned. He spoke rather louder than he intended, and, as it was at a moment when there was a period of silence, the words carried to General Waller, who was at that moment near Tom. "What's that?" inquired the rather fiery-tempered officer, as he looked sharply at our hero. "I said I was going to make a larger gun than that," repeated Tom, modestly. "Sir! Do you know what you are saying? How did you come in here, anyhow? I thought no civilians were to be admitted today! Explain how you got here!" Tom felt an angry flush mounting to his cheeks. "I came in here on a pass countersigned by you," he replied. "A pass countersigned by me? Let me see it." Tom passed it over. "Humph, it doesn't seem to be forged," went on the pompous officer. "Who are you, anyhow?" "Tom Swift." "Hum!" "General Waller, permit me to introduce Tom Swift to you," spoke Captain Badger, stepping forward, and trying not to smile. "He is one of our foremost inventors. It is his type of monoplane that the government has adopted for the coming maneuvers at Panama, you may recall, and he was very helpful to Uncle Sam in stopping that swindling on the border last year--Tom and his big searchlight. Mr. Swift, General Waller," and Captain Badger bowed as he completed the introduction. "What's that. Tom Swift here? Let me meet him!" exclaimed an elderly officer coming through the crowd. The others parted to make way for him, as he seemed to be a person of some importance, to judge by his uniform, and the medals he wore. "Tom Swift here!" he went on. "I want to shake hands with you, Tom! I haven't seen you since I negotiated with you for the purchase of those submarines you invented, and which have done such splendid service for the government. Tom, I'm glad to see you here today." The face of General Waller was a study in blank amazement. CHAPTER VII THE IMPOSSIBLE OCCURS There were murmurs throughout the throng about the big gun, as the officer approached Tom Swift and shook hands with him. "What have you in mind now, Tom, that you come to Sandy Hook?" the much-medaled officer asked. "Nothing much, Admiral," answered our hero. "Oh, yes, you have!" returned Admiral Woodburn, head of the naval forces of Uncle Sam. "You've got some idea in your head, or you wouldn't come to see this test of my friend's gun. Well, if you can invent anything as good for coast defense, or even interior defense, as your submarines, it will be in keeping with what you have done in the past. I congratulate you, General Waller, on having Tom Swift here to give you the benefit of some of his ideas." "I--I haven't had the pleasure of meeting Mr. Swift before," said the gun inventor, stiffly. "I did not recognize his name when I countersigned his pass." It was plain that the greeting of Tom by Admiral Woodburn had had a marked effect in changing sentiment toward our hero. Captain Badger smiled as he noticed with what different eyes the gun inventor now regarded the lad. "Well, if Tom Swift gives you any points about your gun, you want to adopt them," went on the Admiral. "I thought I knew something about submarines, but Tom taught me some things, too; didn't you, Tom?" "Oh, it was just a simple matter, Admiral," said Tom, modestly. "Just that little point about the intake valves and the ballast tanks." "But they changed the whole matter. Yes, General, you take Tom's advice--if he gives you any." "I don't know that I will need any--as yet," replied General Waller. "I am confident my gun will be a success as it is at present constructed. Later, however, if I should decide to make any changes, I will gladly avail myself of Mr. Swift's counsel," and he bowed stiffly to Tom. "We will now proceed with the test," he went on. "Kindly send a wireless to the patrol ships that we are about to fire, and ask them to note carefully where the projectile falls." "Very good, sir," spoke the officer in immediate charge of the matter, as he saluted. Soon from the aerials snapped the vicious sparks that told of the wireless telegraph being worked. I might explain that near the spot where the projectile was expected to fall into the sea--about fifteen miles from Sandy Hook--several war vessels were stationed to warn shipping to give the place a wide berth. This was easy, since the big gun had been aimed at a spot outside of the steamship lanes. Aiming the rifle in a certain direction, and giving it a definite angle of inclination, made it practically certain just where the shot would fall. This is called "getting the range," and while, of course, the exact limit of fire of the new gun was not known, it had been computed as nearly as possible. "Is everything ready now?" asked General Waller, while Tom was conversing with his friends, Captain Badger and Admiral Woodburn, Ned taking part in the conversation from time to time. "All ready, sir," was the assurance. The inventor was plainly nervous as the crucial moment of the test approached. He went here and there upon the barbette, testing the various levers and gear wheels of the gun. The projectile and powder had been put in, the breech-block screwed into place, the primer had been inserted, and all that remained was to press the button that would make the electrical connection, and explode the charge. This act of firing the gun had been intrusted to one of the soldiers, for General Waller and his brother officers were to retire to a bomb-proof, whence they would watch the effect of the fire, and note the course of the projectile. "It seems to me," remarked Ned, "that the soldier who is going to fire the gun is in the most danger." "He would be--if it exploded," spoke Tom, for his officer friends had joined their colleagues, most of whom were now walking toward the shelter. "But I think there is little danger. "You see, the electric wires are long enough to enable him to stand some distance from the gun. And, if he likes, he can crouch behind that concrete wall of the next barbette. Still, there is some chance of an accident, for, no matter how carefully you calculate the strain of a bursting charge of powder, and how strongly you construct the breech-block to stand the strain, there is always the possibility of a flaw in the metal. So, Ned, I think we'll just go to the bomb-proof ourselves, when we see General Waller making for the same place." "I suppose," remarked Ned, "that in actual warfare anyone who fired one of the big guns would have to stand close to it--closer than that soldier is now." "Oh, yes--much," replied Tom, as he watched General Waller giving the last instructions to the private who was to press the button. "Only, of course, in war the guns will have been tested, and this one has not. Here he comes; I guess we'd better be moving." General Waller, having assured himself that everything was as right as possible, had given the last word to the private and was now making his way toward the bomb-proof, within which were gathered his fellow-officers and friends. "You had better retire from the immediate vicinity of the gun," said its inventor to Tom and Ned, as he passed them. "For, while I have absolute confidence in my cannon, and I know that it is impossible to burst it, the concussion may be unpleasant at such close range." "Thank you," said Tom. "We are going to get in a safe place." He could not refrain from contrasting the general's manner now with what it had been at first. As for Ned, he could not help wondering why, if the inventor had such absolute faith in his weapon, he did not fire it himself, even at the risk of a "concussion." How it happened was never accurately known, as the soldier declared positively--after he came out of the hospital--that he had not pressed the button. The theory was that the wires had become crossed, making a short circuit, which caused the gun to go off prematurely. But suddenly, while Tom, Ned and General Waller were still some distance away from the bomb-proof, there was a terrific explosion. It seemed as if the very foundations of the fortifications would be shattered. There was a roaring in the air--a hot burst of flame, and instantly such a vacuum was created that Tom and Ned found themselves gasping for breath. Dazed, shaken in every bone, with their muscles sore, they picked themselves up from the ground, along which they had been blown with great force in the direction of the bomb-proof. Even as Tom struggled to his feet, intending to run to safety in fear of other explosions, he realized what had happened. "What--what was it?" cried Ned, as he, too, arose. "The gun burst!" yelled Tom. He looked to the left and saw General Waller picking himself up, his uniform torn, and blood streaming from a cut on his face. At the same instant Tom was aware of the body of a man flying through the air toward a distant grass plot, and the young inventor recognized it as that of the soldier who had been detailed to fire the great cannon. Almost instantaneously as everything happened, Tom was aware of noticing several things, as though they took place in sequence. He looked toward where the gun had stood. It was in ruins. The young inventor saw something, which he took to be the projectile, skimming across the sea waves, and he had a fleeting glimpse of the greater portion of the immense weapon itself sinking into the depths of the ocean. Then, coming down from a great height in the air, he saw a dark object. It was another piece of the cannon that had been hurled skyward. "Look out!" Tom yelled, instinctively, as he staggered toward the bomb-proof, Ned following. He saw a number of officers running out to assist General Waller, who seemed too dazed to move. Many of them had torn uniforms, and not a few were bleeding from their injuries. Then the air seemed filled with a rain of small missiles--stones, dirt, gravel and pieces of metal. CHAPTER VIII A BIG PROBLEM "Are you much hurt, Ned?" Tom Swift bent anxiously over the prostrate form of his chum. A big piece of the burst gun had fallen close to Ned--so close, in fact, that Tom, who saw it as he neared the entrance to the bomb-proof, shuddered as he raced back. But there was no sign of injury on his chum. "Are you much hurt, Ned?" The lad's eyes opened. He seemed dazed. "No--no, I guess not," he answered, slowly. "I--I guess I'm as much scared as hurt, Tom. It was the wind from that big piece that knocked me down. It didn't actually hit me." "No, I should say not," put in Captain Badger, who had run out toward the two lads. "If it had hit you there wouldn't have been much of you left to tell the tale," and he nodded toward the big piece of metal Tom had seen coming down from the sky. That part of the cannon forming a portion of the breech had buried itself deep in the earth. It had landed close to Ned--so close that, as he said, the wind of it, as well as the concussion, perhaps, had thrown him with enough force to send the breath from him. "Glad to hear that, old man!" exclaimed Tom, with a sigh of relief. "If you'd been hurt I should have blamed myself." "That would have been foolish. I took the same chance that you did," answered Ned, as he arose, and limped off between the captain and Tom. A great silence seemed to have followed the terrific report. And now the officers and soldiers began to recover from the stupor into which the accident had thrown them. Sentries began pouring into the proving grounds from other portions of the barracks, and an ambulance call was sent in. General Waller's comrades had hurried out to him, and were now leading him away. He did not seem to be much hurt, though, like many others, he had received numerous cuts and scratches from bits of stone and gravel scattered by the explosion, as well as from small bits of metal that were thrown in all directions. "Are you hurt, General?" asked Admiral Woodburn, as he put his arm about the shoulder of the inventor. "No--that is to say, I don't think so. But what happened? Did they fire some other gun in our direction by mistake?" For a moment they all hesitated. Then the Admiral said, gently: "No, General. It was your own gun--it burst." "My gun! My gun burst?" "That was it. Fortunately, no one was killed." "My gun burst! How could that happen? I drew every plan for that gun myself. I made every allowance. I tell you it was impossible for it to burst!" "But it did burst, General," went on the Admiral. "You can see for yourself," and he turned around and waved his hand toward the barbette where the gun had been mounted. All that remained of it now was part of the temporary carriage, and a small under-portion of the muzzle. The entire breech, with the great block, had been blown into fragments, so powerful was the powder used. The projectile one watcher reported, had gone about three hundred yards over the top of the barbette and then dropped into the sea, very little of the force of the explosive having been expended on that. A large piece of the gun had also been lost in the water off shore. "My gun burst! My gun burst!" murmured General Waller, as if unable to comprehend it. "My gun burst--it is impossible!" "But it did," spoke Admiral Woodburn, softly. "Come, you had better see the surgeon. You may be more seriously injured than you think." "Was anyone else hurt?" asked the inventor, listlessly. He seemed to have lost all interest, for the time being. "No one seriously, as far as we can learn," was the answer. "What of the man who fired the gun?" inquired the General. "He was blown high into the air," said Tom. "I saw him." "But he is not injured beyond some bruises," put in one of the ambulance surgeons. "We have taken him to the hospital. He fell on a pile of bags that had held concrete, and they saved him. It was a miraculous escape." "I am glad of it," said General Waller. "It is bad enough to feel that I made some mistake, causing the gun to burst; but I would never cease to reproach myself if I felt that the man who fired it was killed, or even hurt." His friends led him away, and Tom and Ned went over to look at what remained of the great gun. Truly, the powder, expending its force in a direction not meant for it, had done terrific havoc. Even part of the solid concrete bed of the barbette had been torn up. An official inquiry was at once started, and, while it would take some time to complete it (for the parts of the gun remaining were to be subjected to an exhaustive test to determine the cause of the weakness), it was found that there was some defect in the wiring and battery that was used to fire the charge. The soldier who was to press the button was sure he had not done so, as he had been ordered to wait until General Waller gave the signal from the bomb-proof. But the gun went off before its inventor reached that place of safety. Just what had caused the premature discharge could never be learned, as part of the firing apparatus had been blown to atoms. "Well, Tom, what do you think of it?" asked Ned, who had now fully recovered from the shock. The two were about to leave the proving grounds, having seen all that they cared to. "I don't know just what to think," was the answer. "It sure was a big explosion, and it goes to prove that, no matter how many calculations you make, when you try a new powder in a new gun you don't know what's going to happen, until after it has happened--and then it's too late. It's a big problem, Ned." "Do you think you can solve it? Are you still going on with your plan to build the biggest cannon ever made?" "I sure am, Ned, though I don't know that I'll make out any better than General Waller did. It's too bad his was a failure; but I think I see where he made some mistakes." "Oh, you do; eh?" suddenly exclaimed a voice, and from a nearby parapet, where he had gone to look at one of the pieces of his gun, stepped General Waller. "So you think I made some mistakes, Tom Swift? Where, pray?" "In making the breech. The steel jackets were of uneven thickness, making the strain unequal. Then, too, I do not think the powder was sufficiently tested. It was probably of uneven strength. That is only my opinion, sir." "Well, you are rather young to give opinions to men who have devoted almost all their lives to the study of high explosives." "I realize that, sir; but you asked me for my opinion. I shall hope to profit by your mistakes, too. That is one reason I wanted to see this test." "Then you are seriously determined to make a gun that you think will rival mine." "I am, General Waller." "For what purpose--to sell to some foreign government?" "No, sir!" cried Tom, with flashing eyes. "If I am successful in making a cannon that will fire the longest shots on record, I shall offer it to Uncle Sam first of all. If he does not want it, I shall not dispose of it to any foreign country!" "Hum! Well, I don't believe you'll succeed. I intend to rebuild my gun at once, though I may make some changes in it. I am sure I shall succeed the next time. But as for you--a mere youth--to hope to rival men who have made this problem a life-study--it is preposterous, sir! Utterly preposterous!" and he uttered these words much as he had declared that it was impossible for his gun to burst, even after it was in fragments. "Come on, Ned," said Tom, in a low voice. "We'll go back home." CHAPTER IX THE NEW POWDER "Bless my cartridge belt, Tom, you don't really mean to say that stuff is powder!" exclaimed Mr. Damon. "That's what I hope it will prove to be--and powerful powder at that." "Why, it looks more like excelsior than anything else," went on the odd man, gingerly taking up some yellowish shreds in his fingers. "And it will burn as harmlessly as excelsior in the open air," went on Tom. "But I hope to prove, when it is confined in a chamber, that it will be highly explosive. I'm going to make a test of it soon." "Give me good notice, so I can get over in the next State!" exclaimed Ned Newton, with a laugh. This was several days after our friends had returned from the disastrous gun test at Sandy Hook. Tom had at once gotten to work on the problem that confronted him--a problem of his own making--to build a giant cannon that would make the longest shots on record. And he had first turned his attention to the powder, or explosive, to be used. "For," he said, "there is no use having a big gun unless you can fire it. And the gun I am planning will need something more powerful in the powder line than any I've ever heard of." "Stronger than the kind General Waller used?" inquired Ned. "Yes, but I'll make my cannon correspondingly stronger, too, so there will be no danger." "Bless my shoe buttons!" exclaimed Mr. Damon. "You boys must have had your nerve with you to stay around Sandy Hook after that gun went up in the air." "Oh, the danger was all over soon after it began," spoke Tom, with a smile. "But now I'm going to test some of this powder. If you want to run away, Mr. Damon, I'll have Koku take you up in one of the airships, and you'll certainly be safe a mile or so in the air," for Tom had instructed his giant servant how to run one of the simpler biplanes. "No--no, Tom, I'll stick!" exclaimed the eccentric man. "I'll not promise not to hide behind the fence, or something like that, though, Tom; but I'll stick." "So will I," added Ned. "How are you going to make the test, Tom?" "I'll tell you in a minute. I want to do a little figuring first." Tom had, before going to Sandy Hook, made some experiments in powder manufacturing, but they had not been very satisfactory. He had not been able to get power enough. On his return he had undertaken rather a daring innovation. He had mingled two varieties of powder, and the resulting combination would, he hoped, prove just what he wanted. The powder was in gelatin form, being made with nitro-glycerine as a base. It looked, as Mr. Damon had said, like a bunch of excelsior, only it was yellow instead of white, and it felt not unlike pieces of dry macaroni. "I have shredded the powder in this manner," Tom explained, "so that it will explode more evenly and quickly. I want it to burn as nearly instantaneously as possible, and I think it will in this form." "But how are you going to tell how powerful it is unless you fire it in a cannon?" asked Ned. "And you haven't even started your big gun yet." "Oh, I'll show you," declared Tom. "There are several ways of making a test, but I have one of my own. I am going to take a solid block of steel, of known weight--say about a hundred pounds. This I will put into a sort of square cylinder, or well, closed at the bottom somewhat like the breech of a gun. The block of steel fits so closely in the square well that no air or powder gas can pass it. "In the bottom of this well, which may be a foot square, I will put a small charge of this new powder. On top of that will come the steel block. Then by means of electric wires I can fire the charge. "Attached to the steel well, or chamber, will be a gauge, a pressure recorder and other apparatus. When the powder, of which I will use only a pinch, carefully weighing it, goes off, it will raise the hundred-pound weight a certain distance. This will be noted on the scale. There will also be shown the amount of pressure released in the gas given off by the powder. In that way I can make some calculations." "How?" asked Ned, who was much interested. "Well, for instance, if one ounce of powder raises the weight three feet, and gives a muzzle pressure of, say, five hundred pounds, I can easily compute what a thousand pounds of powder, acting on a projectile weighing two tons and a half, would do, and how far it would shoot it." "Bless my differential gear!" cried Mr. Damon. "A projectile weighing two and a half, tons! Tom, it's impossible!" "That's what General Waller said about his gun; but it burst, just the same," declared Ned. "Poor man, I felt sorry for him. He seemed rather put out at you, Tom." "I guess he was--a bit--though I didn't mean anything disrespectful in what I said. But now we'll have this test. Koku, take the rest of this powder back. I'll only keep a small quantity." The giant, who, being more active than Eradicate, had rather supplanted the aged colored man, did as he was bid, and soon Tom, with Ned and Mr. Damon to help him, was preparing for the test. They went some distance away from any of the buildings, for, though Tom was only going to use a small quantity of the explosive, he did not just know what the result would be, and he wanted to take no chances. "I know from personal experience what the two kinds of powder from which I made this sample will do," he said; "but it is like taking two known quantities and getting a third unknown one from them. There is an unequal force between the two samples that may make an entirely new compound." The steel chamber that was to receive the hundred-pound steel block had been prepared in advance, as had the various gauges and registering apparatus. "Well, I guess we'll start things moving now," went on Tom, as he looked over the things he had brought from his shops to the deserted meadow. The fact of the test had been kept a secret, so there were no spectators. "Ned, give me a hand with this block," Tom went on. "It's a little too heavy to lift alone." He was straining and tugging at the heavy piece of steel. "Me do!" exclaimed Koku the giant, gently pushing Tom to one side. Then the big man, with one hand, raised the hundred-pound weight as easily as if it were a loaf of bread, and deposited it where Tom wanted it. "Thanks!" exclaimed our hero, with a laugh. "I didn't make any mistake when I brought you home with me, Koku." "Huh! I could hab lifted dat weight when I was a young feller!" exclaimed Eradicate, who was, it is needless to say, jealous of the giant. The powder had been put in the firing chamber. The steel socket had been firmly fixed in the earth, so that if the force of the explosion was in a lateral direction, instead of straight up, no damage would result. The weight, even if it shot from the muzzle of the improvised "cannon," would only go harmlessly up in the air, and then drop back. The firing wires were so long that Tom and his friends could stand some distance away. "Are you all ready?" cried Tom, as he looked to see that the wiring was clear. "As ready as we ever shall be," replied Mr. Damon, who, with Ned and the others, had taken refuge behind a low hill. "Oh, this isn't going to be much of an explosion," laughed Tom. "It won't be any worse than a Fourth of July cannon. Here she goes!" He pressed the electric button, there was a flash, a dull, muffled report and, for a moment, something black showed at the top of the steel chamber. Then it dropped back inside again. "Pshaw!" cried Tom, in disappointed tones. "It didn't even blow the weight out of the tube. That powder's no good! It's a failure!" Followed by the others, the young inventor started toward the small square "cannon." Tom wanted to read the records made by the gases. Suddenly Koku cried: "There him be, master! There him be!" and he pointed toward a distant path that traversed the meadow. "He? Whom do you mean?" asked Tom, startled the giant's excited manner. "That man what come and look at Master's new powder," was the unexpected answer. "Him say he want to surprise you, and he come today, but no speak. He run away. Look--him go!" and he pointed toward a figure of distinctly military bearing hurrying along the road that led to Shopton. CHAPTER X SOMETHING WRONG "Bless my buttons!" cried Mr. Damon. "Let's chase after him!" yelled Ned. "Koku kin run de fastest oh any oh us," put in Eradicate. "Let him go." "Hold on--wait a minute!" exclaimed Tom. "We want to know who that man is--and why we're going to chase after him. Koku, I guess it's up to you. Something has been going on here that I don't know anything about. Explain!" "Well, it's no use to chase after him now," said Ned. "There he goes on his motor-cycle." As he spoke the man, who, even from a rear view, presented all the characteristics of an army man, so straight was his carriage, leaped upon a motor-cycle that he pulled from the roadside bushes, and soon disappeared in a cloud of dust. "No, he's gone," spoke Tom, half-regretfully. "But who was he, Koku? You seemed to know him. What was he doing out here, watching my test?" "Me tell," said the giant, simply. "Little while after Master come back from where him say big gun all go smash, man come to shop when Master out one day. Him very nice man, and him say him know you, and want to help you make big cannon. I say, 'Master no be at home.' Man say him want to give master a little present of powder for use in new cannon. Master be much pleased, man say. Make powder better. I take, and I want Master to be pleased. I put stuff what man gave me in new powder. Man go away--he laugh--he say he be here today see what happen--I tell him you go to make test today. Man say Master be much surprised. That all I know." Silence followed Koku's statement. To Ned and Mr. Damon it was not exactly clear, but Tom better understood his giant servant's queer talk. "Is that what you mean, Koku?" asked the young inventor, after a pause. "Did some stranger come here one day when I was out, after I had made my new powder, and did he give you some 'dope' to put in it?" "What you mean by 'dope'?" "I mean any sort of stuff." "Yes, man give me something like sugar, and I sprinkle it on new powder for to surprise Master." "Well, you've done it, all right," said Tom, grimly. "Have you any of the stuff left?" "I put all in iron box where Master keep new powder." "Well, then some of it must be there yet. Probably it sifted through the excelsior-like grains of my new explosive, and we'll find it on the bottom of the powder-case. But enough stuck to the strands to spoil my test. I'll just take a reading of the gauges, and then we'll make an investigation." Tom, with Ned to help him, made notes of how far the weight had risen in the tube, and took data of other points in the experiment. "Pshaw!" exclaimed Tom. "There wasn't much more force to my new powder, doped as it apparently has been, than to the stuff I can buy in the open market. But I'm glad I know what the trouble is, for I can remedy it. Come on back to the shop. Koku, don't you ever do anything like this again," and Tom spoke severely. "No, Master," answered the giant, humbly. "Did you ever see this man before, Koku?" "No, Master." "What kind of a fellow was he?" asked Ned. "Oh, him got whiskers on him face, and stand very straight, like stick bending backwards. Him look like a soldier, and him blink one eye more than the other." Tom and Ned started and looked at one another. "That description fits General Waller," said Ned, in a low voice to his chum. "Yes, in a way; but it would be out of the question for the General to do such a thing. Besides, the man who ran away, and escaped on his motor-cycle, was larger than General Waller." "It was hard to tell just what size he was at the distance," spoke Ned. "It doesn't seem as though he would try to spoil your experiments, though." "Maybe he hoped to spoil my cannon," remarked Tom, with a laugh that had no mirth in it. "My cannon that isn't cast yet. He probably misunderstood Koku's story of the test, and had no idea it was only a miniature, experimental, gun. "This will have to be looked into. I can't have strangers prowling about here, now that I am going to get to work on a new invention. Koku, I expect you, after this, not to let strangers approach unless I give the word. Eradicate, the same thing applies to you. You didn't see anything of this mysterious man; did you?" "No, Massa 'Tom. De only s'picious man I see was mab own cousin sneakin' around mah chicken coop de odder night. I tooks mah ole shot gun, an' sa'ntered out dat way. Den in a little while dere wasn't no s'picious man any mo'." "You didn't shoot him; did you, Rad?" cried Tom, quickly. "No, Massa Tom--dat is, I didn't shoot on puppose laik. De gun jest natchelly went off by itself accidental-laik, an' it peppered him good an' proper." "Why, Rad!" cried Ned. "You didn't tell us about this." "Well, I were 'shamed ob mah cousin, so I was. Anyhow, I only had salt an' pepper in de gun--'stid ob shot. I 'spect mah cousin am pretty well seasoned now. But dat's de only s'picious folks I see, 'ceptin' maybe a peddler what wanted t' gib me a dish pan fo' a pair ob ole shoes; only I didn't hab any." "There are altogether too many strangers coming about here," went on Tom. "It must be stopped, if I have to string charged electric wires about the shops as I once did." They hurried back to the shop where the new powder was kept, and Tom at once investigated it. Taking the steel box from where it was stored he carefully removed the several handfuls of excelsior-like explosive. On the bottom of the box, and with some of it clinging to some of the powder threads, was a sort of white powder. It had a peculiar odor. "Ha!" cried Tom, as soon as he saw it. "I know what that is. It's a new form of gun-cotton, very powerful. Whoever gave it to Koku to put on my powder hoped to blow to atoms any cannon in which it might be used. There's enough here to do a lot of damage." "How is it that it didn't blow your test cylinder to bits?" asked Ned. "For the reason that the stuff I use in my powder and this new gun-cotton neutralized one another," the young inventor explained. "One weakened the other, instead of making a stronger combination. A chemical change took place, and lucky for us it did. It was just like a man taking an over-dose of poison--it defeated itself. That's why my experiment was a failure. Now to put this stuff where it can do no harm. Is this what that man gave you, Koku?" "That's it, Master." There came a tap on the door of the private room, and instinctively everyone started. Then came the voice of Eradicate, saying: "Dere's a army gen'men out here to see you. Massa Tom; but I ain't gwine t' let him in lessen as how you says so." "An army gentleman!" repeated Tom. "Yais, sah! He say he General Waller, an' he come on a motor-cycle." "General Waller!" exclaimed Tom. "What can he want out here?" "And on a motor-cycle, too!" added Ned. "Tom, what's going on, anyhow?" The young inventor shook his head. "I don't know," he replied; "but I suppose I had better see him. Here, Koku, put this powder away, and then go outside. Mr. Damon, you'll stay; won't you?" "If you need me, Tom. Bless my finger nails! But there seems to be something wrong here." "Show him in, Rad!" called Tom. "Massa Gen'l Herodotus Waller!" exclaimed the colored man in pompous tones, as he opened the door for the officer, clad in khaki, whom Tom had last seen at Sandy Hook. "Ah, how do you do, Mr. Swift!" exclaimed General Waller, extending his hand. "I got your letter inviting me to a test of your new explosive. I hope I am not too late." Tom stared at him in amazement. CHAPTER XI FAILURE AND SUCCESS "You--you got my letter!" stammered Tom, holding out his hand for a missive which the General extended. "I--I don't exactly understand. My letter?" "Yes, certainly," went on the officer. "It was very kind of you to remember me after--well, to be perfectly frank with you, I did resent, a little, your remarks about my unfortunate gun. But I see you are of a forgiving spirit." "But I didn't write you any letter!" exclaimed Tom, feeling more and more puzzled. "You did not? What is this?" and the General unfolded a paper. Tom glanced over it. Plainly it was a request for the General to be present at the test on that day, and it was signed with Tom Swift's name. But as soon as the young inventor saw it, he knew that it was a forgery. "I never sent that letter!" he exclaimed. "Look, it is not at all like my handwriting," and he took up some papers from a near-by table and quickly compared some of his writing with that in the letter. The difference was obvious. "Then who did send it?" asked General Waller. "If someone has been playing a joke on me it will not be well for him!" and he drew himself up pompously. "If a joke has been played--and it certainly seems so," spoke Tom, "I had no hand in it. And did you come all the way from Sandy Hook because of this letter?" "No, I am visiting friends in Waterford," said the officer, naming the town where Mr. Damon lived. "My cousin is Mr. Pierce Watkins." "Bless my doorbell!" exclaimed Mr. Damon, "I know him! He lives just around the corner from me. Bless my very thumb prints!" General Waller stared at Mr. Damon in some amazement, and resumed: "Owing to the unfortunate accident to my gun, and to some slight injuries I sustained, I found my health somewhat impaired. I obtained a furlough, and came to visit my cousin. The doctor recommended open air exercise, and so I brought with me my motor-cycle, as I am fond of that means of locomotion." "I used to be," murmured Mr. Damon; "but I gave it up." "After his machine climbed a tree," Tom explained, with a smile, remembering how he had originally met Mr. Damon, and bought the damaged machine from him, as told in the first volume of this series. "So, when I got your letter," continued the General, "I naturally jumped on my machine and came over. Now I find that it is all a hoax." "I am very sorry, I assure you," said Tom. "We did have a sort of test today; but it was a failure, owing to the fact that someone tampered with my powder. From what you tell me, I am inclined to the belief that the same person may have sent you that letter. Let me look at it again," he requested. Carefully he scanned it. "I should say that was written in a sort of German hand; would you not also?" he asked of Mr. Damon. "I would, Tom." "A German!" exclaimed General Waller. At the mention of the word "German" Koku, the giant, who had entered the room, to be stared at in amazement by the officer, exclaimed: "That he, Master! That he!" "What do you mean?" inquired Tom. "German man give me stuff for to put in your powder. I 'member now, he talk like Hans who make our garden here; and he say 'yah' just the same like. That man German sure." "What does this mean?" inquired the officer. Quickly Tom told of the visit of an unknown man who had prevailed on the simple-minded giant to "dope" Tom's new powder under the impression that he was doing his master a favor. Then the flight of the spy on a motor-cycle, just as the experiment failed, was related. "We have a German gardener," went on Tom, "and Koku now recalls that our mysterious visitor had the same sort of speech. This ought to give us a clue." "Let me see," murmured General Waller. "In the first place your test fails--you learn, then, that your powder has been tampered with--you see a man riding away in haste after having, in all likelihood, spied on your work--your giant servant recalls the visit of a mysterious man, and, when the word 'German' is pronounced in his hearing he recalls that his visitor was of that nationality. So far so good. "I come to this vicinity for my health. That fact, as are all such regarding officers, was doubtless published in the Army and Navy Journal, so it might easily become known to almost anyone. I receive a letter which I think is from Tom Swift, asking me to attend the test. As the distance is short I go, only to find that the letter has been forged, presumably by a German. "Question: Can the same German be the agent in both cases?" "Bless my arithmetic! how concisely you put it!" exclaimed Mr. Damon. "It is part of my training, I suppose," remarked the officer. "But it strikes me that if we find your German spy, Tom, we will find the man who played the joke on me. And if I do find him--well, I think I shall know how to deal with him," and General Waller assumed his characteristic haughty attitude. "I believe you are right, General," spoke Tom. "Though why any German would want to prevent my experiments, or even damage my property, and possibly injure my friends, I cannot understand." "Nor can I," spoke the officer. "I am sorry you have had your trouble for nothing," went on Tom. "And, if you are in this vicinity when I conduct my next test, I shall be glad to have you come. I will send word by Mr. Damon, and then there will be no chance of a mistake." "Thank you, Tom, I shall be glad to come. I do not know how long I shall remain in this vicinity. If I knew where to look for the German I would make a careful search. As it is, I shall turn this letter over to the United States Secret Service, and see what its agents can do. And, Tom, if you are annoyed again, let me know. You are a sort of rival, so to speak, but, after all, we are both working to serve Uncle Sam. I'll do my best to protect you." "Thank you, sir," replied Tom. "On my part, I shall keep a good lookout. It will be a bold spy who gets near my shop after this. I'm going to put up my highly-charged protecting electric wires again. We were just talking about them when you came in. Would you like to look about here, General?" "I would, indeed, Tom. Have you made your big gun yet?" "No, but I am working on the plans. I want first to decide on the kind of explosive I am to use, so I can make my gun strong enough to stand it." "A wise idea. I think there is where I made my mistake. I did not figure carefully enough on the strength of material. The internal pressure of the powder I used, as well as the muzzle velocity of my projectile, were both greater than they should have been. Take a lesson from my failure. But I am going to start on another gun soon, and--Tom Swift--I am going to try to beat you!" "All right, General," answered Tom, genially. "May the best gun win!" "Bless my powder box!" cried Mr. Damon. "That's the way to talk." General Waller was much interested in going about Tom's shop, and expressed his surprise at the many inventions he saw. While ordnance matters, big guns and high explosives were his hobby, nevertheless the airships were a source of wonder to him. "How do you do it, Tom?" he asked. "Oh, by keeping at it," was the modest answer. "Then my good friends here--Ned and Mr. Damon--help me." "Bless my check book!" exclaimed the odd gentleman. "It is very little help I give, Tom." General Waller soon took his departure, promising to call again, to see Tom's test if one were held. He also repeated his determination to set the Secret Service men at work to discover the mysterious German. "I can't imagine who would want to injure you or me, Tom Swift," he said. "Do you think they wanted to injure you, General?" asked Mr. Damon. "It would seem so," remarked Ned. "That man doped Tom's powder, hoping to make it so powerful that it would blow up everything. Then he sends word to the General to be present. If there had been a blow-up he would have gone with it." "Bless my gaiters, yes!" exclaimed Mr. Damon. "Well, we'll see if we can ferret him out!" spoke the officer as he took his leave. Tom, Ned and the others talked the matter over at some length. "I wonder if we could trace that man who rode away on the motor-cycle?" said Ned. "We'll try," decided Tom, energetically, and in the electric runabout, that had once performed such a service to his father's bank, the young inventor and his chum were soon traversing the road taken by the spy. They got some traces of him--that is, several persons had seen him pass--but that was all. So they had to record one failure at least. "I wonder if the General himself could have sent that letter?" mused Ned, as they returned home. "What! To himself?" cried Tom, in amazement. "He might have," went on Ned, coolly. "You see, Tom, he admits that he was jealous of you. Now what is there to prevent him from hiring someone to dope your powder, and then, to divert suspicion from himself, faking up a letter and inviting himself to the blowout." "But if he did that--which I don't believe--why would he come when there was danger, in case his trick worked, of the whole place being blown to kingdom come." "Ah, but you notice he didn't arrive until after danger of an explosion had passed," commented Ned. "Oh, pshaw!" cried Tom. "I don't take any stock in that theory." "Well, maybe not," replied Ned. "But it's worth thinking about. I believe if General Waller could prevent you from inventing your big gun, he would." The days that followed were busy ones for Tom. He worked on the powder problem from morning to night, scoring many failures and only a few successes. But he did not give up, and in the meanwhile drew tentative plans for the big gun. One evening, after a hard day's work, he went to the library where his father was reading. "Tom," said Mr. Swift, "do you remember that old fortune hunter, Alec Peterson, who wanted me to go into that opal mine scheme?" "Yes, Dad. What about him? Has he found it?" "No, he writes to say he reached the island safely, and has been working some time. He hasn't had any success yet in locating the mine; but he hopes to find it in a week or so." "That's just like him," murmured Tom. "Well, Dad, if you lose the ten thousand dollars I guess I'll have to make it up to you, for it was on my account that you made the investment." "Well, you're worth it, Tom," replied his father, with a smile. CHAPTER XII A POWERFUL BLAST "Look out with that box, Koku! Handle it as though it contained a dozen eggs of the extinct great auk, worth about a thousand dollars apiece. "Eradicate! Don't you dare stumble while you're carrying that tube. If you do, you'll never do it again!" "By golly, Massa Tom! I--I's gwine t' walk on mah tiptoes all de way!" Thus Eradicate answered the young inventor, while the giant, Koku, who was carrying a heavy case, nodded his head to show that he understood the danger of his task. "So you think you've got the right stuff this time, Tom?" asked Ned Newton. "I'm allowing myself to hope so, Ned." "Bless my woodpile!" cried Mr. Damon. "I--I really think I'm getting nervous." It was one afternoon, about two weeks after Tom had made his first test of the new powder. Now, after much hard work, and following many other tests, some of which were more or less successful, he had reached the point where he believed he was on the threshold of success. He had succeeded in making a new explosive that, in the preliminary tests, in which only a small quantity was used, gave promise of being more powerful than any Tom had ever experimented with--his own or the product of some other inventor. And his experiments had not always been harmless. Once he came within a narrow margin of blowing up the shop and himself with it, and on another occasion some of the slow-burning powder, failing to explode, had set ablaze a shack in which he was working. Only for the prompt action of Koku, Tom might have been seriously injured. As it was he lost some valuable patterns and papers. But he had gone on his way, surmounting failure after failure, until now he was ready for the supreme test. This was to be the explosion of a large quantity of the powder in a specially prepared steel tube of great thickness. It was like a miniature cannon, but, unlike the first small one, where the test had failed, this one would carry a special projectile, that would be aimed at an armor plate set up on a big hill. Tom's hope was that this big blast would show such pressure in foot-tons, and give such muzzle velocity to the projectile, and at the same time such penetrating power, that he would be justified in taking it as the basis of his explosive, and using it in the big gun he intended to make. The preliminaries had been completed. The special steel tube had been constructed, and mounted on a heavy carriage in a distant part of the Swift grounds. A section of armor plate, a foot and a half in thickness, had been set up at the proper distance. A new projectile, with a hard, penetrating point, had been made--a sort of miniature of the one Tom hoped to use in his giant cannon. Now the young inventor and his friends were on their way to the scene of the test, taking the powder and other necessaries, including the primers, with them. Tom, Ned and Mr. Damon had some of the gauges to register the energy expended by the improvised cannon. There were charts to be filled in, and other details to be looked after. "So General Waller won't be here?" remarked Ned, as they walked along, Tom keeping a watchful eye on Koku. "No," was the reply. "He has gone back to Sandy Hook. He wrote that his health was better, and that he wanted to resume work on a new type of gun." "I guess he's afraid you'll beat him out, Tom," laughed Ned. "You take my advice, and look out for General Waller." "Nonsense! I say, Rad! Look out with those primers!" "I'se lookin' out, Massa Tom. Golly, I don't laik dis yeah job at all! I--I guess I'd better be gittin' at dat whitewashin', Massa Tom. Dat back fence suah needs a coat mighty bad." "Never you mind about the whitewashing, Rad. You just stick around here for a while. I may need you to sit on the cannon to hold it down." "Sit on a cannon, Massa Tom! Say, looky heah now! You jest take dese primary things from dish yeah coon. I--I'se got t' go!" "Why, what's the matter, Rad? Surely you're not afraid; are you?" and Tom winked at Ned. "No, Massa Tom, I'se not prezactly 'skeered, but I done jest 'membered dat I didn't gib mah mule Boomerang any oats t'day, an' he's suahly gwine t' be desprit mad at me fo' forgettin' dat. I--I'd better go!" "Nonsense, Rad! I was only fooling. You can go as soon as we get to my private proving grounds, if you like. But you'll have to carry those primers, for all the rest of us have our hands full. Only be careful of 'em!" "I--I will, Massa Tom." They kept on, and it was noticed that Mr. Damon gave nervous glances from time to time in the direction of Koku, who was carrying the box of powder. The giant himself, however, did not seem to know the meaning of fear. He carried the box, which contained enough explosive to blow them all into fragments, with as much composure as though it contained loaves of bread. "Now you can go, Rad," announced Tom, when they reached the lonely field where, pointing toward a big hill, was the little cannon. "Good, Massa Tom!" cried the colored man, and from the way in which he hurried off no one would ever suspect him of having rheumatic joints. "Say, that stuff looks just like Swiss cheese," remarked Ned, as Tom opened the box of explosive. It would be incorrect to call it powder, for it had no more the appearance of gunpowder, or any other "powder," than, as Ned said, swiss cheese. And, indeed, the powerful stuff bore a decided resemblance to that peculiar product of the dairy. It was in thin sheets, with holes pierced through it here and there, irregularly. "The idea is," Tom explained, "to make a quick-burning explosive. I want the concussion to be scattered through it all at once. It is set off by concussion, you see," he went on. "A sort of cartridge is buried in the middle of it, after it has been inserted in the cannon breech. The cartridge is exploded by a primer, which responds to an electric current. The thin plates, with holes corresponding to the centre hole in a big grain of the hexagonal powder, will, I hope, cause the stuff to burn quickly, and give a tremendous pressure. Now we'll put some in the steel tube, and see what happens." Even Tom was a little nervous as he prepared for this latest test. But he was not nervous enough to drop any of those queer, cheese-like slabs. For, though he knew that a considerable percussion was needed to set them off, it would not do to take chances. High explosives do not always act alike, even under the same given conditions. What might with perfect safety be done at one time, could not be repeated at another. Tom knew this, and was very careful. The powder, as I shall occasionally call it for the sake of convenience, though it was not such in the strict sense of the word--the powder was put in the small cannon, together with the primer. Then the wires were attached to it, and extended off for some distance. "But we won't attach the battery until the last moment," Tom said. "I don't want a premature explosion." The projectile was also put in, and Tom once more looked to see that the armor plate was in place. Then he adjusted the various gauges to get readings of the power and energy created by his new explosive. "Well, I guess we're all ready," he announced to his friends. "I'll hook on the battery now, and we'll get off behind that other hill. I had Koku make a sort of cave there--a miniature bomb-proof, that will shelter us." "Do you think the blast will be powerful enough to make it necessary?" asked Mr. Damon. "It will, if this larger quantity of explosive acts anything like the small samples I set off," replied the young inventor. The electric wires were carried behind the protecting hill, whither they all retired. "Here she goes!" exclaimed Tom, after a pause. His thumb pressed the electric button, and instantly the ground shook with the tremor of a mighty blast, while a deafening sound reared about them. The earth trembled, and there was a big sheet of flame, seen even in the powerful sunlight. "Something happened, anyhow!" yelled Tom above the reverberating echoes. CHAPTER XIII CASTING THE CANNON "Come on!" yelled Ned. "We'll see how this experiment came out!" and he started to run from beneath the shelter of the hill. "Hold on!" shouted Tom, laying a restraining hand on his chum's shoulder. "Why, what's the matter?" asked Ned in surprise. "Some of that powder may not have exploded," went on the young inventor. "From the sound made I should say the gun burst, and, if it did, that gelatin is bound to be scattered about. There may be a mass of it burning loose somewhere, and it may go off. It ought not to, if my theory about it being harmless in the open is correct, but the trouble is that it's only a theory. Wait a few seconds." Anxiously they lingered, the echoes of the blast still in their ears, and a peculiar smell in their nostrils. "But there's no smoke," said Mr. Damon. "Bless my spyglass! I always thought there was smoke at an explosion." "This is a sort of smokeless powder," explained Tom. "It throws off a slight vapor when it is ignited, but not much. I guess it's safe to go out now. Come on!" He dropped the pushbutton connected with the igniting battery, and, followed by the others, raced to the scene of the experiment. A curious sight met their eyes. A great hole had been torn in the hillside, and another where the improvised gun had stood. The gun itself seemed to have disappeared. "Why--why--where is it?" asked Ned. "Burst to pieces I guess," replied Tom. "I was afraid that charge was a bit too heavy." "No, here it is!" shouted Mr. Damon, circling off to one side. "It's been torn from the carriage, and partly buried in the ground," and he indicated a third excavation in the earth. It was as he had said. The terrific blast had sheared the gun from its temporary carriage, thrown it into the air, and it had come down to bury itself in the soft ground. The carriage had torn loose from the concrete base, and was tossed off in another direction. "Is the gun shattered?" asked Tom, anxious to know how the weapon had fared. It was, in a sense, a sort of small model of the giant cannon he intended to have cast. "The breech is cracked a little," answered Mr. Damon, who was examining it; "but otherwise it doesn't seem to be much damaged." "Good," cried Tom. "Another steel jacket will remedy that defect. I guess I'm on the right road at last. But now to see what became of that armor plate." "Dinner plate not here," spoke Koku, who could not understand how there could be two kind of plates in the world. "Dinner plate gone, but big hole here, and he indicated one in the side of the hill. "I expect that is where the armor plate is," said Tom, trying not to laugh at the mistake of his giant servant. "Take a look in there, Koku, and, if you can get hold of it, pull it out for us. I'm afraid the piece of nickel-steel armor proved too much for my projectile. But we'll have a look." Koku disappeared into the miniature cave that had been torn in the side of the bill. It was barely large enough to allow him to go in. But Tom knew none other of them could hope to loosen the piece of steel, imbedded as it must be in the solid earth. Presently they heard Koku grunting and groaning. He seemed to be having quite a struggle. "Can you get it, Koku?" asked Tom. "Or shall I send for picks and shovels." "Me get, Master," was the muffled answer. Then came a shout, as though in anger Koku had dared the buried plate to defy him. There was a shower of earth at the mouth of the cave, and the giant staggered out with the heavy piece of armor plate. At the sight of it Tom uttered a cry. "Look!" he shouted. "My projectile went part way through and then carried the plate with it into the side of the hill. Talk about a powerful explosive! I've struck it, all right!" It was as he had said. The projectile, driven with almost irresistible force, had bitten its way through the armor plate, but a projection at the base of the shell had prevented it from completely passing through. Then, with the energy almost unabated, the projectile had torn the plate loose and hurled it, together with its own body, into the solid earth of the hillside. There, as Koku held them up, they could all see the shell imbedded in the plate, the point sticking out on the other side, as a boy might spear an apple with a sharp stick. "Bless my spectacle case!" cried Mr. Damon. "This is the greatest ever!" "It sure is," agreed Ned. "Tom, my boy, I guess you can now make the longest shots on record." "I can as soon as I get my giant cannon, perhaps," admitted the young inventor. "I think I have solved the problem of the explosive. Now to work on the cannon." An examination of the gauges, which, being attached to the cannon and plate by electric wires, were not damaged when the blast came, showed that Tom's wildest hopes had been confirmed. He had the most powerful explosive ever made--or at least as far as he had any knowledge, and he had had samples of all the best makes. Concerning Tom's powder, or explosive, I will only say that he kept the formula of it secret from all save his father. All that he would admit, when the government experts asked him about it, later, was that the base was not nitro-glycerine, but that this entered into it. He agreed, however, in case his gun was accepted by the government, to disclose the secret to the ordnance officers. But Tom's work was only half done. It was one thing to have a powerful explosive, but there must be some means of utilizing it safely--some cannon in which it could be fired to send a projectile farther than any cannon had ever sent one. And to do this much work was necessary. Tom figured and planned, far into the night, for many weeks after that. He had to begin all over again, working from the basis of the power of his new explosive. And he had many new problems to figure out. But finally he had constructed--on paper--a gun that was to his liking. The most exhaustive figuring proved that it had a margin of safety that would obviate all danger of its bursting, even with an accidental over-charge. "And the next thing is to get the gun cast," said Tom to Ned one day. "Are you going to do it in your shops?" his chum asked. "No; it would be out of the question for me. I haven't the facilities. I'm going to give the contract to the Universal Steel Company. We'll pay them a visit in a day or two." But even the great facilities of the steel corporation proved almost inadequate for Tom's giant cannon. When he showed the drawings, on which he had already secured a patent, the manager balked. "We can't cast that gun here!" he said. "Oh, yes, you can!" declared Tom, who had inspected the plant. "I'll show you how." "Why, we haven't a mould big enough for the central core," was another objection. "Then we'll make one," declared Tom "We'll dig a pit in the earth, and after it is properly lined we can make the cast there." "I never thought of that!" exclaimed the manager. "Perhaps it can be done." "Of course it can!" cried Tom. "Do you think you can shrink on the jackets, and rifle the central tube?" "Oh, yes, we can do that. The initial cast was what stumped me. But we'll go ahead now." "And you can wind the breech with wire, and braze it on; can't you?" persisted Tom. "Yes, I think so. Are you going to have a wire-wound gun?" "That, in combination with a steel-jacketed one. I'm going to take no chances with 'Swiftite'!" laughed Tom, for so he had named his new explosive, in honor of his father, who had helped him with the formula. "It must be mighty powerful," exclaimed the manager. "It is," said Tom, simply. I am not going to tire my readers with the details leading up to the casting of Tom's big cannon. Sufficient to say that the general plan, in brief, was this: A hole would be dug in the earth, in the center of the largest casting shop--a hole as deep as the gun was to be long. This was about one hundred feet, though the gun, when finished, would be somewhat shorter than this. An allowance was to be made for cutting. In the center of this hole would be a small "core" made of asbestos and concrete mixed. Around this would be poured the molten steel from great caldrons. It would flow into the hole. The sides of earth--lined with fire-clay--would hold it in, and the middle core would make a hole throughout the length of the central part of the gun. Afterward this hole would be bored and rifled to the proper calibre. After this central part was done, steel jackets or sleeves would be put on, red-hot, and allowed to shrink. Then would come a winding of wire, to further strengthen the tube, and then more sleeves or jackets. In this way the gun would be made very strong. As the greatest pressure would come at the breech, or in the powder chamber there, the gun would be thickest at this point, decreasing in size to the muzzle. It took many weary weeks to get ready for the first cast, but finally Tom received word that it was to be made, and with Ned, and Mr. Damon, he proceeded to the plant of the steel concern. There was some delay, but finally the manager gave the word. Tom and his friends, standing on a high gallery, watched the tapping of the combined furnaces that were to let the molten steel into the caldrons. There were several of these, and their melted contents were to be poured into the mould at the same time. Out gushed the liquid steel, giving off a myriad of sparks. The workers, as well as the visitors, had to wear violet-tinted glasses to protect their eyes from the glare. "Hoist away!" cried the manager, and the electric cranes started off with the caldrons of liquid fire, weighing many tons. "Pour!" came the command, and into the pit in the earth splashed the melted steel that was to form the big cannon. From each caldron there issued a stream of liquid metal of intense heat. There were numerous explosions as the air bubbles burst--explosions almost like a battery in action. "So far so good!" exclaimed the manager, with a sigh of relief as the last of the melted stuff ran into the mould. "Now, when it cools, which won't be for some days, we'll see what we have." "I hope it contains no flaws," spoke Tom, "That is the worst of big guns--you never can tell when a flaw will develop. But I hope--" Tom was interrupted by the sound of a dispute at one of the outer doors of the shop. "But I tell you I must go in--I belong here in!" a voice cried. It had a German accent, and at the sound of it Tom and Ned looked at each other. "Who is there?" asked the manager sharply of the foreman.. "Oh, a crazy German. He belongs in one of the other shops, and I guess he's mixed up. He thinks he belongs here. I sent him about his business." "That is right," remarked the manager. "I gave orders, at your request," he said to Tom, "that no one but the men in this part of the plant were to be present at the casting. I can't understand what that fellow wanted." "I think I can," murmured Tom, to himself. CHAPTER XIV A NIGHT INTRUDER "Tom, aren't you going to try to get a look at that German?" whispered Ned, as he and his chum came down from the elevated gallery at the conclusion of the cast. "I mean the one who tried to get in!" "I'd like to, Ned, but I don't want to arouse any suspicion," replied Tom. "I've got to stay here a while yet, and arrange about shrinking on the jackets, after the core is rifled. I don't see how--" "I'll slip out and see if I can get a peep at him," went on Ned. "If it's like the one Koku described, we'll know that he's still after you." "All right, Ned. Do as you like, only be cautious." "I will," promised Tom's chum. So, while the young inventor was busy arranging details with the steel manager, Ned slipped out of a side door of the casting shop, and looked about the yard. He saw a little group of workmen surrounding a man who appeared to be angry. "I dell you dot is my shop!" one of the men was heard to exclaim--a man whom the others appeared to dragging away with main force. "And I tell you, Baudermann, that you're mistaken!" insisted one, evidently a foreman. "I told you to work in the brazing department. What do you want to try to force your way into the heavy casting department for? Especially when we're doing one of the biggest jobs that we ever handled--making the new Swift cannon." "Oh, iss dot vot vas going on in dere?" asked the man addressed as Baudermann. "Shure den, I makes a misdake. I ask your pardon, Herr Blackwell. I to mine own apartment will go. But I dinks my foreman sends me to dot place," and he indicated the casting shop from which he had just been barred. "All right!" exclaimed the foreman. "Don't make that mistake again, or I'll dock you for lost time." "Only just a twisted German employee, I guess," thought Ned, as he was about to turn back. "I was mistaken. He probably didn't understand where he was sent." He passed by the group of men, who, laughing and jeering at the German, were showing him where to go. He seemed to be a new hand in the works. But as Ned passed he got one look at the man's face. Instead of a stupid countenance, for one instant he had a glimpse of the sharpest, brightest eyes he had ever looked into. And they were hard, cruel eyes, too, with a glint of daring in them. And, as Ned glanced at his figure, he thought he detected a trace of military stiffness--none of the stoop-shouldered slouch that is always the mark of a moulder. The fellow's hands, too, though black and grimy, showed evidences of care under the dirt, and Ned was sure his uncouth language was assumed. "I'd like to know more about you," murmured Ned, but the man, with one sharp glance at him, passed on, seemingly to his own department of the works. "Well, what was it?" asked Tom, as his chum rejoined him. "Nothing very definite, but I'm sure there was something back of it all, Tom. I wouldn't be surprised but what that fellow--whoever he was--whatever his object was--hoped to get in to see the casting; either to get some idea about your new gun, or to do some desperate deed to spoil it." "Do you think that, Ned?" "I sure do. You've got to be on your guard, Tom." "I will. But I wonder what object anyone could have in spoiling my gun?" "So as to make his own cannon stand in a better light." "Still thinking of General Waller, are you?" "I am, Tom." There was nothing more to be done at present, and, as it would take several days for the big mass of metal to properly cool, Tom, Ned and Mr. Damon returned to Shopton. There Tom busied himself over many things. Ned helping him, and Mr. Damon lending an occasional hand. Koku was very useful, for often his great strength did what the combined efforts of Tom and his friends could not accomplish. As for Eradicate, he "puttered around," doing all he could, which was not much, for he was getting old. Still Tom would not think of discharging him, and it was pitiful to see the old colored man try to do things for the young inventor--tasks that were beyond his strength. But if Koku offered to help, Eradicate would draw himself up, and exclaim: "Git away fom heah! I guess dish yeah coon ain't forgot how t' wait on Massa Tom. Go 'way, giant. I ain't so big as yo'-all, but I know de English language, which is mo' 'n yo' all does. Go on an' lemme be!" Koku, good naturedly, gave place, for he, too, felt for Eradicate. "Well, Ned," remarked Tom one day, after the visit of the postman, "I have a letter from the steel people. They are going to take the gun out of the mould tomorrow, and start to rifle it. We'll take a run down in the airship, and see how it looks. I must take those drawings, too, that show the new plan of shrinking on the jackets. I guess I'll keep them in my room, so I won't forget them." Tom and Ned occupied adjoining and connecting apartments, for, of late, Ned had taken up his residence with his chum. It was shortly after midnight that Ned was awakened by hearing someone prowling about his room. At first he thought it was Tom, for the shorter way to the bath lay through Ned's apartment, but when the lad caught the flash of a pocket electric torch he knew it could not be Tom. "Who's there?" cried Ned sharply, sitting up in bed. Instantly the light went out, and there was silence. "Who's there?" cried Ned again. This time he thought he heard a stealthy footstep. "What is it?" called Tom from his chamber. "Someone is in here!" exclaimed Ned. "Look out, Tom!" CHAPTER XV READY FOR THE TEST Tom Swift acted promptly, for he realized the necessity. The events that had hedged him about since he had begun work on his giant cannon made him suspicious. He did not quite know whom to suspect, nor the reasons for their actions, but he had been on the alert for several days, and was now ready to act. The instant Ned answered as he did, and warned Tom, the young inventor slid his hand under his pillow and pressed an auxiliary electric switch he had concealed there. In a moment the rooms were flooded with a bright light, and the two lads had a momentary glimpse of an intruder making a dive for the window. "There he is, Tom!" cried Ned. "What do you want?" demanded Tom, instinctively. But the intruder did not stay to answer. Instead, he made a dive for the casement. It was one story above the ground, but this did not cause him any hesitation. It was summer, and the window was open, though a wire mosquito net barred the aperture. This was no hindrance to the man, however. As Ned and Tom leaped from their beds, Ned catching up the heavy, empty water pitcher as a weapon, and Tom an old Indian war club that served as one of the ornaments of his room, the fellow, with one kick, burst the screen. Then, clambering out on the sill, he dropped from sight, the boys hearing him land with a thud on the turf below. It was no great leap, though the fall must have jarred him considerably, for the boys heard him grunt, and then groan as if in pain. "Quick!" cried Ned. "Ring the bell for Koku, Ned. I want to capture this fellow if possible." "Who is he?" asked Ned. "I don't know, but we'll see if we can size him up. Signal for the giant!" There was an electric bell from Tom's room to the apartment of his big servant, and a speaking tube as well. While Ned was pressing the button, and hastily telling the giant what had happened, urging him to get in pursuit of the intruder, Tom had taken from his bureau a powerful, portable, electric flash lamp, of the same variety as that used by the would-be thief. Only Tom's was provided with a tungsten filament, which gave a glaring white pencil of light, increased by reflectors. And in this glare the young inventor saw, speeding away over the lawn, the form of a big man. "There he goes, Ned!" he shouted. "So I see. Koku will be right on the job. I told him not to dress. Can you make out who the fellow is?" "No, his back is toward us. But he's limping, all right. I guess that jump jarred him up a bit. Where is Koku?" "There he goes now!" exclaimed Ned, as a figure leaped from the side door of the house--a gigantic figure, scantily clad. "Get to him, Koku!" cried Tom. "Me git, Master!" was the reply, and the giant sped on. "Let's go out and lend a hand!" suggested Ned, looking at the water pitcher as though wondering what he had intended to do with it. "I'm with you," agreed Tom. "Only I want to get into something a little more substantial than my pajamas." As the two lads hurriedly slipped on some clothing they heard the voice of Mr. Swift calling: "What is it, Tom? Has anything happened?" "Nothing much," was the reassuring answer. "It was a near-happening, only Ned woke up in time. Someone was in our rooms--a burglar, I guess." "A burglar! Good land a massy!" cried Eradicate, who had also gotten up to see what the excitement was about. "Did you cotch him, Massa Tom?" "No, Rad; but Koku is after him." "Koku? Huh, he nebber cotch anybody. I'se got t' git out dere mahse'f! Koku? Hu! I s'pects it's dat no-'count cousin ob mine, arter mah chickens ag'in! I'll lambaste dat coon when I gits him, so I will. I'll cotch him for yo'-all, Massa Tom," and, muttering to himself, the aged colored man endeavored to assume the activity of former years. "Hark!" exclaimed Ned, as he and Tom were about ready to take part in the chase. "What's that noise, Tom?" "Sounds like a motor-cycle." "It is. That fellow--" "It's the same chap!" interrupted Tom. "No use trying to chase him on that speedy machine. He's a mile away from here by now. He must have had it in waiting, ready for use. But come on, anyhow." "Where are you going?" "Out to the shop. I want to see if he got in there." "But the charged wires?" "He may have cut them. Come on." It was as Tom had suspected. The deadly, charged wires, that formed a protecting cordon about his shops, had been cut, and that by an experienced hand, probably by someone wearing rubber gloves, who must have come prepared for that very purpose. During the night the current was supplied to the wires from a storage battery, through an intensifying coil, so that the charge was only a little less deadly than when coming direct from a dynamo. "This looks bad, Tom," said Ned. "It does, but wait until we get inside and look around. I'm glad I took my gun-plans to the house with me." But a quick survey of the shop did not reveal any damage done, nor had anything been taken, as far as Tom could tell. The office of his main shop was pretty well upset, and it looked as though the intruder had made a search for something, and, not finding it, had entered the house. "It was the gun-plans he was after, all right," decided Tom. "And I believe it was the same fellow who has been making trouble for me right along." "You mean General Waller?" "No, that German--the one who was at the machine shop." "But who is he--what is his object?" "I don't know who he is, but he evidently wants my plans. Probably he's a disappointed inventor, who has been trying to make a gun himself, and can't. He wants some of my ideas, but he isn't going to get them. Well, we may as well get back to bed, after I connect these wires again. I must think up a plan to conceal them, so they can't be cut." While Tom and Ned were engaged on this, Koku came back, much out of breath, to report: "Me not git, Master. He git on bang-bang machine and go off--puff!" "So we heard, Koku. Never mind, we'll get him yet." "Hu! Ef I had de fust chanst at him, I'd a cotched dat coon suah!" declared Eradicate, following the giant. "Koku he done git in mah way!" and he glared indignantly at the big man. "That's all right, Rad," consoled Tom. "You did your best. Now we'll all get to bed. I don't believe he'll come back." Nor did he. Tom and Ned were up at the first sign of daylight, for they wanted to go to the steel works, some miles away, in time to see the cannon taken out of the mould, and preparations made for boring the rifle channels. They found the manager, anxiously waiting for them. "Some of my men are as interested in this as you are," he said to the young inventor. "A number of them declare that the cast will be a failure, while some think it will be a success." "I think it will be all right, if my plans were followed," said Tom. "However, we'll see. By the way, what became of that German who made such a disturbance the day we cast the core?" "Oh, you mean Baudermann?" "Yes." "Why, it's rather queer about him. The foreman of the shop where he was detailed, saw that he was an experienced man, in spite of his seemingly stupid ways, and he was going to promote him, only he never came back." "Never came back? What do you mean?" "I mean the day after the cast of the gun was made he disappeared, and never came back." "Oh!" exclaimed Tom. He said nothing more, but he believed that he understood the man's actions. Failing to obtain the desired information, or perhaps failing to spoil the cast, he realized that his chances were at an end for the present. With great care the gun was hoisted from the mould. More eyes than Tom's anxiously regarded it as it came up out of the casting pit. "Bless my buttonhook!" cried Mr. Damon, who had gone with the lads. "It's a monster; isn't it?" "Oh, wait until you see it with the jackets on!" exclaimed Ned, who had viewed the completed drawings. "Then you'll open your eyes." The great piece of hollow steel tubing was lifted to the boring lathe. Then Tom and the manager examined it for superficial flaws. "Not one!" cried the manager in delight. "Not that I can see," added Tom.. "It's a success--so far." "And that was the hardest part of the work," went on the manager of the steel plant. "I can almost guarantee you success from now on." And, as far as the rifling was concerned, this was true. I will not weary you with the details of how the great core of Tom Swift's giant cannon was bored. Sufficient to say that, after some annoying delays, caused by breaks in the machinery, which had never before been used on such a gigantic piece of work, the rifling was done. After the jackets had been shrunk on, it would be rifled again, to make it true in case of any shrinkage. Then came the almost Herculean task of shrinking on the great red-hot steel jackets and wire-windings, that would add strength to the great cannon. To do this the central core was set up on end, and the jackets, having been heated in an immense furnace, were hoisted by a great crane over the core, and lowered on it as one would lower his napkin ring over the rolled up napkin. It took weeks of hard work to do this, and Tom and Ned, with Mr. Damon occasionally for company, remained almost constantly at the plant. But finally the cannon was completed, the rifling was done over again to correct any imperfections, and the manager said: "Your cannon is completed, Mr. Swift. I want to congratulate you on it. Never have we done such a stupendous piece of work. Only for your plans we could not have finished it. It was too big a problem for us. Your cannon is completed, but, of course, it will have to be mounted. What about the carriage?" "I have plans for that," replied Tom; "but for the present I am going to put it on a temporary one. I want to test the gun now. It looks all right, but whether it will shoot accurately, and for a greater distance than any cannon has ever sent a projectile before, is yet to be seen." "Where will you test it?" "That is what we must decide. I don't want to take it too far from here. Perhaps you can select a place where it would be safe to fire it, say with a range of about thirty miles." "Thirty miles! why, my dear sir--" "Oh, I'm not altogether sure that it will go that distance," interrupted Tom, with a smile; "but I'm going to try for it, and I want to be on the safe side. Is there such a place near here?" "Yes, I guess we can pick one out. I'll let you know." "Then I must get back and arrange for my powder supply," went on the young inventor. "We'll soon test my giant cannon!" "Bless my ear-drums!" cried Mr. Damon. "I hope nothing bursts. For if that goes up, Tom Swift--" "I'm not making it to burst," put in Tom, with a smile. "Don't worry. Now, Ned, back to Shopton to get ready for the test." CHAPTER XVI A WARNING "Whew, how it rains!" exclaimed Ned, as he looked out of the window. "And it doesn't seem to show any signs of letting up," remarked Tom. "It's been at it nearly a week now, and it is likely to last a week longer." "It's beastly," declared his chum. "How can you test your gun in this weather?" "I can't. I've got to wait for it to clear." "Bless my rubber boots! it's just got to stop some time," declared Mr. Damon. "Don't worry, Tom." "But I don't like this delay. I have heard that General Waller has perfected a new gun--and it's a fine one, from all accounts. He has the proving grounds at Sandy Hook to test his on, and I'm handicapped here. He may beat me out." "Oh, I hope not, Tom!" exclaimed Ned. "I'm going to see what the weather reports say," and he went to hunt up a paper. It was several weeks after the completion of Tom's giant cannon. In the meanwhile the gun had been moved by the steel company to a little-inhabited part of New York State, some miles from the plant. The gun had been mounted on an improvised carriage, and now Tom and his friends were waiting anxiously for a chance to try it. The work was not complete, for the steel company employees had been hampered by the rain. Never before, it seemed, had there been so much water coming down from the clouds. Nearly every day was misty, with gradations from mere drizzles to heavy downpours. There were occasional clear stretches, however, and during them the men worked. A few more days of clear weather would be needed before the gun could be fastened securely to the carriage, and then Tom could fire one of the great projectiles that had been cast for it. Not until then would he know whether or not his cannon was going to be a success. Meanwhile nothing more had been heard or seen of the spy. He appeared to have given up his attempts to steal Tom's secret, or to spoil his plans, if such was his object. The place of the test, as I have said, was in a deserted spot. On one side of a great valley the gun was being set up. Its muzzle pointed up the valley, toward the side of a mountain, into which the gigantic projectile could plow its way without doing any damage. Tom was going to fire two kinds of cannon balls--a solid one, and one containing an explosive. The gun was so mounted that the muzzle could be elevated or depressed, or swung from side to side. In this way the range could be varied. Tom estimated that the greatest possible range would be thirty miles. It could not be more than that, he decided, and he hoped it would not be much less. This extreme range could be attained by elevating the gun to exactly the proper pitch. Of course, any shorter range could, within certain limits, also be reached. The gun was pointed slantingly up the valley, and there was ample room to attain the thirty-mile range without doing any damage. At the head of the valley, some miles from where the giant cannon was mounted, was an immense dam, built recently by a water company for impounding a stream and furnishing a supply of drinking water for a distant city. At the other end of the valley was the thriving village of Preston. A railroad ran there, and it was to Preston station that Tom's big gun had been sent, to be transported afterward, on specially made trucks, drawn by powerful autos, to the place where it was now mounted. Tom had been obliged to buy a piece of land on which to build the temporary carriage, and also contract for a large slice of the opposite mountain, as a target against which to fire his projectiles. The valley, as I have said, was desolate. It was thickly wooded in spots, and in the centre, near the big dam, which held back the waters of an immense artificial lake, was a great hill, evidently a relic of some glacial epoch. This hill was a sort of division between two valleys. Tom, Ned, Mr. Damon, with Koku, and some of the employees of the steel company, had hired a deserted farmhouse not far from the place where the gun was being mounted. In this they lived, while Tom directed operations. "The paper says 'clear' tomorrow," read Ned, on his return. "'Clear, with freshening winds.'" "That means rain, with no wind at all," declared Tom, with a sigh. "Well, it can't be helped. As Mr. Damon says, it will clear some time." "Bless my overshoes!" exclaimed the odd gentleman. "It always has cleared; hasn't it?" No one could deny this. There came a slackening in the showers, and Tom and Ned, donning raincoats, went out to see how the work was progressing. They found the men from the steel concern busy at the great piece of engineering. "How are you coming on?" asked Tom of the foreman. "We could finish it in two days if this rain would only let up," replied the man. "Well, let's hope that it will," observed Tom. "If it doesn't, there's likely to be trouble up above," went on the foreman, nodding in the direction of the great dam. "What do you mean?" "I mean that the water is getting too high. The dam is weakening, I heard." "Is that so? Why, I thought they had made it to stand any sort of a flood." "They evidently didn't count on one like this. They've got the engineer who built it up there, and they're doing their best to strengthen it. I also heard that they're preparing to dynamite it to open breeches here and there in it, in case it is likely to give way suddenly." "You don't mean it! Say, if it does go out with a rush it will wipe out the village." "Yes, but it can't hurt us," went on the foreman. "We're too high up on the side of the hill. Even if the dam did burst, if the course of the water could be changed, to send it down that other valley, it would do no harm, for there are no settlements over there," and he pointed to the distant hill. It was near this hill that Tom intended to direct his projectiles, and on the other side of it was another valley, running at right angles to the one crossed by the dam. As the foreman had said, if the waters (in case the dam burst) could be turned into this transverse valley, the town could be saved. "But it would take considerable digging to open a way through that side of the mountain, into the other valley," went on the man. "Yes," said Tom, and then he gave the matter no further thought, for something came up that needed his attention. "Have you your explosive here?" asked the foreman of the young inventor the next day, when the weather showed signs of clearing. "Yes, some of it," said Tom. "I have another supply in a safe place in the village. I didn't want to bring too much here until the gun was to be fired. I can easily get it if we need it. Jove! I wish it would clear. I want to get out in my Humming Bird, but I can't if this keeps up." Tom had brought one of his speedy little airships with him to Preston. The following day the clouds broke a little, and on the next the sun shone. Then the work on the gun went on apace. Tom and his friends were delighted. "Well, I think we can try a shot tomorrow!" announced Tom with delight on the evening of the first clear day, when all hands had worked at double time. "Bless my powder-horn!" exclaimed Mr. Damon. "You don't mean it!" "Yes, the gun is all in place," went on the young inventor. "Of course, it's only a temporary carriage, and not the disappearing one I shall eventually use. But it will do. I'm going to try a shot tomorrow. Everything is in readiness." There came a knock on the door of the room Tom had fitted up as an office in the old farmhouse. "Who is it?" he asked. "Me--Koku," was the answer. "Well, what do you want, Koku?" "Man here say him must see Master." Tom and Ned looked at each other, suspicion in their eyes. "Maybe it's that spy again," whispered Ned. "If it is, we'll be ready for him," murmured his chum. "Show him in, Koku, and you come in too." But the man who entered at once disarmed suspicion. He was evidently a workman from the dam above, and his manner was strangely excited. "You folks had better get out of here!" he exclaimed. "Why?" asked Tom, wondering what was going to happen. "Why? Because our dam is going to burst within a few hours. I've been sent to warn the folks in town in time to let them take to the hills. You'd better move your outfit. The dam can't last twenty-four hours longer!" CHAPTER XVII THE BURSTING DAM "Bless my fountain pen!" exclaimed Mr. Damon. "You don't mean it!" "I sure do!" went on the man who had brought the startling news. "And the folks down below aren't going to have any more time than they need to get out of the way. They'll have to lose some of their goods, I reckon. But I thought I'd stop on my way down and warn you. You'd better be getting a hustle on." "It's very kind of you," spoke Tom; "but I don't fancy we are in any danger." "No danger!" cried the man. "Say, when that water begins to sweep-down here nothing on earth can stop it. That big gun of yours, heavy as it is, will be swept away like a straw, I know--I saw the Johnstown flood!" "But we're so high up on the side of the hill, that the water won't come here," put in Ned. "We had that all figured out when we heard the dam was weak. We're not in any danger; do you think so, Tom?" "Well, I hardly do, or I would not have set the gun where I did. Tell me," he went on to the man, "is there any way of opening the dam, to let the water out gradually?" "There is, but the openings are not enough with such a flood as this. The engineers never counted on so much rain. It's beyond any they ever had here. You see, there was a small creek that we dammed up to make our lake. Some of the water from the spillway flows into that now, but its channel won't hold a hundredth part of the flood if the dam goes out. "You'd better move, I tell you. The dam is slowly weakening. We've done all we can to save it, but that's out of the question. The only thing to do is to run while there's time. We've tried to make additional openings, but we daren't make any more, or the wall will be so weakened that it will go out in less than twenty-four hours. "You've had your warning, now profit by it!" he added. "I'm going to tell those poor souls down in the valley below. It will be tough on them; but it can't be helped." "If the dam bursts and the water could only be turned over into the transverse valley, this one would be safe," said Tom, in a low voice. "Yes, but it can't be done!" the messenger exclaimed. "Our engineers thought of that, but it would take a week to open a channel, and there isn't time. It can't be done!" "Maybe it can," spoke Tom, softly, but no one asked him what he meant. "Well, I must be off," the man went on. "I've done my duty in warning you." "Yes, you have," agreed Tom, "and if any damage comes to us it will be our own fault. But I don't believe there will." The man hastened out, murmuring something about "rash and foolhardy people." "What are you going to do, Tom?" asked Ned. "Stay right here." "But if the dam bursts?" "It may not, but, if it does, we'll be safe. I have had a look at the water, and there's no chance for it to rise here, even if the whole dam went out at once, which is not likely. Don't worry. We'll be all right." "Bless my checkbook!" cried Mr. Damon. "But what about those poor people in the valley?" "They will have time to flee, and save their lives," spoke the young inventor; "but they may lose their homes. They can sue the water company for damages, though. Now don't do any more worrying, but get to bed, and be ready for the test tomorrow. And the first thing I do I'm going to have a little flight in the Humming Bird to get my nerves in trim. This long rain has gotten me in poor shape. Koku, you must be on the alert tonight. I don't want anything to happen to my gun at the last minute." "Me watch!" exclaimed the giant, significantly, as he picked up a heavy club. "Do you anticipate any trouble?" asked Ned, anxiously. "No, but it's best to be on the safe side," answered Tom. "Now let's turn in." Certainly the next day, bright and sunshiny as it broke, had in it little of impending disaster. The weather was fine after the long-continued rains, and the whole valley seemed peaceful and quiet. At the far end could be seen the great dam, with water pouring over it in a thin sheet, forming a small stream that trickled down the centre of the valley, and to the town below. But, through great pipes that led to the drinking system, though they were unseen, thundered immense streams of solid water, reducing by as much as the engineers were able the pressure on the concrete wall. Tom and Ned, in the Humming Bird, took a flight out to the dam shortly after breakfast, when the steel men were putting a few finishing touches to the gun carriage, ready for the test that was to take place about noon. "It doesn't look as though it would burst," observed Ned, as the aircraft hovered over the big artificial lake. "No," agreed Tom. "But I suppose the engineers want to be on the safe side in case of damage suits. I want to take a look at the place where the other valley comes up to this at right angles." He steered his powerful little craft in that direction, and circled low over the spot. "A bursting projectile, about where that big white stone is, would do the trick," murmured Tom. "What trick?" asked Ned, curiously. "Oh, I guess I was talking to myself," admitted Tom, with a laugh. "I may not have to do it, Ned." "Well, you're talking in riddles today, all right, Tom. When you get ready to put me wise, please do." "I will. Now we'll get back, and fire our first long shot. I do hope I make a record." There was much to be done, in spite of the fact that the foreman of the steel workers assured Tom that all was in readiness. It was some time that afternoon when word was given for those who wished to retire to an improvised bomb-proof. Word had previously been sent down the valley so that no one, unless he was looking for trouble, need be in the vicinity of the gun, nor near where the shots were to land. Through powerful glasses Tom and Ned surveyed the distant mountain that was to be the target. Several great squares of white cloth had been put at different bare spots to make the finding of the range easy. "I guess we're ready now," announced the young inventor, a bit nervously. "Bring up the powder, Koku." "Me bring," exclaimed the giant, calmly, as he went to the bomb-proof where the powerful explosive was kept. The great projectile was in readiness to be slung into the breech by means of the hoisting apparatus, for it weighed close to two tons. It was carefully inserted under Tom's supervision. It carried no bursting charge, for Tom's first shot was merely to establish the extreme range that his cannon would shoot. "Now the powder," called the young inventor. To avoid accidents Koku handled this himself, the hoisting apparatus being dispensed with. Tom figured out that five hundred pounds of his new, powerful explosive would be about the right amount to use, and this quantity, divided into several packages to make the handling easier, was quickly inserted in the breech of the gun by Koku. "Bless my doormat!" cried Mr. Damon, who stood near, looking nervously on. "Don't drop any of that." "Me no drop," was the answer. Tom was busily engaged in figuring on a bit of paper, and Ned, who looked over his shoulder, saw a complicated compilation that looked to be a combination of geometry, algebra, differential calculus and other higher mathematics. "What are you doing, Tom?" he asked. "I'm trying to confirm my own theories by means of figures, to see if I can really reach that farthest target." "What, not the one thirty miles away. "That's it, Ned. I want to get a thirty-mile range if I can." "It isn't possible, Tom." "Bless my tape measure! I should say not!" cried Mr. Damon. "We'll see," replied Tom, quietly. "Put in the primer, Ned; and, Koku, close the breech and slot it home." In a few seconds the great gun was ready for firing. "Now," said Tom, "this thing may be all right, and it may not. The only thing that can cause an accident will be a flaw in the steel. No one can guard against that. So, in order to be on the safe side, we will all go into the bomb-proof, and I will fire the gun from there. The wires are long enough." They all agreed that this was good advice, and soon the steel men and Tom's friends were gathered in a sort of cave that had been hollowed out in the side of the hill, and at an angle from the big gun. "If it does burst--which I hope it won't," said Tom, "the pieces will fly in straight lines, so we will be safe enough here. Ned, are you are ready at the instruments?" "Yes, Tom." "I want you to note the registered muzzle velocity. Mr. Damon, you will please read the pressure gauge. After I press the button I'm going to watch the landing of the projectile through the telescope." The gun had been pointed, as I have said, at the farthest target--one thirty miles away, telescope sights on the giant cannon making this possible. "All ready!" cried Tom. "All ready," answered Ned. There was a tense moment; Tom's thumb pressed home the electric button, and then came the explosion. It seemed for a moment as if everyone was lifted from his feet. They had all stood on their tiptoes, and opened their mouths to lessen the shock, but even then it was terrific. The very ground shook--from the roof of their cave small stones and gravel rattled down on their heads. Their ear-drums were numbed from the shock. And the noise that filled the valley seemed like a thousand thunderbolts merged into one. Tom rushed from the bombproof, dropping the electric button. He caught sight of his gun, resting undisturbed on the improvised carriage. "Hurray!" he cried in delight. "She stood the charge all right. And look! look!" he cried, as he pointed the glasses toward the distant hillside. "There goes my projectile as straight as an arrow. There! By Caesar, Ned! It landed within three feet of the target! Oh, you beauty!" he yelled at his giant cannon. "You did all I hoped you would! Thirty miles, Ned! Think of that! A two-ton projectile being shot thirty miles!" "It's great, Tom!" yelled his chum, clapping him on the back, and capering about. "It's the longest shot on record." "It certainly is," declared the foreman of the steel workers, who had helped in casting many big guns. "No cannon ever made can equal it. You win, Tom Swift!" "Bless my armor plate!" gasped Mr. Damon. "What attacking ship against the Panama Canal could float after a shot like that." "Not one," declared Tom; "especially after I put a bursting charge into the projectile. We'll try that next." By means of compressed air the gases and some particles of the unexploded powder were blown out of the big cannon. Then it was loaded again, the projectile this time carrying a bursting charge of another explosive that would be set off by concussion. Once more they retired to the bombproof, and again the great gun was fired. Once more the ground shook, and they were nearly deafened by the shock. Then, as they looked toward the distant hillside, they saw a shower of earth and great rocks rise up. It was like a sand geyser. Then, when this settled back again, there was left a gaping hole in the side of the mountain. "That does the business!" cried Tom. "My cannon is a success!" The last shot did not go quite as far as the first, but it was because a different kind of projectile was used. Tom was perfectly satisfied, however. Several more trials were given the gun, and each one confirmed the young inventor in his belief that he had made a wonderful weapon. "If that doesn't fortify the Panama Canal nothing will," declared Ned. "Well, I hope I can convince Uncle Sam of that," spoke Tom, simply. The muzzle velocity and the pressure were equal to Tom's highest hopes. He knew, now, that he had hit on just the right mixture of powder, and that his gun was correctly proportioned. It showed not the slightest strain. "Now we'll try another bursting shell," he said, after a rest, during which some records were made. "Then we'll call it a day's work. Koku, bring up some more powder. I'll use a little heavier charge this time." It was while the gun was being loaded that a horseman was seen riding wildly down the valley. He was waving a red flag in his hand. "Bless my watch chain!" cried Mr. Damon. "What's that?" "It looks as though he was coming to give us a warning," suggested the steel foreman. "Maybe someone has kicked about our shooting," remarked Ned. "I hope not," murmured Tom. He looked at the horseman anxiously. The rider came nearer and nearer, wildly waving his flag. He seemed to be shouting something, but his words could not be made out. Finally he came near enough to be heard. "The dam! The dam!" he cried. "It's bursting. Your shots have hastened it. The cracks are widening. You'd better get away!" And he galloped on. "Bless my toilet soap!" gasped Mr. Damon. "I was afraid of this!" murmured Tom. "But, since our shots have hastened the disaster, maybe we can avert it." "How?" demanded Ned. "I'll show you. All hands come here and we'll shift this gun. I want it to point at that big white stone!" and he indicated an immense boulder, well up the valley, near the place where the two great gulches joined. CHAPTER XVIII THE DOPED POWDER "What are you going to do, Tom?" cried Ned, as he, with the others, worked the hand gear that shifted the big gun. When it was permanently mounted electricity would accomplish this work. "What's your game, Tom?" "Don't you remember, Ned? When we were talking about the chance of the dam bursting, I said if the current of suddenly released water could be turned into the other valley, the people below us would be saved." "Yes." "Well, that's what I'm going to do. I'm going to fire a bursting shell at the point where the two valleys come together. I'll break down the barrier of rock and stone between them." "Bless my shovel and hoe!" cried Mr. Damon. "If we can turn enough of the water into the other valley, where no one lives, and where it can escape into the big river there, the amount that will flow down this valley will be so small that only a little damage will be done." "That's right!" declared the steel foreman, as he caught Tom's idea. "It's the only way it could be done, too, for there won't be time to make the necessary excavation any other way. Is the gun swung around far enough, Mr. Swift?" "No, a little more toward me," answered Tom, as he peered through the telescope sights. "There, that will do. Now to get the proper elevation," and he began to work the other apparatus, having estimated the range as well as he could. In a few seconds the giant cannon was properly trained on the white rock. Meanwhile the horseman, with his red flag, had continued on down the valley. In spite of his warning of the night before, it developed that a number had disregarded it, and had remained in their homes. Most of the inhabitants, however, had fled to the hills, to stay in tents, or with such neighbors as could accommodate them. Some lingered to move their household goods, while others fled with what they could carry. It was to see that the town was deserted by these late-stayers that the messenger rode, crying his warning as did the messenger at the bursting of the Johnstown dam twenty-odd years ago. "The projectile!" cried Tom, as he saw that all was in readiness. "Lively now! I can see the top of the dam beginning to crumble," and he laid aside the telescope he had been using. The projectile, with a heavy charge of bursting powder, was slung into the breech of the gun. "Now the powder, Koku!" called Tom. "Be quick; but not so fast that you drop any of it." "Me fetch," responded the giant, as he hastened toward the small cave where the explosive was kept. As the big man brought the first lot, and Ned was about to insert it in the breech of the gun, behind the projectile, Tom exclaimed: "Just let me have a look at that. It's some that I first made, and I want to be sure it hasn't gone stale." Critically he looked at the powerful explosive. As he did so a change came over his face. "Here, Koku!" the young inventor said. "Where did you get this?" "In cave, Master." "Is there any more left?" "Only enough for this one shoot." "By Jove!" muttered Tom. "There's been some trick played here!" and he set off on a run toward the bomb-proof. "What's the matter?" cried Ned, as he noticed the agitation of his chum. "The powder has been doped!" yelled Tom. "Something has been put in it to make it nonexplosive. It's no good. It wouldn't send that shell a thousand yards, and it's got to go five miles to do any good. My plan won't work." "Doped the powder?" gasped Ned. "Who could have done it?" "I don't know. There must have been some spy at work. Quick, run and ask the foreman if any of his men are missing. I'll see if there's enough of the good powder left to break down the barrier!" Ned was away like a shot, while the others, not knowing what to make of the strange conduct of the two lads, looked on in wonder. Tom raced toward the cave where the powder was stored, Koku following him. "Bless my shoe laces!" cried Mr. Damon. "Look at the dam now!" They gazed to where he pointed. In several places the concrete spillway had crumbled down to a ragged edge, showing that the solid wall was giving way. The amount of water flowing over the dam was greater now. The creek was steadily rising. Down the valley the horseman with the red flag was but a speck in the distance. "What can I do? What can I do?" murmured Tom. "If all the powder there is left has been doped, I can't save the town! What can I do? What can I do?" Ned had reached the foreman, who, with his helpers, was standing about the big gun. "Have any of your men left recently?" yelled Ned. "Any of my men left? What do you mean? "Schlichter went yesterday," said the timekeeper. "I thought he was in quite a hurry to get his money, too." "Schlichter gone!" exclaimed the foreman. "He was no good anyhow. I think he was a sort of Anarchist; always against the government, the way he talked. So he has left; eh? But what's the matter, Ned?" "Something wrong with the powder. Tom can't shoot the cannon and turn aside the water to save the town. Some of his enemies have been at work. Schlichter leaving at this time, and in such hurry, makes it look suspicious." "It sure does! And, now I recall it, I saw him yesterday near your powder magazine. I called him down for it, for I knew Tom Swift had given orders that only his own party was to go near it. So the powder is doped; eh?" "Yes! It's all off now." He turned to see Tom approaching on the run. "Any good powder left?" asked Ned. "Not a pound. Did you hear anything?" "Yes, one man has disappeared. Oh, Tom, we've got to fail after all! We can't save the town!" "Yes, we can, Ned. If that dam will only hold for half an hour more." "What do you mean?" "I mean that I have another supply of good powder in the village. I secreted some there, you remember I told you. If I can go get that, and get back here in time, I can break down the barrier with one shot, and save Preston." "But you never can make the trip there and back in time, with the powder, Tom. It's impossible. The dam may hold half an hour, or it may not. But, if it does, you can't do anything!" "I can't? Well, I'm going to make a big try, Ned. You stay on the job here. Have everything ready so that when I get back with the new explosive, which I hope hasn't been tampered with, I can shove it into the breech, and set it off. Have the wires, primers and button all ready for me." Then Tom set off on the run. "Where are you going?" gasped his chum. "You can never run to Preston and back in time." "I don't intend to. I'm going in my airship. Koku, never mind bringing the rest of the powder from the cave. It's no good. Run out the Humming Bird. I'm going to drive her to the limit. I've just got to get that powder here on time!" "Bless my timetable!" gasped Mr. Damon. "That's the only way it can be done. Lucky Tom brought the airship along!" The young inventor, pausing only to get some cans for the explosive, and some straps with which to fasten them in the monoplane, leaped into the speedy craft. The motor was adjusted; Koku whirled the propeller blades. There was a staccato succession of explosions, a rushing, roaring sound, and then the craft rose like a bird, and Tom circled about, making a straight course for the distant town, while below him the creek rose higher and higher as the dam continued to crumble away. CHAPTER XIX BLOWING DOWN THE BARRIER "Can you see anything of him, Ned?" "Not a thing, Mr. Damon. Wait--hold on--no! It's only a bird," and the lad lowered the glasses with which he had been sweeping the sky. looking for his chum returning in his airship with the powder. "He'd better hurry," murmured the foreman. "That dam can't last much longer. The water is rising fast. When it does go out it will go with a rush. Then good-bye to the village of Preston." "Bless my insurance policy!" cried Mr. Damon. "Don't say such things, my friend." "But they're true!" insisted the man. "You can see for yourself that the cracks in the dam are getting larger. It will be a big flood when it does come. And I'm not altogether sure that we're safe up here," he added, as he looked down the sides of the hill to where the creek was now rapidly becoming a raging torrent. "Bless my hat-band!" gasped Mr. Damon. "You--you are getting on my nerves!" "I don't want to be a calamity howler," went on the foreman; "but we've got to face this thing. We'd better get ready to vamoose if Tom Swift doesn't reach here in time to fire that shot--and he doesn't seem to be in sight." Once more Ned swept the sky with his glasses. The roar of the water below them could be plainly heard now. "I wish I could get hold of that rascally German," muttered the foreman. "I'd give him more than a piece of my mind. It will be his fault if the town is destroyed, for Tom's plan would have saved it. I wonder who he can be, anyhow?" "Some spy," declared Ned. "We've been having trouble right along, you know, and this is part of the game. I have some suspicions, but Tom doesn't agree with me. Certainly the fellow, whatever his object, has made trouble enough this time." "I should say so," agreed the foreman. "Look, Ned!" cried Mr. Damon. "Is that a bird; or is it Tom?" and he pointed to a speck in the sky. Ned quickly focused his glasses on it. "It's Tom!" he cried a second later. "It's Tom in the Humming Bird!" "Thank Heaven for that!" exclaimed Mr. Damon, fervently, forgetting to bless anything on this occasion. "If only he can get here in time!" "He's driving her to the limit!" cried Ned, still watching his chum through the glass. "He's coming!" "He'll need to," murmured the foreman, grimly. "That dam can't last ten minutes more. Look at the people fleeing from the valley!" He pointed to the north, and a confused mass of small black objects--men, women and children, doubtless, who had lingered in spite of the other warning--could be seen clambering up the sides of the valley. "Is everything ready at the gun?" asked Mr. Damon. "Everything," answered Ned, whom Tom had instructed in all the essentials. "As soon as he lands we'll jam in the powder, and fire the shot." "I hope he doesn't land too hard, with all that explosive on board," murmured the foreman. "Bless my checkerboard!" cried Mr. Damon. "Don't suggest such a thing." "I guess we can trust Tom," spoke Ned. They looked up. The distant throb of the monoplane's motor could now be heard above the roar of the swollen waters. Tom could be seen in his seat, and beside him, in the other, was a large package. Nearer and nearer came the monoplane. It began to descend, very gently, for well Tom Swift knew the danger of hitting the ground too hard with the cargo he carried. He described a circle in the air to check his speed. Then, gently as a bird, he made a landing not far from the gun, the craft running easily over one of the few level places on the side of the hill. Tom yanked on the brake, and the iron-shod pieces of wood dug into the ground, checking the progress of the monoplane on its bicycle wheels. "Have you got it, Tom?" yelled Ned. "I have," was the answer of the young inventor as he leaped from his seat. "Is it good powder?" asked the foreman, anxiously. "I don't know," spoke Tom. "I didn't have time to look. I just rushed up to where I had stored it, got some out and came back with the motor at full speed. Ran into an airpocket, too, and I thought it was all up with me when I began to fall. But I managed to get out of it. Say, we're going to have it nip and tuck here to save the village." "That's what!" agreed the foreman, as he helped Koku take the cans of explosive. "Wait until I look at it," suggested Tom, as he opened one. His trained eye and touch soon told him that this explosive had not been tampered with. "It's all right!" he shouted. "Into the gun with it, and we'll see what happens." It was the work of only a few moments to put in the charge. Then, once more, the breech-block was slotted home, and the trailing electric wires unreeled to lead to the bomb-proof. Tom Swift took one last look through the telescope sights of his giant cannon. He changed the range slightly by means of the hand and worm-screw gear, and then, with the others, ran to the shelter of the cave. For, though the gun had stood the previous tests well, Tom had used a heavier charge this time, both in the firing chamber and in the projectile, and he wanted to take no chances. "All ready?" asked the young inventor, as he looked around at his friends gathered in the cave. "I--I guess so," answered Ned, somewhat doubtfully. Tom hesitated a moment, then, as his fingers stiffened to press the electric button there sounded to the ears of all a dull, booming sound. "The dam! It has given way!" cried Ned. "That's it!" shouted the foreman. "Fire!" Tom pressed the button. Once again was that awful tremor of the earth--the racking shake--the terrific explosion and a shock that knocked a couple of the men down. "All right!" shouted Tom. "The gun held together. It's safe to go out. We'll see what happened!" They all rushed from the shelter of the cave. Before them was an awe-inspiring sight. A great wall of water was coming down the valley, from a large opening in the centre of the dam. It seemed to leap forward like a race horse. Tom declared afterward that he saw his projectile strike the barrier that separated one valley from the other, but none of the others had eyesight as keen as this--and perhaps Tom was in error. But there was no doubt that they all saw what followed. They heard a distant report as the great projectile burst. Then a wall of earth seemed to rise up in front of the advancing wall of water. High into the air great stones and masses of dirt were thrown. "A good shot!" cried the foreman. "Just in the right place, Tom Swift!" For a moment it was as though that wall of water hesitated, not deciding whether to continue on down the populated valley, or to swing over into the other gash where it could do comparatively little harm. It was a moment of suspense. Then, as Tom's great shot had, by means of the exploding projectile, torn down the barrier, the water chose the more direct and shorter path. With a mighty roar, like a distant Niagara, it swept into the new channel the young inventor had made. Into the transverse valley it tumbled and tossed in muddy billows of foam, and only a small portion of the flood added itself to the already swollen creek. The village of Preston had been saved by the shot from Tom's giant cannon. CHAPTER XX THE GOVERNMENT ACCEPTS "Whew! Let me sit down somewhere and get my breath!" gasped Tom, when it was all over. "I should think you would want a bit of quiet," replied Ned. "You've been on the jump since early morning." "Bless my dining-room table!" cried Mr. Damon. "I should say so! I'll go tell the cook to get us all a good meal--we need it," for a competent cook had been installed in the old farmhouse where Tom and his party had their headquarters. "But you did the trick, Tom, old man!" exclaimed Ned, fervently, as he looked down the valley and saw the receding water. For, with the opening of the channel into the other valley the flood, at no time particularly dangerous near Preston, was subsiding rapidly. "He sure did," declared the foreman. "No one else could have done it, either." "Oh, I don't know," spoke Tom, modestly. "It just happened so. There was one minute, though, after I got to the place in Preston where I had stored the powder, that I didn't know whether I would succeed or not." "How was that?" asked Mr. Damon. "Why, in my hurry and excitement I forgot the key to the underground storeroom where I had put the explosive. I knew there was no time to get another, so I took a chance and burst in the door with an axe I found in the freight depot." "I should say you did take a chance!" declared Ned, who knew how "freaky" the high explosive was, and how likely it was, at times, to be set off by the least concussion. "But it came out all right," went on Tom. "I bundled it into the other seat of my Humming Bird, and started back." "Had most of the folks left town?" asked the foreman. "Nearly all," replied Tom. "The last of them were hurrying away as I left. And it shows how scared they were, they didn't pay any attention to me and my flying machine, though I'll wager some of them never saw one before." "Well, they don't need to be scared any more," put in Mr. Damon "You saved their homes for them, Tom." "I'd like to get hold of the fellow who doped my powder; that's what I'd like to do," murmured the young inventor. "Ned, we'll have to be doubly watchful from now on. But I must take a look at my gun. That last charge may have strained it." But the giant cannon was as perfect as the day it was turned out of the shop. Not even the extra charge of the powerful explosive had injured it. "That's fine!" cried Tom, as he looked at every part. "As soon as this flood is over we'll try some more practice shots. But we're all entitled to a rest now." The great gun was covered with tarpaulins to protect it from the weather, and then all retired to the house for a bountiful meal. Late that afternoon nearly all signs of the flood had disappeared, save that along the edges of the creek was much driftwood, showing the height to which the creek had risen. But it would have gone much higher had it not been for Tom's timely shot. The water from the impounded lake continued to pour down into the cross valley, and did some damage, but nothing like what would have followed its advent into Preston. The few inhabitants of the gulch into which the young inventor had directed the flood had had warning, and had fled in time. In Preston, some few houses nearest the banks of the rising creek were flooded, but were not carried away. The following day some of the officers of the water company paid a visit to Tom, to thank him for what he had done. But for him they would have been responsible for great property damage, and loss of life might have followed. They intended to rebuild the dam, they said, on a new principle, making it much stronger. "And," said the president, "we will have an emergency outlet gate into that valley you so providentially opened for us, Mr. Swift. Then, in time of great rain, we can let the water out slowly as we need to." Tom's chief anxiety, now, was to bring his perfected gun to the notice of the United States Government officials. To have them accept it, he knew he must give it a test before the ordnance board, and before the officers of the army and navy. Accordingly he prepared for this. He ordered several new projectiles, some of a different type from those heretofore used, and leaving Koku and Ned in charge of the gun, went back to Shopton to superintend the manufacture of an additional supply of his explosive. He took care, too, that no spies gained access to it. Then, with a plentiful supply of ammunition and projectiles, Tom resumed his practice in the lonely valley. He had, in the meanwhile, sent requests to the proper government officials to come and witness the tests. At first he met with no success, and he learned, incidentally, that General Waller had built a new gun, the merits of which he was also anxious to show. "It's a sort of rivalry between us," said Tom to Ned. But, in a way, fortune favored our hero. For when General Waller tested his new gun, though it did not burst, it did not come up to expectations, and its range was not as great as some of the weapons already in use. Then, too, Captain Badger acted as Tom's friend at court. He "pulled wires" to good advantage, and at last the government sent word that one of the ordnance officers would be present on a certain day to witness the tests. "I wish the whole board had come," said Tom. "Probably they have only sent a young fellow, just out of West Point, who will turn me down. "But I'm going to give him the surprise of his life; and if he doesn't report favorably, and insist on the whole board coming out here, I'll be much disappointed." Tom made his preparations carefully, and certainly Captain Waydell, the young officer who came to represent Uncle Sam, was impressed. Tom sent shell after shell, heavily charged, against the side of the mountain. Great holes and gashes were torn in the earth. The gun even exceeded the range of thirty miles. And the heaviest armor plate that could be procured was to the projectiles of the giant cannon like cheese to a revolver bullet. "It's great, Mr. Swift! Great!" declared the young captain. "I shall strongly recommend that the entire board see this test." And when Tom let him fire the gun himself the young man was more than delighted. He was as good as his word, and a week later the entire ordnance board, from the youngest member to the grave and grizzled veterans, were present to witness the test of Tom's giant cannon. It is needless to say that it was successful. Tom and Ned, not to mention Mr. Damon, Koku and every loyal member of the steel working gang, saw to it that there was no hitch. The solid shots were regarded with wonder, and when the explosive one was sent against the hillside, making a geyser of earth, the enthusiasm was unbounded. "We shall certainly recommend your gun, Mr. Swift," declared the Chief of Staff. "It does just what we want it to do, and we have no doubt that Congress will appropriate the money for several with which to fortify the Panama Canal." "The gun is most wonderful," spoke a voice with a German accent. "It is surprising!" Tom and Ned both started. They saw an officer, evidently a foreigner, resplendent in gold trimmings, and with many medals, standing near the secretary of the ordnance board. "Yes, General von Brunderger," agreed the chief, "it is a most timely invention. Mr. Swift, allow me to present you to General von Brunderger, of the German army, who is here learning how Uncle Sam does things." Tom bowed and shook hands. He glanced sharply at the German, but was sure he had never seen him before. Then all the board, and General von Brunderger, who, it appeared, was present as an invited guest, examined the big cannon critically, while Tom explained the various details. When the board members left, the chief promised to let Tom know the result of the formal report as soon as possible. The young inventor did not have long to wait. In about two weeks, during which time he and Ned perfected several little matters about the cannon, there came an official-looking document. "Well, we'll soon know the verdict," spoke Tom, somewhat nervously, as he opened the envelope. Quickly he read the enclosure. "What is it!" cried Ned. "The government accepts my gun!" exclaimed the young inventor. "It will purchase a number as soon as they can be made. We are to take one to Panama, where it will be set up. Hurray, Ned, my boy! Now for Panama!" CHAPTER XXI OFF FOR PANAMA "Well, Tom, it doesn't seem possible; does it, old man?" "You're right, Ned--in a way. And yet, after all the hard work we've done, almost anything is possible." "Hard work! We? Oh, pshaw! You've done most of it, Tom. I only helped here and there." "Indeed, and you did more than that. If it hadn't been for you, Mr. Damon and Koku we'd never have gotten off as soon as we did. The government is the limit for doing things, sometimes." "Bless my timetable! but I agree with you," put in Mr. Damon. "But at last we are on the way, in spite of delays." This conversation took place on board one of Uncle Sam's warships, which the President had designated to take Tom's giant cannon to the Panama Canal. The big gun had been lashed to the deck of the vessel, and was well protected from the weather. In the hold the parts of the disappearing carriage, which Tom had at last succeeded in having made, were securely stowed. In another part of the warship were the big projectiles, some arranged to be fired as solid shots, and others with a bursting charge. There was also a good supply of the powerful explosive, and Tom had taken extraordinary precautions so that it could not be tampered with. Koku had been detailed as a sort of guard over it, and to relieve him was a trustworthy sergeant of marines. "If anyone tries to dope that powder now, and spoil my test at Panama," declared Tom, "he'll wish he'd never tried it." "Especially if Koku gets hold of him," added Ned, grimly. "But I don't believe there is any danger," went on the young inventor. "I spoke about what had happened, and the ordnance board took extra precautions to see that none but men and officers who could be implicitly trusted had anything to do with this expedition." "You don't really believe anything like treachery would be attempted; do you, Tom?" "I don't know what to say. Certainly I can't see why anyone connected with Uncle Sam would want to throw cold water on a plan to fortify the canal, even if an outsider has invented the gun--I mean someone like myself, not connected with the army or navy." "If it's anything it's jealousy," declared Ned, "That General Waller--" "There you go again, Ned. Let's not talk about it. Come on forward and see what progress we are making." It must not be supposed that to get the big gun aboard the vessel, arrange for a new supply of the explosive, and for many of the great projectiles, had been easy work. It was a task that taxed the skill and strength of Tom and his friends to the utmost. There had been wearying delays, especially in the matter of making the disappearing carriage. At times it seemed as if the required projectiles would never be finished. The powder, too, gave trouble, for sometimes batches would be turned out that were utterly worthless. But Tom never gave up, even when it seemed that some of the failures were purposely made. Ned declared that there was a conspiracy against his chum, but Tom could not see it that way. It was due to a combination of circumstances, he insisted. But finally the gun had been put aboard the ship, having been transported from the proving ground in the valley, and they were now en route to Panama. There the giant cannon was to be set up, and tried again. If it came up to expectations it was to be finally adopted as the official gun for the protection of the big canal, and Tom would receive a substantial reward. "And I'm confident that it will make good," said the young inventor to his chum, as they paced the deck of the vessel. "In fact, I'm so sure I have practically engaged the Universal Steel Company to hold itself in readiness to make several more of the guns." "But suppose Uncle Sam decides against the cannon on this second test?" "Well, then I've lost out, that's all," declared Tom, philosophically. "But I don't believe they will." "It certainly is a giant cannon," remarked Ned, as he paused to look at the prostrate monster, lashed to the deck, with its wrappings of tarpaulins. "It looks bigger here than it did when you fired the shot that saved the town, Tom." "Yes, I suppose it does, by contrast. But let's go down and see how the powder and shells are standing the trip. I told the captain to have them securely lashed, so if we struck rough weather, and the vessel rolled, they wouldn't carry away." "Especially the powder," put in Ned. "If that starts to banging around--well, I'd rather be somewhere else." "Bless my rain gauge!" cried Mr. Damon. "Please don't say such things. You make me nervous. You're as bad as that steel foreman." "All right, I'll be better," promised Ned, with a laugh. The two chums found that every precaution had been taken in regard to the projectiles and powder. Koku was on guard, the giant regarding the boxes of explosive with a calm but determined eye. It would not be well for any unauthorized hand to tamper with them. "Am dere anyt'ing I kin do fo' yo'-all, Massa Tom?" inquired Eradicate, as the young inventor and Ned prepared to go on deck again. The aged colored man had insisted on coming as a sort of personal bodyguard to Tom, and the latter had not the heart to refuse him. Eradicate was desperately jealous of the giant. "Huh!" Eradicate had said, "anybody kin sit an' look at a lot ob dem powder boxes; but 'tain't everybody what kin wait on Massa Tom. I kin, an' I'se gwine t' do it." And so he had. It was planned to proceed directly to Colon, the eastern terminus of the canal, from New York, stopping at Santiago to transact some government business there. The big gun was to be mounted on a barbette near the Gatun locks, pointing out to sea, and the trial shots would be fired over the water. Eventually the gun would be so mounted as to swing in a circle, so as to command the land as well as the water; and, in fact, if the government decided to adopt Tom's giant cannon as the official protective arm of the canal, they would all be so mounted. For, of course, it might be possible for land as well as sea forces to attack and try to capture the big ditch. The first few days of the voyage were pleasant enough. The weather was fine, and Tom was kept busy explaining to many of the officers aboard the ship the principles of his gun, powder and projectiles. Members of the ordnance board, who had been detailed to witness the test, were also much interested as Tom modestly described his work on the giant cannon. At Santiago de Cuba, when Tom and Ned were standing near the gangway, watching the officers returning from shore leave, for the ship was to proceed soon, after a two days' stay, the young inventor started as he noticed a military man walking aboard. "Look, Ned!" he exclaimed, in a low voice. "Where?" "At that man--an officer in civilian dress, I should judge--haven't you seen him before?" "I have, Tom. Now, where was it? I seem to remember his face; and yet he wasn't dressed like this the last time I saw him." "I guess not, Ned. He had on a uniform then." "By jinks! I have it. That German officer--von Brunderger! That's he!" "You're right, Ned. And he's got his servant with him, I guess," and Tom nodded toward a stolid German who was carrying the other's suitcase. "I wonder what he's doing aboard here?" went on our hero's chum. "We'll soon know," spoke Tom. "He's seen us and is nodding. We might as well go meet him." "Ah, my good friend, Tom Swift!" exclaimed General von Brunderger, genially, as he grasped the hands of Tom and Ned. "I am glad to see you both again." He seemed to mean it, though he had not been especially cordial to them at the first gun test. "Take my grip below," he said in German to the man, "and, Rudolph, find Lieutenant Blake and inform him that I am on board. I have been invited to go to Panama by Lieutenant Blake," he added to Tom. "I have never seen the big ditch that you wonderful Americans have so nearly finished." "It is going to be a big thing," spoke Tom. "I am proud that my gun is going to help protect it." "Ah, so you were successful, then?" and his voice expressed surprise. "I had not heard. And the big gun; is he here?" Though speaking very good English, von Brunderger occasionally lapsed into the idioms of his Fatherland. "Yes, it's on board," said Tom. "Are you going to Panama for any special purpose?" Ned declared afterward that the German started as Tom asked this question, but if he did the young inventor scarcely noticed it. In an instant, however, von Brunderger was composed again. "I go but to see the big ditch before the water is let in," he replied. "And since your gun is to have a test I shall be glad to witness that. You see, I am commissioned by my Kaiser to learn all that you Americans will allow me to in reference to your ways of doing things--in the army, the navy and in the pursuit of peace. After all, preparation for war is the best means of securing peace. Your officers have been more than kind and I have taken advantage of the offer to go to Panama. Lieutenant Blake said the ship would stop here, and, as I had business in Cuba, I came and waited. I am delighted to see you both again." He went below, leaving Tom and Ned staring at one another. "Well, what do you think of it?" asked Ned. "I don't see anything to be worried about," declared Tom. "It's true that a German once tried to make trouble for me, but this von Brunderger is all right, as far as I can learn. He has the highest references, and is an accredited representative of the Kaiser. You are too suspicious, Ned, just as you were in the case of General Waller." "Maybe so." From Santiago, swinging around the island of Jamaica, the warship took her way, with the big gun, to Colon. When half way across the Caribbean Sea they encountered rough weather. The storm broke without any unusual preliminaries, but quickly increased to a hurricane, and when night fell it saw the big ship rolling and tossing in a tempestuous sea. Tom was anxious about his big gun, but the captain assured him that double lashings would make it perfectly safe. Tom and Ned had seen little of the German officer that day, nor, in fact, since he came aboard. He kept much in the quarters of the other officers, and the report was current that he was a "jolly good fellow." Rather anxious as to the outcome of the storm, Tom turned in late that night, not expecting to sleep much, for there were many unusual noises. But he did drop off into a doze, only to be awakened about an hour later by a commotion on deck. "What's up, Ned?" he called to his chum, who had an adjoining stateroom. "I don't know, Tom. Something is going on, though. Hear that thumping and pounding!" As Ned spoke there came a tremendous noise from the deck. "By Jove!" yelled Tom, jumping from his berth. "It's my big gun! It has torn loose from the lashings and may roll overboard!" CHAPTER XXII AT GATUN LOCKS "Steady there now, men! Pass forward those lashings! Careful! Look out, or you'll be caught by it when she rolls! Another turn around the bitts!" It was the officer of the deck giving orders to a number of marines and sailors as Tom hastily clad, leaped on deck, followed by his chum. The warship was pitching and tossing worse than ever in the heaving billows, and the men were engaged in making fast the giant cannon, which, as Tom had surmised, had torn loose from the steel cables holding it down on deck. "Come on, Ned!" cried Tom. "We've got to help here!" "That's right. Look at her swing, would you? If she hits anything it's a goner!" The breech of the gun appeared to be the end that had come loose, while the muzzle still held fast. And this immense mass of steel was swinging about, eluding the efforts of the ship's officers and crew to capture it. And it seemed only a question of time when the muzzle would tear loose, too. Then, free on deck, the giant cannon would roll through the frail bulwarks, and plunge into the depths of the sea. "Look out for yourselves, boys!" cried the officer, as he saw Tom and Ned. "This is no plaything!" "I know it!" gasped Tom. "But we've got to fasten it down." "That's what we're trying to do," answered the other. "We did get the bight of a cable over the breech, but the men could not hold it, even though they took a couple of turns around the bitts." "Ned, go call Koku!" cried Tom. "We need him up here." "That's right!" declared his chum. "If anyone can hold the cable with the weight of the big gun straining on it, the giant can. I'll get him!" "On deck, Koku, quick!" gasped Ned. "Master's cannon may fall into the sea." "But the powder!" asked the big man, simply. "Master told me to guard the powder. I stay here." "No, I'll stay!" insisted Ned. "You are needed on deck, I'll take your place here." Koku stared uncomprehendingly for a moment, while the loosened gun continued to thump and pound on the deck as though it would burst through. Then it filtered through the dull brain of honest Koku what was wanted. "I go," he said, and he hurried up the companionway, while Ned, eager to be with Tom, took up the less exciting work of guarding the powder. Once more, with the giant strength of Koku to aid in the work, the task of lashing the gun again to the deck was undertaken. A bight of steel cable was gotten around the breech, and then passed to a big bitt, or stanchion, bolted to the deck. Koku, working on the heaving deck, amid the hurricane, took a turn around the brace. There came a roll of the ship that threatened to send the gun sliding against the stanchion, but Koku braced himself. His arms, great bunches of muscles, strained and fairly cracked with the strain. The wire rope seemed to give. Then, as the ship rolled the other way, the strain eased. Koku, aided by the cable, and by the leverage given by the several turns about the bitts, had held the big gun. "Quick!" cried Tom. "Now another rope so it can't roll the opposite way, and we'll have her." For a moment the ship was on a level keel, and taking advantage of this, when the weight of the gun would be neutral, another cable was passed around it. Then it was a comparatively easy matter to put on more lashings until the giant cannon was once more fast. "Whew! But that was tough work!" exclaimed Tom, as he once more entered the stateroom with Ned. "It must have been," agreed his chum, who had been relieved at the powder station by the giant. "I thought it would surely go overboard," went on Tom. "Only for Koku it would have. Those fellows couldn't hold it when the ship rolled." "How did it happen to get loose?" asked Ned. "Oh, the cables frayed, I suppose. I'll take a look in the morning. Say, but this is some storm!" "Is the gun all right now?" "Yes, it's fastened down like a mummy. It can't get loose unless the whole deck comes with it. We can sleep in peace." "Not much sleep in this blow, I guess," responded Ned. But they did manage to get some rest by morning, at which time the hurricane seemed to have blown itself out. The day saw the sea gradually calm down, and the big cannon was made additionally secure against a possible recurrence of the accident. But a few days more and it would be safe at Colon. Tom and Ned had gone on deck soon after breakfast to look at the cannon. All about were pieces of the broken cables, that had been cast aside when the new lashings were put on. Ned picked up one end, remarking: "These seem mighty strong. It's queer how they broke." "Well, there was quite a weight upon them," spoke Tom. Ned did not reply for a moment. Then, as he looked at another piece of a severed cable, he exclaimed: "Tom, the weight of your gun never broke these." "What do you mean, Ned?" "I mean that they were partly filed, or cut through--then the storm and the pressure of the gun did the rest. Look!" He held out the piece of wire rope. There, on the end, could be seen several strands cleanly severed, as though a file or a hacksaw had been used. "By Jove!" murmured Tom. He looked about the deck. There was no one near the big gun. "Ned," whispered his chum, "there's something wrong here. It's more of that conspiracy to defeat my aims. Don't say anything about this, and we'll keep our eyes open. We'll do a bit of detective work." "The scoundrels!" exclaimed Ned. "I wish we knew who they were. General Waller isn't aboard, and what other of the officers has a gun of his own that he would rather see accepted by the government than yours?" "None that I know of," replied Tom. "General Waller might have hired someone to--" "Don't go making any unwarranted charges," warned the young inventor. "Or perhaps that German, Tom, might--" "Hush!" cautioned Tom. "Here he comes now," and, as he spoke, General von Brunderger came strolling along the deck. "I am glad to see that the accident of last night had no serious effects," he said, smiling. "It was no accident!" burst out Ned. "No accident? You surprise me. I thought--" "Oh, Ned means that some of the cables look as though they had been cut," hastily put in Tom, nudging his chum in the ribs as a signal for him to keep quiet. "The cables cut!" exclaimed the German, and his voice indicated anxious solicitude. "Or else filed," went on Tom easily, with a warning glance at Ned. "But I dare say they were old cables, that had been used on other work, and may have become frayed. Everything is safe now, though. New cables were lashed on this morning." "I am glad to hear it. It would be a--er--ah, a national calamity to lose so valuable a gun, and the opening of the canal so near at hand. I am glad that your invention is safe, Herr Swift," and he smiled genially at Tom and Ned. "What did you shut me off for?" asked Ned, when he and his chum were alone in their stateroom again. "Because I didn't want you to make any breaks before him," answered Tom. "Then you suspect--" "I suspect many things, Ned, but I'm not going to show my hand until I'm ready. I'm going to watch and listen." "And I'll be with you." But no further accidents occurred. There were no more storms, no attempt was made to meddle with Tom's powder, and in due season the ship arrived at Colon, and after much labor the great gun, its carriage, the shells and the powder were taken to the barbette at the Gatun locks, designed to admit vessels from the Caribbean Sea into Gatun Lake. "And now for some more hard work," remarked Tom, as all the needful stores were landed. CHAPTER XXIII NEWS OF THE MINE "Just a little farther over this way, Ned. That's better. Now mark it there, and we'll have it clamped down." "But can you get enough elevation here, Tom?" "Oh, yes, I think so. Besides, I've added a few more inches to the lift of the disappearing carriage, and it will send the gun so much farther in the air. I think this will do. Where is Koku?" "Here I be, Master." "Just get hold of that small derrick, Koku, and lift up one of the projectiles. I want to see if they come in the right place for the breech before I set the hoisting apparatus permanently." The giant was soon engaged in winding up the rope of an improvised hoist that stood about in the position the permanent one was to go. From the interior of the barbette, which was, in effect, a bomb-proof structure, there was lifted one of the big projectiles destined to be hurled from Tom Swift's giant cannon. "Yes, I think that will do," decided the young inventor, as he watched Koku. "Now, Mr. Damon, if you will kindly oversee this part of the work, I'll see if we can't get that motor in better shape. It didn't work worth a cent this morning." "Bless my rubber coat, Tom, I'll do all I can to help you!" declared the odd man. "Massa Tom! Massa Tom!" called Eradicate. "Yes, Rad. What is it?" "Heah am dem chicken sandwiches, an' some hot coffee fo' yo' all. I done knowed yo' all wouldn't hab no time t' stop fo' dinnah, so I done made yo' all up a snack." "That's mighty good of you, Rad," spoke Tom, with a laugh. "I was getting pretty hungry; but I didn't want to stop until I had things moving in better shape. Come on, Ned, let's knock off for a few minutes and take a bite. You, too, Mr. Damon." As they sat about the place where the gun was being mounted, munching sandwiches and drinking the coffee which the aged colored man had so thoughtfully provided, Eradicate said, with a chuckle: "By gar! Dey can't git erlong wifout dish yeah coon, arter all! Ha! ha! Dat cocoanut giant he mighty good when it comes t' fastening big guns down so dey won't blow away, but when it comes t' eatin' dey has t' depend on ole Eradicate! Ha! ha! I'se got dat cocoanut giant beat all right!" "He sure is jealous of Koku," remarked Ned, as Tom and Mr. Damon smiled at the colored man. "He certainly hit me in the right spot," declared Tom, as he reached for another sandwich. They had landed from the warship several days before, and from then on there had been hard work and plenty of it. Tom was here, there and everywhere, directing matters so that his gun would be favorably placed. Some preliminary work had been done before they arrived in the way of preparing a place to mount the gun, and this work was now proceeding. The officers of the ordnance department were in actual charge, but they always deferred to Tom, since he had most at stake. "It will be some days before you can actually fire your gun; will it not?" asked Ned of his chum, as they finished the lunch, and prepared to resume work. "Yes--a week at least, I expect. It is taking longer to set up the carriage than I thought. But it will be an improvement over the solid one we formerly used. That was fine, Rad," he concluded as the colored man went back to the shack of which he had taken possession for himself and his cooking operations. It adjoined the quarters to which Tom, Ned, Mr. Damon and Koku had been assigned. "Golly! I ain't so old yit but what I knows de stuff Massa Tom laiks!" exclaimed the colored man, moving off with a chuckle. Tom, though he had many suspicions about the cut cables that had nearly been the cause of his gun sliding into the sea, had learned nothing definite--nor had Ned. The German officer, with his body servant, who seldom spoke, had landed at Colon, and was proceeding to make himself at home with the officers and men who were building the canal. Occasionally he paid a visit to Tom and Ned, where they were engaged about the big gun. He always seemed pleasant, and interested in their labors, asking many questions, but that was all, and our hero began to feel that perhaps he was wrong in his suspicions. As for Ned, he veered uncertainly from one suspicion to another. At one time he declared that von Brunderger and General Waller were in a conspiracy to upset Tom's plans. Again he would accuse the German alone, until Tom laughingly bade him attend more to work and less to theories. Slowly the work progressed. The gun was mounted after much labor, and then arrangements began to be made for the test. A series of shots were to be fired out to sea, and the proper precautions were to be taken to prevent any ships from being struck. "Though if you intend to send a projectile thirty miles," said one of the officers, "I'm afraid there may be some danger, after all. Are you sure you have a range of thirty miles, Mr. Swift?" "I have," answered Tom, calmly, "and with the increased elevation that I am able to get here, it may exceed that." The officer said nothing, but he looked at Tom in what our hero thought was a peculiar manner. A few days before the date set for the test one of the sentinels, who had been detailed to keep curiosity-seekers away from the giant cannon, approached Tom and said: "There is a gentleman asking to see you, Mr. Swift." "Who is it?" asked Tom, laying aside a pressure gauge he intended attaching to the gun. "He says his name is Peterson--Alec Peterson. Do you want to see him?" "Yes, let him come up," directed the young inventor. "Do you hear that, Ned?" he called. "Our fortune-hunting friend is here." "Maybe he's found that lost opal mine," suggested Ned. "I hope he has, for dad's sake," went on Tom. "Hello, Mr. Peterson!" he called, as he noticed the old prospector coming along. "Have you had any luck?" "I heard you were down here," said the man, not answering the question directly, "and as I had to run over from my island for some supplies I thought I'd stop and see you. How are you?" and he shook hands. "Fine!" answered Tom. "Have you found the lost mine yet?" Alec Peterson paused a moment. Then he said slowly: "No, Tom, I haven't succeeded in locating the mine yet. But I--I expect to any day now!" he added, hastily. CHAPTER XXIV THE LONGEST SHOT "Well, Mr. Peterson," remarked Tom, after a pause, "I'm sure I hope you will succeed in your quest. You must have met disappointment so far." "I have, Tom. But I'm not going to give up. Can't you come over and see me before you go back North?" "I'll try. Just where is your island?" "Off in that direction," responded the fortune-hunter, pointing to the northeast. "It's a little farther from here than I thought it was at first--about thirty miles. But I have a little second-hand steam launch that my pardners and I use. I'll come for you, take you over and bring you back any time you say." "After my gun has been tested," said Tom, with a smile. "Better stay and see it." "No, I must get back to the island. I have some new information that I am sure will enable me to locate the lost mine." "Well, good-bye, and good luck to you," called Tom, as the fortune-hunter started away. "Do you think he'll ever find the opals, Tom?" asked Ned. His chum shook his head. "I don't believe so," he answered. "Alec has always been that way--always visionary--always just about to be successful; but never quite getting there." "Then your father's ten thousand dollars will be lost?" "Yes, I suppose so; but, in a way, dad can stand it. And if I make good on this gun test, ten thousand dollars won't look very big to me. I guess dad gave it to Alec from a sort of sentimental feeling, anyhow." "You mean because he saved you from the live wire?" "That's it, Ned. It was a sort of reward, in a way, and I guess dad won't be broken-hearted if Alec doesn't succeed. Only, of course, he'll feel badly for Alec himself. Poor old man! he won't be able to do much more prospecting. Well, Ned, let's get to work on that ammunition hoist. It still jams a little on the ways, and I want it to work smoothly. There's no use having a hitch--even a small one--when the big bugs assemble to see how my cannon shoots." "That's right, Tom. Well, start off, I'm with you." The two youths labored for some time, being helped, of course, by the workmen provided by the government, and some from the steel concern. There were many little details to look after, not the least of which was the patrolling of the stretch of ocean over which the great projectiles would soar in reaching the far-off targets at which Tom had planned to shoot. No ships were to be allowed to cross the thirty-mile mark while the firing was in progress. So, also, the zone where the shots were expected to fall was to be cleared. But at last all seemed in readiness. The gun had been tried again and again on its carriage. The projectiles were all in readiness, and the terribly powerful ammunition had been stored below the gun in a bomb-proof chamber, ready to be hoisted out as needed. Because the gun had been fired so many times with a charge of powder heavier than was ordinarily called for, and had stood the strain well, Tom had no fear of standing reasonably close to it to press the button of the battery. There would be no retreating to the bombproof this time. The German officer was occasionally seen about the place where the gun was mounted, but he appeared to take only an ordinary interest in it. Tom began to feel more than ever that perhaps his suspicions were unfounded. Some officials high in government affairs had arrived at Colon in anticipation of the test, which, to Tom's delight, had attracted more attention than he anticipated. At the same time he was a bit nervous. "Suppose it fails, Ned?" he said. "Oh, it can't!" cried his chum. "Don't think about such a thing." Plans had been made for a ship to be stationed near the zone of fire, to report by wireless the character of each shot, the distance it traveled, and how near it came to the target. The messages would be received at a station near the barbette, and at once reported to Tom, so that he would know how the test was progressing. "Well, today tells the tale!" exclaimed the young inventor, as he got up one morning. "How's the weather, Ned?" "Couldn't be better--clear as a bell, Tom." "That's good. Well, let's have grub, and then go out and see how my pet is." "Oh, I guess nothing could happen, with Koku on guard." "No, hardly. I'm going to keep him in the ammunition room until after the test, too. I'm going to take no chances." "That's the ticket!" The gun was found all right, in its great tarpaulin cover, and Tom had the latter taken off that he might go over every bit of mechanism. He made a few slight changes, and then got ready for the final trials. On an improvised platform, not too near the giant cannon, had gathered the ordnance board, the specially invited guests, a number of officers and workers in the canal zone, and one or two representatives of foreign governments. Von Brunderger was there, but his "familiar," as Ned had come to call the stolid German servant, was not present. Tom took some little time to explain, modestly enough, the working of his gun. A number of questions were asked, and then it was announced that the first shot, with only a practice charge of powder, would be fired. "Careful with that projectile now. That's it, slip it in carefully. A little farther forward. That's better. Now the powder--Koku, are you down there?" and Tom called down the tube into the ammunition chamber. "Me here, Master," was the reply. "All right, send up a practice load." Slowly the powerful explosive came up on the electric hoist. It was placed in the firing chamber and the breech closed. "Now, gentlemen," said Tom, "this is not a shot for distance. It is merely to try the gun and get it warmed up, so to speak, for the real tests that will follow. All ready?" "All ready!" answered Ned, who was acting as chief assistant. "Here she goes!" cried Tom, and he pressed the button. Many were astonished by the great report, but Tom and the others, who were used to the service charges, hardly noticed this one. Yet when the wireless report came in, giving the range as over fourteen thousand yards, there was a gasp of surprise. "Over eight miles!" declared one grizzled officer; "and that with only a practice charge. What will happen when he puts in a full one?' "I don't know," answered a friend. Tom soon showed them. Quickly he called for another projectile, and it was inserted in the gun. Then the powder began to come up the hoist. Meanwhile the young inventor had assured himself that the gun was all right. Not a part had been strained. This time, when Tom pressed the button there was such a tremendous concussion that several, who were not prepared for it, were knocked back against their neighbors or sent toppling off their chairs or benches. And as for the report, it was so deafening that for a long time after it many could not hear well. But Tom, and those who knew the awful power of the big cannon, wore specially prepared eardrum protectors, that served to reduce the shock. "What is it?" called Tom to the wireless operator, who was receiving the range distance from the marking ship. "A little less than twenty-nine miles." "We must do better than that," said Tom. "I'll use more powder, and try one of the newer shells. I'll elevate the gun a trifle, too." Again came that terrific report, that trembling of the ground, that concussion, that blast of air as it rushed in to fill the vacuum caused, and then the vibrating echoes. "I think you must have gone the limit this time, Tom!" yelled Ned, as he turned on the compressed air to blow the powder fumes and unconsumed bits of explosive from the gun tube. "Possibly," admitted Tom. "Here comes the report." The wireless operator waved a slip of paper. "Thirty-one miles!" he announced. "Hurray!" cried Mr. Damon. "Bless my telescope! The longest shot on record!" "I believe it is," admitted the chief of the ordnance department. "I congratulate you, Mr. Swift." "I think I can do better than that," declared Tom, after looking at the various recording gauges, and noting the elevation of the gun. "I think I can get a little flatter trajectory, and that will give a greater distance. I'm going to try." "Does that mean more powder, Tom?" asked Ned. "Yes, and the heaviest shell we have--the one with the bursting charge. I'll fire that, and see what happens. Tell the zone-ship to be on the lookout," he said to the wireless operator, giving a brief statement of what he was about to attempt. "Isn't it a risk, Tom?" his chum asked. "Well, not so much. I'm sure my cannon will stand it. Come on now, help me depress the muzzle just a trifle," and by means of the electric current the big gun was raised at the breech a few inches. As is well known, cannon shots do not go in straight lines. They leave the muzzle, curve upward and come down on another curve. It is this curve described by the projectile that is called the trajectory. The upward curve, as you all know, is caused by the force of the powder, and the downward by the force of gravitation acting on the shot as soon as it reaches its zenith. Were it not for this force the projectiles could be fired in straight lines. But, as it is, the cannon has to be elevated to send the shot up a bit, or it would fall short of its mark. Consequently, the flatter the trajectory the farther it will go. Tom's object, then, was to flatten the trajectory, by lowering the muzzle of the gun, in order to attain greater distance. "If this doesn't do the trick, we'll try it with the muzzle a bit lower, and with a trifle more powder," he said to Ned, as he was about to fire. The young inventor was not a little nervous as he prepared to press the button this time. It was a heavier charge than any used that day, though the same quantity had been fired on other occasions with safety. But he was not going to hesitate. Coincident with the pressure of Tom's fingers there seemed to be a veritable earthquake. The ground swayed and rocked, and a number of the spectators staggered back. It was like the blast of a hundred thunderbolts. The gun shook as it recoiled from the shock, but the wonderful disappearing carriage, fitted with coiled, pneumatic and hydrostatic buffers, stood the strain. Following the awful report, the terrific recoil and the howl of the wind as it rushed into the vacuum created, there was an intense silence. The projectile had been seen by some as a dark speck, rushing through the air like a meteor. Then the wireless operator could be seen writing down a message, the telephone-like receivers clamped over his ears. "Something happened, all right!" he called aloud. "That shot hit something." "Not one of the ships!" cried Tom, aghast. "I don't know. There seems to be some difficulty in transmitting. Wait--I'm getting it: now." As he ceased speaking there came from underneath the great gun the sound of confused shouts. Tom and Ned recognized Koku's voice protesting: "No--no--you can't come in here! Master said no one was to come in." "What is it, Koku?" yelled Tom, springing to the speaking tube connecting with the powder magazine, at the same time keeping an eye on the wireless operator. Tom was torn between two anxieties. "Someone here, Master!" cried the giant. "Him try to fix powder. Ah, I fix you!" and with a savage snarl the giant, in the concrete chamber below, could be heard to attack someone who cried out gutturally in German: "Help! Help! Help!" "Come on, Ned!" cried Tom, making a dash for the stairs that led into the magazine. There was confusion all about, but through it all the wireless operator continued to write down the message coming to him through space. "What is it, Koku? What is it?" cried Tom, plunging down into the little chamber. As he reached it, a door leading to the outer air flew open, and out rushed a man, badly torn as to his clothes, and scratched and bleeding as to his face. On he ran, across the space back of the barbette, toward the lower tier of seats that had been erected for the spectators. "It's von Brunderger's servant!" gasped Ned, recognizing the fellow. "What did he do, Koku?" demanded the young inventor. "Him sneak in here--have some of that stuff you call 'dope.' I sent up powder, and I come back here to see him try to put some dope in Master's ammunition." "The scoundrel!" cried Tom. "They're trying to break me, even at the last minute! Come on, Ned." They raced outside to behold a curious sight. Straight toward von Brunderger rushed the man as if in a frenzy of fear. He called out something in German to his master, and the latter's face went first red, then white. He was observed to look about quickly, as though in alarm, and then, with a shout at his servant, the German officer rushed from the stand, and the two disappeared in the direction of the barracks. "What does it mean?" cried Ned. "Give it up," answered Tom, "except that Koku spoiled their trick, whatever it was. It looks as if this was the end of it, and that the mystery has been cleared up." "Mr. Swift! Where's Mr. Swift?" shouted the wireless operator. "Where are you?" "Yes; what is it?" demanded Tom, so excited that he hardly knew what he was doing. "The longest shot on record!" cried the man. "Thirty-three miles, and it struck, exploded, and blew the top off a mountain on an island out there!" and he pointed across the sun-lit sea. CHAPTER XXV THE LONG-LOST MINE There was a silence after the inspiring words of the operator, and then it seemed that everyone began to talk at once. The record-breaking shot, the effect of it and the struggle that had taken place in the powder room, together with the flight of von Brunderger and his servant, gave many subjects for excited conversation. "I've got to get at the bottom of this!" cried Tom, making his way through the press of officials to where the wireless operator stood. "Just repeat that," requested Tom, and they all gave place for him, waiting for the answer. The operator read the message again. "Thirty-three miles!" murmured Tom. "That is better than I dared to hope. But what's that about blowing the top off an island?" "That's what you did, with that explosive shell, Mr. Swift. The operator on the firing-zone ship saw the top fly off when the shell struck. The ship was about half a mile away, and when they heard that shell coming the officers thought it was all up with them. But, instead, it passed over them and demolished the top of the mountain. "Anybody hurt?" asked Tom, anxiously. "No, it was an uninhabited island. But you have made the record shot, all right. It went farther than any of the others." "Then I suppose I ought to be satisfied," remarked Tom, with a smile. "What was that disturbance, Mr. Swift?" asked the chief ordnance officer, coming forward. "I don't understand it myself," replied the young inventor. "It appeared that someone went into the ammunition room, and Koku, my giant servant, attacked him." "As he had a right to do. But who was the intruder?" "Herr von Brunderger's man." "Ha! That German officer's! Where is he, he must explain this." But Herr von Brunderger was not to be found, nor was his man in evidence. They had fled, and when a search was made of their rooms, damaging evidence was found. Before a board of investigating officers Koku told his story, after the gun tests had been declared off for the day, they having been most satisfactory. The German officer's servant, it appeared, had managed to gain entrance to the ammunition chamber by means of a false key to the outer door. There were two entrances, the other being from the top of the platform where the cannon rested. Koku had seen him about to throw something into one of the ammunition cases, and had grappled with him. There was a fight, and, in spite of the giant's strength, the man had slipped away, leaving part of his garments in the grasp of Koku. An investigation of some of the powder showed that it had been covered with a chemical that would have made it explode prematurely when placed in the gun. It would probably have wrecked the cannon by blowing out the breech block, and might have done serious damage to life as well as property. "But what was the object?" asked Ned. "To destroy Tom's gun," declared Mr. Damon. "Why should von Brunderger want to do that?" They found the answer among his papers. He had been a German officer of high rank, but had been dismissed from the secret service of his country for bad conduct. Then, it appeared, he thought of the plan of doing some damage to a foreign country in order to get back in the good graces of his Fatherland. He forged documents of introduction and authority, and was received with courtesy by the United States officials. In some way he heard of Tom's gun, and that it was likely to be so successful that it would be adopted by the United States government. This he wanted to prevent, and he went to great lengths to accomplish this. It was he, or an agent of his, who forged the letter of invitation to General Waller, and who first tried to spoil Tom's test by doping the powder through Koku. Later he tried other means, sending a midnight visitor to Tom's house and even going to the length of filing the cables in the storm, so the gun would roll off the warship into the sea. All this was found set down in his papers, for he kept a record of what he had done in order to prove his case to his own government. It was his servant who tried to get near the gun while it was being cast. That he would be restored to favor had he succeeded, was an open question, though with Germany's friendliness toward the United States it is probable that his acts would have been repudiated. But he was desperate. Failing in many attempts he resolved on a last one. He sent his servant to the ammunition room to "dope" the powder, hoping that, at the next shot, the gun would be mined. Perhaps he hoped to disable Tom. But the plot failed, and the conspirators escaped. They were never heard of again, probably leaving Panama under assumed names and in disguise. "Well, that explains the mystery," said Tom to Ned a few days later. "I guess we won't have to worry any more." "No, and I'm sorry I suspected General Waller." "Oh, well, he'll never know it, so no harm is done. Oh, but I'm glad this is over. It has gotten on my nerves." "I should say so," agreed Ned. "Bless my pillow sham!" cried Mr. Damon. "I think I can get a good night's sleep now. So they have formally accepted your giant cannon, Tom?" "Yes. The last tests I gave them, showing how easily it could be manipulated, convinced them. It will be one of the official defense guns of the Panama Canal." "Good! I congratulate you, my boy!" cried the odd man. "And now, bless my postage stamp, let's get back to the United States." "Before we go," suggested Ned, "let's go take a look at that island from which Tom blew the top. It must be quite a sight--and thirty-three miles away! We can get a launch and go out." But there was no need. That same day Alec Peterson came to Colon inquiring for Tom. His face showed a new delight. "Why," cried Tom, "you look as though you had found your opal mine." "I have!" exclaimed the fortune-hunter. "Or, rather, Tom, I think I have you to thank for finding it for me." "Me find it?" "Yes. Did you hear about the top of the island-mountain you blew to pieces?" "We did, but--" "That was my island!" exclaimed Mr. Peterson. "The mine was in that mountain, but an earthquake had covered it. I should never have found it but for you. That shot you accidentally fired ripped the mountain apart. My men and I were fortunately at the base of it then, but we sure thought our time had come when that shell struck. It went right over our heads. But it did the business, all right, and opened up the old mine. Tom, your father won't lose his money, we'll all be rich. Oh, that was a lucky shot! I knew it was your cannon that did it." "I'm glad of it!" answered the young inventor, heartily. "Glad for your sake, Mr. Peterson." "You must come and see the mine--your mine, Tom, for it never would have been rediscovered had it not been for your giant cannon, that made the longest shot on record, so I'm told." "We will come, Mr. Peterson, just as soon as I close up matters here." It did not take Tom long to do this. His type of cannon was formally accepted as a defense for the Panama Canal, and he received a fine contract to allow that type to be used by the government. His powder and projectiles, too, were adopted. Then, one day, he and Ned, with Koku and Mr. Damon, visited the scene of the great shot. As Mr. Peterson had said, the whole top of the mountain had been blown off by the explosive shell, opening up the old mine. While it was not quite as rich as Mr. Peterson had glowingly painted, still there was a fortune in it, and Mr. Swift got back a substantial sum for his investment. "And now for the good old U. S. A.!" cried Tom, as they got ready to go back home. "I'm going to take a long rest, and the only thing I'm going to invent for the next six months is a new potato slicer." But whether Tom kept his words can be learned by reading the next volume of this series. "Bless my hand towel!" cried Mr. Damon. "I think you are entitled to a rest, Tom." "That's what I say," agreed Ned. "I'll take care ob him--I'll take care ob Massa Tom," put in Eradicate, as he cast a quick look at Koku. "Giants am all right fo' cannon wuk, but when it comes t' comforts Massa Tom gwine t' 'pend on ole 'Radicate; ain't yo' all, Massa Tom?" "I guess so, Rad!" exclaimed the young inventor, with a laugh. "Is dinner ready?" "It suah am, Massa Tom, an' I 'specially made some oh dat fricasseed chicken yo' all does admire so much. Plenty of it, too, Massa Tom." "That's good, Rad," put in Ned. "For we'll all be hungry after that trip to the island. That sure was a great shot Tom--thirty-three miles!" "Yes, it went farther than I thought it would," replied Tom. And now, as they are taking a closing meal at Panama, ready to return to the United States, we will take leave of Tom Swift and his friends. 
1364	----	TOM SWIFT AND HIS ELECTRIC LOCOMOTIVE or Two Miles a Minute on the Rails By VICTOR APPLETON CONTENTS CHAPTER I A TEMPTING OFFER II TROUBLE STARTS III TOM SWIFT'S FRIENDS IV MUCH TO THINK ABOUT V BARBED WIRE ENTANGLEMENTS VI THE CONTRACT SIGNED VII THE MAN WITH BIG FEET VIII AN ENEMY IN THE DARK IX WHERE WAS KOKU? X A STRANGE CONVERSATION XI TOUCH AND GO XII THE TRY-OUT DAY ARRIVES XIII HOPES AND FEARS XIV SPEED XV THE ENEMY STILL ACTIVE XVI OFF FOR THE WEST XVII THE WRECK OF FORTY-EIGHT XVIII ON THE HENDRICKTON & PAS ALOS XIX PERIL, THE MOTHER OF INVENTION XX THE RESULT XXI THE OPEN SWITCH XXII A DESPERATE CHASE XXIII MR. DAMON AT BAT XXIV PUTTING THE ENEMY TO FLIGHT XXV SPEED AND SUCCESS TOM SWIFT AND HIS ELECTRIC LOCOMOTIVE Chapter I A Tempting Offer "An electric locomotive that can make two miles a minute over a properly ballasted roadbed might not be an impossibility," said Mr. Barton Swift ruminatively. "It is one of those things that are coming," and he flashed his son, Tom Swift, a knowing smile. It had been a topic of conversation between them before the visitor from the West had been seated before the library fire and had sampled one of the elder Swift's good cigars. "It is not only a future possibility," said the latter gentleman, shrugging his shoulders. "As far as the Hendrickton and Pas Alos Railroad Company goes, a two mile a minute gait--not alone on a level track but through the Pas Alos Range--is an immediate necessity. It's got to be done now, or our stock will be selling on the curb for about two cents a share." "You do not mean just that, do you, Mr. Bartholomew?" asked Tom Swift earnestly, and staring at the big-little man before the fire. Mr. Richard Bartholomew was just that--a "big-little man." In the railroad world, both in construction and management, he had made an enviable name for himself. He had actually built up the Hendrickton and Pas Alos from a narrow-gauge, "jerkwater" road into a part of a great cross-continent system that tapped a wonderfully rich territory on both sides of the Pas Alos Range. For some years the H. & P. A. had a monopoly of that territory. Now, as Mr. Bartholomew intimated, it was threatened with such rivalry from another railroad and other capitalists, that the H. & P. A. was being looked upon in the financial market as a shaky investment. But Tom Swift repeated: "You do not mean just that, do you, Mr. Bartholomew?" Mr. Bartholomew, who was a little man physically, rolled around in his chair to face the young fellow more directly. His own eyes sparkled in the firelight. His olive face was flushed. "That is much nearer the truth, young man," he said, somewhat harshly because of his suppressed emotion, "than I want people at large to suspect. As I have told your father, I came here to put all my cards on the table; but I expect the Swift Construction Company to take anything I may say as said in confidence." "We quite understand that, Mr. Bartholomew," said the elder Swift, softly. "You can speak freely. Whether we do business or not, these walls are soundproof, and Tom and I can forget, or remember, as we wish. Of course if we take up any work for you, we must confide to a certain extent in our close associates and trusted mechanics." "Humph!" grunted the visitor, turning restlessly again in his chair. Then he said: "I agree as the necessity of that last statement; but I can only hope that these walls are soundproof." "What's that?" demanded Tom, rather sharply. He was a bright looking young fellow with an alert air and a rather humorous smile. His father was a semi-invalid; but Tom possessed all the mental vigor and muscular energy that a young man should have. He had not neglected his Athletic development while he made the best use of his mental powers. "Believe me," said the visitor, quite as harshly as before, "I begin to doubt the solidity of all walls. I know that I have been watched, and spied upon, and that eavesdroppers have played hob with our affairs. "Of late, there has been little planned in the directors' room of the H. & P. A. that has not seeped out and aided the enemy in foreseeing our moves." "The enemy?" repeated Mr. Swift, with mild surprise. "That's it exactly! The enemy!" replied Mr. Bartholomew shortly. "The H. & P. A. has got the fight of its life on its hands. We had a hard enough time fighting nature and the elements when we laid the first iron for the road a score of years ago. Now I am facing a fight that must grow fiercer and fiercer as time goes on until either the H. & P. A. smashes the opposition, or the enemy smashes it." "What enemy is this you speak of?" asked Tom, much interested. "The proposed Hendrickton & Western. A new road, backed by new capital, and to be officered and built by new men in the construction and railroad game. "Montagne Lewis--you've heard of him, I presume--is at the head of the crowd that have bought the little old Hendrickton & Western, lock, stock and barrel. "They have franchises for extending the road. In the old days the legislatures granted blanket franchises that allowed any group of moneyed men to engage in any kind of business as side issues to railroading. Montagne Lewis and his crowd have got a 'plenty-big' franchise. "They have begun laying iron. It parallels, to a certain extent, our own line. Their surveyors were smarter than the men who laid out the H. & P. A. I admit it. Besides, the country out there is developed more than it was a score of years ago when I took hold. "All this enters into the fight between Montagne Lewis and me. But there is something deeper," said the little man, with almost a snarl, as he thrashed about again in his chair. "I beat Montagne Lewis at one big game years ago. He is a man who never forgets--and who never hesitates to play dirty politics if he has to, to bring about his own ends. "I know that I have been watched. I know that I was followed on this trip East. He has private detectives on my track continually. And worse. All the gunmen of the old and wilder West are not dead. There's a fellow named Andy O'Malley--well, never mind him. The game at present is to keep anybody in Lewis's employ from getting wise to why I came to see you." "What you say is interesting," Mr. Swift here broke in quietly. "But I have already been puzzled by what you first said. Just why have you come to us--to Tom and me--in reference to your railroad difficulties?" "And this suggestion you have made," added Tom, "about a possible electric locomotive of a faster type than has, ever yet been put on the rails?" "That is it, exactly," replied Bartholomew, sitting suddenly upright in his chair. "We want faster electric motor power than has ever yet been invented. We have got to have it, or the H. & P. A. might as well be scrapped and the whole territory out there handed over to Montagne Lewis and his H. & W. That is the sum total of the matter, gentlemen. If the Swift Construction Company cannot help us, my railroad is going to be junk in about three years from this beautiful evening." His emphasis could not fail to impress both the elder and the younger Swift. They looked at each other, and the interest displayed upon the father's countenance was reflected upon the features of the son. If there was anything Tom Swift liked it was a good fight. The clash of diverse interests was the breath of life to the young fellow. And for some years now, always connected in some way with the development of his inventive genius, he had been entangled in battles both of wits and physical powers. Here was the suggestion of something that would entail a struggle of both brain and brawn. "Sounds good," muttered Tom, gazing at the railroad magnate with considerable admiration. "Let us hear all about it," Mr. Swift said to Bartholomew. "Whether we can help you or not, we're interested." "All right," replied the visitor again. "Whether I was followed East, and here to Shopton, or not doesn't much matter. I will put my proposition up to you, and then I'll ask, if you don't want to go into it, that you keep the business absolutely secret. I have got to put something over on Montagne Lewis and his crowd, or throw up the sponge. That's that!" "Go ahead, Mr. Bartholomew," observed Tom's father, encouragingly. "To begin with, four hundred miles of our road is already electrified. We have big power stations and supply heat and light and power to several of the small cities tapped by the H. & P. A. It is a paying proposition as it stands. But it is only paying because we carry the freight traffic--all the freight traffic--of that region. "If the H. & W. breaks in on our monopoly of that, we shall soon be so cut down that our invested capital will not earn two per cent.--No, by glory! not one-and-a-half per cent.--and our stock will be dished. But I have worked out a scheme, Gentlemen, by which we can counter-balance any dig Lewis can give us in the ribs. "If we can extend our electrified line into and through the Pas Alos Range our freight traffic can be handled so cheaply and so effectively that nothing the Hendrickton & Western can do for years to come will hurt us. Get that?" "I get your statement, Mr. Bartholomew," said Mr. Swift. "But it is merely a statement as yet." "Sure. Now I will give you the particulars. We are using the Jandel locomotives on our electrified stretch of road. You know that patent?" "I know something about it, Mr. Bartholomew," said the younger inventor. "I have felt some interest in the electric locomotive, though I have done nothing practical in the matter. But I know the Jandel patent." "It is about the best there is--and the most recent; but it does not fill the bill. Not for the H. & P. A., anyway," said Mr. Bartholomew, shortly. "What does it lack?" asked Mr. Swift. "Speed. It's got the power for heavy hauls. It could handle the freight through the Pas Alos Range. But it would slow up our traffic so that the shippers would at once turn to the Hendrickton & Western. You understand that their rails do not begin to engage the grades that our engineers thought necessary when the old H. & P. A. was built." "I get that," said Tom briskly. "You have come here, then, to interest us in the development of a faster but quite as powerful type of electric locomotive as the Jandel." "Stated to the line!" exclaimed Mr. Bartholomew, smiting the arm of his chair with his clenched fist. "That is it, young man. You get me exactly. And now I will go on to put my proposition to you." "Do so, Mr. Bartholomew," murmured the old inventor, quite as much interested as his son. "I want you to make a study of electric motive power as applied to track locomotives, with the idea of utilizing our power plants and others like them, and even with the possibility in mind of the continued use of the Jandel locomotives on our more level stretches of road. "But I want your investigation to result in the building of locomotives that will make a speed of two miles a minute, or as near that as possible, on level rails, and be powerful enough to snake our heavy freight trains through the hills and over the steep grades so rapidly that even two engines, a pusher and a hauler, cannot beat the electric power." "Some job, that, I'll say," murmured Tom Swift. "Exactly. Some job. And it is the only thing that will save the H. & P. A.," said Mr. Bartholomew decidedly. "I put it up to you Swifts. I have heard of some of your marvelous inventions. Here is something that is already invented. But it needs development." "I see," said Mr. Swift, and nodded. "It interests me," admitted Tom. "As I say, I have given some thought to the electric locomotive." "This is the age of speed," said Mr. Bartholomew earnestly. "Rapidity in handling freight and kindred things will be the salvation, and the only salvation, of many railroads. Tapping a rich territory is not enough. The road that can offer the quickest and cheapest service is the road that is going to keep out of a receivership. Believe me, I know!" "You should," said Mr. Swift mildly. "Your experience should have taught you a great deal about the railroad business." "It has. But that knowledge is worth just nothing at all without swift power and cheap traffic. Those are the problems today. Now, I am going to take a chance. If it doesn't work, my road is dished in any case. So I feel that the desperate chance is the only chance." "What is that?" asked Tom Swift, sitting forward in his chair. "I, for one, feel so much interested that I will do anything in reason to find the answer to your traffic problem." "That's the boy!" ejaculated Richard Bartholomew. "I will give it to you in a few words. If you will experiment with the electric locomotive idea, to develop speed and power over and above the Jandel patent, and will give me the first call on the use of any patents you may contrive, I will put up twenty-five thousand dollars in cash which shall be yours whether I can make use of a thing you invent or not." "Any time limit in this agreement, Mr. Bartholomew?" asked Tom, making a few notes on a scratch pad before him on the library table. "What do you say to three months?" "Make it six, if you can," Tom said with continued briskness. "It interests me. I'll do my best. And I want you to get your money's worth." "All right. Make it six," said Mr. Bartholomew. "But the quicker you dig something up, the better for me. Now, that is the first part of my proposition." "All right, sir. And the second?" "If you succeed in showing me that you can build and operate an electric locomotive that will speed two miles a minute on a level track and will get a heavy drag over the mountain grades, as I said, as surely as two engines of the coal-burning or oil-burning type, I will pay you a hundred thousand dollars bonus, besides buying all the engines you can build of this new type for the first two years. I've got to have first call; but the hundred thousand will be yours free and clear, and the price of the locomotives you build can be adjusted by any court of agreement that you may suggest." Tom Swift's face glowed. He realized that this offer was not only generous, but that it made it worth his while dropping everything else he had in hand and devoting his entire time and thought for even six months to the proposition of developing the electric locomotive. He looked at his father and nodded. Mr. Swift said, calmly: "We take you on that offer, Mr. Bartholomew. Tom has the facts on paper, and we will hand it to Mr. Newton, our financial manager, in the morning. If you will remain in town for twenty-four hours, the contract can be signed." "Suits me," declared. Richard Bartholomew, rising quickly from his chair. "I confess I hoped you would take me up quite as promptly as you have. I want to get back West again. "We will see you in the office of the company at two o'clock tomorrow," said Tom Swift confidently. "Better than good! And now, if that trailer that I am pretty sure Montagne Lewis sent after me does not get wise to the subject of our talk, it may be a slick job we have done and will do. I admit I am rather afraid of the enemy. You Swifts must keep your plans in utter darkness." After a little talk on more ordinary affairs, Mr. Bartholomew took his departure. It was getting late in the evening, and Tom Swift had an engagement. While old Rad, their colored servant, was helping him on with his coat preparatory to Tom's leaving the house, his father called from the library: "Got those notes in a safe place, Tom?" "Safest in the world, Dad," his son replied. But he did not go into details. Tom considered the "safest place in the world" just then was his own wallet, which was tucked into an inside pocket of his vest "I'm going to see Mary Nestor, Father," said Tom, as he went to the front door and opened it. He halted a moment with the knob of the door in his hand. The porch was deep in shadows, but he thought he had seen something move there. "That you, Koku?" asked Tom in an ordinary voice. Sometimes his gigantic servant wandered about the house at night. He was a strange person, and he had a good many thoughts in his savage brain that even his young master did not understand. There was no reply to Tom's question, so he walked down the steps and out at the gate. It was not a long distance to the Nestor house, and the air was brisk and keen, in spite of the fact that threatening clouds masked the stars. Two blocks from the house he came to a high wall which separated the street from the grounds of an old dwelling. Tom suddenly noticed that the usual street lights on this block had been extinguished--blown out by the wind, perhaps. Involuntarily he quickened his steps. He reached the archway in the wall. Here was the gate dividing the private grounds from the street. As he strode into the shadow of this place a voice suddenly halted Tom Swift. "Hands up! Put 'em up and don't be slow about it!" A bulky figure loomed in the dark. Tom saw the highwayman's club poised threateningly over his head. Chapter II Trouble Starts The fact that he was stopped by a footpad smote Tom Swift's mind as not a particularly surprising adventure. He had heard that several of that gentry had been plying their trade about the outskirts of the town. To a degree he was prepared for this sudden event. Then there flashed into Tom's mind the thought of what Mr. Richard Bartholomew had said regarding the spy he believed had followed him from the West. Could it be possible that some hired thug sent by Montagne Lewis and his crooked crowd of financiers considered that Tom Swift had obtained information from the president of the H. & P. A. that might do his employers signal service? Tom Swift had fallen in with many adventures--and some quite thrilling ones--since, as a youth, he was first introduced to the reader in the initial volume of this series, entitled "Tom Swift and His Motor Cycle." His first experiences as an inventor, coached by his father, who had spent his life in the experimental laboratory and workshop, was made possible by his purchase from Mr. Wakefield Damon, now one of his closest friends, of a broken-down motor cycle. Through a series of inventions, some of them of a marvelous kind, Tom Swift, aided by his father, had forged ahead, building motor boats, airships, submarines, monoplanes, motion picture cameras, searchlights, cannons, photo-telephones, war tanks. Of late, as related in "Tom Swift Among the Fire Fighters," he had engaged in the invention of an explosive bomb carrying flame-quenching chemicals that would, in time, revolutionize fire-fighting in tall buildings. The matter that Mr. Richard Bartholomew, the railroad magnate, had brought to Tom's and his father's attention had deeply interested the young inventor. Thought of the electric locomotive, the development of which the railroad president stated was the only salvation of the finances of the H. & P. A., had so held Tom's attention as he walked along the street that being stopped in this sudden way was even more startling than such an incident might ordinarily have been. Tom was a muscular young fellow; but a club held over one's head by a burly thug would have shaken the courage of anybody. Dark as it was under the archway the young fellow saw that the bulk of the man was much greater than his own. "That's right, sonny," said the stranger, in a sneering tone. "You got just the right idea. When I say 'Stick 'em up' I mean it. Never take a chance. Ah--ah!" The fellow ripped open Tom's overcoat, almost tearing the buttons off. Another masterful jerk and his victim's jacket was likewise parted widely. He did not lower the club for an instant. He thrust his left hand into the V-shaped parting of the young fellow's vest. It was then that Tom was convinced of what the fellow was after. He remembered the notes he had made regarding the contract that was to be signed on the morrow between the Swift Construction Company and President Richard Bartholomew of the H. & P. A. Railroad. He remembered, too, the figure he thought he had seen in the dark porch of the house as he so recently left it. Mr. Bartholomew had considered it very possible that he was being spied upon. This was one of the spies--a Westerner, as his speech betrayed. But Tom was suddenly less fearful than he had been when first attacked. It did not seem possible to him that Mr. Bartholomew's enemies would allow their henchman to go too far to obtain information of the railroad president's intentions. This fellow was merely attempting to frighten him. A sense of relief came to Tom Swift's assistance. He opened his lips to speak and could the thug have seen his face more clearly in the dark he would have been aware of the fact that the young inventor smiled. The fellow's groping hand entered between Tom's vest and his shirt. The coarse fingers seized upon Tom's wallet. Nobody likes to be robbed, no matter whether the loss is great or small. There was not much money in the wallet, nor anything that could be turned into money by a thief. These facts enabled Tom, perhaps, to bear his loss with some fortitude. The highwayman drew forth the wallet and thrust it into his own coat pocket. He made no attempt to take anything else from the young inventor. "Now, beat it!" commanded the fellow. "Don't look back and don't run or holler. Just keep moving--in the way you were headed before. Vamoose." More than ever was Tom assured that the man was from the West. His speech savored of Mexican phrases and slang terms used mainly by Western citizens. And his abrupt and masterly manner and speech aided in this supposition. Tom Swift stayed not to utter a word. It was true he was not so frightened as he had at first been. But he was quite sure that this man was no person to contend with under present conditions. He strode away along the sidewalk toward the far corner of the wall that surrounded this estate. Shopton had not many of such important dwellings as this behind the wall. Its residential section was made up for the most part of mechanics' homes and such plain but substantial houses as his father's. Prospering as the Swifts had during the last few years, neither Tom nor his father had thought their plain old house too poor or humble for a continued residence. Tom was glad to make money, but the inventions he had made it by were vastly more important to his mind than what he might obtain by any lavish expenditure of his growing fortune. This matter of the electric locomotive that had been brought to his attention by the Western railroad magnate had instantly interested the young inventor. The possibility of there being a clash of interests in the matter, and the point Mr. Bartholomew made of his enemies seeking to thwart his hope of keeping the H. & P. A. upon a solid financial footing, were phases of the affair that likewise concerned the young fellow's thought. Now he was sure that Mr. Bartholomew was right. The enemies of the H. & P. A. were determined to know all that the railroad president was planning to do. They would naturally suspect that his trip East to visit the Swift Construction Company was no idle jaunt. Tom had turned so many fortunate and important problems of invention into certainties that the name of the Swift Construction Company was broadly known, not alone throughout the United States but in several foreign countries. Montagne Lewis, whom Tom knew to be both a powerful and an unscrupulous financier, might be sure that Mr. Bartholomew's visit to Shopton and to the young inventor and his father was of such importance that he would do well through his henchmen to learn the particulars of the interview. Tom remembered Mr. Bartholomew's mention of a name like Andy O'Malley. This was probably the man who had done all that he could, and that promptly, to set about the discovery of Mr. Bartholomew's reason for visiting the Swifts. Without doubt the man had slunk about the Swift house and had peered into one of the library windows while the interview was proceeding. He had observed Tom making notes on the scratch pad and judged correctly that those notes dealt with the subject under discussion between the visitor from the West and the Swifts. He had likewise seen Tom thrust the paper into his wallet and the wallet into his inside vest pocket. Instead of dogging Mr. Bartholomew's footsteps after that gentleman left the Swift house, the man had waited for the appearance of Tom. When he was sure that the young fellow was preparing to walk out, and the direction he was to stroll, the thug had run ahead and ensconced himself in the archway on this dark block. All these things were plain enough. The notes Tom had taken regarding the offer Mr. Bartholomew had made for the development of the electric locomotive might, under some circumstances, be very important. At least, the highwayman evidently thought them such. But Tom had another thought about that. One thing the young inventor was convinced about, as he strode briskly away from the scene of the hold-up: There was going to be trouble. It had already begun. Chapter III Tom Swift's Friends Tom was still walking swiftly when he arrived in sight of Mary Nestor's home. He was so filled with excitement both because of the hold-up and the new scheme that Mr. Richard Bartholomew had brought to him from the West, that he could keep neither to himself. He just had to tell Mary! Mary Nestor was a very pretty girl, and Tom thought she was just about right in every particular. Although he had been about a good deal for a young fellow and had seen girls everywhere, none of them came up to Mary. None of them held Tom's interest for a minute but this girl whom he had been around with for years and whom he had always confided in. As for the girl herself, she considered Tom Swift the very nicest young man she had ever seen. He was her beau-ideal of what a young man should be. And she entered enthusiastically into the plans for everything that Tom Swift was interested in. Mary was excited by the story Tom told her in the Nestor sitting room. The idea of the electric locomotive she saw, of course, was something that might add to Tom's laurels as an inventor. But the other phase of the evening's adventure--"Tom, dear!" she murmured with no little disturbance of mind. "That man who stopped you! He is a thief, and a dangerous man! I hate to think of your going home alone." "He's got what he was after," chuckled Tom. "Is it likely he will bother me again?" "And you do not seem much worried about it," she cried, in wonder. "Not much, I confess, Mary," said Tom, and grinned. "But if, as you suppose, that man was working for Mr. Bartholomew's enemies--" "I am convinced that he was, for he did not rob me of my watch and chain or loose money. And he could have done so easily. I don't mind about the old wallet. There was only five dollars in it." "But those notes you said you took of Mr. Bartholomew's offer?" "Oh, yes," chuckled Tom again. "Those notes. Well, I may as well explain to you, Mary, and not try to puzzle you any longer. But that highwayman is sure going to be puzzled a long, long time." "What do you mean, Tom?" "Those notes were jotted down in my own brand of shorthand. Such stenographic notes would scarcely be readable by anybody else. Ho, ho! When that bold, bad hold-up gent turns the notes over to Montagne Lewis, or whoever his principal is, there will be a sweet time." "Oh, Tom! isn't that fun?" cried Mary, likewise much amused. "I can remember everything we said there in the library," Tom continued. "I'll see Ned tonight on my way home from here, and he will draw a contract the first thing in the morning." "You are a smart fellow, Tom!" said Mary, her laughter trilling sweetly. "Many thanks, Ma'am! Hope I prove your compliment true. This two-mile-a-minute stunt--" "It seems wonderful," breathed Mary. "It sure will be wonderful if we can build a locomotive that will do such fancy lacework as that," observed Tom eagerly. "It will be a great stunt!" "A wonderful invention, Tom." "More wonderful than Mr. Bartholomew knows," agreed the young fellow. "An electric locomotive with both great speed and great hauling power is what more than one inventor has been aiming at for two or three decades. Ever since Edison and Westinghouse began their experiments, in truth." "Is the locomotive they are using out there a very marvelous machine?" asked the girl, with added interest. "No more marvelous than the big electric motors that drag the trains into New York City, for instance, through the tunnels. Steam engines cannot be used in those tunnels for obvious, as well as legal, reasons. They are all wonderful machines, using third-rail power. "But that Jandel patent that Mr. Bartholomew is using out there on the H. & P. A. is probably the highest type of such motors. It is up to us to beat that. Fortunately I got a pass into the Jandel shops a few months ago and I studied at first hand the machine Mr. Bartholomew is using." "Isn't that great!" cried Mary. "Well, it helps some. I at least know in a general way the 'how' of the construction of the Jandel locomotive. It is simple enough. Too simple by far, I should say, to get both speed and power. We'll see," and he nodded his head thoughtfully. Tom did not stay long with the girl, for it was already late in the evening when he had arrived at her house. As he got up to depart Mary's anxiety for his safety revived. "I wish you would take care now, Tom. Those men may hound you." "What for?" chuckled the young inventor. "They have the notes they wanted." "But that very thing--the fact that you fooled them--will make them more angry. Take care." "I have a means of looking out for myself, after all," said Tom quietly, seeing that he must relieve her mind. "I let that fellow get away with my wallet; but I won't let him hurt me. Don't fear." She had opened the door. The lamplight fell across porch and steps, and in a broad white band even to the gate and sidewalk. There was a motor-car slowing down right before the open gate. "Who's this?" queried Tom, puzzled. A sharp voice suddenly was raised in an exclamatory explosion. "Bless my breakshoes! is that Tom Swift? Just the chap I was looking for. Bless my mileage-book! this saves me time and money." "Why, it's Mr. Wakefield Damon," Mary cried, with something like relief in her tones. "You can ride home in his car, Tom." "All right, Mary. Don't be afraid for me," replied Tom Swift, and ran down the walk to the waiting car. "Bless my vest buttons! Tom Swift, my heart swells when I see you--" "And is like to burst off the said vest buttons?" chuckled the young fellow, stepping in beside his eccentric friend who blessed everything inanimate in his florid speech. "I am delighted to catch you--although, of course," and Tom knew the gentleman's eyes twinkled, "I could have no idea that you were over here at Mary's, Tom." "Of course not," rejoined the young inventor calmly. "Seeing that I only come to see her just as often as I get a chance." "Bless my memory tablets! is that the fact?" chuckled Mr. Damon. "Anyway, I wanted to see you so particularly that I drove over in my car tonight--" "Wait a minute," said Tom, hastily. "Is this important?" "I think so, Tom." "Let me get something else off of my mind first, then, Mr. Damon," Tom Swift said quickly. "Drive around by Ned's house, will you, please? Ned Newton's. After I speak a minute with him I will be at your service. "Surely, Tom; surely," agreed the gentleman. The automobile had been running slowly. Mr. Damon knew the streets of Shopton very well, and he headed around the next corner. As the car turned, a figure bounded out of the shadow near the house line. Two long strides, and the man was on the running board of the car upon the side where Tom Swift sat. Again an ugly club was raised above the young fellow's head. "You're the smart guy!" croaked the coarse voice Tom had heard before. "Think you can bamboozle me, do you? Up with 'em!" "Bless my spark-plug!" gasped Mr. Wakefield Damon. Either from nervousness or intention, he jerked the steering wheel so that the car made a sudden leap away from the curb. The figure of the stranger swayed. Instantly Tom Swift struck the man's arm up higher and from under his own coat appeared something that bulked like a pistol in his right hand. He had intimated to Mary Nestor that he carried something with which to defend himself from highwaymen if he chose to. This invention, his ammonia gun, now came into play. "Bless my failing eyesight!" exclaimed Mr. Damon, as he shot the motor-car ahead again in a straight line. The man who had accosted Tom so fiercely fell off the running board and rolled into the gutter, screaming and choking from the fumes from Tom's gun. "Drive on!" commanded the young inventor. "If he keeps bellowing like that the police will pick him up. I guess he will let us alone here-after." "Bless my short hairs and long ones!" chuckled Mr. Damon. "You are the coolest young fellow, Tom, that I ever saw. That man must have been a highwayman. And it is of some of those gentry that I drove over to Shopton this evening to talk to you about." Chapter IV Much to Think About Although it was now nearing ten o'clock on this eventful evening, Tom knew that he would find Ned Newton at home. When Mr. Damon's car stopped before the house there was a light in Ned's room and the front door opened almost as soon as Tom rang. Mr. Damon left the car and entered with the young inventor at his invitation. "What's up?" was Ned's greeting, looking at the two curiously as he ushered them in. "I see this isn't entirely a social call," and he laughed as he shook the older man's hand. "Bless my particular star!" exclaimed the latter excitedly. "Of all the thrilling adventures that anybody ever got into, it is this Tom Swift who cooks them up! Why, Newton! do you know that we have been held up by a highwayman within two blocks of this very house?" "And that of course was Tom's fault?" suggested Ned, still smiling. "It wouldn't have happened if he had not been with me," said Mr. Damon. "I am curious," said Ned, as they seated themselves. "Who was the footpad? What drew his attention to you two? Tell me about it." "Bless my suspender buckles!" exclaimed Mr. Damon. "You tell him, Tom. I don't understand it myself, yet." "I think I can explain. But whatever I tell you both, you must hold in secret. Father and I have been entrusted with some private information tonight and I am going to take you, Ned, and Mr. Damon, into the business in a confidential way." "Let's have it," begged Newton. "Anything to do with the works?" "It is," answered Tom gravely. "We are going to take up a proposition that promises big things for the Swift Construction Company." "A big thing financially?" "I'll say so. And it looks as though we were mixing into a conspiracy that may breed trouble in more ways than one." Tom went on to sketch briefly the situation of the Hendrickton & Pas Alos Railroad as brought to the attention of the Swifts by the railroad's president. First of all his two listeners were deeply interested in the proposition Mr. Richard Bartholomew had made the inventors. Ned Newton jotted down briefly the agreement to be incorporated in the contract to be drawn and signed, by the Swift Construction Company and the president of the H. & P. A. road. "This looks like a big thing for the company, Tom," the young manager said with enthusiasm, while Mr. Damon listened to it all with mouth and eyes open. "Bless my watch-charm!" murmured the latter. "An electric locomotive that can travel two miles a minute? Whew!" "Sounds like a big order, Tom," added Ned, seriously. "It is a big order. I am not at all sure it can be done," agreed Tom, thoughtfully. "But under the terms Mr. Bartholomew offers it is worth trying, don't you think?" "That twenty-five thousand dollars is as good as yours anyway," declared his chum with finality. "I'll see there is no loophole in the contract and the money must be placed in escrow so that there can be no possibility of our losing that. The promise of a hundred thousand dollars must be made binding as well." "I know you will look out for those details, Ned," Tom said with a wave of his hand. "That is what I am here for," agreed the financial manager. "Now, what else? I fancy the building of such a locomotive looks feasible to you and your father or you would not go into it." "But two miles a minute!" murmured Mr. Damon again. "Bless my prize pumpkins!" "The idea of speed enters into it, yes," said Tom thoughtfully. "In fact electric motor power has always been based on speed, and on cheapness of moving all kinds of traffic. "Look here!" he exclaimed earnestly, "what do you suppose the first people to dabble in electrically driven vehicles were aiming at? The motor-car? The motor boat? Trolley cars? All those single motor sort of things? Not much they weren't!" "Bless my glove buttons!" exclaimed Mr. Damon, dragging off his gauntlets as he spoke. "I don't get you at all, Tom! What do you mean?" "I mean to say that the first experiments in the use of electricity as a motive power were along the electrification of the steam locomotive. Everybody realized that if a motor could be built powerful enough and speedy enough to drag a heavy freight or passenger train over the ordinary railroad right of way, the cost of railroad operation would be enormously decreased. "Coal costs money--heaps of money now. Oil costs even more. But even with a third-rail patent, a locomotive successfully built to do the work of the great Moguls and mountain climbers of the last two decades, and electrically driven, will make a great difference on the credit side of any railroad's books." "Right-o!" exclaimed Ned. "I can see that." "That was the object of the first experiments in electric motive power," repeated Tom. "And it continues to be the big problem in electricity. The Jandel locomotive is undoubtedly the last word so far as the construction of an electric locomotive is concerned. But it falls down in speed and power. I thought so myself when I saw that locomotive and looked over the results of its work. And this Mr. Bartholomew has assured father and me this evening that it is a fact. "It has a record of a mile a minute on a level or easy grade; but it can't show goods when climbing a real hill. It slows up both freight and passenger traffic on the Hendrickton & Pas Alos road. That range of hills is too much for it. "So the Swift Construction Company is going to step in," concluded the young inventor eagerly. "I believe we can do it. I've the nucleus of an idea in my head. I never had a problem put up to me, Ned and Mr. Damon, that interested me more. So why shouldn't I go at it? Besides, I have dad to advise me." "That's right," agreed Ned. "Why shouldn't you? And with such a contract as you have been offered--" "Bless my bootsoles!" ejaculated Mr. Damon, getting up and tramping about the room in his excitement. "I thought the trolley cars that run between Shopton and Waterfield were about the fastest things on rails." "Not much. The trolley car is a narrow and prescribed manner of using electricity for motive power. The motor runs but one car--or one and a trailer, at most," said Tom. "As I have pointed out, the problem is to build a machine that will transmit power enough to draw the enormous weight of a loaded freight train, and that over steep grades. "A motor for each car is a costly matter. That is why trolley car companies, no matter how many passengers their cars carry, are so often on the verge of financial disaster. The margin of profit is too narrow. "But if you can get a locomotive built that will drag a hundred cars! Ah! how does that sound?" demanded Tom. "See the difference?" "Bless my volts and amperes!" exclaimed Mr. Damon. "I should say I do! Why, Tom, you make the problem as plain as plain can be." "In theory," supplemented Ned Newton, although he meant to suggest no doubt of his chum's ability to solve almost any problem. "You've hit it," said Tom promptly. "I only have a theory so far regarding such a locomotive. But to the inventor the theory always must come first. You understand that, Ned?" "I not only appreciate that fact," said his chum warmly; "but I believe that you are the fellow to show something definite along the line of an improved electric locomotive. But, whether you can reach the high mark set by the president of that railroad--" "Two miles a minute!" breathed Mr. Damon in agreement. "Bless my wind-gauge! It doesn't seem possible!" Tom Swift shrugged his shoulders. "It is the impossible that inventors have to overcome. If we experimenters believed in the impossible little would be done in this world, to advance mechanical science at least. Every invention was impossible until the chap who put it through built his first working model." "That's understood, old boy," said Ned, already busily scratching off the form of the contract he proposed to show the company's legal advisers early in the morning. When he had read over the notes he had made Tom O.K.'d them. "That is about as I had the items set down myself on the sheet that fellow stole from me." "Wait!" exclaimed Ned, as Tom arose from his chair. "Do you know what strikes me after your telling me about your second hold-up?" "What's that?" asked his chum. "Are you sure that was the same fellow who stole your wallet?" "Quite sure." "Then his second attack on you proves that he got wise to the fact that your notes were in shorthand. He had a chance to study them while you visited with Mary Nestor." "Like enough." "I wonder if it doesn't prove that the fellow has somebody in cahoots with him right here in Shopton?" ruminated Ned. "Bless my spare tire!" ejaculated Mr. Damon, who had already started for the door but now turned back. "That's an idea, Ned," agreed Tom Swift. "It would seem that he had consulted with some superior," said the young manager of the Swift Construction Company. "This hold-up man may be from the West; but perhaps he did not follow Bartholomew alone." "I'd like to know who the other fellow is," said Tom thoughtfully. "I would know the man who attacked me, both by his bulk and his voice. "Me, too," put in Mr. Damon. "Bless my indicator! I'd know the scoundrel if I met him again." "The thing to do," said Ned Newton confidently, "is to identify the man who robbed you tonight as soon as possible and then, if he hangs around Shopton, to mark well anybody he associates with." "Perhaps they will not bother me any more," said Tom, rather carelessly. "And perhaps they will," grumbled Mr. Damon. "Bless my self-starter! they may try something mean again this very night. Come on, Tom. I want to run you home. And on the way, I tell you, I've got something to put up to you myself. It may not promise a small fortune like this electric locomotive business; but bless my barbed wire fence! my trouble has more than a little to do with footpads, too." He led the way out of the house and to the motor car again. In a minute he had started his engine, and Tom, jumping in beside him, was borne away toward his own home. Chapter V Barbed Wire Entanglements "This gets us to your particular trouble, Mr. Damon," Tom Swift said, while the motor car was rolling along. "You intimated that you had something to consult me about." "Bless my windshield! I should say I had," exclaimed the eccentric gentleman, swinging around a corner at rather a fast clip. "And has it to do with highwaymen?" asked Tom, much amused. "Some of the same gentry, Tom," declared Mr. Damon. "I haven't any peace of my life, I really haven't!" "Who is troubling you, sir?" "Why, what nonsense that is, to ask that!" ejaculated the gentleman. "If I knew who they were I wouldn't ask odds of anybody. I'd go after them. As it is, I've left my servant with a gun loaded with rock-salt watching for them now." "Burglars?" exclaimed Tom, with real interest. "Chicken-house burglars! That's the kind of burglars they are," growled Mr. Damon. "Two or three times they have tried to get my prize buff Orpingtons. Last night they got me out of bed twice fooling around the chicken house and yard. Other neighbors have lost their hens already. I don't mean to lose mine. Want you to help me, Tom." "Is that all that is worrying you, Mr. Damon?" laughed the young fellow. "Bless my radiator! isn't that enough?" "I know you set your clock by those buff Orpingtons," agreed Tom. "That's right. That ten-months cockerel, Blue Ribbon Junior, never fails to crow at three-thirty-three to the minute. Bless my combs and spurs; a wonderful bird!" "But let's see how I can help you regarding the chicken thieves," Tom said, as they sighted the lights of the Swift house beyond the long stockade fence that surrounded the Construction Company's premises. "You know I have a barbed wire entanglement around the whole yard and hen-house. I don't take any more chances than I can help. Those prize buff Orpingtons are a great temptation to chicken lovers--both blond and brunette," and in spite of his anxiety, Mr. Damon could chuckle at his own joke. "Even your old Eradicate's friend fell for chickens, you know." "And Rad promptly cured him of the disease," laughed Tom. "And I'm trying to cure these others. I've charged my shotgun with rock-salt--as he did. My servant has orders to shoot anybody who tampers with my chicken house tonight. "But bless my shirt!" exclaimed Mr. Damon, "I'll never be able to sleep comfortably until I know that no thief can get at my buff Orpingtons. I want you to fix it so I can sleep in peace, Tom." He slowed to a stop in front of the Swift's door. Tom stared at his eccentric friend questioningly. "Bless my gaiters!" ejaculated Mr. Damon, "don't you see what I want? And your head already full of this electrified locomotive you are going to build?" "Hush!" murmured Tom, with his hand upon his companion's arm. "But what do you want me to do?" "I want you to fix it so that I can turn a current of electricity into that barbed wire chicken fence at night that will shock any thief that touches the wires. Not kill 'em--though they ought to be killed!" declared the eccentric man. "But shock 'em aplenty. Can't you do it for me, Tom Swift?" "Of course it can be done," said the young fellow. "You use electricity in your house. There is a feed cable in the street. We will have to change your lighting switch for another. Fix it with the Electric Supply Company. It will cost you more--" "Bless my pocketbook! I don't care how much it costs. It will be ample satisfaction to see just one low-down chicken thief squirming on those wires." Tom laughed again. He meant to help his friend; but he did not propose to rig the wires so that anybody, even a chicken thief, would be seriously injured by the electric current passing through the strands. "I'll come down to Waterfield tomorrow in the electric runabout and fix things up for you. Get a permit from the Electric Supply Company early in the morning. Tell them I will rig the thing myself. They can send their inspector afterward." "That's fine, Tom! What--Ugh! what's this? Another footpad?" Out of the darkness beside the fence a bulky figure started. For a moment Tom thought it was the same man who had attacked him twice. Then the very size of this new assailant proved that suspicion to be unfounded. "Koku!" exclaimed Tom. "What's the matter with you, Koku?" The huge and only half-tamed giant gained the side of the car in seemingly a single stride. In the dark they could not see his face, but his voice distinctly showed excitement. "Master come good. 'Cause there be enemy. Koku find--Koku kill!" "Bless my magnifying glass!" ejaculated Mr. Damon. "That fellow is the most bloodthirsty individual that I ever saw." "All in his bringing up," chuckled Tom who knew, as the saying is, that Koku's bark was a deal worse than his bite. "Killing and maiming his enemies used to be Koku's principal job. But he has his orders now. He doesn't kill anybody without consulting me first." "Bless my buttons!" murmured Mr. Damon. "That is certainly a good thing too. What's the matter with him now?" That is exactly what Tom himself wanted to know. He had dropped a hand upon the arm of the giant as he stood beside the car. "Who is the enemy, Koku?" he asked. "Not know, Master. See him footmarks. Follow him footmarks. Not find. When do find--kill!" "That is, after first obtaining my permission," said Tom dryly. "It is so," agreed the imperturbable Koku. "See! Show Master footmarks. Him look in at window. See! Koku have got the wonder lamp." He flashed the electric torch in his hand. He left the car and strode into the yard. Tom followed him, and Mr. Damon's curiosity brought him along. The giant pointed the ray of the flashlight at the ground below the porch. Several footprints--the marks of boots at least number twelve in size--were imbedded in the soil. Koku went around the house to the other side, following repeated marks of the same boots. "How came you to find them, Koku?" asked Tom softly. "Me look. All around stockade," and he waved a generous gesture with his free hand including the fence about the works. "Enemy may come. Anytime he come. Now he come." "Bless my slippery shoes!" exclaimed Mr. Damon, who had hard work to keep up both physically and mentally with the giant. "What does he mean?" "Koku has always had it in his head," explained Tom, "that we built that fence about the works to keep out enemies. And, to tell the truth, we did! But all that is over--" "Is it?" asked Mr. Damon pointedly. "Enemy here," added Koku, flashing the lamplight upon the footprints on the ground. "Those bootmarks," added Mr. Damon, "are doubtless those of that fellow who jumped upon the running board of the car." "Humph! And who robbed me of my wallet," added Tom musingly. "Well, it might be. And, if so, Koku is right. The enemy has come." "Me kill!" exclaimed the giant, stretching himself to his full height. "We'll consider the killing later," said Tom, who well knew his influence with this big fellow. "You are forbidden to kill anybody, or chase anybody away from here, until I have a talk with them. Enemy or not--understand?" "Me understand," said Koku in his deep voice. "Master say--me do." "Just the same," Tom said, aside to Mr. Damon, "there has been somebody around here. I guess Mr. Bartholomew was right. He is being spied upon. And now that we Swifts are going to try to do something for him, we are likely to be spied upon too." "Bless my statue of Nathan Hale!" murmured the eccentric gentleman. "I believe you. And you've been already attacked twice by some thug! You are positively in danger, Tom." "I don't know about that. Save that the fellow who robbed me was sore because I fooled him. Naturally he might like to get square about those shorthand notes. He knows no more now about Mr. Bartholomew's business with us than he did before he held me up." "That is a fact," agreed Mr. Damon. "And that brings me to another warning, Mr. Damon," added Tom earnestly, as his friend climbed into the motor car again. "Keep all that has happened, and all that I told you and Ned about the H. & P. A. railroad, to yourself." "Surely! Surely!" "If Mr. Bartholomew's rivals continue to keep their spies hanging around the works here, we'll handle them properly. Trust Koku for that," and Tom chuckled. "And don't forget my barbed wire entanglements," put in Mr. Damon, starting his engine. "I want to fix those chicken thieves.'' "All right. I'll be over tomorrow," promised Tom Swift. Then he stood a minute on the curb and looked after the disappearing lights of Mr. Damon's car. The latter's problem dovetailed, after all, into this discovery of possible marauders lurking about the Swift premises. Koku had made no mistake in bringing his attention to the matter of the footprints. Tom had seen somebody dodging into the darkness outside the house when he had come out on his way to visit Mary Nestor. "And sure as taxes," muttered Tom, as he finally turned toward the front door again, "the fellow who twice attacked me this evening wore the boots the prints of which Koku found. "Those fellows, whoever they are, whether Montagne Lewis and his associates, or not, have bitten off several mouthfuls that they may be unable to chew. Anyhow, before they get through they may learn something about the Swifts that they never knew before." Chapter VI The Contract Signed Tom Swift went to bed that night without the least fear that the man who had twice attacked him in the streets of Shopton would be able to trouble him unless he went abroad again. Koku was on guard. The giant whom Tom had brought home from one of his distant wanderings was wholly devoted to his master. Koku never had, and he never would, become entirely civilized. He was naturally a born tracker of men. For generations his people had lived amid the alarms of threat and attack. He could not be made to understand how so many "tribes," as he called them, of civilized men could live in anything like harmony. That somebody should prowl about the Swift house at night with a desire to rob his young master or injure him, did not surprise Koku in the least. He accepted the fact of the marauder's presence as quite the expected thing. But the man who had robbed Tom and later tried to repay him for playing what appeared to be a practical joke on the robber, did not trouble the Swift premises with his presence before morning. Koku, thrusting Eradicate Sampson aside and striding to his bedroom to report this fact, was what awoke Tom at eight o'clock. "Hey! What you want, tromping in here for, man?" demanded old Rad angrily. "An' totin' that spear, too. Where you t'ink yo' is? In de jungle again? Go 'way, chile!" Both Rad and Koku were rapidly outliving the sudden friendship of Rad's sick days, when it was thought he might be blind for life, and were dropping back into their old ways of bickering and rivalry for Tom's attention. "I report to the Master," declared the giant, in his deep voice. "You tell me, I tell him," Rad said pompously. "No need yo' 'sturbing Massa Tom at dis hour." "Koku go in!" declared the giant sternly. "Jes' stay out dere on de stair an' res' yo'self," said Rad. Koku lost his temper with old Rad. There was a feud between them, although deep in their hearts they really were fond of each other. But the two were jealous of each other's services to young Tom Swift. Suddenly Tom heard the old negro utter a frightened squeal. The door which had been only ajar, burst inward and banged against the door-stop with a mighty smash. Rad went through the big bedroom like a chocolate-colored streak, entered Tom's bathroom, and the next moment there was the sound of crashing glass as Eradicate Sampson went through the lower sash of the window, headfirst, out upon the roof of the porch! "What do you mean by this?" shouted Tom, sitting up in bed. Koku paused in the doorway, bulking almost to the top of the door. His right arm was drawn back, displaying his mighty biceps, and he poised a ten foot spear with a copper head that he had seized from a nest of such implements which was a decoration of the lower hall. Had the giant ever flung that spear at poor Rad's back, half the length of the staff might have passed through his body. Little wonder that the colored man, having roused the giant's rage to such a pitch, had given small consideration to the order of his going, but had gone at once! "You want to scare Rad out of half a year's growth?" Tom pursued sternly, slipping out of bed and reaching for his robe and slippers. "And he's broken that window to smithereens." "Koku come make report, Master," said the giant. "You go put that spear back where you found it and come up properly," commanded the young fellow, with difficulty hiding his amusement. "Go on now!" He shuffled into the bathroom while the giant disappeared. He peered out of the broken window. It was a wonder Rad had not carried the sash with him! The broken glass was scattered all about the roof of the porch and the old colored man lay groaning there. "What did you do this for, Eradicate?" demanded Tom. "You act worse than a ten-year-old boy." "I's done killed, Massa Tom!" groaned Rad with confidence. "I's blood from haid to foot!" There was a scratch on his bald crown from which a few drops of blood flowed. But with all his terror, Eradicate had put both arms over his head when he made his dive through the window, and he really was very little injured. "Come in here," repeated Tom. "Fix something over this broken window so that I can take my bath. And then go and put something on that scratch. Don't you know better yet, than to cross Koku when he is excited?" "Dat crazy ol' cannibal!" spat out Rad viciously. "I'll fix him yet. I'll pizen his rations, dat's what I'll do." "You wouldn't be so bad as that, Rad!" "Well, mebbe not," said the colored man, crawling in through the bathroom window. "It would take too much pizen, anyway, to kill that giant. Take as much as dey has to give an el'phant to kill it. Anyways, I's bound to fix him proper some time, yet." These quarrels between Eradicate and Koku were intermittent. They almost always arose, too, because of the desire of the two servants to wait upon Tom or his father. They were very jealous of each other, and their clashes afforded Tom and his friends a good deal of amusement. While the young inventor was in his bath the giant strode back into the bedroom, out of which Rad had scurried by another door, and proceeded to report the result of his night watch about the premises. He had not much to tell. In fact, after Tom had gone into the house Koku had seen nobody lurking about at all. The fact remained that, earlier in the evening, somebody had made a close surveillance of the Swift house, but the mysterious marauder had not come back. "All right, Koku. Keep your eyes open. I expect that enemy may return sometime. Too bad," he added to himself, "that I didn't get a better look at him." "Koku know him next time," declared the giant. "Why! you didn't even see him this time," cried Tom. "See him boots. See marks him boots make. Know him boots. Waugh!" "'Waugh!' yourself," returned Tom, shaking his head. "You are altogether too sure, Koku. You couldn't tell a man from his bootprints in the mud." "Koku know," said the giant, just as confidently. "Wait. Him catch--see--show Master." "Don't you go to grabbing every stranger who comes around the house or the works for a spy, and make me trouble. Remember now." Koku nodded gravely and went away. When he met Rad suddenly in the hall with Mr. Swift's breakfast tray, the giant said "boo!" and almost cost the old colored man the loss of the tray. "Dat big el'phant ought to be livin' in a barn," declared Rad. "Look at dat spear he come near runnin' me t'rough wid! If he had, yo' could ha' driv a tipcart full o' rubbish in after it. Lawsy me!" But an hour later when Tom and his father started for the offices of the Swift Construction Company down the street, Rad and Koku were sitting before an enormous breakfast in the back kitchen and chatting together as companionably as ever. The old inventor and his son arrived at the offices of the Swift Construction Company not long ahead of Mr. Richard Bartholomew. Tom had merely found time to read over the contract that had been jointly prepared by Ned Newton and the firm's legal advisers, before the railroad man came. "No getting out of the provisions of that paper, Tom," Ned had whispered, when he saw Mr. Bartholomew coming into the outer office. "Is this your man?" "Yes." "A sharp looking little fellow," commented Ned. "But even if he were bent on tricking us, this contract would hold him. He is solvent and so is his road--as yet. If it has a bad name in the market that is more because of slander by the Montagne Lewis crowd than from any real cause. I've found that out this morning." "Faithful Nero!" chuckled Tom. "Aren't going to let the Swifts get done, are you?" "Not if I can help it," declared Ned Newton emphatically. A clerk brought Mr. Bartholomew into the private office and he was introduced to Newton. If he considered the financial manager of the Swift Construction Company very young for his responsible position, after he had read the contract he felt considerable respect for Ned Newton. "You've got me here, young man, hard and fast," Mr. Bartholomew said. "If I was inclined to want to wriggle out, I see no chance of it. But I don't. You have set forth here exactly my meaning and intent. I want your best efforts in this matter, Mr. Swift, and if you give them to me I'll foot the bill as agreed." "You've got me interested, I confess," said Tom. "By the way, were your friends following you when you came here this morning?" "My friends?" repeated Mr. Bartholomew, for a moment puzzled. "The spy that you mentioned," said Tom, smiling. "That Andy O'Malley?" exclaimed Bartholomew. "Haven't spotted him today." "He spotted me last night," said Tom grimly, and proceeded to relate what had happened. "You fooled 'em that time, young man!" exclaimed the railroad president, with satisfaction. "I am convinced that Montagne Lewis is behind it. Look out for these fellows when you get to work, Mr. Swift. They will stop at nothing. I tell you that the fight is on between the Hendrickton & Pas Alos and the Hendrickton & Western. I have either got to break them or they will break me." "You seem very sure that there is a conspiracy against you, Mr. Bartholomew," said the senior Swift reflectively. "I am sure," was the reply. "And I am likewise sure that this scheme of electrification of my road through the Pas Alos Range is the only salvation for my railroad." "I should call it a big contract," Ned Newton said, thoughtfully. "You have said it! But it is not a visionary scheme I have in mind. You must know--you Swifts--how successful such an electrification through the Rockies has been made by the Chicago, Milwaukee & St. Paul Railway." "I've looked that up," confessed Tom, with enthusiasm. "That was a great piece of work." "It is. It is. But I hope for even a greater outcome of your experiments, Mr. Swift. Of course, I do not expect to compete with that great road. They had millions to spend, and they spent them. Those Baldwin-Westinghouse locomotives the Chicago, Milwaukee & St. Paul built in nineteen hundred and nineteen are wonderful machines. They have got forty-two freight locomotives, fifteen passenger locomotives and four switchers of that new type. "The Jandel patent that my road uses is, in some degree, the equal of those Baldwin-Westinghouse locomotives. At least, our machines equal the C., M. & St. P. on our level road. They can reach a mile-a-minute gait. But when it comes to speed and pull on steep grades--Ah! that is where they fail." "You will have to get power in the hills for your stations," suggested Tom, thoughtfully. "I know that. I know where the power is coming from. I gathered those waterfalls in years ago. Lewis and his crowd can't shut me off from them. But I have got to have a speedier and more powerful type of electric locomotive than has ever yet been built to protect the Hendrickton & Pas Alos Railroad from any rivalry. "I am looking to you Swifts to give me that. I am risking this twenty-five thousand dollars upon your succeeding. And I am offering you the hundred thousand dollars bonus for the right to purchase the first successful locomotives that can be built covered by your patents. Is it plain?" "It is eminently satisfactory," said Mr. Swift, quietly. "I will do my very best," agreed Tom, warmly. "There isn't a thing the matter with the agreement," declared Ned Newton, with confidence. "Gentlemen, sign on the dotted line." Five minutes later the twin contracts were in force. One went into the safe of the Swift Construction Company. The other, Mr. Richard Bartholomew bore away with him. Chapter VII The Man with Big Feet The consultation in the private office of the Swift Construction Company after the departure of Mr. Richard Bartholomew between the two Swifts and Ned Newton had more to do with a vision of the future than with mere present finances. "I expect you know just about how you are going to work on this new invention, Tom?" suggested the financial manager, and Tom's chum. "Haven't the first idea," rejoined the young inventor, promptly. "What do you mean?" ejaculated Ned. "You talked just now as though you knew all about electric locomotives." "I know a good deal about those that have been built, both under the Jandel patent and those built for the Chicago, Milwaukee & St. Paul in the great Philadelphia shops. "But when you ask me if I know how I am going to improve on those patents so as to make my locomotive twice as speedy and quite as powerful as those other locomotives--well, I've got to tell you flat that I have not as yet got the first idea." "Humph!" grumbled Ned. "You say it coolly enough." "No use getting all heated up about it," returned his friend. "I have got to consider the situation first. I must look over the field of electrical invention as applied to motive power. I must study things out." "I don't just see myself," Ned Newton remarked thoughtfully, "why there should be such a great need for the electrification of locomotives, anyway. Those great mountain-hogs that draw most of the mountain railroad trains are very powerful, aren't they? And they are speedy." "Locomotives that use coal or oil have been developed about as far as they can be," said Mr. Swift, quietly. "A successful electric locomotive has many advantages over the old-time engine." "What are those advantages?" asked the business manager, quickly. "I confess, I do not understand the matter, Mr. Swift." "For instance," proceeded the old gentleman, "there is the coal question alone. Coal is rising in price. It is bulky. Using electricity as motive power for railroads will do away with fuel trains, tenders, coal handling, water, and all that. Of course, Mr. Bartholomew will generate his electricity from water power--the cheapest power on earth." "Humph! I've got my answer right now," said Ned Newton. "If there is no other good reason, this is sufficient." "There are plenty of others," drawled Tom, smiling. "Good ones. For instance, heat or cold has nothing to do with the even running of an electric locomotive. It can bore right through a snowbank--a thing a steam engine can't do. It runs at an even speed. Really, grade should have nothing to do with its speed. There is a fault somewhere in the construction of the Jandel machine or the H. & P. A. would have little trouble with those locomotives on its grades. "Then, all you have to do to start an electrified locomotive is to turn a handswitch. No stoking or water-boiling. Does away with the fireboy. One man runs it!" "Why!" cried Ned, "I never stopped to think of all these things." "No ashes to dump," went on Tom. "No flues to clean, no boilers to inspect, and none to wear out. And they say that on the Chicago, Milwaukee & St. Paul, at least, their freight locomotives handle twice the load of a steam locomotive at a greatly reduced cost." "Sounds fine. Don't wonder Mr. Bartholomew is eager to electrify his entire tine." "On the side of passenger traffic," continued Tom Swift, "the electric locomotive is smokeless, noiseless, dirtless, and doesn't jerk the coaches in either stopping or starting. And in addition, the electric locomotive is much easier on track and roadbed than the old 'iron horse' driven by steam generated either from coal or oil." "It is a great field for your talents, Tom!" cried Ned, warmly. "It is a big job," admitted Tom, and he said this with modesty. "I don't know what I may be able to do--if anything. I would not feel right in taking Mr. Bartholomew's twenty-five thousand dollars for nothing." "Quite right, my boy," said Mr. Swift, approvingly. "Never mind that," said the financial manager, rather grimly. "It was his own offer and his risk. That twenty-five thousand comes to our account." Tom laughed. "All business, Ned, aren't you? But there is more than business for the Swift Construction Company in this. Our reputation for fair dealing as well as for inventive powers is linked up with this contract. "I want to show the Jandel people--to say nothing of the bigger firms--that the Swifts are to be reckoned with when it comes to electric invention. Other roads will be electrifying their lines as fast as it is proved that the electric-driven locomotive has the bulge on the steam-driven. "In the case of the Hendrickton & Pas Alos there are very steep grades to overcome. Supposedly an electric motor-drive should achieve the same speed on a hill as on the level. But there is the weight of the train to be counted on. "The H. & P. A. has a two per cent. grade in more than one place. Mr. Bartholomew confessed as much to me last night. The electric-driven locomotive of the powerful freight type, which the Jandel people built for Mr. Bartholomew, can make about sixteen miles an hour on those grades, although they can hit it up to thirty miles an hour on level track. "His passenger locomotives turn off a mile a minute and more, on the level road; but they can not climb those steep grades at a much livelier pace than the freight engines. That is why he is talking about two-mile-a-minute locomotives. He must get a mighty speedy locomotive, for both freight and passenger service, to keep ahead of Montagne Lewis's rival road, the Hendrickton & Western." "You don't suppose it can be done, do you?" demanded Ned. "The two-mile-a-minute locomotive, I mean, Tom." "That is the target I am to aim for," returned his friend, soberly. "At any rate, I hope to improve on the type of locomotive Mr. Bartholomew is now using, so that the hundred thousand dollars bonus will come our way as well as this first twenty-five thousand." "That wouldn't pay for one engine, would it?" cried Ned. "Nor is it expected to. The bonus has nothing to do with payment for any model, or patent, or anything of the kind. To tell you the truth, Ned, I understand those big locomotives used by the Chicago, Milwaukee & St. Paul cost them about one hundred and twelve thousand dollars each." "Whew! Some price, I'll tell the world!" murmured the youthful financial manager of the Swift Construction Company. When the conference was over, and Tom had been through the workshop to overlook several little jobs that were in process of completion by his trusted mechanics, it was lunch time. He left word that he would not be back that day, for this new task he was to attack was not to be approached with any haphazard thought. Tom knew quite as well as his father knew that the idea of improving the Jandel patent on electric locomotives was no small thing. The Jandel people had claimed that their patent was the very last word in electric motor-power. And Tom was quite willing to acknowledge that in some ways this claim was true. But in invention, especially in the field of electric invention, what is the last word today may be ancient history tomorrow. It was because this field is so broad and the possibility of improvement in every branch of electrical science so exciting, that Tom had accepted Mr. Bartholomew's challenge with such eagerness. Tom went back to the house for lunch, and as he joined his father in the dining room he remarked to Eradicate: "I want the electric runabout brought around after lunch. I am going to Waterfield. Tell Koku, will you, Rad?" "Tell that crazy fellow?" demanded the old colored man heatedly. "Why should I tell him, Massa Tom? Ain't I able to bring dat runabout out o' de garbarge? Shore I is!" "You can't do everything, Rad," said Tom, soberly. "That is humanly impossible." "But dat Koku can't do nothin' right. Dat's inhumanly possible, Massa Tom." "Give him a chance, Rad. I have to take Koku with me this afternoon. You must give your attention to the house and to father." "Huh! Umm!" grunted Eradicate. Rad was jealous of anybody who waited on Tom besides himself. Yet he was proud of responsibility, too. He teetered between the pride of being in charge at home and accompanying his young master, and finally replied: "Well, in course, you ain't going to be gone long, Massa Tom. And yo' father does like to get his nap undisturbed. And he'll want his pot o' tea afterwards. So I'll let dat irresponsible Koku go wid yo'. But yo' got to watch him, Massa Tom. Dat giant don't know what he's about half de time." As Koku was not within hearing to challenge that statement, things went all right. When Tom came out of the house after eating, he found his very fast car waiting for him, with the giant standing beside it at the curb. "Get in at the back, Koku," said Tom. "I am going to take you with me." "Master is much wise," said Koku. "That man with big feet will not hurt Master while Koku is with him." To tell the truth Tom had quite forgotten the supposed spy that had attacked him the night before. He needed Koku for a purpose other than that of bodyguard. But he made no comment upon the giant's remark. They stopped at one of the gates of the works, and Tom instructed Koku to bring out and put into the car certain boxes and tools that he wished to take with him. Then he drove on, taking the road to Waterfield. This way led through farmlands and patches of woods, a rough country in part. A mile out of the limits of Shopton the road edged a deep valley, the sidehill sparsely wooded. Almost at once, and where there was not a dwelling in sight, they saw a figure tramping in the road ahead, a big man, roughly dressed, and wearing a broad-brimmed hat. Somehow, his appearance made Tom reduce speed and he hesitated to pass the pedestrian. The man did not hear the runabout at first; or, at least, he did not look over his shoulder. He strode on heavily, but rapidly. Suddenly the young inventor heard the giant behind him emit a hissing breath. "Master!" whispered the giant. "What's up now?" demanded Tom, but without glancing around. "The big feet!" exclaimed Koku. The giant's own feet were shod with difficulty in civilized footgear, but compared with his other physical dimensions his feet did not seem large. The man ahead wore coarse boots which actually looked too big for him! Koku started up in the back of the car as the latter drew nearer to the stranger. The man looked back at last and Tom gained a clear view of his features--roughly carved, dark as an Indian's, and holding a grim expression in repose that of itself was far from breeding confidence. In a moment, too, the expression changed into one of active emotion. The man glared at the young inventor with unmistakable malevolence. "Master!" hissed Koku again. "The big feet!" The fellow must have seen Koku's face and understood the giant's expression. In a flash he turned and leaped out of the roadway. The sidehill was steep and broken here, but he went down the slope in great strides and with every appearance of wishing to evade the two in the motor-car. The giant's savage war cry followed the fugitive. Koku leaped from the moving car. Tom yelled: "Stop it, Koku! You don't know that that is the man." "The big feet!" repeated the giant. "Master see the red mud dried on Big Feet's boots? That mud from Master's garden." Again Koku uttered his savage cry, and in strides twice the length of those of the running man, started on the latter's trail. Chapter VIII An Enemy in the Dark The situation offered suggestions of trouble that stung Tom to immediate action. The impetuousness of his giant often resulted in difficulties which the young inventor would have been glad to escape. Now Koku was following just the wrong path. Tom Swift knew it. "Koku, you madman!" he shouted after the huge native. "Come back here! Hear me? Back!" Koku hesitated. He shot a wondering look over his shoulder, but his long legs continued to carry him down the slope after the dark-faced stranger. "Come back, I say!" shouted Tom again. "Have I got to come after you? Koku! If you don't mind what you're told I'll send you back to your own country and you'll have to eat snakes and lizards, as you used to. Come here!" Whether it was because of this threat of a change of diet, which Koku now abhorred, or the fact that he had really become somewhat disciplined and that he fairly worshiped Tom, the giant stopped. The man with the big shoes disappeared behind a hedge of low trees. "Get back up here!" ejaculated Tom sternly. "I'll never take you away from the house with me again if you don't obey me." "Master!" ejaculated the giant, slowly approaching. "That Big Feet--" "I don't care if he made those footprints in the yard last night or not. I don't want him touched. I didn't even want him to know that we guessed he had been sneaking about the house. Understand?" "Of a courseness," grumbled Koku. "Koku understand everything Master say." "Well, you don't act as though you did. Next time when I want any help I may have to bring Rad with me." "Oh, no, Master! Not that old man. He don't know how to help Master. Koku do just what Master say." "Like fun you do," said Tom, still apparently very angry with the simple-minded giant. "Get back into the car and sit still, if you can, until we get to Mr. Damon's house." Then to himself he added: "I don't blame that fellow, whoever he is, for lighting out. I bet he's running yet!" He knew that Koku would say nothing regarding the incident. The giant had wonderful powers of silence! He sometimes went days without speaking even to Rad. And that was one of the sources of irritation between the voluble colored man and the giant. "'Tain't human," Rad often said, "for nobody to say nothin' as much as dat Koku does. Why, lawsy me! if he was tongue-tied an' speechless, an' a deaf an' dumb mute, he couldn't say nothin' more obstreperously dan he does--no sir! 'Tain't human." So Tom had not to warn the giant not to chatter about meeting the stranger on the road to Waterfield. If that person with dried red mud on his boots was the spy who had followed Mr. Richard Bartholomew East and was engaged by Montagne Lewis to interfere with any attempt the president of the H. & P. A. might make to pull his railroad out of the financial quagmire into which it was rapidly sinking, Tom would have preferred to have the spy not suspect that he had been identified after his fiasco of the previous evening. For if this Western looking fellow was Andy O'Malley, whose name had been mentioned by the railroad man, he was the person who had robbed Tom of his wallet and had afterward attempted reprisal upon the young inventor because the robbery had resulted in no gain to the robber. Of course, the fellow had been unable to read Tom's shorthand notes of the agreement that he had discussed with Mr. Bartholomew. Just what the nature of that agreement was, would be a matter of interest to the spy's employer. Having failed in this attempt to learn something which was not his business, the spy might make other and more serious attempts to learn the particulars of the agreement between the railroad president and the Swifts. Tom was sorry that the fellow had now been forewarned that his identity as the spy and footpad was known to Tom and his friends. Koku had made a bad mess of it. But Tom determined to say nothing to his father regarding the discovery he had made. He did not want to worry Mr. Swift. He meant, however, to redouble precautions at the Swift Construction Company against any stranger getting past the stockade gates. Arrived at Mr. Damon's home in Waterfield, Tom got quickly to work on the little job he had come to do for his old friend. Of course, Tom might have sent two of his mechanics from the works down here to electrify the barbed wire entanglements that Mr. Damon had erected around his chicken run. But the young inventor knew that his eccentric friend would not consider the job done right unless Tom attended to it personally. "Bless my cracked corn and ground bone mixture!" ejaculated the chicken fancier. "We'll show these night-prowlers what's what, I guess. One of my neighbors was robbed last night. And I would have been if I hadn't set a watch while I drove over to see you, Tom. Bless my spurs and hackles! but these thieves are getting bold." "We'll fix 'em," said Tom, cheerfully, while Koku brought the tools and wire to the hen run. "After we link up your supply of the current with this wire fence it will be an unhappy chicken burglar who interferes with it." "That was an unhappy fellow who got your charge of ammonia last evening," whispered Mr. Damon. "Heard anything more of him?" "I think I have seen him. But Koku spoiled everything by trying to eat him up," and Tom laughingly related what had occurred on the way from Shopton. "Bless my boots!" said Mr. Damon. "You'd better see the police, Tom." "What for?" "Why, they ought to know about such a fellow lurking about Shopton. If he followed that Western railroad president here--" "We'll hope that he will follow Mr. Bartholomew away again," chuckled Tom. "Mr. Bartholomew won't stay over today. When that chap finds he has gone he probably will consider that there is no use in his bothering me any further." Whether Tom believed this statement or not, he was destined to realize his mistake within a very short time. At least, the fact that he was being spied upon and that the enemy meant him anything but good, seemed proved beyond a doubt that very week. Having done the little job for Mr. Damon, Tom allowed no other outside matter to take up his attention. He shut himself into his private experimental workshop and laboratory at the works each day. He did not even come out for lunch, letting Rad bring him down some sandwiches and a thermos bottle of cool milk. "The young boss is milling over something new," the men said, and grinned at each other. They were proud of Tom and faithful to his interests. Time was when there had been traitors in the works; but unfaithful hands had been weeded out. There was not a man who drew a pay envelope from the Swift Construction Company who would not have done his best to save Tom and his father trouble. Such a thing as a strike, or labor troubles of any kind, was not thought of there. So Tom knew that whatever he did, or whatever plans he drew, in his private room, he was safely guarded. Yet he always took a portfolio home with him at night, for after dinner he frequently continued his work of the day. Naturally during this first week he did not get far in any problem connected with the proposed electric locomotive. There were, however, rough drafts and certain schedules that had to do with the matter jotted down. It was almost twelve at night. Tom had sat up in his own room after his father had retired, and after the household was still. Eradicate was in bed and snoring under the roof, Tom knew. Just where Koku was, it would have been hard to tell. Although a fine and penetrating rain was falling, the giant might be roaming about the waste land surrounding the stockade of the works. The elements had no terrors for him. Tom locked his portfolio and stepped into his bathroom to wash his hands before retiring. Before he snapped on the electric light over the basin he chanced to glance through the newly set windowpane which had replaced the one Rad had shattered in escaping threatened impalement on Koku's spear. Although the clouds were thick and the rain was falling, there was a certain humid radiance upon the roof of the porch under the bathroom window. At least, the wet roof glistened so that any moving figure on or beyond it was visible. "What's that?" muttered Tom, and he sank down lower than the sill and crept slowly to the window. He merely raised himself until his eyes were on a level with the sill. Coming up over the edge of the porch roof was a bulky figure. It was so dimly outlined at first that Tom could scarcely be sure that it was that of a man. However, it was not possible that any creature but a man would be able to mount the lattice supporting the honeysuckle vines and so creep out upon the porch roof. Once making secure his footing, the enemy in the dark approached directly the bathroom window at which Tom crouched. Chapter IX Where was Koku? Tom reached up swiftly and pushed over the lever that locked the two window sashes. In doing this he set his own patent burglar alarm. If that lever was turned back again, or broken, the buzzers would be set ringing all over the house, and in Koku's room over the garage. He did not believe that the marauder on the roof of the porch could have seen the flash of his shirt-sleeved arm. But he took no chance of being observed from outside by rising to his feet. On his hands and knees he crept away from the window, and out of the bathroom. Once there, he stood up, grabbed the portfolio, and without coat or vest and as he was, dashed out of the bedroom. He had been positive that nobody but himself was astir in the big house, and he was right. He did not punch the light button when he entered the library. He knew where to put his hand upon an electric torch in the table drawer, and he gained possession of this. Then he went to the safe and twirled the knob and watched the indicator find the four numbers which were the "open sesame" to the burglar and fire-proof door. He flung the portfolio into the inner compartment, closed both doors, and twirled the combination-knob. Then Tom tiptoed to the foot of the front stairs to listen. He could hear no sound from above. He did not want his father to be startled, if the enemy did break in; and he knew that old Rad, awakened out of a sound sleep, would be worse than useless at such a time. After all, the giant, Koku, was his main dependence under these circumstances. Tom crept to the outer door, opened it carefully, and slipped out, letting the spring lock click behind him. For the first time he realized that he was in his shirt and trousers and wore only felt slippers on his feet. But he was locked out now. He had no key. He must run the risk of the fine rain and the chill of the night air. He stepped off the end of the porch and ran around the house. It was to the roof of the rear porch that the marauder had climbed. But peer as he might from down in the yard, Tom could see no moving figure up there near the bathroom window. It was pitch dark against the wall of the house. He turned to glance up at the window of the sleeping room over the garage where Koku was supposed to spend the night. But Tom knew the giant was seldom there during the dark hours. He was as much of a night-prowler as a wildcat or an owl. There was no light there in any case. But Koku did not use a light much. He could see in the dark, like a wild animal. Tom did not want to call him. If he must have Koku's help, he would have to climb the stairs to his bedside. The giant always aroused as wide awake as at noonday. But while the young inventor hesitated a sudden, but muffled, snap--the breaking of metal--sounded. Tom knew instantly the direction from which the sound came. Although he could see nothing up there at the bathroom window because of the rain and the deep shadow, he knew that the snapping sound meant the severing of the window lock that he had so recently closed. Some instrument had been forced under the bottom of the lower sash and pressure enough been brought to bear to break the thin steel lever. On the heels of this sound came another. A muffled buzzing somewhere in the house--again! again! And then, startlingly clear from the room over the garage, the burglar alarm went off in Koku's chamber. "It's all off now!" gasped Tom, and he ran to the foot of the honeysuckle ladder up which he knew the enemy had climbed to get to the roof of the porch. "If he comes down I'll have him!" muttered Tom, staring up into the mist and gloom. "Fo' de lawsy's sake! 'Tain't mawnin', is it?" Rad's sleepy voice was heard to announce. "No, it's da'k as--" And the voice trailed off into silence. "Tom! Tom!" the young fellow heard his aroused father shouting. Tom knew that his father was in no danger. In fact Mr. Swift's voice did not even betray apprehension. It was to the garage Tom looked for an explosion. But none came. If Koku was up there the prolonged buzzing of the alarm did not awake him. Therefore he could not be there. Tom realized that if the burglar was to be taken the whole affair fell upon his shoulders. "And I've got my hands full, if it is the fellow with the big feet that we saw on the Waterfield Road the other day," muttered the young inventor. Nothing stirred on the porch roof. Moment after moment slipped by. Tom began to grow more than amazed. He was worried. What would happen next? His father had not cried out again. Stepping around to the end of the roofed porch, Tom saw a light in Mr. Swift's room. Rad had evidently gone to sleep again. It would take more than an intermittent buzzer to rouse fully that colored man. "When old Morpheus has a strangle hold on Rad, Gabriel's trump would scarcely awaken him," Tom muttered. What had become of the enemy? If it was an ordinary burglar he would have feared the electric alarm instantly. The buzzers were still working. But there was no sign of the man who had set them off at the bathroom window. Suddenly Tom heard a door slam. It was from the front of the house. Had his father come downstairs to look around and see what the matter was? The young fellow started around the house on a run. He heard heavy bootsoles spurning the gravel of the path to the front gate. He arrived at the far corner of the house in time to see a man dash through the gateway and run down the street, disappearing finally into the fast-driving rain. "Fooled me! He went in and right through and down the stairs! Out the front door!" gasped Tom. "Did he get anything? I wonder!" He sprang up to the front porch and tried the door. It was locked again, of course. Should he ring the bell and get Rad or his father down to the door? And then, of a sudden, the principal mystery of all this affair bit into Tom Swift's mind. The burglar had made his escape. He could relieve his father's anxiety later. It was his own puzzlement of mind that he first wished to ease. Where was Koku? Even had the giant been circling the stockade around the shops he surely must have come up to the home premises by this time. His keen ears could not fail to hear the buzzers. They were still going and would go until the switch was turned. If the giant was in his room--Tom turned suddenly and started on a run for the rear premises. He still carried the hand-lamp and it lit his way into the garage door and up the narrow stairway. He shot the round beam of the lamp into Koku's room. He had been obliged to have an iron bedstead made to order for the giant. It stood against one wall of the room. The buzzer was snarling like a huge bumblebee above the head of the couch. Below it sprawled the giant, eyes tightly closed and mouth slightly ajar. From the lips of Koku were emitted sounds worthy of Rad Sampson in his deepest slumbers! "Asleep?" gasped Tom, stepping cat-like into the room. And then he was suddenly aware of a sickish, heavy odor in the chamber. The window had been closed. But it was something more than stale air that Tom smelled. A folded cloth lay on the floor beside the couch. The young fellow saw at once that it had been originally placed over the giant's face, but had slid off. And lucky for Koku that it had been dislodged! "Chloroform!" muttered Tom. "He's drugged. It is no wonder he did not hear the burglar alarm." In any event, the incident made one deep impression on Tom's mind. The spies who he believed were working for the Hendrickton & Western Railroad and its owner, Montagne Lewis, were desperate men. Tom could not believe that the fellow with the big feet was alone in Shopton and was unaided in his attempts to find out what Tom was doing. This attempt to burglarize the house betrayed the caliber of the enemy. In chloroforming Koku he had taken the risk of murdering the giant. Only the fact that the pad of saturated cloth had fallen off Koku's face had, perhaps, saved the man from suffocation. Tom did not tell the giant when he aroused what the matter with him was. Koku was ill enough! He was wrenched by interior spasms that seemed almost to tear his huge body to pieces. "What done got into dat big lump o' bone an' grizzle?" demanded Eradicate. "He looks like, he swallowed a volcano, and it just got to wo'kin' right. My lawsy!" "He is a sick man, all right," admitted Tom. "Looks like he wouldn't try to stab me to deaf wid no spear no mo'," went on Rad, inclined to approve of Koku's sufferings. "If he died you'd be mighty sorry, old man," declared Tom, sternly. "Sho' would. Be a mighty hard job to bury him," was the callous response. Just the same, the crotchety old colored man began to hop around in lively fashion with hot water, and later with coffee and other stimulants; and he nursed Koku all day as though he were a big baby. Koku, who had never been ill before in his life, was inclined to lay the trouble to an evil genius of some kind. Perhaps, in spite of his half-civilized state, he was still a devil-worshiper. At any rate, he had a vital respect for the forces of evil. Naturally he considered this unknown and unexpected misery he suffered the result of malignant influences of some kind. Tom did not want him to suspect that the man with the big feet had any possible part in the mystery. Had Koku suspected this, and had he got his hands on the spy, the latter could never have been successfully used in that sort of work again. In all probability he would have said that he had had enough. Meanwhile Tom made a point of considering each step he took alone thereafter with particular care. He had a bodyguard--usually the giant after the latter had recovered--between the works and the house. He did not bring home any more the schedules or drawings connected with the electric locomotive that he proposed to have built and to test inside the stockade of the Swift Construction Company. He even put a private detective to work on the matter of finding a man named Andy O'Malley who might be lurking around Shopton. He had a pretty clear description of the fellow, for he had not only seen him once, face to face by daylight, but Tom had written to the president of the H. & P. A. and had got from that gentleman a clear picture in words of the spy whom Mr. Bartholomew believed was working in the interests of Montagne Lewis. "If O'Malley appears in Shopton, look out. He is a bad character. He is not only a notorious gunman, with several warrants out for him in these parts, but he is a cruel and desperate man in any event. The minute you mark him, have him arrested and telegraph me. We'll get him extradited and put him through for ten years or more right in this county." The private investigator, however, as the weeks went by, could not find any man who filled O'Malley's description. Meanwhile Tom Swift had got what he called "a lead" and was working day and night upon the invention that he believed might make even the Jandel people respectful, if not a bit envious. First of all Tom had arranged to have built all around inside the stockade a track of rails heavy enough to stand the wear and tear of the heaviest locomotive built. Meanwhile the various parts of his locomotive were being built in several shops, but would be shipped to the Swift Construction Company and assembled in Tom's try-out shed. Great secrecy was of course maintained. Aside from the fact that the new invention had something to do with electric motive power, nobody about the shops could say what the new industry portended. Save, of course, the Swifts themselves, Ned Newton, and Mr. Damon, who was the Swifts' closest friend and sometimes had furnished additional capital for Tom's experiments. There was a thing that Mr. Damon furnished Tom at this time that proved in the end to be of much importance. Before Tom had seized upon this idea of his eccentric friend, and had made proper use of it, something happened that came near to wrecking utterly Tom's invention and completely putting an end to Tom himself as an inventor. Chapter X A Strange Conversation Mr. Wakefield Damon frequently came to the shops, for he was not alone very friendly with the Swifts, but he was greatly interested in Tom's new invention. "If it goes as good as what you did for my chicken run," he declared, chuckling, "bless my dampers! you'll beat all the electric locomotives in the market." "That is easy, perhaps," said Tom smiling. "There are not many in the market at the present time. But I don't know what mine will be. This is going to be some job." "Bless my flues and clinkers!" cried Mr. Damon, "you are not losing hope, Tom Swift? Look what you did for my chicken run. And believe me, that entanglement will give a shock that makes a man stand right up and shake." "Have you tried it yourself?" asked Tom. "No. But my servant did. I saw him through the window of my study doing some kind of a shimmy with the shovel. Thought he'd gone crazy. Then I saw what he had done. It was early in the morning and I hadn't turned the current off, and he had put one hand against the wires. When he dropped the shovel as I told him to, bless my plyers and nippers! he was all right." "The current would not seriously hurt him," said Tom. "I was careful about that." "It killed two tomcats," said Mr. Damon. "I certainly was glad of that, for those two ash-barrel cats kept the whole neighborhood awake. Bless my claws and whiskers! how those two cats did use to yell. But when one tried to climb the wires and the other sprang on him, it was all over! That is, all over but the burial party." Mr. Damon was on the ground when the mechanical equipment and a part of the electrical equipment of the new locomotive arrived and was set up in the erection shed. The length of the machine was what first impressed Ned Newton as well as Mr. Damon. "Bless my yardstick!" exclaimed the eccentric man, "it's as long as a gossip's tongue. What a monster it will be!" "How long is it, Tom?" asked Ned Newton. "When completed, and standing on its drivers and bogie truck and trailer truck, from cow-catcher to rear bumper it will be a few inches over ninety feet. And that is slightly longer than the biggest electric locomotive so far built. But length does not so much enter into the value of the machine. I would have it built more compactly if I could." "What is the horsepower?" asked Mr. Damon. "I figure on forty-four hundred horsepower. The power must be received from a three thousand-volt direct-current trolley. There are twelve driving-wheels, as you can see. Each pair of drivers will be driven by a twin-motor geared to the axles through a system of flexible spring drive. Remember, I have got to obtain both speed as well as power in this locomotive, for it is being built to pull a passenger train--a fast cross-continent express--to compete with the best passenger equipment in the country." "Bless my combination ticket!" murmured Mr. Damon. "You have picked out some task, and no mistake, Tom Swift." "He'll do it," cried Ned, with his usual optimism when Tom had once started on any experimental work. "Of course he will. Just as she stands there now, only half put together, I would be willing to bet a farm that she is a better locomotive than the Jandel patent." "Three cheers!" laughed Tom. "Ned is as enthusiastic as usual. But believe me, friends, we are not going to turn out a better locomotive than the Jandel without both thought and work." His friends' enthusiasm was heartening, however. No doubt of that. He never let them into his experiment room, any more than he allowed his workmen in there. Aside from his own father, nobody really knew what Tom Swift was doing behind that always-locked door. The huge structure of the locomotive was set up on the driving wheels and leading and trailing trucks by Tom's chief foreman and a picked crew. Just such another locomotive had never been seen anywhere about Shopton. Naturally the men at work on the monster began to speak of it outside the works. Not that they betrayed any secrets regarding the locomotive. In fact, as yet none of them knew anything about what Tom intended to do with the big machine. But the story soon circulated that Tom Swift, the young inventor, was about to show all the previous builders of electric locomotives how such machines should be built. It was even whispered that Tom's objective was a two-mile-a-minute locomotive. And when this was publicly known the information was not long in seeping to the ears of certain men who had been keeping as close a watch as they dared on the Swift Construction Company and the activities of Tom himself. Ned Newton went to the bank one Friday for money for the payroll of the working and clerical force of the Swift Company. It was an errand he never relegated to any employee. Ned had once worked himself in the bank, and naturally he knew many of its employees as well as the officials. With his back to the general waiting room, he sat at the vice president's desk discussing some minor matter. Only a railing divided the vice president's enclosure from the long settee on which waiting customers of the bank were seated. Ned knew that there were two men directly behind him, whispering together; but he paid no attention to them until he heard this phrase: "It's time to explode in just five hours; then good-night to that invention, whatever it is." This statement might mean almost anything--or nothing. Ordinarily Ned Newton might not have paid any consideration to the words. But "invention" was a term that he could not overlook. His mind then was fixed upon Tom's invention almost as closely as the mind of the young inventor himself. Ned turned around slowly, as though idly, indeed, and tried to see the faces of the two men behind him. One was a small, neatly dressed man of professional appearance. He wore a Vandyke beard and eyeglasses. The other's face Ned could not see; but as they both rose just then and strolled toward the door of the bank he could observe that the fellow was big and burly. Ned wheeled to his friend, the vice president, and asked: "Who are those men, Mr. Stanley? Do you know them?" The pair were just going out through the revolving door. The vice president craned his neck for a look at them. "Don't know the small man, Ned. But the other is named O'Malley, I believe. Somebody introduced him here and he gets a check cashed occasionally. Not a customer of the bank." At that moment the name "O'Malley" did not mean anything to Ned Newton. But he bade his friend good-bye and went out after the two men. They had disappeared. Rad was in the electric runabout, waiting for him. The words spoken by O'Malley (Ned thought it must have been he who spoke of the invention because of his deep voice) continued to disturb Ned's thought. "Rad," he said, as he got into the runabout, "did you ever hear the name O'Malley?" "Sure has," declared the colored man. "And it's a bad name and a bad man owns it." "Do you mean that?" exclaimed the financial manager of the Swift Construction Company, with increasing apprehension. "Who is he?" "Why, Mr. Newton, don't you 'member dat man?" "Who is he?" repeated Ned. "Dat Andy O'Malley is de one what tried to hold up Massa Tom dat time. O'Malley is de man what's been spyin' on Massa Tom--" "Great grief!" exclaimed Ned, breaking in with excitement. "I'll drive as fast as I can, Rad. There is something wrong at the works, I do believe!" "What's wrong, Mr. Ned?" demanded Rad. "We just come from dere, and everyt'ing was all right." "I just heard something that O'Malley said. I want to get back in a hurry. I believe that scoundrel is attempting to blow up Tom's locomotive. We've got to get to the works just as quick as we can." Chapter XI Touch and Go The mechanical equipment of the new locomotive was now complete and Tom was establishing the electrical equipment as rapidly as possible. He not only acted as overseer of this work, but in overalls and jumper he was doing a good share of the work himself. The weight of the electrical equipment when it was finally set up was not far from two hundred thousand pounds. Altogether, when the oil, sand, and water tanks were filled, the great machine would weigh two hundred and eighty-five tons--a monster indeed! "She is going to take a lot of current to run her," said Tom to his father, who was standing by. "When I come to arrange with the Shopton Electric Company for power, it's a question if they can give me all I need. And I must have plenty of current to make sure that my motors fill the bill." "As your tests will be made in the daytime, the company should be able to furnish the power you need," rejoined Mr. Swift. "At night, of course, when they must furnish so much light as well as power, it might be difficult for them to give you the proper current." "Forty-four hundred horsepower is a big demand," went on Tom. "I've got to have at least a three-thousand-volt direct-current to feed my motors. I will soon have to take up the matter with the Electric Company." The heavy work of setting the electrical parts of the locomotive had been finished the day previous, and the track-derrick was removed. Tom was engaged in adjusting the more delicate parts of the equipment and had merely stepped down from the cab to speak to Mr. Swift. Now he climbed back into the interior of the great machine which, in a general way, looked like a box car. An electric locomotive has not much of the appearance of a steam engine. The machinery is all boxed in and the entire floor of the locomotive is above even the drivers. These six pairs of driving wheels were about seventy inches in diameter, while the diameter of the leading and following truck-wheels was but half that number of inches. Mr. Swift had turned away from the locomotive when Tom put his head out of the door again. "Do you hear that, father?" he demanded in a puzzled tone. "Hear what, Tom?" asked the old inventor, looking up. "That ticking sound? I declare, I'd think it was one of those death-watch beetles had got in here. Sounds like a big watch ticking. I can't make it out." "Where is it? What is it?" repeated Mr. Swift. "I hear nothing down here on the floor of the shed." "Well, it gets me," muttered Tom, and disappeared again. In a moment he called out: "Say, you fellows! who left his bundle of overalls in here? Better take 'em out to be manicured. Whose are these?" Two or three of the mechanics working near looked up from their tasks. Mr. Swift turned back to the door of the cab again. "What is the matter now, Tom?" he asked, in added curiosity. "That bundle, Dad." Tom once more appeared and addressed the workmen: "Whose bundle of dirty overalls is this in here? Come and take 'em away. They shouldn't have been left here." "Why, Mr. Tom," said the foreman who was near, "I didn't see any soiled overalls in there when I left last evening. Any of you fellows," he asked the group of hands, "know anything about any overalls?" "The bundle is here all right. Pushed back against the third series motors. Come up here, one of you fellows--" Suddenly there was a noise at the end of the shed where the door to the offices lay. Two figures burst through from the glass doors and charged down the lanes between the lathes and cranes. Ned Newton led, Rad Sampson, his face a mouse-gray with fear, followed. "Massa Tom! Massa Tom!" shouted the colored man. "Look out fo' de bomb! Look out fo' de bomb!" The foreman sprang toward the high door of the locomotive where Tom stood, staring out. The young inventor, quick as his mind usually functioned, did not understand at all what Eradicate meant. "There's something wrong in there, Mr. Tom!" shouted the foreman. "Come down, sir, and let me get up there and see what it is." But Mr. Barton Swift grasped the meaning of what was going on more quickly than anybody else. Tom's father, Tom frequently said, had spent so many years investigating chemical and mechanical mysteries that he saw more clearly and more exactly into and through most problems than other people. His raised voice now cut through the rumble of machinery and all the other noises of the shop. Even Rad Sampson's delirious cry was dwarfed by Mr. Swift's sharp tone: "Tom! The ticking of that watch! That means danger!" The declaration seemed to rip away a curtain from Tom's thoughts. Perhaps Rad's cry about "de bomb" aided the young inventor to understand the peril that threatened. The faint ticking sound that had begun to annoy him during the past few minutes betrayed the nature of the threatening peril. Tom swung back from the open doorway of the locomotive cab, reached in to the space between the motors, and seized the bundle of overall stuff that he had previously spied. He knew instantly that the rapid ticking came from that bundle. It could be nothing but a time bomb. He had heard of such things and, indeed, had seen one before, an infernal machine which, set like an alarm clock, would go off at a certain time. That indicated time might be an hour hence, or might be within a few seconds! Ned Newton, almost at the spot, shouted to Tom when the latter reappeared with the bundle in his hands: "Get down out of that, Tom Swift! Quick! For your life!" But Tom was cool enough now. He saw his father's white, strained face at one side and the young inventor could even smile at him. Behind the foreman was set a barrel of water in which tools were cooled and tempered. "Stoop, McAvoy!" Tom shouted, and tossed the bundle from him. Had the infernal machine exploded in midair Tom would not have been surprised. But McAvoy dodged, Rad clapped his hands over his ears, and, even Ned Newton halted like a bird-dog at point. The bundle splashed into the barrel of water. It sank to the bottom. There was no explosion. When a few seconds had passed the group of excited men began to relax. The barrel was carried carefully to a neighboring field. "Fo' de lawsy sake!" gasped Rad, and got a full breath again. "That was touch and go, sure enough," muttered Ned Newton. "Those overalls sure went to the wash, Boss," declared the foreman. "What was in 'em? And who put 'em in the cab up there?" But Tom dropped down the ladder and went to his father. Their hands sought each other and gripped, hard. "Better not tell Mary about this," whispered Tom. "She's worried enough as it is." "Right, Tom," agreed the old inventor. "From this time on we cannot be too careful. If there proves to be an infernal machine in that package we may be sure that we are dealing with desperate men. We've got to keep our eyes open." "Wide open," added Ned. "I'll say we have," said Tom. Chapter XII The Try-Out Day Arrives It did not need Ned Newton's story of what he had overheard at the bank to prove that an attempt had been made to blow to pieces Tom Swift's electric locomotive before even it had been tested. An examination of the water-soaked package in the open yard of the shops of the Swift Construction Company, proved that there was enough explosive in the bomb to blow the shed itself to pieces. But the stopping of the clockwork attachment of course made the bomb harmless. "The main thing to be explained," Tom said, when he and his father and Ned discussed the particulars of the affair, "is not who did it, or what it was done for. Those are comparatively easy questions to answer." "Yes," agreed Ned. "O'Malley did it, or caused it to be done; and it was an attempt to balk Mr. Bartholomew and the H, & P. A. rather than a direct attack upon the Swift Construction Company." "I am afraid, however," remarked Mr. Swift, "that Tom has aroused the personal antagonism of this spy from the West. We must not overlook that." "I don't," replied the young inventor. "O'Malley has it in for me. No doubt of that. But he could not be sure that I would be hurt by the explosion he arranged for." "True," said his father. "The attempt was against my invention. And O'Malley was doubtless urged to destroy the locomotive that I am building because my success will aid Mr. Bartholomew and his railroad." "Quite agreed," said Ned. "But--" "But the important question," interrupted Tom, "is this: How did the bomb get into the interior of the electric locomotive? That is the first and most important problem. Its having been done once warns us that it can be done again until our system of guarding the works is changed." "We have five watchmen on the job at night, and the gates are never opened in the daytime to anybody for any purpose without a pass," declared Ned. "I don't see how that fellow got in here with the time bomb." "Exactly. It shows that there is a fault in our system somewhere," said Tom grimly. "We cannot surround the place at night with an armed guard. It would cost too much. Even Koku cannot be everywhere. And I have reason to know that he was wandering about the stockade last night as usual." "The fellow was pretty sharp to slip by," Ned observed. "The stockade is no mean barrier, especially with the rows of barbed wire at the top," said Mr. Swift. "Barbed wire! That's it!" exclaimed Tom. It was just here that Mr. Damon's idea for guarding his prize buff Orpingtons came into play in Tom's scheme of things. "Barbed wire doesn't seem to keep out spies," he added slowly. "But believe me, something else will!" For Tom to think of a thing was to start action without delay. Immediately he called a gang from the shops and set them to work stringing copper wire along the top of the stockade. He was sure that the man who had set the time bomb in place had got into the enclosure over the fence. If he tried the same trick again he was very apt to have the surprise of his life! Each night when the shops closed and the watchmen went on duty, a current of electricity was turned into those copper wires entwined with the barbed wire entanglement at the top of the stockade that would certainly double up any marauder who sought to get over the top. However, no further attempt was made against Tom's peace of mind and against his invention during the immediate weeks that followed. The young inventor was so closely engaged in his work that he scarcely left the house or the confines of the shops. Even Mary Nestor saw very little of him. But Mary realized fully that at such a time as this Tom must give all his thought and energy to the task in hand. She was proud of Tom's ability and took a deep interest in his inventions. "I want to see the test when you try the locomotive, Tom," she told him, when she came to the shops the first time to look at the monster locomotive. "What a wonderful thing it is!" "Its wonder is yet to be proved," rejoined the young inventor. "I believe I've got the right idea; but nothing is sure as yet." In addition to his mechanical contrivances inside the locomotive, Tom had to arrange for an increased supply of electric power to drive the huge machine around the track that was being built inside the stockade. A regular station had to be built for receiving the electricity in a 100,000-volt alternating current and delivering it to the locomotive in a 3,000-volt direct current. Therefore, this station had two functions to perform--reducing the voltage and changing the current from alternating to direct. The reduction of the voltage was accomplished as follows: The 100,000-volt alternating current was received through an oil switch and was conveyed to a high-tension current distributor made up of three lines of copper tubing, thus forming the source of power for this station. From the current distributor the current was conducted through other oil switches to the transformers--entering at 100,000 volts and emerging at 2,300 volts. Then the current was conducted from the transformers through switches to the motor-generator sets and became the power employed to operate them. The motor generator consisted of one alternating current motor driving two direct current generators. The motor Tom established in his station was of the 60-cycle synchronous type, which means that the current changes sixty times each second. There were two sets, each generating a 1,500 or 2,000 volt direct current; and the two generators being permanently connected, delivered a combined direct current of 3,000 volts--as high a direct voltage current, Tom knew, as had ever been adopted for railroad work. The current voltage for ordinary street railway work is 550 volts. "I could run even this big machine," Tom explained to Ned Newton, "with a much lighter current. But out there on the Hendrickton & Pas Alos line the transforming stations deliver this high voltage to the locomotives. I want to test mine under similar conditions." "This is going to be an expensive test, Tom," said Ned, grumbling a little. "The cost-sheets are running high." "We are aiming at a big target," returned the inventor. "You've got to bait with something bigger than sprats to catch a whale, Ned." "Humph! Suppose you don't catch the whale after all?" "Don't lose hope," returned Tom, calmly. "I am going after this whale right, believe me! This is one of the biggest contracts--if not the very biggest--we ever tackled." "It looks as if the expense account would run the highest," admitted the financial manager. "All right. Maybe that is so. But I'll spend the last cent I've got to perfect this patent. I am going to beat the Jandels if it is humanly possible to do so." "I can only hope you will, Tom. Why, this track and the overhead trolley equipment is going to cost a small fortune. I had no idea when you signed that contract with Mr. Bartholomew that so much money would have to be spent in merely the experimental stage of the thing." Ned Newton possessed traits of caution that could not be gainsaid. That was one thing that made him such a successful financial manager for the Swift Company. He watched expenditures as closely now as he had when the business was upon a much more limited footing. The rails laid along the inside of the stockade made a two-mile track, as well ballasted as any regular railroad right of way. In addition the overhead equipment was costly. To eliminate any possibility of the trolley wire breaking, a strong steel cable, called a catenary, was slung just above the trolley wire. To this catenary the trolley wire was suspended by hangers at short intervals. These cables were strung from brackets so that a single row of poles could be used, save at the curves, at which cross-span construction was used. The trolley wire itself was of the 4/0 size, and was the largest diameter copper wire ever employed for railroad purposes. Several weeks had now passed since the great locomotive had been assembled in the erection shed and the cab of the locomotive completed. It really was a monster machine, and any stranger coming into the place and seeing it for the first time must have marveled at the grim power suggested by the mere bulk of the structure. When the day of the first test arrived Tom allowed only his most intimate friends to be present. Mary Nestor accompanied Mr. Swift into the shops at the time appointed, and she was as excited over the outcome of the test as Tom himself. Ned Newton and the mechanical force of the shops knocked off work to become spectators at the exhibition. The only other outsider was Mr. Damon. "Bless my alternating current!" cried the eccentric gentleman. "I would not miss this for the world. If you tried to shut me out, Tom, I'd climb over the stockade to get in." "You'd better not," Tom told him, dryly. "If you tried that you'd get a worse shock than any chicken thief will get that tries to steal your buff Orpingtons." Chapter XIII Hopes and Fears Tom climbed into the huge cab of the electric locomotive. In fact, the cab was the most of it, for every part of the mechanism save the drivers was covered by the eighty-odd foot structure. From the peak of the pilot to the rear bumper the length was ninety feet and some inches. As Tom slid the monster out upon the yard track the small crowd cheered. At least, the locomotive had the power to move, and to the unknowing ones, at least, that seemed a great and wonderful thing. What they saw was apparently a box-car--like a mail coach, only with more high windows--ten feet wide, its roof more than fourteen feet from the rails, its locked pantagraph adding two feet more to its height. Just what was in the cab--the water and oil tanks, the steam-heating boiler to supply heat and hot water to the train the monster was to draw, the motors and the many other mechanical contrivances--was hidden from the spectators. In fact, since completing the electrical equipment of the Hercules 0001, as Tom had named the locomotive, the young inventor had allowed nobody inside the cab, any more than he allowed visitors inside his private workshop. Even Mr. Swift did not know all the results of Tom's experimental work. In a general way the older inventor knew the trend of his son's attempts, but the details and the results of Tom's experiments, the latter told to nobody. But as the huge locomotive rolled into the yard and followed the more or less circular track inside the yard fence, it was plain to all of the onlookers that the motive-power was there all right! Just what speed could be coaxed from the feed-cable overhead was another question. Nor did Tom Swift try for much speed on this first test of the Hercules 0001. He went around the two-mile track several times before bringing his machine to a stop near the crowd of onlookers. He came to the open door of the cab. "One thing is sure, Tom!" shouted Ned. "It do move!" "Bless my slippery skates!" exclaimed Mr. Damon, "it slides right along, Tom. You've done it, my boy--you've done it!" "It looks good from where I stand, my son," said Mr. Barton Swift. It was Mary who suspected that Tom was not wholly satisfied--as yet, at least--with the test of the Hercules 0001. She cried: "Tom! is it all right?" "Nothing is ever all right--that is, not perfect--in this old world, I guess, Mary," returned the young inventor. "But I am not discouraged. As Ned says, the old contraption 'do move.' How fast she'll move is another thing." "What time did you make?" asked Mr. Swift. "Not above fifteen miles an hour." "Whew!" whistled Ned dolefully. "That is a long way from--" Tom made an instant motion and Ned's careless lips were sealed. It was not generally known among the men the speed which Tom hoped to obtain with his new invention. "It is a wide shoot at the target, that is true," Tom said, soberly. "But remember I cannot test it for speed on this short and almost circular track. Right at the start, however, I see that something about the power-feed must be changed." "What is that?" asked Mary, curiously. "I have only had rigged here one trolley wire. There must be two attached alternately to the catenary cable. Such a form of twin conductor trolley will permit the collection of a heavy current through the twin contact of the pantagraph with the two trolley wires, and should assure a sparkless collection of the current at any speed. You noticed that when I took the sharper curves there was an aerial exhibition. I want to do away with the fireworks." The fact that the Hercules 0001 was a going and apparently powerful draught engine satisfied most of the onlookers that Tom Swift was on the road to final and overwhelming success. The mechanics, indeed, saw no reason why the locomotive could not be run right out of the yard on the freight track and coupled to the first train going West. Of course, the Hercules 0001 could not be delivered to the Hendrickton & Pas Alos under its own power. When the locomotive was run back into the shed and stood once more on the erection track, Tom confessed to Mary and Ned, while Mr. Damon and Mr. Swift were looking through the huge cab, that he was not at all pleased with the action of the machine. "I have the best equipment of any electric locomotive on the rails today. I am sure of that," he said. "The Hercules Three-Oughts-One is not as long as those electric locomotives of the C. M. &. St. P. But that's all right. I have built mine more compactly and, properly geared, it should have all the power of either the Baldwin-Westinghouse or the Jandel locomotive." "Then, Tom dear, what is wrong?" cried Mary. "Speed. That is what troubles me. Have I got anything like the speed I am aiming for?" "Two miles a minute!" breathed Ned Newton. "Some speed, boy!" "And must you have such great speed, Tom?" repeated Mary. "That is in my contract. Not only that, but to be of much use to the H. & P. A. this locomotive must have such speed--or mighty near it. Of course, under ordinary conditions, two miles a minute for a locomotive and train of heavy freights would burn up the track--maybe melt the flanges and throw everything out of gear." "Why try for it, then?" demanded Mary. "It is the power suggested by the possession of such speed that we want in the Hercules Three-Oughts-One. That two miles a minute is a fiction of the imagination, cannot be claimed. It is possible. It is humanly possible. It is coming." "Then you must be the fellow to first accomplish it, Tom Swift," Ned declared. "Of course, if anybody can do it, you can, Tom," agreed the girl complacently. "Thanks--many, many thanks," laughed the young inventor. "I'd be able to harness the sun and stars, and put a surcingle around the moon if I came up to my friends' opinion of my ability. "Nevertheless, two-miles-a-minute is my objective point, and I do not believe it is visionary. Consider the motor-cycle. Ninety miles an hour has long been possible with that, and some tests have shown a speed of over a hundred and ten. That is not far from my mark. "Some Mallet locomotives of the oil-burning type have achieved from eighty-five to ninety-five miles an hour with a heavy load behind them. They are very powerful machines. The Mogul mountain climbers are powerful, too, although they are not built for speed. "The electric Goliaths built for the C. M. & St. P., and the Jandels, are both very speedy under certain conditions. The former has a maximum speed of sixty-five miles and the Jandel slightly faster." "But that is only half what that Mr. Bartholomew demands of your invention, Tom!" Mary cried. "That is a fact. I must reach twice sixty miles an hour, anyway, to meet his demand and gain that hundred thousand bonus. But I have the advantage of a knowledge of all that has been done before my time in the matter of electrical locomotive construction." "The world do move," repeated Ned. "You believe that you have the edge on all the other inventors?" "Along the line of this development--yes," said Tom. "I am taking up the work where former experimenters ended theirs. Why shouldn't I find the right combination to bring about a two-miles-a-minute drive?" "Oh, Tom!" cried Mary, with clasped hands, "I hope you do." "I hope I do, too," said Tom, grimly. "At least, if trying will bring it, success is going to come my way." Chapter XIV Speed More than four months had passed since the contract had been signed, when Tom made his first yard-test of the Hercules 0001. For a month nothing had been seen or heard of Andy O'Malley, whose identity as the spy, set by Montagne Lewis to cripple Tom's attempt to help the Hendrickton & Pas Alos Railroad, had been determined beyond any doubt. The private inquiry agent that Tom had engaged to find O'Malley had been unsuccessful in his work. The spy had disappeared from Shopton and the vicinity. Nevertheless, the inventor did not for a moment overlook the possibility that the enemy might again strike. Every night the electric current was turned into the wires that capped the stockade of the Swift Construction Company enclosure. Koku beat a path around the enclosure at night, getting such short sleep as he seemed to need in the forenoon. "Dat crazy cannibal," grumbled Rad, "got it in his haid dat he's gwine to he'p Massa Tom by walkin' out o' nights like he was dis here Western, de great sprinter, Ma lawsy me! Koku ain't got brains enough to fill up a hic'ry nut shell. Dat he ain't." Nothing anybody else could do for Tom ever satisfied Rad. The colored man fully believed that he was the only person really necessary for Tom's success and peace of mind. In fact, Rad thought that even Ned Newton's duties as financial manager of the firm were scarcely of as much importance. When he heard that Tom was going West, after a time, with the electric locomotive, to try it out on the tracks of the H. & P. A., Rad was quite sure that if he did not go along, the test would not come out right. "O' course yo'll need me, Massa Tom," he said, confidently. "Couldn't git along widout me nohow. Yo' knows, sir, I allus has to go 'long wid yo' to fix things." "Don't you think father will need you here, Rad?" Tom asked the faithful old fellow. "You're getting old--" "Me gittin' old?" cried, the colored man. "Huh! Yo' don't know 'bout dis here chile. I don't purpose ever to git old. I been gray-haided since befo' yo' was born; but I ain't old yit!" Mr. Damon chanced to be present at this conversation, and he was highly amused, yet somewhat impressed, too, by the colored man's statement. "Bless my own antiquity!" he exclaimed. "I agree with Rad, Tom. It's us old fellows who know what to do when an emergency of any kind arises. Experience teaches more than inspiration." "Oh," said Tom, laughing, "I do not deny the value of old friends at any stage of the game." "Bless my roving nature! I am glad to hear you say that. For I tell you right now, Tom, I want to be out there when you make your final test of the locomotive." "Do you mean that you will go West when I take out the Hercules Three-Oughts-One?" cried Tom. "It's just what I want to do. Bless my traveling bag, Tom! I mean to be present at your final triumph." "What will happen to your buff Orpingtons while you are gone?" asked the young inventor, gravely. "I have got my servant trained to look after those chickens," declared Mr. Damon. "And this invention of yours is really more important than even my buff Orpingtons." "Just the same," remarked Tom to his eccentric friend, when Rad had left the room. "I've got to fix it so that Eradicate stays at home with father. He doesn't really know how old and broken he is--poor fellow." "His heart is green, Tom. That's what is the matter with Rad." "He is a loyal old fellow. But I shall take Koku with me, not Rad," and the young inventor spoke decidedly. "And that is going to trouble poor Rad a lot." The prospect of going West, however, was not the main subject of Tom's thoughts at this time. As the weeks passed and the end of the six months of experiment came nearer, the inventor was more and more troubled by the principal difficulty which had from the first confronted him. Speed. That was the mark he had set himself. A maximum speed of two miles a minute on a level track for the Hercules 0001. With the speed already attained by both steam and electric locomotives in the more recent past, this was by no means an impossible attainment, as Tom quite well knew. But he became convinced that the conditions under which he labored made it impossible for him to be positive of just how great a speed on a straight, level track his invention would attain. There was no electrified stretch of railroad near Shopton on which the Hercules 0001 might be tested. The track inside the Swift Company's enclosure did not offer the conditions the inventor needed. He felt balked. "I believe I have hit the right idea in my improvements on the Jandel patents," he told Ned Newton when they were discussing the matter. "But believing is one thing. Knowing is another!" "Theoretically it works out all right, I suppose?" questioned Ned. "Quite. I can prove on paper that I've got the speed. But that isn't enough. You can see that." "Impossible to be sure on the trackage already built here, Tom?" "I haven't dared give her all she'll take," grumbled Tom. "If I did, I fear she'd jump the rails and I'd have a wreck on my hands." "And maybe kill yourself!" exclaimed Ned. "You want to have a care." "Oh, that's all right! I've taken risks before. I don't want to risk the safety of the locomotive, which is more important. That machine has cost us a lot of money." "I'll say so!" agreed Ned. "You'll have to wait till you can get the locomotive out there on the H. & P. A. tracks before you get a fair speed-test." "And suppose instead of a triumph it is a fiasco?" Tom said, doubtfully. "I tell you straight, Ned: I never was so uncertain about the outcome of one of my inventions since I began dabbling with motive-power." "We could build several miles of straight track in the waste ground behind the works," Ned said, thoughtfully. "Not a chance! There is neither time nor money for such work. Besides, I should have to rebuild my transforming station if I supplied longer conduit wires with current." "You don't really consider that you have failed, do you, Tom?" and Ned's anxiety made his voice sound very woeful indeed. "I tell you that my belief doesn't satisfy me. I hate to go West without being sure--positive. I want to know! I have tried the locomotive out in the yard half a dozen times. It runs like a fine watch. There doesn't seem to be a thing the matter with it now. But what speed can I attain?" "I don't see but you'll have to risk it, Tom." "I mean to give her one more test. I'll run her out tonight when there is nobody about but the watchmen--and you, if you want to come. I'll arrange with the Electric Company for all the current they can spare. By ginger! I've got to take some risk." "By the way, Tom," said his chum, "did it ever strike you as odd that that private detective agency never got any trace of O'Malley?" "Well, he's gone away. We needn't worry about him. Maybe the detective wasn't very smart, at that." "And yet he was here in town after you put the inquiry on foot. I saw him in the bank. He came there occasionally. And either he, or somebody he hired, placed that bomb in the locomotive." "All those being facts, what of it?" "Besides, there was that other fellow--the man with the Vandyke beard. Might be a shyster lawyer, or something of the kind. He wasn't spotted, either." "To tell the truth, I didn't bother to give the Detective Agency the description of that fellow, although you gave it to me," and Tom laughed. "I must confess that I depend more upon my man-trap electric wires to protect the invention than I do on the private inquiry agent." "It's funny, just the same. If I had another job for a detective I should not submit it to the Blatz Agency," grumbled Ned. "I fancy Montagne Lewis and his crowd called off their Wild West gunman," said Tom. "In any case, every attempt he made to bother us turned out a fizzle. I am not, however, forgetting precautions, my boy." Ned Newton realized that his chum had determined to make this night test of the electric locomotive the pivotal trial of the whole affair. He came back to the works after dinner and was let in by the office watchman at about nine o'clock. "Mr. Tom here yet?" he asked the man. "Yes, Mr. Newton. The young boss didn't go home to supper, even. That colored man brought something down for him, and he's in the shed yet." "Rad is here, you mean?" "Yes, sir. At least, he didn't go out this way, and we watchmen have instructions to let nobody in or out by the yard gates at night." "I'll say Tom is being careful," thought Ned, as he stepped out through the runway toward the erection shed. Before he reached the entrance to the huge shed, however, Ned chanced to look down the enclosure. There were several arc lights burning, but even these only furnished a dim illumination for the whole yard. He supposed that four watchmen were tramping their several beats along the inside of the stockade and close to the trolley-track. But when he saw an instant gleam of light down there, close to the ground, Ned did not believe that it was the flash of a torch in the hand of any sentry. "Funny," he muttered. "That's outside the fence, or I'm much mistaken. I wonder now--" He turned from the door of the shed, left the runway, and began walking toward the distant point at which he had seen the mysterious flash of light. Chapter XV The Enemy Still Active Ned was dressed in a dark business suit, so he was not likely to be observed from a distance, for it was a starless night. Half way to the end of the great yard he began to wonder if the light he had seen might not have been an hallucination. He doubted very much if anybody was creeping about outside the fence. The boards were close together, with scarcely a crack half an inch wide anywhere. A light out there-- It flashed again. He was positive of it this time, and of its locality as well. It could be nobody who had any honest business about the Swift Construction Company's premises. It was not Koku, for ordinarily the giant would not use an electric torch. Ned did not know where any of the watchmen were who were acting as sentinels. In fact, as it appeared later, three of them had been called off their beats by Tom himself to help in some necessary task inside the shed. The young inventor was getting ready to run the huge locomotive out upon the yard-track. Remembering vividly the attempt which had been made some weeks before to blow up the Hercules 0001, it was only natural that Ned should suspect that the flash of light he had seen revealed the presence of some ill-conditioned person lurking just beyond the fence. A man might be crouching there prepared to hurl an explosive bomb over the fence when the locomotive was brought around as far as that spot. Or was the villain foolish enough to attempt to enter the enclosure by surmounting the fence? Ned, keeping close to the ground, crossed the rails in the fortunate shadow of one of the posts. There he found a place where, with his back to a pole-prop right at this curve in the trolley system, the shadow enfolded him completely. Had his movements been marked by the person outside the fence? Ned waited several long and anxious minutes for some move from out there. Then something rather unexpected occurred. For the past ten minutes he had forgotten about the test of the Hercules 0001 which Tom had promised. With a blast of its siren the huge electric locomotive burst out of the shed and thundered around the track. It smote Ned Newton's mind suddenly that the inventor was going to "take a chance" on this evening and try to get some speed out of the huge machine. The electric headlight cast a broad cone of white and dazzling light across the yard. It suddenly struck full upon the spot where Ned Newton crouched; but the upright against which he leaned was broad enough to hide him completely. Looking up at the top of the stockade at that moment of illumination, the young financial manager of the Swift Construction Company beheld a crawling figure nearing the wire entanglements on the summit of the fence. The unknown man was climbing by means of a notched pole. Ned could not see that he bore any bulky object in his hands; indeed, he needed both of them to aid him to climb. But the man's right hand was reaching upward, above his head. The Hercules 0001 came roaring on. Its cone of light passed beyond Ned's station. In a few seconds it reached the spot, and roared on. Ned had not made a move. It seemed to him that he could not move or speak. The onrush of the electric locomotive all but swept the young fellow from his feet. It had come and gone in an instant! "He's making more than fifteen or twenty miles an hour, all right," muttered Ned. Then he flashed another glance up at the figure outside the fence. The man's cap showed above the top of the boards. He seemed to be dragging something up to him from below--something that hung and swung around and around a few feet from the ground. Ned was about to dart out of concealment and hail the fellow. He was not armed, nor could he get out of the stockade near this point. He feared what the marauder intended, and he felt that he must frighten him away. "Suppose that is a bomb and he means to fling it in front of Tom's locomotive?" thought the anxious Ned. He again saw the stranger's right hand reach up above his head. But he had no bomb in his hand. Ned suddenly shrieked a word of warning! It had come to him what the man was doing and what the result of his act would be. The wire-cutters bit on one of the copper wires. There followed a flash of blue flame, and the man screamed. He dropped the thing swinging below him and involuntarily grabbed at the wires with his left hand. He was caught, then! The crackling intermittent shocks of electric fluid passed through his body in fiery sequence. His limbs writhed. He mouthed horribly, and croaking gasps came from between his wide open jaws. The Hercules 0001 had rounded the enclosure and was coming down upon its second lap. The cone of white radiance from the headlight fell upon the writhing body of the victim on the wires. The locomotive siren emitted a blast that almost deafened Ned. The monster ground to a stop. Tom swung himself half out of the cab window beside the controller. "Who's that?" he yelled. Then he saw Ned below him. "Who is that fellow?" "No friend of yours, Tom, I believe," returned his financial manager in a shaking voice. "Where's Rad? Rad!" Tom shouted at the top of his voice. "I's comm', Massa Tom," rejoined the colored man. "Never mind coming here! Get a move on, and get to the switchboard. Turn the current out of the fence wires. "Yis, sir, I'll go Massa Tom," declared the old man. "Is he a spotter, Ned?" demanded the inventor. "He's no friend. I am going out by the gate. He's got something there that means harm, I believe. Do you think he's killed, Tom?" "Only ought to be. Not enough current to kill him. But he's badly burned and--and--well! I bet he won't care to fool around the works again." Ned dashed away to an entrance. A watchman came running, opened the small gate, and followed Ned into the open. Before they arrived at the vicinity of the accident Rad had got to the switchboard. The electricity was shut out of the stockade wires. Ned uttered another shout. He saw the writhing body of the shocked man fall from the stockade. When he and the watchman got to the spot the fellow lay upon his back, groaning and sobbing; but Ned saw at once that he was more frightened than hurt. "Well, you did it that time!" exclaimed the young financial manager. "And I hope you got enough." "You--you demons!" gasped the man. "I'll have the law on you--" "Sure you will," cackled the watchman. "You had every right in the world to try to cut those wires, of course, and get into the yard of the works. Sure! The judge will believe you all right." Ned was, meanwhile, staring closely at the fallen man. Tom had come down from the locomotive and was close to the fence. "Who is he?" demanded the inventor. "Not O'Malley?" Ned stepped to the fence and whispered: "It's the other fellow. The little chap with the Vandyke. He's dressed like a tramp, but it's the same man." "Is he badly hurt?" demanded Tom. "His temper is, Boss," said the watchman callously. "And say! I know this fellow. He works for the Blatz Detective Agency. I used to work for those folks myself. His name is Myrick--Joe Myrick." "Ned," said Tom sternly, "go to the office and call the police. I'll make him tell why he was here. And I'll make the Blatz people explain, too. Hullo! what's that?" Ned had seized the rope he had seen in Myrick's hand, and from a patch of weeds drew a two-gallon oil-can. "What you got there, Ned?" repeated the young inventor. "Whatever it is, I am going to be mighty easy with it. I think this scoundrel was trying to get it over the fence and into the way of the locomotive." "You can't hang anything on me," said Myrick, suddenly. "I was just climbing up to the top of the fence to get a squint at that contraption you've built. You can't hang anything on me." "He's evidently feeling better," said Tom, scornfully. "Nugent, don't let him get away from you. Go call the police, Ned. And take care of that can until we can find out what's in it." Later, when the police had removed Joe Myrick and the mysterious can had been deposited in a tub of water in the open lot until its contents could be examined, Tom said to his chum: "I was just working up some speed on the locomotive. The speedometer indicated fifty-five when I saw that fellow sprawling up there on the fence. I would not have dared go much faster in any case." "Why, you weren't half trying, Tom!" cried the delighted Ned. "She did slide around easy, didn't she? Fifty-five on an almost circular track is a good showing. I am not so scared as I was, my boy." "You think that on a straight track you might accomplish what you set out to do?" "It looks like it. At any rate, I shall risk a trial on the H. & P. A. tracks. I'm going to take her West. Be ready on Monday, Ned, for I shall want you with me," declared Tom Swift. Chapter XVI Off for the West Of course, as Tom supposed they would, the Blatz Detective Agency denied that Joe Myrick, their one-time operative, had been engaged through their bureau either to spy upon the Swift Construction Company or to injure Tom's invention of the electric locomotive. Nevertheless, three points were indisputable: Myrick had been caught spying; in his possession was a can of explosive which could be set off by concussion; and it was a fact that to Myrick had been first entrusted the matter of hunting for Andy O'Malley when Tom had put the search for the Westerner up to the Blatz people. "He played traitor both to you, Mr. Swift, and to our agency," declared Blatz to Tom. "I wash my hands of him. I hope the police send him away for life!" "He'll go to prison all right," said Tom, confidently. "But the main point is that one of your operatives fell down on a simple job. I wanted that Andy O'Malley traced. He's out of the way, now, of course. If you had put an honest man to work for me, O'Malley would be behind the bars himself." "Some doubt of that, Mr. Swift," grumbled Blatz. "Why?" "Where's your evidence that this O'Malley was connected with the attempt to blow up your locomotive the first time? Mr. Newton's testimony would need corroboration." "Never mind that," rejoined the young inventor, with a smile. "I'd have him for highway robbery. I recognized him. He robbed me of a wallet. Guess we could put O'Malley away for awhile on that charge. And by the time he got out again my job for that Western railroad would be completed." "Humph! Nothing personal in your going after the fellow, then?" queried the head of the detective agency. "No. But I frankly confess that I am afraid of O'Malley. He is undoubtedly in the employ of men who will pay him well if he wrecks my invention. But there really is no personal grudge between O'Malley and me. At least, I feel no particular enmity against the fellow." There was a pause. "If you say so we will give you a couple of good men as bodyguards on your trip West," suggested Blatz, licking his lips hungrily. "As good men as Myrick?" retorted Tom, rather scornfully. "No, thank you. Just make your bill out to the Swift Construction Company to date, and a check will be sent you the first of the month. I will take my own precautions hereafter." And those precautions Tom considered sufficient. When the Hercules 0001 was towed out of the enclosure belonging to the Swift Construction Company early on Monday morning, each door and window of the huge cab was barred and locked. Inside the cab rode Koku, the giant. Koku had his orders to allow nobody to enter the Hercules 0001 until Tom or Ned Newton came to relieve him of his responsibility as guard. The giant had a swinging cot to sleep on and sufficient food--of a kind--to last him for a fortnight if necessary. He was not armed, for Tom did not often trust him with weapons. The young inventor, however, did not expect that any armed force would attack the electric locomotive. If Montagne Lewis desired to wreck the new invention which might mean so much to Mr. Bartholomew and the H. & P. A., he surely would not allow his hirelings to attack openly the locomotive while it was en route. On the other hand, Tom did not really believe that Andy O'Malley would attempt any reprisal against him personally. Of course, the Western desperado might feel himself abused by Tom, especially in the matter of Tom's use of his ammonia pistol. But that had happened months ago. O'Malley had undoubtedly been hired by Mr. Bartholomew's enemies to obtain knowledge of the contract signed between the young inventor and the railroad president; and later it was certain that the spy had tried his best to wreck the electric locomotive. As for any personal assault so many weeks after O'Malley had clashed with him Tom Swift did not expect it. With Ned in his company on this journey to Hendrickton, the young inventor had good reason to consider that he was perfectly safe. Mary Nestor and Mr. Swift came to the station to see the two young men off on Monday evening. Mary had heard about the second attempt made to blow up the Hercules 0001 and she begged Tom to take every precaution while he was in the West. "You will be in the enemy's country out there, Tom dear," she warned him. "You won't be careless?" "I know I shall be mighty busy," he told her, laughing. "I'll let Ned play watch-dog. And you know, his is a cautious soul, Mary." "I've every confidence in Ned's faithfulness," the girl said, still with anxious tone. "But those men who are trying to ruin Mr. Bartholomew's road will stop at nothing. I must hear from you frequently, Tom, or I shall worry myself ill." "Don't lose your courage, Mary," rejoined the inventor, more gravely. "I do not think they will attack me personally again. Remember that Koku is on the job, as well as Ned. And Mr. Damon declares he will follow us West very shortly," and again Tom chuckled. "Even Mr. Damon may be a help to you, Tom," declared Mary, warmly. "At least, he is completely devoted to you." "So is Rad Sampson," said Tom, with a little grimace. "I certainly had my hands full convincing him that father needed him here at home. At that, Rad is pretty warm over the fact that I sent Koku on with the locomotive. If anything should chance to happen to my invention, Eradicate Sampson is going to shout 'I told you so!' all over the shop." Mary dabbed her eyes a little with her handkerchief, and Tom patted her shoulder. "Don't worry, Mary," he said more cheerfully. "There won't a thing happen to me out there at Hendrickton. I'll keep the wires hot with telegrams. And I'll write to both you and father, and give you the full particulars of how we get along. You'll keep your eye on father, Mary, won't you?" "You may be sure of that," said the girl. "I will not leave him entirely to the care of Rad," and she tried hard to smile again. But it was a difficult matter. Such a parting as this is always hard to endure. Tom wrung his father's hand and warned him to be careful of his health. The train came along and the two young men boarded it with their personal luggage. They had a flash of the two faces--that of Mr. Swift's and Mary's blooming countenance--as the express started again, and then the outlook from the Pullman coach showed them the fast-receding environs of Shopton. "We're on our way, my boy," said Tom to his chum. "We certainly are," said Ned, thoughtfully. "I wonder what the outcome of the trip will be? It may not be all plain sailing." "Don't croak," rejoined the young inventor, with a grin. "I don't see how you can appear so cheerful. Why! you don't even know if that electric locomotive is safe. Something may have already happened to it. The freight train might be wrecked. A dozen things might happen." "I am not crossing any bridges before I come to them," declared Tom. "Besides, I propose to keep in touch with the Hercules Three-Oughts-One in a certain way--Hullo! Here it is." "Here what is?" demanded Ned. The Pullman conductor at that moment came in through the forward corridor. He had a telegram in his hand, and intoned loudly as he approached: "Mr. Swift! Mr. Thomas Swift! Telegram for Mr. Swift." "That is for me, Conductor," said Tom briskly, offering his card. "All right, Mr. Swift. Just got it at Shopton. Operator said you had boarded my car. This is railroad business, you'll notice. Have you any reply, sir?" Tom ripped open the envelope and unfolded the telegram. He held it so that Ned could read, too. It was signed: "N. G. Smith, Conductor, Number 48." "What's that?" exclaimed Ned, reading the message. "'Locomotive and crazy man in it all right at Lingo,'" repeated Tom aloud, and chuckled. "No, Conductor, there is no answer." "Good!" exclaimed Ned. "You arranged to get reports en route from the conductors handling the Hercules Three-Oughts-One?" "Surest thing you know," replied Tom. "And I guess, from the wording of this message, that the crew of Forty-eight have already found out that Koku is not an ordinary guard." "He's a great boy," smiled Ned. "Glad he is on the job." Chapter XVII The Wreck of Forty-Eight The two chums sought their berths that night in high fettle. Even Ned sloughed off his mood of apprehension which he had worn on boarding the train at Shopton. For, true to the arrangement Tom had made with the railroad people, another reassuring telegram was brought to him before bedtime. The second conductor responsible for the management of the Western bound freight to which the Hercules 0001 was attached, sent back a brief statement of the safety of the electric locomotive. Naturally the two chums would have passed the freight and got well ahead of it before reaching Hendrickton. But Tom had business in Chicago, and they stayed over in that city for twenty-four hours. The freight train went around the city, of course. But the telegrams continued to reach Tom promptly, even at the hotel where he and Ned stopped in the city. Occasionally the trainmen in charge of the freight mentioned Koku. His eccentric behavior doubtless somewhat puzzled the railroaders. "That's all right," chuckled Ned. "Let them think Koku is dangerous if they want to. That O'Malley person believed he was!" "I'll say so!" replied Tom. "The way he ran when Koku started after him that time on the Waterfield Road seemed to prove that he didn't want to mix with Koku." "If he--or other spies--learns that Koku is with the Hercules Three-Oughts-One, it ought to warn them away from the locomotive." This was Ned's final speech before getting into his berth. He, as well as Tom, slept quite as calmly on this first night out of Chicago as they had before. They knew exactly where the electric locomotive was. It was on the same road as this train they were traveling in, and, although on a different track, it was not many miles ahead. In fact, if the two trains kept to schedule, the transcontinental passenger train would pass the freight in question about five o'clock in the morning. It lacked half an hour of that time when the Pullman train came suddenly to a jolting stop. Both Tom and Ned were awakened with the rest of the passengers in their coach. Heads were poked out between curtains all along the aisle and a chorus of more or less excited voices demanded: "What's the matter?" "Nothin's the matter wid dis train, gen'lemens an' ladies," came in the porter's important voice. "Jest nothin' at all's happened. It's done happened up ahead of us, das all." "Well, what has happened ahead of us, George?" asked Ned. "Jest another train, Boss, been splatterin' itself all ober de right of way. We sort o' bein' held up, das all," replied the porter. "That's good news--for us," said Ned, preparing to climb back into his berth. But he halted where he was when he heard his chum ask: "What train left the track, George?" "A freight train, sah. Yes, sah. Number Forty-eight. She jumped de rails, side-swiped de accommodation dat was holdin' us back, and has jest done spread herself all over de right of way." "My goodness!" gasped Ned. "Hear that, Ned?" exclaimed Tom. "Scramble into your clothes, boy. The Hercules Three-Oughts-One is hitched to Forty-eight." "Suppose she's off the track?" murmured Ned. "It's lucky if she isn't smashed to matchwood," groaned Tom, and almost immediately left the Pullman coach on the run. Ned was not far behind him. When they reached the cinder path beside the freight train it was just sunrise. Long arms of rosy light reached down the mountain side to linger on the tracks and what was strewed across them. A glance assured the two young fellows from the East that it was a bad smash indeed. Several of the rear boxcars were slung athwart the passenger tracks. The passenger train that had been ahead of the Pullman train on which Tom and Ned rode, had been badly beaten in all along its side. Scarcely a whole window was left on the inner side of the five cars. But those cars were not derailed. It was merely some of the freight cars that retarded the further progress of the transcontinental flyer. A derrick car must be brought up to lift away the debris before the fast train could move on. Tom and Ned walked forward along the length of the wreck. Suddenly the anxious young inventor seized Ned's arm. "Glory be!" he ejaculated. "It's topside up, anyway." "The Hercules Three-Oughts-One?" gasped Ned. "That's what it is!" Tom quickened his pace, and his financial manager followed close upon his heels. The forward end of Forty-eight had not left the track and the electric locomotive stood upright upon the rails, being near the head end of the train. "If this wreck was intentional, and aimed at your invention, Tom," whispered Ned Newton, "it did not result as the wreckers expected." Tom scouted the idea suggested by his chum. And in a few moments they learned from a railroad employee that a broken flange on a boxcar wheel had caused the wreck. "So that disposes of your suspicion, Ned," said Tom, approaching the huge electric locomotive. "Hey, gents!" exclaimed another railroad man, one of the crew of the wrecked freight. "Better keep away from that locomotive." "What's the matter with it?" Ned asked, curiously. "Got some kind of an aborigine caged up in it. You put your hand on any part of it and he's likely to jump out and bite your hand off, or something. Believe me, he's some savage." Both Tom and Ned burst into laughter. The former went forward to the door of the cab and knocked in a peculiar way. It was a signal that the giant recognized instantly. "Master!" Koku cried from inside the cab. "Master! Him come in?" "No, Koku," said Tom. "I'm not coming in. Are you all right?" "Yes. Koku all right. Him come out?" "No, no!" laughed Tom. "You are not at your journey's end yet, Koku. Keep on the job a while longer." "Sure. Koku stay here forever, if Master say so." "Forever is a long word, Koku," said Tom, more seriously. "I'll tell you when to open the door. I'll be at the end of the journey to meet you." "It all right if Master say so. But Koku no like to travel in box," grumbled the giant. Tom turned from the electric locomotive to see Ned staring across the tracks at a man who was talking to several of the train crew of the side-swiped accommodation train. That train was about to be moved on under its own power. None of the wreckage of the freight interfered with the progress of the accommodation. Tom stepped to Ned's side and touched his arm. "Who is he?" the inventor asked. The man who had attracted Ned's attention and now held Tom's interest as well was a solid looking man with gray hair and a dyed mustache. He was chewing on a long and black cigar, and he spoke to the train hands with authority. "Well, why can't you find him?" he wanted to know in a hoarse and arrogant voice. "Who is he?" asked Tom again in Ned's ear. "I've seen him somewhere. Or else I've seen somebody that looks like him. Maybe I've seen his picture. He's somebody of importance." "He thinks he is," rejoined the young inventor, with some disdain. In answer to something one of the railroad men said the important looking individual uttered an oath and added: "There's nobody been killed then? He's just missing? He was sitting in the coach ahead of me. I saw him just before the wreck. You know O'Malley yourself. Do you mean to say you haven't seen him, Conductor?" "I assure you he disappeared like smoke, sir," said the passenger conductor. "I haven't an idea what became of him." "Humph! If you see him, send him to me," and the solid man stepped heavily aboard the nearest coach and disappeared inside. Tom and Ned stared at each other with wondering gaze. O'Malley! The spy who had represented Montagne Lewis and the Hendrickton & Western Railroad in the East. "What do you know about that?" demanded Ned, wonderingly. "Hold on!" exclaimed Tom. He sprang across the rails after the conductor of the accommodation train that was just starting on. "Let me ask you a question." "Yes, sir?" replied the conductor "Who was that man who just spoke to you?" "That man? Why, I thought everybody out this way knew Montagne Lewis. That is his name, sir--and a big man he is. Yes, sir," and the conductor, giving the watching engineer of his train the "highball," caught the hand-rail of the car and swung himself aboard as the train started. Chapter XVIII On the Hendrickton & Pas Alos The transcontinental was delayed three hours by the strewn wreckage of the rear of Number Forty-eight. When she went on the two young fellows from Shopton gazed anxiously at the Hercules 0001, which stood between two gondolas in the forward end of the freight train. "Just by luck nothing happened to it," muttered Ned. "Just luck," agreed Tom Swift. "It was a shock to me to learn that Andy O'Malley was right there on the spot when the accident happened." "And his employer, too," added Ned. "For we must admit that Mr. Montagne Lewis is the man who sicked O'Malley on to you." "True." "And they were both in the accommodation that was sideswiped by the derailed cars of Number Forty-eight." "That, likewise is a fact," said Tom, nodding quickly. "But what puzzles me, as it seemed to puzzle Lewis, more than anything else, is what became of O'Malley?" "I guess I can see through that knot-hole," Tom rejoined. "Yes?" "I bet O'Malley got a squint at me--or perhaps at you--as we walked up the track from this coach, and he lit out in a hurry. There stood the Three-Oughts-One, and there were we. He knew we would raise a hue and cry if we saw him in the vicinity of my locomotive." "I bet that's the truth, Tom." "I know it. He didn't even have time to warn his employer. By the way, Ned, what a brute that Montagne Lewis looks to be." "I believe you! I remember having seen his photograph in a magazine. Oh, he's some punkins, Tom." "And just as wicked as they make 'em, I bet! Face just as pleasant as a bulldog's!" "You said it. I'm afraid of that man. I shall not have a moment's peace until you have handed the Hercules Three-Oughts-One over to Mr. Bartholomew and got his acceptance." "If I do," murmured Tom. "Of course you will, if that Lewis or his henchmen don't smash things up. You are not afraid of the speed matter now, are you?" demanded Ned confidently. "I can be sure of nothing until after the tests," said Tom, shaking his head. "Remember, Ned, that I have set out to accomplish what was never done before--to drive a locomotive over the rails at two miles a minute. It's a mighty big undertaking." "Of course it will come out all right. If Koku is faithful----" "That is the smallest 'if' in the category," Tom interposed, with a laugh. "If I was as sure of all else as I am of Koku, we'd have plain sailing before us." Two days later Tom Swift and Ned Newton were ushered into the private office of the president of the H. & P. A. at the Hendrickton terminal. The two young fellows from the East had got in the night before, had become established at the best hotel in the rapidly growing Western municipality, and had seen something of the town itself during the hours before midnight. Now they were ready for business, and very important business, too. Mr. Richard Bartholomew sat up in his desk chair and his keen eyes suddenly sparkled when he saw his visitors and recognized them. "I did not expect you so soon. Your locomotive arrived yesterday, Mr. Swift. How are you, Mr. Newton?" He motioned for them to take chairs. His secretary left the room. The railroad magnate at once became confidential. "Nothing happened on the way?" he asked, pointedly. "There was a freight wreck, I understand?" "And we chanced to be right at hand when that happened," said Tom. "So was your friend, Mr. Lewis," remarked Ned Newton. "You don't mean to say that Montagne Lewis--" "Was there. And Andy O'Malley," put in Tom. Then he detailed the incident, as far as he and Ned knew the details, to Mr. Bartholomew, who listened with close attention. "Well, it might merely have been a coincidence," murmured the railroad president. "But, of course, we can't be sure. Anyhow, it is just as well if your servant, Mr. Swift, keeps close watch still upon that locomotive." "He will," said Tom, nodding. "He is down there in the yard with the Hercules Three-Oughts-One, and I mean to keep Koku right on the job." "Good! Let's go down and look at her," Mr. Bartholomew said, eagerly. But first Tom wanted to go into the theoretical particulars of his invention. And he confessed that thus far his tests of the locomotive had not been altogether satisfactory. "I have got to have a clear track on a stretch of your own line here, Mr. Bartholomew, and under certain conditions, before I can be sure as to just how much speed I can get out of the machine." "Speed is the essential point, Mr. Swift," said the railroad man, seriously. "That is what I have been telling Ned," Tom rejoined. "I believe my improvements over the Jandel patents are worthy. I know I have a very powerful locomotive. But that is not enough." "We have got to shoot our trains through the Pas Alos Range faster than trains were ever shot over the grades before, or we have failed," said Mr. Bartholomew, with decision. "But--" began Ned; but Tom put up an arresting hand and his financial manager ceased speaking. "I have not forgotten the details of our contract, Mr. Bartholomew," he said, quietly. "Two-miles-a-minute is the target I have aimed for. Whether I have hit it or not, well, time will show. I have got to try the locomotive out on the tracks of the H. & P. A. in any case. The Hercules Three-Oughts-One has been dragged a long distance, and has been through at least one wreck. I want to see if she is all right before I test her officially." "I'll arrange that for you," said Mr. Bartholomew, briskly, putting away his papers. "I will go with you, too, and take a look at the marvel." "And a marvel it is," grumbled Ned. "Don't let him fool you, Mr. Bartholomew. Tom never does consider what he's done as being as great as it really is." "Everything must be proved," Tom said, cautiously. "If it was a financial problem, Mr. Bartholomew, believe me it would be Ned who displayed caution. But I have seldom built anything that could not--and has not--later been improved." "You do not consider your electric locomotive, then, a completed invention?" asked Mr. Bartholomew, as the three walked down the yard. "I have too much experience to say it is perfect," returned Tom. "I can scarcely believe, even, that it is going to suit you, Mr. Bartholomew, even if the speed test is as promising as I hope it may be." "Humph!" "But before I shall be willing to throw up the sponge and say that I have failed, I shall monkey with the Hercules Three-Oughts-One quite a little on your tracks." "Your six months isn't up yet," said Mr. Bartholomew, more cheerfully. "And it doesn't matter if it is. If you see any chance of making a success of your invention, you are welcome to try it out on the tracks of the H. & P. A. for another six months." "All right," Tom said, smiling. "Now, there is the Hercules Three-Oughts-One, Mr. Bartholomew. And there is Koku looking longingly through the window." In fact, the giant, the moment he saw Tom, ran to unbar and open the door of the cab on that side. "Master! If no let Koku out, Koku go amuck--crazy! No can breathe in here! No can eat! No can sleep!" "The poor fellow!" ejaculated Ned. "What's the matter with him?" asked Mr. Bartholomew, curiously. "Get out, if you want to, Koku. I'll stay by while you kick up your heels." No sooner had the inventor spoken than the giant leaped from the open door of the locomotive and dashed away along the cinder path as though he actually had to run away. Tom burst into a laugh, as he watched the giant disappear beyond the strings of freight cars. "What is the matter with him?" repeated the railroad president. "He's got the cramp all right," laughed Tom Swift. "You don't understand, Mr. Bartholomew, what it means to that big fellow to be housed in for so many days, and unable to kick a free limb. I bet he runs ten miles before he stops." "The police will arrest him," said the railroad man. It was then Ned's turn to chuckle. "I am sorry for your railroad police if they tackle Koku right now," he said. "He'd lay out about a dozen ordinary men without half trying. But, ordinarily, he is the most mild-mannered fellow who ever lived." "He will come back, if he is let alone, as harmless as a kitten," Tom observed. "And when I am not with the Hercules Three-Oughts-One, and while I continue making my tests, Koku will be on guard. You might tell your police force, Mr. Bartholomew, to let him alone. Now come aboard and let me show you what I have been trying to do." They spent two hours inside the cab of the great locomotive. Mr. Richard Bartholomew was possessed of no small degree of mechanical education. He might not be a genius in mechanics as Tom Swift was, but he could follow the latter's explanations regarding the improvements in the electrical equipment of this new type of locomotive. "I don't know what your speed tests will show, Mr. Swift," said the railroad president, with added enthusiasm. "But if those parts will do what you say they have already done, you've got the Jandels beat a mile! I'm for you, strong. Yes, sir! like your friend, Newton, here, I believe that you have hit the right track. You are going to triumph." But Tom's triumph did not come at once. He knew more about the uncertainties of mechanical contrivances than did either Mr. Bartholomew or Ned Newton. The very next day the Hercules 0001 was got out upon a section of the electrified system of the Hendrickton & Pas Alos Railway, and the pantagraphs of the huge locomotive for the first time came into connection with the twin conductor trolleys which overhung the rails. Ned accompanied Tom as assistant. Koku was allowed by the inventor to roam about the hills as much as he pleased during the hours in which his master was engaged with the Hercules 0001. Tom did not think any harm would come to Koku, and he knew that the giant would enjoy immensely a free foot in such a wild country. The two young fellows, dressed in working suits of overall stuff, spent long hours in the cab of the electric locomotive. Their try-outs had to be made for the most part on sidetracks and freight switches, some miles outside Hendrickton, where the invention would not be in the way of regular traffic. Speed on level tracks had been raised in one test to over ninety-five miles an hour and Mr. Bartholomew cheered wildly from the cab of a huge Mallet that paced Tom's locomotive on a parallel track. No steam locomotive had ever made such fast time. But Tom was after something bigger than this. He wanted to show the president of the H. & P. A. that the Hercules 0001 could drag a load over the Pas Alos Range at a pace never before gained by any mountain-hog. Therefore he coaxed the electric locomotive out into the hills, some hundred or more miles from headquarters. He had to keep in touch with the train dispatcher's office, of course; the new machine had often to take a sidetrack. Nor was much of this hilly right-of-way electrified. The Jandels locomotive had been found to be a failure on the sharp grades; so the extension of the trolley system had been abandoned. But there was one steep grade between Hammon and Cliff City that had been completed. The current could be fed to the cables over this stretch of track, and for a week Tom used this long and steep grade just as much as he could, considering of course the demands of the regular traffic. The telegraph operator at Half Way (merely a name for a station, for there was not a habitation in sight) thrust his long upper-length out of the telegraph office window one afternoon and waved a "highball" to the waiting electric locomotive on the sidetrack. "Dispatcher says you can have Track Number Two West till the four-thirteen, westbound, is due. I'll slip the operator at Cliff City the news and he'll be on the lookout for you as well as me, Mr. Swift. Go to it." Every man on the system was interested, and most of them enthusiastic, about Tom's invention. The latter knew that he could depend upon this operator and his mate to watch out for the western-bound flyer that would begin its climb of the grade at Hammon less than half an hour hence. The electric locomotive was coaxed out across the switch. Tom was earnestly inspecting the more delicate parts of the mechanism while Ned (and proud he was to do it) handled the levers. Once on the main line he moved the controller forward. The machine began to pick up speed. The drumming of the wheels over the rail joints became a single note--an increasing roar of sound. The electric locomotive shot up the grade. The arrow on the speedometer crept around the dial and Ned's eye was more often fastened on that than it was on the glistening twin rails which mounted the grade. Black-green hemlock and spruce bordered the right of way on either hand. Their shadows made the tunnel through the forest almost dark. But Tom had not seen fit to turn on the headlight. "How is she making out?" asked the inventor, coming to look over his chum's shoulder. "It's great, Tom!" breathed Ned Newton, his eyes glistening. "She eats this grade up." "And it's within a narrow fraction of a two per cent.," said the inventor proudly. "She takes it without a jar--Hold on! What's that ahead?" The locomotive had traveled ten miles or more from Half Way. The summit of the grade was not far ahead. But the forest shut out all view of the station at Cliff City and the structures that stood near it. Right across the steel ribbons on which the hercules 0001 ran, Tom had seen something which brought the question to his lips. Ned Newton saw it too, and he shouted aloud: "Tree down! A log fallen, Tom!" He did not lose completely his self-control. But he grabbed the levers with less care than he should. He tried to yank two of them at once, and, in doing so, he fouled the brakes! He had shut off connection with the current. But the brake control was jammed. The locomotive quickly came to a halt. Then, before Tom could get to the open door, the wheels began spinning in reverse and the great Hercules 0001 began the descent of the steep grade, utterly unmanageable! Chapter XIX Peril, The Mother of Invention Tom Swift's first thought was one of thankfulness. Thankfulness that he did not have a drag of fifty or sixty steel gondolas or the like to add their weight to the down-pull. The locomotive's own weight of approximately two hundred and seventy tons was enough. For when the inventor pushed Ned aside and tried to handle the controllers properly, he found them unmanageable. There was not a chance of freeing them and getting power on the brakes. The Hercules 0001 was backing down the mountain side with a speed that was momentarily increasing, and without a chance of retarding it! The young inventor at that moment of peril, knew no more what to do to avert disaster than Ned Newton himself. It flashed across his mind, however, that others beside themselves were in peril because of this accident. The fast express from the East that should pass Half Way at four-thirteen, might already be climbing the hill from Hammon. Hammon, at the foot of the grade, was twenty-five miles away. Nor was the track straight. If the operator at Half Way did not see the runaway locomotive and telephone the danger to the foot of the grade, when the Hercules 0001 came tearing down the track it might ram something in the Hammon yard, if it did not actually collide with the approaching westbound express. Such an emergency as this is likely either to numb the brains of those entangled in the peril or excite them to increased activity. Ned Newton was apparently stunned by the catastrophe. Tom's brain never worked more clearly. He seized the siren lever and set it at full, so that the blast called up continuous echoes in the forest as the locomotive plunged down the incline. He ran to the door again, on the side where Half Way station lay, and hung out to signal the operator who had so recently given him right of way on this stretch of mountain road. "We're going to smash! We're going to smash!" groaned Ned Newton. Tom read these words on his chum's lips, rather than heard them, for the roar of the descending locomotive drowned every other sound. Tom waved an encouraging hand, but did not reply audibly. Meanwhile his brain was working as fast as ever it had. He had instantly comprehended all the danger of the situation. But in addition he appreciated the fact that such an accident as this might happen at any time to this or any other locomotive he might build. Automatic brakes were all right. If there had been a good drag of cars behind the Hercules 0001, on which the compressed air brakes might have been set, the present manifest peril might have been obliterated. The brakes on the cars would have stopped the whole train. But to halt this huge monster when alone, on the grade, was another matter. Once the locomotive brake lever was jammed, as in this case, there was no help for the huge machine. It had to ride to the foot of the grade--if it did not chance to hit something on the way! And with this realization of both the imminent peril and the need of averting it, to Tom's active brain came the germ of an idea that he determined to put into force, if he lived through this accident, on each and every electric locomotive that he might in the future build. This monster, flying faster and faster down the mountain side, was a menace to everything in its track. There might be almost anything in the way of rolling stock on the section between Half Way and Hammon at the foot of the grade. If this thunderbolt of wood and steel collided with any other train, with the force and weight gathered by its plunge down the mountain, it would drive through such obstruction like a projectile from Tom's own big cannon. Tom realized this fact. He knew that whatever object the Hercules 0001 might strike, that object would be shattered and scattered all about the right of way. What might happen to the runaway was another matter. But the inventor believed that the electric locomotive would be less injured than anything with which it came into collision. At any rate, thought of the peril to himself and his invention had secondary consideration in Tom Swift's mind. It was what the monster which he could not control might do to other rolling stock of the H. & P. A. that rasped the young fellow's mind. The grade above Half Way had few curves. Tom soon caught the first glimpse of the station. Would the operator hear the roar of the descending runaway and understand what had happened? He leaned far out from the open doorway and waved his cap madly. He began to shout a warning, although he saw not a soul about the station and knew very well that his voice was completely drowned by the voice of the siren and the drumming of the great wheels. Suddenly the tousled head of the operator popped out of his window. He saw the coming locomotive, the drivers smoking! To be a good railroad man one has to have his wits about him. To be a good operator at a backwoods station one has to have two sets of wits--one set to tell what to do in an emergency, the other to listen and apprehend the voice of the sounder. This Half Way man was good. He knew better than to try the telegraph instrument. He grabbed the telephone receiver and jiggled the hook up and down on the standard while the Hercules 0001 roared past the station. It did not need Tom's frantically waving cap to warn him what had happened. And he remembered clearly the fact of the expected westbound flyer. "Hammon? Get me? This is Half Way. That derned electric hog has sprung something and is coming down, lickity-split! "Yes! Clear your yard! Where's Number Twenty-eight? Good! Side her, or she'll be ditched. Get me?" The voice at the other end of the wire exploded into indignant vituperation. Then silence. The Half Way operator had done his best--his all. He ran out upon the platform. The electric locomotive had disappeared behind the woods, but the roar of its wheels and the shrill voice of its siren echoed back along the line. The sound faded into insignificance. The operator went back into his hut and stayed close by the telephone instrument for the next ten minutes to learn the worst. If the operator's nerves were tense, what about those of Tom Swift and his chum? Ned staggered to the door and clung to Tom's arm. He shrilled into the latter's ear: "Shall we jump?" "I don't see any soft spots," returned Tom, grimly. "There aren't any life nets along this line." Ned Newton was frightened, and with good reason. But if his chum was equally terrified he did not show it. He continued to lean from the open door to peer down the grade as the Hercules 0001 drove on. Around curve after curve they flew. It entered Ned's tortured mind that if his chum had wanted speed, he was getting it now! He realized that two miles a minute was a mere bagatelle to the pace now accomplished by the runaway locomotive. Chapter XX The Result As Ned Newton, fumbling at the controls when he saw the fallen tree across the tracks, had jammed the brakes, the station master at Hammon, at the bottom of this long grade on the Hendrickton & Pas Alos, had stepped out to the blackboard in the barnlike waiting room and scrawled with a bit of chalk: "No. 28--Westbound--due 3:38 is 15 m. late." The fact, thus given to the general public or to such of it as might be interested, averted what would have been a terrible catastrophe. The fast express was late. When the babbling voice of the Half Way operator over the telephone warned Hammon of the coming of the runaway electric locomotive, there was time to shift switches at the head of the yard so that, when Number Twenty-eight came roaring in, she was shunted on to a far track and flagged for a stop before she hit the bumper. Thirty seconds later, from the west, the Hercules 0001 roared down the grade and shot into the cleared west track in a halo of smoke and dust. Speed! No runaway had ever traveled faster and kept the rails. The story of the incident was embalmed in railroad history, and no history is so full of vivid incident as that of the rail. When the first relay of excited railroad men reached the electric locomotive after it had stopped on the long level, even Ned Newton had pulled himself together and could look out upon the world with some measure of calmness. Tom Swift was making certain notes and draughting a curious little diagram upon a page of his notebook. "What happened to you, Mr. Swift?" was the demand of the first arrival. "Oh, my foot slipped," said the young inventor, and they got nothing more out of him than that. But to Ned, after the crowd had gone, the inventor said: "Ned, my boy, they used to say that necessity was the mother of invention. Therefore a loaf of bread was considered the maternal parent of the locomotive. I've got one that will beat that." "Whew!" gasped Ned. "How can you? I haven't got my breath back yet." "It is peril that is the mother of invention," Tom went on, still jotting down his notes. "Believe me! that jolt gave me a new idea--an important idea. Suppose that operator at Half Way had been out back somewhere, and had not seen or heard us flash by?" "Well, suppose he had? What's the answer?" sighed Ned. "Like enough we would have rammed something down here." "And I hardly understand even now why we didn't do just that," muttered his chum, with a shake of his head. "Wake up, Ned! It's all over," laughed Tom. "While it was happening I admit I was guessing just as hard as you were about the finish. But--" "Your recovery is better," grumbled his friend. "I'm scared yet." "And it might happen again--" "No--not--ever!" exclaimed Ned. "I shall never touch those controllers again. I'll drive your airscout, or your fastest automobile, or anything like that. But me and this electric locomotive have parted company for good. Yes, sir!" "All right. It wasn't your fault. It might happen to any motor-engineer. And the very fact that it can happen has given me my idea. I tell you that danger is the mother of invention." "As far as I am concerned, it can be father and grandparents into the bargain," Ned declared, with a smile. "Wake up!" cried his friend again. "I have got a dandy idea. I wouldn't have missed that trip for anything." "You are crazy," interrupted Ned. "Suppose we had bumped something?" "But we didn't bump anything, except my brain tank. An idea bumped it, I tell you. I am going to eliminate any such peril as that here-after." "You mean you are going to make it impossible for this locomotive ever to slide down such a hill again if the brakes won't work? Humph! Meanwhile I will go out and make the nearest water-fall begin to run upward." "Don't scoff. I do not mean just what you mean." "I bet you don't!" "But although I cannot be sure that a locomotive will never again fall downhill," said Tom patiently, "I'm going to fix it so that warning need not be given by some operator along the line. The engineer must be able to send warning of his accident, both up and down the road." "Huh? How are you going to do that?" demanded Ned. "Wireless telephone. I may make some improvements on the present models; but it is practicable. It has been used on submarines and cruisers, and lately its practicability has been proved in the forestry service. "Every one of these electric locomotives I turn out will be supplied with wireless sets. The expense of making certain telegraph offices along the line into receiving stations will be small. I am going to take that up with Mr. Bartholomew at once. And I am going to fix these brake controls so that nobody need ball them up again." If, out of such a desperate adventure, Tom could bring to fruition really worthwhile improvements in relation to his invention, Ned acknowledged the value of the incident. Just the same, he had a personal objection to having any part in a similar experience. He was brave, but he could not forget danger. Tom seemed to throw the effect of that terrible ride off his mind almost instantly. Ned dreamed of it at night! However, from that time things seemed to go with a rush. Mr. Bartholomew approved of the young inventor's suggestion regarding the use of the wireless telephone as a method of averting a certain quality of danger in the use of the proposed monster locomotive. The railroad man was convinced that Tom's ideas were finally to culminate in success, and he was ready to spend money, much money, in pushing on the work. It was not long before a private test of the Hercules 0001 up the grade from Hammon to Cliff City showed Mr. Bartholomew that the speed he had required in his contract was attainable. With a drag fully as heavy as any two locomotives had been able to get over the same sector, the new locomotive alone marked a forty-five mile an hour pace. This attainment was kept quiet; not even the train crew knew what the monster had done when they reached the summit of the mountain. But Mr. Bartholomew, who rode with Tom and Ned in the cab, had held his own watch on the test and compared it every minute with the speedometer. "I am satisfied that you are going to do more than I had really hoped, Mr. Swift," the railroad president said at the end of the run. "Already you could drive this locomotive at a two-mile-a-minute clip on level rails, I am sure. Keep at it! Nobody will be more delighted than I shall be if you pull down that hundred thousand dollars' bonus." "That's a fine way to talk, sir," cried Ned, with enthusiasm. "I mean every word of it, Mr. Newton. The money is his as soon as he makes good." Both Tom and his financial manager left the president's office in a satisfied state of mind. "Great news to send home, Tom," remarked Ned, when they were alone. "Righto, Ned. My father will be glad to hear it." "And what about Mary?" And Ned poked his chum in the ribs. "I guess she'll be glad too," Tom replied, his face reddening. That night Tom sent word to Mary and also a telegram, in code, to his father, saying the prospects were now bright for a quick finish of the task that had brought him West. Chapter XXI The Open Switch Meanwhile the work of electrifying another division of the Hendrickton & Pas Alos Railroad had been pushed to completion. As Mr. Bartholomew had in the first place stated, the road controlled water rights in the hills which would supply any number of electric power stations, and his enemies could not shut his road off from these waterfalls. Tom had not warned his faithful servant, the giant Koku, to watch out for Andy O'Malley in particular; the inventor knew that the giant would be as cautious about any stranger as could be wished. But personally Tom was amazed that either O'Malley or some other henchman of the president of the Hendrickton & Western did not make an attempt to injure the electric locomotive. "Perhaps Mr. Bartholomew's police are really of some good," said Ned Newton, when his chum mentioned his surprise on this point. "Has Koku seen nobody lurking about at night?" "He certainly has not seen the man he calls 'Big Feet,'" chuckled Tom. "If he had spotted O'Malley, there certainly would have been an explosion." "Tell you what," Ned said reflectively, "the longer Lewis keeps off you, the more suspicious I should be." "You think he is a bad citizen, do you?" "And then some, as the boys say out here," replied Ned. "I wouldn't trust that man any farther than I would a nest of hornets or a shedding rattlesnake." "I am inclined to believe, with you, Ned, that Lewis is hatching up something and is keeping mighty whist about it. I sounded Mr. Bartholomew on the idea and he, too, is puzzled." "I guess he knows that hombre," grumbled Ned. "Mr. Bartholomew admits that several roads have sent representatives to make inquiries about my locomotive. They have got wind of it, and, after all, most railroads work in unison. What means progress for one is progress for all." "That same rule does not seem to apply in the case of the H. & P. A. and the H. & W.," remarked Ned. "No. They are out and out rivals. And Lewis and his gang have done this road dirt--no two ways about that. But when I am convinced that my locomotive has got all the speed and power contracted for, Mr. Bartholomew wants to invite a bunch of his brother railroaders to see the tests--to ride in the Hercules Three-Oughts-One, in fact." "How about it? You going to agree? Suppose they have some inventive sharp along who will be able to steal some of your mechanical contrivances--in his head, I mean," and Ned seemed quite suddenly anxious. "I had thought of that. But before the test I shall send my blueprints to Washington. Our patent attorney there has already filed tentative plans and applied for certain patents that I consider completed. Don't fret. I'll make it impossible for anybody to steal our patents legally." "Yes! But illegally?" "That we cannot help in any case, and you know it," Tom said. "If some road tries to build anything like the Hercules Three-Oughts-One for the first two years without arranging with the Swift Construction Company, you know that that railroad can be made to suffer in the courts, and you are the boy, Ned, to put them over the jumps for it." "Sure," grumbled his chum. "It's always up to me to save the day." "Exactly," chuckled Tom. "And in your character of life saver, do look out for anybody who looks suspicious hanging about the Hercules Three-Oughts-One. I'll take care of rival inventors. You and Koku keep your eyes peeled for the H. & W. spies. Especially for that Andy O'Malley. I feel that he will again show up. Maybe by 'the pricking of my thumb' as Macbeth's witch used to remark." Every day save Sunday the electric locomotive had some kind of try-out. On a level track Tom was sure of his monster invention's qualities; but in the hills, at a distance from the Hendrickton terminal, it was another matter. The grades were steep; but the road was well ballasted. There was plenty of power. He saw the Jandel locomotives hurry back and forth with the local trains and realized that this rival invention was by no means to be despised. It was at about this time, too, that Mr. Damon appeared in Hendrickton. Early one forenoon, when Tom and Ned were preparing to take the Hercules 0001 out of the yard, and Koku was going to his lodgings to get a little sleep, Tom's eccentric friend came across the tracks, waving his cane at Tom. "Bless my frogs and switch-targets!" he ejaculated, "I've walked a mile from that station to get here. Where are you going with that big contraption? How does it work? Does it make all the speed you want, Tom Swift? Bless my rails and sleepers!' "We're going about a hundred miles out on the road to a good, stiff grade," Tom told him, having shaken hands in welcome. "If you want to, get aboard." "They haven't blown you up yet, or otherwise wrecked the locomotive," remarked Mr. Damon, grinning broadly. "I'll have to write right back to your father--and to a certain young lady who shows a remarkable interest in your welfare--that you are all right." "They should already be sure of that," laughed Tom. "Ned and I have kept the post-office department and the telegraph company very busy." "They are waiting for my report," announced Mr. Damon, with confidence. "And I am waiting for yours. Tell me, Tom: Is the locomotive a success?" "It's going to be," declared the inventor, with decision. "Bless my trolley wires!" cried Mr. Damon, "I am glad to hear that. Then you will surely pull down the extra hundred thousand dollars?" "I believe I shall fulfill every clause of the contract Mr. Bartholomew and I signed," said Tom. "Then it's more than a success!" cried his friend. "You have invented another marvel, Tom Swift!" "Marvel or not," rejoined Tom, "I believe that the Hercules Three-Oughts-One will top anything so far built in the way of electric locomotives." "Hurrah!" cried Mr. Damon. "Bless my controller! But your father and Mary Nestor will be glad to hear that!" Mr. Damon was quite as much interested in this invention as he always was in anything the young inventor worked upon. When he had once seen the Hercules 0001 work on an up-grade he was doubly enthusiastic. To his sanguine mind the locomotive was already completed. He could see no possibility of failure. Tom, however, had to prove to his own satisfaction the success of every detail of his invention before he was willing to tell Mr. Bartholomew that he was ready for a public test. Mr. Damon, nor even Ned, could scarcely see the reason for Tom's caution. Tom's favorite try-out grade was between Hammon and Cliff City. He could obtain a right of way order from the train dispatcher on that grade, sometimes of an hour's duration. He often snaked a load of gondolas or cattle cars up the grade, relieving both the puller and pusher steam locomotive. By this time the H. & P. A. system had stopped using the Jandel machines on any grades. They had proved their lack of power for such work. "But the Hercules Three-Oughts-One shows at every test that it has the kick," Mr. Damon cried. In his enthusiasm he was out every day with Tom and Ned. And sometimes Koku remained in the cab during the trial runs as well. On one such occasion Tom had drawn a heavy train over the mountain, taking it down the grade beyond Cliff City to Panboro in the farther valley. This was over a newly built stretch of the electrified road. The power station charged the trolley cables with an abundance of current, and the Hercules 0001 made a splendid trip. "Bless my cuff-links!" ejaculated Mr. Damon, his rosy face one beaming smile. "You couldn't expect to do better than this. You save one locomotive on the haul, and you beat the schedule ten minutes, so that you had to lay by to get right of way into the yard here. Why linger longer, Tom?" "I agree with Mr. Damon," Ned said. "It seems to work perfectly. And you have, I believe, established your required speed." "Can't be too perfect," said the young inventor, smiling. "But I will tell Mr. Bartholomew when we get back that he can set his time for the big test whenever he pleases. I have already sent our patent attorney in Washington the final blueprints. Now, if nothing happens--" "Bless my stickpin!" exclaimed Mr. Damon, "What can happen now that the locomotive is practically perfect?" That question was answered in one way, and a most startling way, within the hour. Tom got right of way back over the mountain and pushed the electric locomotive up-grade at almost top speed. He drew no train on this occasion, and the speed made by the Hercules 0001 was really remarkable. They topped the rise at Cliff City and got orders from the dispatcher to proceed on the time of Number Eighty-seven, which chanced to be late. With that release Tom might have made the entire distance of a hundred and ten miles to Hendrickton had it not been for the accident--the unexpected something that so often happens in the railroad business. Tom was a careful driver; the chatter of Ned and Mr. Damon did not take the inventor's mind off his business for one instant. He was quite alert at his window, looking ahead, as Koku was at the open doorway of the cab. Not a mile outside of Cliff City, and on this eastbound side of the right of way, was a long siding and a shipping point for timber. It was sometimes a busy point; but at this time of year there were no lumbermen about and no activities in the adjacent forest. The Hercules 0001 came spinning along from the Cliff City yards, and Tom Swift gave scarcely a glance to the joint of the switch ahead. He had been over it so many times of late, and knew that it was always locked. The railroad did not even keep a man here at this season. Suddenly Koku emitted a wild yell. He startled everybody else in the cab, as he flung his huge body more than half out of the doorway and prepared to jump--or so it seemed. Ned shrieked a warning to the big fellow. Mr. Damon began to bless everything in sight. But it was Tom, quite as excited as his friends, who understood what Koku shouted: "Big Feet! Big Feet! I see um Big Feet, Master!" The next moment he threw himself from the rapidly moving locomotive. He might have been killed easily enough. But fortunately he landed feet first in the drift beside the rails, and remained upright as he slid down into the ditch. Tom, glancing ahead again, saw the flash of a man in a checked Mackinaw running up through the open wood and away from the right of way. He could not be sure of Andy O'Malley's figure at that distance; but he could be pretty confident of Koku's identification. And then, with a shock that gripped and almost paralyzed his mind, Tom saw again the switch ahead of the pilot of the Hercules 0001. The switch was open, and at the speed the electric locomotive had attained, if she did not jump the rails, it seemed scarcely possible that she could be stopped before hitting the bumper at the end of the siding! Chapter XXII A Desperate Chase These moments were fraught with peril, and not alone peril to the huge machine that Tom Swift had built, but peril to those who remained in the cab of the electric locomotive, as her forward trucks struck the open switch. There was a mighty jerk that brought a shout from Ned Newton's lips and a grunt from Mr. Damon. Tom clung to his swivel-seat, staring ahead. The pilot of the electric locomotive shot over on the siding; the forward trucks followed, then the great drivers. The whole locomotive swerved into the siding, but for several breathless seconds Tom was not at all sure that the monster would not jump the rails and head into the ditch! Meanwhile his gaze measured the speed of that flying figure in the Mackinaw as it scuttled up the slope through the open grove of hard wood and pine. He could not at first see Koku, but he knew the giant was headed for the fugitive, whether the latter proved to be Andy O'Malley or not. Tom's gaze flashed to what lay ahead of the electric locomotive. As it seemed to joggle back into balance, gain its uprightness, as it were, the inventor saw the great, log-braced bumper between the two rails at the end of the siding. With what force would the locomotive hit that obstruction? Until the trailers were over the switch Tom dared not give her the brakes. To lock the brake shoes upon the wheels might easily throw the locomotive off the rails. But the instant he felt the tail of the long locomotive swerve off the switch he jabbed the compressed air lever and the wild shriek of the brake shoes answered to his effort. Then the bumper was but a few yards ahead. The electric locomotive was bound to collide with it. And under the speed at which it had been running, now scarcely reduced by half, the collision was apt to be a tragic happening! Weeks of effort might be ruined in that moment! If the crash was serious, thousands of dollars might be lost! In truth, Tom Swift apprehended the possibility of a disaster, the complete results of which might put the test of his invention forward for weeks--perhaps for months. Nor could he do a thing to avert the disaster. He had reversed and set the brakes immediately after the last wheel of the trailer was on the siding. Nothing more could he do as the great electric locomotive bore down upon the solid timber at the far end of this short track. Those few seconds, as the locked wheels slid toward the end of the siding, were about as hard to bear as any experience the young inventor had ever gone through. It was not so much the peril of the accident, it was the possibility of what might happen to the locomotive. Within those few moments, however, Tom considered more than the safety of his companions and himself, and more than the peril of wreck to his locomotive. He considered the schedule of the trains on this division of the Hendrickton & Pas Alos and remembered all those that might be within this sector at this time. If the locomotive smashed into the bumper with force enough to wreck the structure, would some approaching train on the westbound track not be endangered? The thought was parent to Tom's act before the collision occurred. With a single swift motion he reached for the signaling apparatus which he had established in connection with his wireless telephone. Just the moment before the head of the locomotive rammed that seemingly immovable barrier at the end of the siding there flashed into the air from Tom's annunciator the code word agreed upon announcing a wreck, and the number of the sector on which the electric locomotive was then running. The next moment the crash occurred. Tom had leaped up with a shout of warning. "Hang on!" was his cry. But when the locomotive had struck and rebounded Ned, from far down the aisle of the locomotive, wanted to know in a very peevish tone what he should have hung on to? "My elbows!" he groaned. "I've skinned 'em, and my back has got a twist in it like the Irishman thought he had when he put on his overalls hind-side to. What's happened?" "Bless my radiolite!" growled Mr. Damon. "My watch crystal is broken all to finders, if you want to know. Bless my shock-absorbers! you won't do this locomotive a bit of good, Tom Swift, if you stop it so abruptly." "And that's the surest word you ever said," responded Tom, hurrying to the door. "I don't know what's broken, but we're still on the rails. The most immediate thing to learn, is the where-abouts of the fellow who did this." "Who opened the switch?" cried Ned. "I believe it was Andy O'Malley. Come on, Ned! Koku is after him and I don't want him to tear O'Malley apart before I get there." "O'Malley has got powerful interests behind him, and it might go hard with Koku if he injured the spy and some of these Westerners caught him," suggested Mr. Damon. "They ought to thank Koku for manhandling the fellow--if he does," said Ned. "As a matter of fact," replied Tom, "Koku will merely hold to the fellow until we get there. But my giant's strength is enormous, and he does not always know the strength of his grasp. He might hurt the fellow. Come on," and Tom leaped from the doorway of the electric locomotive. Ned leaped down the ladder after his chum. "Which way did they go?" he asked. "Across the ditch and up the hill," said Tom. "Mr. Damon!" he called back to that eccentric man, "will you please remain there and watch the locomotive?" "I certainly will. And I'm armed, too," shouted Mr. Damon. "Don't fear for this locomotive, Tom. I am right on the job." Tom waved his hand in reply, leaped the ditch, and started up through the wood. Ned was close behind him, and the two young men ran as hard as they could in the direction Tom had seen Andy O'Malley, followed by the giant, running. In places the earth was slippery with pine needles, and the ground was elsewhere rough. Therefore the chums did not make much speed in running after the giant and his quarry. But Tom was sure of the direction in which the two had disappeared, and he and Ned kept doggedly on. They went over the crest of the hill and lost sight of the siding and the locomotive. Here was a sharp descent into a gulch, and some rods away, in the bottom of this gully, the young fellows obtained their first sight of Koku. He was still running with mighty strides and was evidently within sight of the man he had set out after in such haste. "Hey! Koku!" shouted Tom Swift. The giant's hearing was of the keenest. He glanced back and raised his arm in greeting. But he did not slacken his pace. "He must see O'Malley, Tom," cried Ned Newton. "I am sure he does. And I want to get there about as soon as Koku grabs the fellow," panted Tom. "He'll maul O'Malley unmercifully," said Ned. "I don't want Koku to injure him," admitted Tom, and he increased his own stride as he plunged down into the gully. The young inventor distanced his chum within the next few moments. Tom ran like a deer. He reached the bottom of the gully and kept on after Koku's crashing footsteps. At every jump, too, he began to shout to the giant: "Koku! Hold him!" The giant's voice boomed back through the heavy timber: "I catch him! I hold him for Master! I break all um bones! Wait till Koku catch him!" "Hold him, Koku!" yelled Tom again. "Be careful and don't hurt him till I get there!" He could not see what the giant was doing. The timber was thicker down here. It might be that the giant would seize the man roughly. His zeal in Tom's cause was great, and, of course, his strength was enormous. Yet Tom did not want to call the giant off the trail. Andy O'Malley must be captured at this time. He had done enough, too much, indeed, in attempting the ruin of Tom's plans. Before the matter went any further the young inventor was determined that Montagne Lewis' spy should be put where he would be able to do no more harm. But he did not want the man permanently injured. He knew now that Koku was so wildly excited that he might set upon O'Malley as he would upon an enemy in his own country. "Koku! Stop! Wait for me!" Tom finally shouted. Now the young inventor got no reply from the giant. Had the latter got so far ahead that he no longer heard his master's command? Tom pounded on, working his legs like pistons, putting every last ounce of energy he possessed into his effort. This was indeed a desperate chase. Chapter XXIII Mr. Damon at Bay Mr. Wakefield Damon was a very odd and erratic gentleman, but he did not lack courage. He was much more disturbed by the possible injury to Tom Swift's invention by this collision with the bumper at the end of the timber siding than he had been by his own danger at the time of the accident. He did not understand enough about the devices Tom had built in the forward end of the locomotive cab to understand, by any casual examination, if they were at all injured. But when he climbed down beside the track he saw at once that the forward end of the locomotive had received more than a little injury. The pilot, or cow-catcher, looked more like an iron cobweb than it did like anything else. The wheels of the forward trucks had not left the track, but the impact of the heavy locomotive with the bumper had been so great that the latter was torn from its foundations. A little more and the electric locomotive would have shot off the end of the rails into the ditch. While Mr. Damon was examining the front of the locomotive, and Tom and Ned remained absent, he suddenly observed a group of men hurrying out of the forest on the other side of the H. & P. A. right of way. They were not railroad men--at least, they were not dressed in uniform--but they were drawn immediately to the locomotive. The leader of the party was a squarely built man with a determined countenance and a heavy mustache much blacker than his iron gray hair. He was a bullying looking man, and he strode around the rear of the locomotive and came forward just as though he was confident of boarding the machine by right. Mr. Damon, knowing himself in the wilderness and not liking the appearance of this group of strangers, had retired at once to the cab, and now stood in the doorway. "Where's that young fool Swift?" growled the man with the dyed mustache, looking up at Mr. Damon and laying one hand upon the rail beside the ladder. "Don't know any such person," declared Mr. Damon promptly. "You don't know Tom Swift?" cried the man. "Oh! That's another matter," said Mr. Damon coolly. "I don't know any fool named Swift, either young or old. Bless my blinkers! I should say not." "Isn't he here?" demanded the man, gruffly. "Tom Swift isn't here just now--no." "I'm coming up," announced the stranger, and started to put his foot on the first rung of the iron ladder. "You're not," said Mr. Damon, promptly. "What's that?" ejaculated the man. "You only think you are coming up here. But you are not. Bless my fortune telling cards!" ejaculated Mr. Damon, "I should say not." At this point the black-mustached man began to splutter words and threats so fast that nobody could quite understand him. Mr. Damon, however, did not shrink in the least. He stood adamant in the doorway of the cab. Finding little relief in bad language, the enemy made another attempt to climb up. For one thing, he was physically brave. He did not call on his companions to go where he feared to. "I'll show you!" he bawled, and scrambled up the rungs of the ladder. Mr. Damon did show him. He drew from some pocket a black object with a bulb and a long barrel. Somebody below on the cinder path shouted: "Look out, boss he's got a gun!" At that moment the marauder reached out to seize Mr. Damon's coat. Then the object in Mr. Damon's hand spat a fine spray into the florid face of the enemy! "Whoo! Achoo! By gosh!" bawled the big man, and he fell back screaming other ejaculations. "Bless my face and eyes!" cried Mr. Damon. "What did I tell you? And you other fellows want to notice it. Tom Swift isn't here just at this precise moment; but he is guarding his locomotive just the same. He invented this ammonia pistol, and I should say it was effectual. Do you?" The eccentric man was shrewd enough now to keep behind the jamb of the cab door. For some of these fellows, he realized, might be armed with more deadly weapons than his own. "Hey, Mr. Lewis!" cried one big fellow, "d'you want we should get that fellow for you?" "I want to know how badly that blamed thing is smashed," replied the big man with the dyed mustache savagely. "Where's O'Malley?" "O'Malley's lit out, Boss, like I told you. That giant and them other fellows is after him." "Break into that cab! Oh! My eyes! I'll kill that old fool! Break a way in there--What's that?" In pain as he was, his other senses were alert. He was first to hear the screeching whistle of the on-coming freight. "Think they got wind of this so quick?" demanded Montagne Lewis, for it was he. "Are they sending help from Cliff City?" "It's a regular freight," returned one of his men. "She's comm' a-whizzin'," added another. "Right down the eastbound track. If the crew see us--" "Wait!" commanded Lewis. "Isn't that switch open?" "You bet it is, Boss." "Let it be, then," cried the chief plotter. "Let 'em run into it. That freight will smash up this electric locomotive more completely than we could possibly do it. Stand away, men, and let her go!" A sharp curve in the right of way hid the siding, as well as the open switch into it, from the gaze of the engineer who held the throttle of the coming freight. His locomotive drew a string of empties, eastbound, and having had a heavy pull of it coming up the grade to Cliff City, as soon as he had got the highball from the yardmaster there, he had "let her out," and was now coming to the head of the down grade to Hammon at high speed. As it chanced, the wireless receiving station of Tom's new telephone system was not yet completed at Cliff City. The news of the wreck of the Hercules 0001 and her position had not been relayed to the master of the Cliff City yards. That employee of the H. & P. A. had taken a chance in letting the string of empties through his block. He knew the electric locomotive was somewhere ahead, but he thought it would be making its usual time and would have already passed Half Way. But the situation was serious. The freight was coming along at top speed and the switch into the siding was still open. Montagne Lewis and his crew of ruffians might well stand back and let what seemed sure to happen, happen! The driving freight must do more harm to Tom Swift's invention than they could have hoped to do with the sledges and bars they had brought with them to the spot. Mr. Wakefield Damon had shown his courage already. He would have been glad to do more to save Tom's locomotive from further injury, but he did not realize what was threatening. He did not hear the shriek of the freight engine's whistle. Chapter XXIV Putting the Enemy to Flight The pilot and headlight of the freight locomotive came around the turn and the freight thundered on toward the switch. Seeing the group of men standing by the stalled electric locomotive, and the locomotive itself in the clear of the siding, the driver of the freight did not suppose the switch was open. Nobody who was not a criminal would have stood by idly in such an emergency and let the freight run into an open switch. Therefore, for the first minute, the coming engineer did not observe his danger. Lewis and his gang stared at the head of the freight and did nothing. They had moved hastily back from the siding so as to be clear of the wreckage. Mr. Damon was in the front of the cab of Hercules 0001 and had no idea of the approaching menace. But of a sudden a loud shout echoed through the wood. Tom Swift came over the ridge and started toward his invention at top speed. From that height he saw the freight train coming, he observed the men standing at the siding, and he recognized Montagne Lewis, roughly as the railroad magnate was dressed. Instantly Tom realized what was about to happen--what would surely occur--and he saw what must be done if the utter wreck of his locomotive was to be averted. Yelling at the top of his voice, he leaped down the slope. "That's Swift!" shouted Lewis. "Stop him!" But the men he had hired to do his wicked work fell back instead of trying to halt the young inventor. It was not Tom's appearance that made them quail. Over the ridge there appeared a second figure--and a more fearful or threatening apparition none of them had ever before seen! Koku came running with the limp body of Andy O'Malley slung over his shoulder like a bag of meal. The fellows knew it was Andy from his dress. The giant came down the slope after Tom as though he wore the seven-league boots. The fellows Lewis had hired to wreck the electric locomotive shrank back from before both Tom and the giant. "Get him!" yelled the half blinded Lewis again. "Get your grandmother!" bawled one of the men suddenly. "Good-night!" He turned tail and ran, disappearing almost instantly into the thicker woods. And his mates, after a moment of wavering, sped after him. Lewis was left alone, quite helpless because of the ammonia fumes. As a matter of fact not all of O'Malley's predicament was due to Koku. The rascal, exhausted by his run and half blind through fright and rage, had stumbled, fallen, and struck his head on a root, which rendered him unconscious. This, of course, Lewis and his ruffians did not know. All the men of the railroad president's gang saw was the gigantic Koku coming along in great strides, bearing the unconscious O'Malley, who was a burly fellow, as though he were a featherweight. No wonder they fled from such a monster. Tom had reached the switch, and he was several seconds ahead of the freight locomotive. The engineer saw the open switch then; but he was too late to stop his train. Going into reverse, however, helped some. Tom seized the switch lever and threw it over, locking it in place, just as the forward trucks thundered upon the joint. The train swept by in safety, and the engineer leaned from his cab window to wave a grateful hand at the young inventor. Neither the engineer nor the crew of the freight understood the meaning of the scene at the timber siding. All they learned was that Tom Swift had saved the freight from a possible wreck. The young inventor turned sharply from the switch and motioned with his hand to Koku. "Throw that fellow into the cab, Koku," he commanded. The giant did as he was told, just as Ned Newton came panting to the spot. "Did they do any harm, Tom?" he cried. Then he saw Montagne Lewis standing by, and he seized his chum's arm. "Do you see what I see, Tom?" he demanded, earnestly. "I guess we both see the same snake," rejoined his chum. "And I mean to scotch it." "Montagne Lewis!" murmured Ned. "And we've got his chief tool." Tom said nothing to his chum, but he approached Lewis with determined mien. "I can see something has happened to you, Mr. Lewis, and I can guess what it is. The effect of that ammonia will blow away after a time. Ask your friend, Andy O'Malley. He knows all about it, for he sampled it back East, in Shopton." "I'm going to get square for this, young man," growled the railroad magnate. "You know who I am. And that fellow in the cab knew me, too. How dared he shoot that stuff into my face and eyes?" "I fancy it didn't take much daring on Mr. Damon's part," and Tom actually chuckled. "A big crook isn't any more important in our eyes than a little crook. We've got your henchman, O'Malley--" "And you'd better let him go. I'm telling you," snarled Lewis. "I'll ruin you in this country, Tom Swift. I've got influence--" "You won't have much after this thing comes out. And believe me, I mean to spread it abroad. I've got nothing to win or lose from you, Mr. Lewis. As for O'Malley, I'll put him behind the bars for a good long term." "You'll do a lot--" "More than you think," said Tom. "Koku!" The giant had pitched O'Malley, who was still senseless, into the cab, and now was coming up behind Lewis. "Yes, Master," said the giant. "Get him!" "Yes, Master," said Koku, and to Lewis' startled amazement, the next instant he was in the hands of the giant! He screamed and threatened, and even kicked, to no avail. When he was pitched into the electric locomotive he was held under the threat of Mr. Damon's ammonia pistol until Tom and Ned and the giant entered and the door was shut. Then Koku proceeded to tie both the prisoners by wrist and ankle while the others examined the mechanism of the Hercules 0001. The pantagraph had been torn off the trolley wires when the locomotive had gone on the siding. But now Tom climbed to the roof of the locomotive, and with Koku's aid managed to set the rear pantagraph at such an angle that its wheels caught the trolley cables again, and once more the current was pumped into the Hercules 0001. Tom tried out the several parts of the mechanism and found that, despite the jar of the collision, nothing was really injured. "I built this thing to withstand hard usage," he declared with pride. "The Swift Hercules Electric Locomotives will not be built for parlor ornaments. She is going to run into Hendrickton under her own power, in spite of a smashed cows catcher and target lights." "Is nothing really injured, Tom?" asked Mr. Damon. "Bless my dinner set! I thought everything had gone to smash when she hit that bumper." "She will be as good as new in a week," declared Tom, with conviction. This prophecy of the young inventor proved to be true. A week from that day the public test of the electric locomotive on the Hendrickton & Pas Alos Railroad was held. A picked delegation of railroad men was present to observe and marvel, with Mr. Bartholomew; but Montagne Lewis, the president of the H. & W., was not one of those who attended. Of course, Lewis soon got out of jail on bail. But the accusation against him was a serious one. His guilt would be proved by his own employee, Andy O'Malley, who was in a hospital for the time being. O'Malley had got enough. He had turned State's evidence and implicated his employer. Influential and wealthy as Lewis was, he could not escape trial with O'Malley when the time came. "One thing sure, Lewis has got all he wants. He isn't likely to try any more crooked work against the H. & P. A.," Mr. Bartholomew said. "I can thank you for that, Tom Swift, as well as for your invention. You have saved the day for my railroad." "You can thank Koku," chuckled Tom. "If he hadn't spied and identified 'Big Feet,' we might not have caught O'Malley, and, through O'Malley, implicated Montagne Lewis. You give Koku a new suit of clothes, Mr. Bartholomew, and we will call it square. But be sure and have the pattern of the goods loud enough." This conversation took place while the party of guests was gathering to board Mr. Bartholomew's private car, attached to the Hercules 0001. Mr. Damon was one of the guests and so was Ned Newton. Tom took into the cab a crew of H. & P. A. men who would hereafter drive the huge locomotive and take care of her. The semaphore signal dropped and the electric locomotive started as quietly as a baby going to sleep! There was not a jar as the train moved off the siding and over the switches to the main line. The dispatcher had arranged a clear road for them. Tom knew that he had a free track ahead of him--a level of ninety-odd miles to the Hammon yards. As he passed the Hendrickton shops he touched the siren lever for a moment, and the shrill voice of the Hercules 0001 bade the town good-bye. The next minute the visitors in the private car grabbed out their split-second watches and began to murmur. The electric locomotive had begun to travel! Chapter XXV Speed and Success "What town is that?" "Looks like a splotch of paint on a board fence, we went by so quick." "I've lost count, Bartholomew. Where are we?" Ned Newton listened to these comments from the visiting railroad men with delight. In reply to a question of his neighbor, the grinning financial manager of the Swift Construction Company paid: "No, sir. That isn't a picket fence. It's the telegraph poles you see, and they are no nearer together than on another railroad. But we're going some." "Bless my railroad stock!" shouted Mr. Damon, "I should say we were." The electric locomotive and the private car were hurled toward the Pas Alos Range at a speed that almost frightened some of the guests. "Three-quarters of an hour!" gasped one man as they began to see the outskirts of Hammon. "And ninety-six miles? Great Scott, Bartholomew! that's over two miles a minute!" "That is the speed we set out to get," Mr. Richard Bartholomew said, with quite as much pride as though he had done it all himself. But it had been his suggestion and his money that had accomplished this wonder. Tom Swift was willing to give the railroad president his share of the fame. The train scarcely slackened speed at Hammon, for Tom got the signal announcing a clear track ahead, and he bucked the grade with all the power he could get from the feed wires. This hill, so well known to him now, was surmounted at a slightly decreased speed; but it was a wonderful display of power after all. They went down the other side to Panboro and there linked up with an eastbound freight that the Hercules 0001 snatched over the mountain to Hammon at a pace slightly exceeding forty-five miles an hour--at least twice the speed that any two oil-burning locomotives could attain. As for the Jandels, they were not in the same class at all with Tom Swift's locomotive! "Bless my speedometer!" exclaimed Mr. Damon, when the train pulled down and stopped again at the Hendrickton terminal. "This is the greatest test of speed and power I ever heard of. Why, a coal burner or an oil burner isn't in it with this Hercules locomotive! What do you say, Mr. Bartholomew?" "I'll say I am satisfied--completely and thoroughly satisfied, Mr. Damon," said the president of the Hendrickton & Pas Alos Railroad frankly. "Mr. Swift has fulfilled his contract in every particular." An hour later the young inventor and his two friends were in conference with Mr. Bartholomew over a new contract. The bonus of a hundred thousand dollars would be paid at once to the Swift Construction Company. But as the elder Swift's name would be needed on the new contract for the building of other Hercules locomotives, Tom had an idea. "We won't send the papers East for father to sign," he said. "I want him to see the locomotive in real action. And I know where he can borrow a private car and come out here in comfort. Rad can come with him." "Bless my valentines!" ejaculated Mr. Damon, "I bet somebody else will come too." Mr. Damon must have been a prophet, for a fortnight later, when the borrowed car got in to the Hendrickton terminal at the tail of the transcontinental flyer, Tom Swift saw first of all Mary Nestor's rosy face on the platform of the car. "Tom! are you all right?" she cried, beaming down upon the young inventor. "No. Half of me is left," he said, grinning up at her. "You look great, Mary!" "Do you think so?" she cried, dimpling. "Well, if anybody should ask you, Mr. Tom Swift, you look very good to me." "Don't make me swell all up, Mary," he laughed. "How's father?" "Splendid! And Rad--" "Eradicate Sampson is sho' 'nough puffectly all right," broke in the voice of the old colored man, eager to make himself heard and seen. "Here I is, Massa Tom. What dat lizard doin' here? Ain't he a sight?" The old man had caught sight of Koku in the wonderful new suit Mr. Bartholomew had ordered made for the giant. A Navajo blanket had nothing on that suit for a mixture of colors, and Koku strutted like a turkey-gobbler. "My lawsy!" gasped Rad again, "he's as purty as a sunset. Is dat de way de tailors out here build a man up? Sure's yo live, Massa Tom, I needs a new suit of clo'es myself." And before he got away from Hendrickton, Rad Sampson sported a suit off the same piece of goods as that of Koku's. Otherwise there might have been a lasting feud between the giant and the Swift's ancient serving man. Mr. Barton Swift had stood the easy journey in the private car very well. Before he would sign the contract that Mr. Bartholomew offered, he wished to see for himself just how good his son's invention was. They made another test from Hendrickton to Panboro, over the "official route," as Ned called it. The time made by Hercules 0001 was even a little better than before. That the invention was well nigh perfect, and that it could do even more than Mr. Bartholomew had hoped or Tom had claimed, was Mr. Swift's conviction. "Tom," he said to his son, "you have done a wonderful thing. Not only have you completed a marvelous invention and gained thereby a lot of money, and more in prospect, but you have aided in the world's progress to no small degree. "Speed in transportation is the big problem before the world of commerce today. To move goods from point to point safely and cheaply, as well as rapidly, is the great task of this age. We are entering the Age of Speed. The railroads must solve the problem to compete with motor-truck traffic and fast boats on the lakes and rivers of our land. "You have, by your invention, shoved the clock of progress forward. I am proud of you, my boy. I know now that, no matter what may happen to me, you will make an enviable mark in the world of invention. "You have done much before for the Government in time of stress. But war engines of any kind are not worthy examples of inventive genius beside such a thing as this. "It is the inventions of peace, rather than those of war, that stand for human progress." Coming back over the mountain, Mary Nestor rode in the cab with Tom. She sat on the swivel stool, in fact, and handled the controls for part of the way. But she gave up the driver's place to Tom before they reached the timber siding east of Cliff City. "I cannot go by that place without a shudder," Mary said to the inventor. "Ned and Mr. Damon told me all about that accident. Suppose you had been killed, Tom!" "I see I'll have to build an invention that will make that impossible," chuckled the young fellow. "Make what impossible?" "Some invention that will make it positively certain that no matter what I do or where I go, nothing can harm me. Nothing else will suit you, Mary, I plainly see." "Well," returned the girl, smiling fondly at him. "I admit that would satisfy me completely!" This Isn't ALL! Would you like to know what became of the good friends you have made in this book? Would you like to read other stories continuing their adventures and experiences, or other books quite as entertaining by the same author? On the reverse side of the wrapper which comes with this book, you will find a wonderful list of stories which you can buy at the same store where you got this book. Don't throw away the Wrapper Use it as a handy catalog of the books you want some day to have. But in case you do mislay it, write to the Publishers for a complete catalog. THE TOM SWIFT SERIES By VICTOR APPLETON Uniform Style of Binding. Individual Colored Wrappers. Every Volume Complete in Itself. Every boy possesses some form of inventive genius. Tom Swift is a bright, ingenious boy and his inventions and adventures make the most interesting kind of reading. TOM SWIFT AND HIS MOTOR CYCLE TOM SWIFT AND HIS MOTOR BOAT TOM SWIFT AND HIS AIRSHIP TOM SWIFT AND HIS SUBMARINE BOAT TOM SWIFT AND HIS ELECTRIC RUNABOUT TOM SWIFT AND HIS WIRELESS MESSAGE TOM SWIFT AMONG THE DIAMOND MAKERS TOM SWIFT IN THE CAVES OF ICE TOM SWIFT AND HIS SKY RACER TOM SWIFT AND HIS ELECTRIC RIFLE TOM SWIFT IN THE CITY OF GOLD TOM SWIFT AND HIS AIR GLIDER TOM SWIFT IN CAPTIVITY TOM SWIFT AND HIS WIZARD CAMERA TOM SWIFT AND HIS GREAT SEARCHLIGHT TOM SWIFT AND HIS GIANT CANNON TOM SWIFT AND HIS PHOTO TELEPHONE TOM SWIFT AND HIS AERIAL WARSHIP TOM SWIFT AND HIS BIG TUNNEL TOM SWIFT IN THE LAND OF WONDERS TOM SWIFT AND HIS WAR TANK TOM SWIFT AND HIS AIR SCOUT TOM SWIFT AND HIS UNDERSEA SEARCH TOM SWIFT AMONG THE FIRE FIGHTERS TOM SWIFT AND HIS ELECTRIC LOCOMOTIVE TOM SWIFT AND HIS FLYING BOAT TOM SWIFT AND HIS GREAT OIL GUSHER TOM SWIFT AND HIS CHEST OF SECRETS TOM SWIFT AND HIS AIRLINE EXPRESS THE DON STURDY SERIES By VICTOR APPLETON Individual Colored Wrappers and Text illustrations by WALTER S. ROGERS Every Volume Complete in Itself In company with his uncles, one a mighty hunter and the other a noted scientist, Don Sturdy travels far and wide, gaining much useful knowledge and meeting many thrilling adventures. DON STURDY ON THE DESERT OF MYSTERY; Or, Autoing in the Land of the Caravans. An engrossing tale of the Sahara Desert, of encounters with wild animals and crafty Arabs. DON STURDY WITH THE BIG SNAKE HUNTERS; Or, Lost in the Jungles of the Amazon. Don's uncle, the hunter, took an order for some of the biggest snakes to be found in South America--to be delivered alive! The filling of that order brought keen excitement to the boy. DON STURDY IN THE TOMBS OF GOLD; Or, The Old Egyptian's Great Secret. A fascinating tale of exploration and adventure in the Valley of Kings in Egypt. Once the whole party became lost in the maze of cavelike tombs far underground. DON STURDY ACROSS THE NORTH POLE; Or, Cast Away in the Land of Ice. Don and his uncles joined an expedition bound by air across the north pole. A great polar blizzard nearly wrecks the airship. DON STURDY IN THE LAND OF VOLCANOES; Or, The Trail of the Ten Thousand Smokes. An absorbing tale of adventures among the volcanoes of Alaska in a territory but recently explored. A story that will make Don dearer to his readers than ever. THE RADIO BOYS SERIES (Trademark Registered) By ALLEN CHAPMAN Author of the "Railroad Series," Etc. Individual Colored Wrappers. Illustrated. Every Volume Complete in Itself. A new series for boys giving full details of radio work, both in sending and receiving--telling how small and large amateur sets can be made and operated, and how some boys got a lot of fun and adventure out of what they did. Each volume from first to last is so thoroughly fascinating, so strictly up-to-date and accurate, we feel sure all lads will peruse them with great delight. Each volume has a Foreword by Jack Binns, the well-known radio expert. THE RADIO BOYS' FIRST WIRELESS; Or, Winning the Ferberton Prize. THE RADIO BOYS AT OCEAN POINT; Or, The Messsage That Saved the Ship. THE RADIO BOYS AT THE SENDING STATION; Or, Making Good in the Wireless Room. THE RADIO BOYS AT MOUNTAIN PASS; Or, The Midnight Call for Assistance. THE RADIO BOYS TRAILING A VOICE; Or, Solving a Wireless Mystery. THE RADIO BOYS WITH THE FOREST RANGERS; Or, The Great Fire on Spruce Mountain. THE RADIO BOYS WITH THE ICEBERG PATROL; Or, Making Safe the Ocean Lanes. RADIO BOYS WITH THE FLOOD FIGHTERS; Or, Saving the City in the Valley. THE RAILROAD SERIES By ALLEN CHAPMAN Author of the "Radio Boys," Etc. Uniform Style of Binding. Illustrated. Every Volume Complete in Itself. In this line of books there is revealed the whole workings of a great American railroad system. There are adventures in abundance--railroad wrecks, dashes through forest fires, the pursuit of a "wildcat" locomotive, the disappearance of a pay car with a large sum of money on board--but there is much more than this--the intense rivalry among railroads and railroad men, the working out of running schedules, the getting through "on time" in spite of all obstacles, and the manipulation of railroad securities by evil men who wish to rule or ruin. RALPH OF THE ROUND HOUSE; Or, Bound to Become a Railroad Man. RALPH IN THE SWITCH TOWER; Or, Clearing the Track. RALPH ON THE ENGINE; Or, The Young Fireman of the Limited Mail. RALPH ON THE OVERLAND EXPRESS; Or, The Trials and Triumphs of a Young Engineer. RALPH, THE TRAIN DISPATCHER; Or, the Mystery of the Pay Car. RALPH ON THE ARMY TRAIN; Or, The Young Railroader's Most Daring Exploit. RALPH ON THE MIDNIGHT FLYER; Or, The Wreck at Shadow Valley. RALPH AND THE MISSING MAIL POUCH; Or, The Stolen Government Bonds. THE RIDDLE CLUB BOOKS By ALICE DALE HARDY Individual Colored Wrappers. Attractively Illustrated. Every Volume Complete in Itself. Here is as ingenious a series of books for little folks as has ever appeared since "Alice in Wonderland." The idea of the Riddle books is a little group of children--three girls and three boys decide to form a riddle club. Each book is full of the adventures and doings of these six youngsters, but as an added attraction each book is filled with a lot of the best riddles you ever heard. THE RIDDLE CLUB AT HOME An absorbing tale that all boys and girls will enjoy reading. How the members of the club fixed up a clubroom in the Larue barn, and how they, later on, helped solve a most mysterious happening, and how one of the members won a valuable prize, is told in a manner to please every young reader. THE RIDDLE CLUB IN CAMP The club members went into camp on the edge of a beautiful lake. Here they had rousing good times swimming, boating and around the campfire. They fell in with a mysterious old man known as The Hermit of Triangle Island. Nobody knew his real name or where he came from until the propounding of a riddle solved these perplexing questions. THE RIDDLE CLUB THROUGH THE HOLIDAYS This volume takes in a great number of winter sports, including skating and sledding and the building of a huge snowman. It also gives the particulars of how the club treasurer lost the dues entrusted to his care and what the melting of the great snowman revealed. THE RIDDLE CLUB AT SUNRISE BEACH This volume tells how the club journeyed to the seashore and how they not only kept up their riddles but likewise had good times on the sand and on the water. Once they got lost in a fog and are marooned on an island. Here they made a discovery that greatly pleased the folks at home. THE HONEY BUNCH BOOKS By HELEN LOUISE THORNDYKE Individual Colored Wrappers and Text Illustrations Drawn by WALTER S. ROGERS A new line of fascinating tales for little girls. Honey Bunch is a dainty, thoughtful little girl, and to know her is to take her to your heart at once. HONEY BUNCH: JUST A LITTLE GIRL Happy days at home, helping mamma and the washerlady. And Honey Bunch helped the house painters too--or thought she did. HONEY BUNCH: HER FIRST VISIT TO THE CITY What wonderful sights Honey Bunch saw when she went to visit her cousins in New York! And she got lost in a big hotel and wandered into a men's convention! HONEY BUNCH: HER FIRST DAYS ON THE FARM Can you remember bow the farm looked the first time you visited it? How big the cows and horses were, and what a roomy place to play in the barn proved to be? HONEY BUNCH: HER FIRST VISIT TO THE SEASHORE Honey Bunch soon got used to the big waves and thought playing in the sand great fun. And she visited a merry-go-round, and took part in a seaside pageant. HONEY BUNCH: HER FIRST LITTLE GARDEN It was great sport to dig and to plant with one's own little garden tools. But best of all was when Honey Bunch won a prize at the flower show. HONEY BUNCH: HER FIRST DAYS IN CAMP It was a great adventure for Honey Bunch when she journeyed to Camp Snapdragon. It was wonderful to watch the men erect the tent, and wonderful to live in it and have good times on the shore and in the water. THE OUTDOOR GIRLS SERIES By LAURA LEE HOPE Author of the "Bobbsey Twins," "Bunny Brown" Series, Etc. Uniform Style of Binding. Individual Colored Wrappers. Every Volume Complete in Itself. These tales take in the various adventures participated in by several bright, up-to-date girls who love outdoor life. THE OUTDOOR GIRLS OF DEEPDALE; Or, Camping and Tramping for Fun and Health. THE OUTDOOR GIRLS AT RAINBOW LAKE; Or, The Stirring Cruise of the Motor Boat Gem. THE OUTDOOR GIRLS IN A MOTOR CAR; Or, The Haunted Mansion of Shadow Valley. THE OUTDOOR GIRLS IN A WINTER CAMP; Or, Glorious Days on Skates and Ice Boats. THE OUTDOOR GIRLS IN FLORIDA; Or, Wintering in the Sunny South. THE OUTDOOR GIRLS AT OCEAN VIEW; Or, The Box That Was Found in the Sand. THE OUTDOOR GIRLS ON PINE ISLAND; Or, A Cave and What it Contained. THE OUTDOOR GIRLS IN ARMY SERVICE; Or, Doing Their Bit for Uncle Sam. THE OUTDOOR GIRLS AT THE HOSTESS HOUSE; Or, Doing Their Best For the Soldiers. THE OUTDOOR GIRLS AT BLUFF POINT; Or, A Wreck and A Rescue. THE OUTDOOR GIRLS AT WILD ROSE LODGE; Or, The Hermit of Moonlight Falls. THE OUTDOOR GIRLS IN THE SADDLE; Or, The Girl Miner of Gold Run. THE OUTDOOR GIRLS AROUND THE CAMPFIRE; Or, The Old Maid of the Mountains. THE OUTDOOR GIRLS ON CAPE COD; Or, Sally Ann of Lighthouse Rock. 
17985	----	[Transcriber's Note: Illustration descriptions in (parentheses) are provided by the transcriber.] * * * * * [Illustrated Cover with Text:] The new TOM SWIFT Jr. Adventures TOM SWIFT and The Visitor from Planet X By VICTOR APPLETON II [Spine Text:] Tom Swift and the Visitor from Planet X Victor Appleton II The new TOM SWIFT Jr. Adventures 17 Grosset & Dunlap 9117 [Dust Jacket text:] TOM SWIFT AND THE VISITOR FROM PLANET X By VICTOR APPLETON II Tom Swift Jr. and his associates at Swift Enterprises wait breathlessly for what may well be the most important scientific event in history--the arrival of the visitor from Planet X--a visitor in the form of energy. But there are factions at work determined to snatch the energy, which Tom has named Exman, from the young scientist-inventor's grasp. First, a series of unexplainable, devastating earthquakes threaten to destroy a good portion of the earth, and Tom suspects the Brungarian rebels who obviously would like to capture Exman and use the space visitor to further their own evil purposes. With the security of Enterprises and Exman at stake, Tom creates two of his greatest inventions--a Quakelizor to counteract the simulated earth tremors, and a container or "body" to house the energy from outer space. If the earthquakes cannot be stopped, the entire world will be threatened by destruction, and the Brungarian forces will conquer the earth. How Tom utilizes all his scientific knowledge to produce swift-action results and outwit the Brungarians makes one of the most exciting Tom Swift adventures to date. GROSSET & DUNLAP _Publishers_ New York 10, N.Y. * * * * * * * * * * * * * * [Illustration: inside cover (Tom Swift in his lab)] * * * * * TOM SWIFT AND THE VISITOR FROM PLANET X * * * * * THE NEW TOM SWIFT JR. ADVENTURES BY VICTOR APPLETON II TOM SWIFT AND HIS FLYING LAB TOM SWIFT AND HIS JETMARINE TOM SWIFT AND HIS ROCKET SHIP TOM SWIFT AND HIS GIANT ROBOT TOM SWIFT AND HIS ATOMIC EARTH BLASTER TOM SWIFT AND HIS OUTPOST IN SPACE TOM SWIFT AND HIS DIVING SEACOPTER TOM SWIFT IN THE CAVES OF NUCLEAR FIRE TOM SWIFT ON THE PHANTOM SATELLITE TOM SWIFT AND HIS ULTRASONIC CYCLOPLANE TOM SWIFT AND HIS DEEP-SEA HYDRODOME TOM SWIFT IN THE RACE TO THE MOON TOM SWIFT AND HIS SPACE SOLARTRON TOM SWIFT AND HIS ELECTRONIC RETROSCOPE TOM SWIFT AND HIS SPECTROMARINE SELECTOR TOM SWIFT AND THE COSMIC ASTRONAUTS TOM SWIFT AND THE VISITOR FROM PLANET X * * * * * [Frontispiece: _The raiders transferred Exman to the enemy sub_] * * * * * The New Tom Swift Jr. Adventures TOM SWIFT AND THE VISITOR FROM PLANET X BY VICTOR APPLETON II ILLUSTRATED BY GRAHAM KAYE Grosset & Dunlap New York Publishers [c] by Grosset & Dunlap, Inc., 1961 All Rights Reserved Printed in the United States of America * * * * * CONTENTS Chapter Page 1 The Earthquake 1 2 The Mysterious Hitchhiker 11 3 Report from Interpol 18 4 Another Tremor! 30 5 Secret Cache 39 6 Brungarian Coup 46 7 Wall of Water! 55 8 A Suspect Talks 65 9 The Cave Monster 73 10 Energy from Planet X 83 11 An Electrical Christening 92 12 Exman Takes Orders 99 13 Disaster Strikes 106 14 Air-borne Hijackers 115 15 Kidnaped! 125 16 A Unique Experiment 137 17 An Urgent Warning 145 18 Earthquake Island 155 19 A Fiendish Machine 166 20 The Robot Spy's Story 177 CHAPTER I THE EARTHQUAKE "Tom, we're having a problem with the gyro-stabilizer," said Mark Faber, gray-haired president of the Faber Electronics Company. "Hope you can find out what's wrong." The eighteen-year-old inventor accepted the challenge with a smile. "I'll be glad to try, sir," he replied. Bud Barclay, a dark-haired young flier and Tom Swift Jr.'s closest friend, chuckled. "If anyone can get the bugs out of your new invention, genius boy here will do it!" The two boys followed Mr. Faber and his engineers to a wooden building which was tightly guarded. Inside, a secret rocket-telemetering device was mounted on its test stand. "As you know, Tom," Mr. Faber began, "the usual conditions of rocket flight will be--" He broke off with a gasp of astonishment as the whole building suddenly began to shake. "Good grief!" Bud exclaimed. "This isn't part of your testing routine, is it?" His question was drowned out by cries of alarm and the sound of cracking glass. The walls and roof were shuddering and creaking, and the concrete floor was heaving under their feet. [Illustration (earthquake in the lab)] "Look out! The test stand's breaking loose!" Tom warned. Mr. Faber and two of his men tried frantically to brace the heavy test stand which held the telemetering device. Another engineer rushed toward the door to see what was happening outside. Before he reached it, another shock knocked all of them off their feet. Electronic equipment cascaded from the wall shelves, and a heavy-duty chain hoist came loose from its overhead track, plunging to the floor with a terrifying crash. "An earthquake!" Tom gasped. Bud, meanwhile, clawed a handhold on a wire screen enclosing an air compressor and pulled himself to his feet. But the next moment a third, more violent tremor rocked the building, knocking him over. "The roof! It's caving in!" he heard someone scream. As his eyes flashed upward in panic, Bud caught a brief glimpse of the ponderous test stand with the priceless telemeter tilting to one side. An instant later it crashed over, pinning Mark Faber beneath it! Bud threw up his arms to protect himself, but too late! A falling beam caught him on the back of the head and the young flier blacked out. For minutes, no one stirred among the wreckage. Then Tom, who had been stunned by some falling debris, raised himself to a sitting position. "Good night!" Tom's eyes focused in horror on the wreckage enveloped by still-billowing dust. The sky was visible through several gaping holes in the roof, which was sagging dangerously on its supporting trusses. Only two thirds of the walls were still standing. Suddenly Tom stiffened in fear. "Bud!" The young inventor had just noticed his friend lying pinned beneath a heavy beam nearby. _Was he still breathing?_ Disregarding his own injuries, Tom hastily freed himself from the debris and groped his way to Bud's side. With a desperate heave, he shoved the beam away, then cradled Bud's head in his arm. His friend's eyelids flickered. "Are you all right?" Tom asked fearfully. The answer came in a groan. "O-oh!... Wow!... What hit me?" "You got conked by a falling timber. Or grazed, at least," Tom added thankfully. "If that beam had landed square on your noggin, even a rock-head like you couldn't have survived!" Bud managed to grin. "We grow 'em tough out in California where I come from!" he joked. Somewhat shakily, Bud got to his feet with Tom's assistance. Both boys were heartsick as they surveyed the damaged laboratory, wondering where to begin rescue operations. "It was a quake," Bud stated grimly. He had heard about the great San Francisco earthquake from his grandfather, and had no doubt about the nature of the tremors. Just then Tom glimpsed a body protruding from under the wreckage of the telemetering device. "Mr. Faber!" he gasped. The two boys scrambled through the clutter of debris toward the spot where the test stand had been erected. Bud seized a slender, steel I beam and managed to pry up the wreckage while Tom carefully extricated Mr. Faber. The scientist seemed to be badly injured. "We'd better not try to move him," Tom decided. "We'll get an ambulance." Of the four other company engineers, two were now stirring and partly conscious. The boys found a first-aid cabinet and gave what help they could to them and the other two men. Then Tom taped a bandage on Bud's scalp wound. "Let's see if we can find a telephone and call the local hospital," Tom said. "Right!" Bud responded. They picked their way through the wreckage and emerged on a scene of frightful destruction. The main plant building of Faber Electronics had been partially demolished by the quake. Power lines were down and an outlying storage shed was ablaze. Dazed and panic-stricken survivors were wandering around aimlessly or rushing about to assist the injured. "Good thing the main shift of workers knocked off before this happened," Bud observed with a shudder. "There would've been a lot more casualties." "Look!" Tom pointed to a huge crevasse. "Right where we landed our Whirling Duck!" The boys exchanged rueful glances as they realized that the craft which had brought them to Faber Electronics--one of Tom's unique helijets--had been swallowed up in the gaping chasm. "No use fussing about it now," Tom said. "Come on, Bud! Let's see about getting help for Mr. Faber!" Despite the chaotic confusion, the boys managed to locate the plant superintendent--a harried, middle-aged man named Simkins--who was doing his best to restore order. Simkins, who had not been injured, informed them that electricians were rigging an emergency telephone line in order to get through to the nearby town of Harkness. "Mr. Faber is badly injured," Tom said. "Why not send a car? It's only a few miles away, isn't it?" "I'll send the plant nurse to him," Simkins said. "As for going to town, take a look at the parking lot." He pointed with a jerk of his thumb. The cars on the lot had been smashed into junk by bricks from a collapsing wall of one of the buildings. "And the only truck we had available was in that burning shed," the superintendent added bitterly. "Tough break," Tom sympathized. "Anyhow, we want to help. Got a job for us?" Simkins was only too glad to put Tom's quick mind and keen technical know-how to use. Within minutes, Tom was in charge of clearing away rubble and extricating anyone who might be trapped inside the buildings. Bud organized a fire-fighting crew to keep the blaze in the shed from spreading. The telephone line was soon repaired and a steady stream of rescue vehicles began arriving from Harkness--fire trucks, three ambulances, and private cars driven by volunteers. Two hours later there was nothing more Tom and Bud could do at the disaster scene and they hitched a ride into Harkness. The town had suffered some damage, though only slight compared to the destruction at the plant. "The center of the quake was right under Faber Electronics," Tom remarked. From a pay telephone, he called Swift Enterprises in Shopton. This was the experimental station where he and his father developed their many amazing inventions. Tom asked the operator to send a helicopter immediately to pick them up. He also called home and spoke to his sister, Sandra. "What a relief!" Sandy gasped. "We heard a bulletin about the quake over the radio!" "Don't worry, Sis. Tell Mother and Dad that we're okay," Tom said. "We'll be home in a jiffy--with big appetites!" The helicopter arrived within twenty minutes at the place Tom had named. After landing at Enterprises, the boys drove to the pleasant, tree-shaded Swift home on the outskirts of town. Mrs. Swift, a slender, petite woman, tried not to show concern when she saw the boys, bruised and disheveled. "I'm so thankful you're both safe!" she murmured. Blond, blue-eyed Sandy, who was a year younger than Tom, had invited her friend Phyllis Newton to the house for dinner. Phyl, a pretty, dark-haired girl, was the daughter of Mr. Swift's long-time friend and business associate, "Uncle Ned" Newton. The two girls were as much upset as Tom's mother. Tom laughed. "We're not stretcher cases," he said. "Why, one of the ambulance doctors checked us out." Bud groaned. "Why did you have to go and spoil it?" he complained jokingly. "I was all set for Sandy's cool soothing touch on my fevered brow!" Mr. Swift came into the living room just then and told Tom how worried Mrs. Swift and Sandy had been. "I tried to assure them that you and Bud can take care of yourselves in any crisis." He smiled guiltily as he added, "But I must admit I was more than a little concerned myself." As Tom grinned, the resemblance between him and his father was very evident. Both had the same clean-cut features and deep-set blue eyes, although Tom Jr. was lankier and taller. After the two boys had showered and changed their clothes, Mrs. Swift served them a delicious, hot meal. While they ate, Mr. Swift managed after some difficulty to get a call through to the Harkness Hospital. His face was grave as he hung up. "Mark Faber is not expected to live," the elder inventor reported. "A pity. He's a great scientist." Tom nodded unhappily. Sandy, to take her brother's mind off the disaster, said, "Dad, tell Tom and Bud about the visitor who's coming." "A visitor?" Tom looked at his father. "From another planet," Mr. Swift revealed. Both boys were amazed and excited. "Wow!" Bud gasped. "Male or female? Human or animal?" Mr. Swift's eyes twinkled. "None of those," he replied as the boys stared, mystified. CHAPTER II THE MYSTERIOUS HITCHHIKER Tom and Bud were bursting with curiosity. Although the Swifts had been in radio contact with creatures from outer space for many months, this was the most exciting news yet! On one occasion, the unknown beings had moved a small asteroid--the phantom satellite Nestria--into orbit about the earth. Later they had sent strange samples of the animal life of their planet, aboard orbiting missiles, to be studied by the Swifts. They had also helped Tom, Bud, and Mr. Swift a number of times when their lives were at stake while on daring voyages beyond the earth. What was their latest intention? The telephone rang and Sandy went to answer it. "For Pete's sake, Dad," Tom pleaded, "don't keep us in suspense! Who or what is this visitor?" Mr. Swift smiled at the boys' baffled expressions. "The fact is that a message came through today that--" He was interrupted by Sandy who had come to the door. "The phone call's for you, Dad. Long distance from Washington." Bud groaned as Mr. Swift went off to take the call. "It's a conspiracy," Bud said. "Everyone's ganging up to keep us from finding out about that mysterious visitor!" Tom grinned. "We lasted through an earthquake this afternoon, pal," he said consolingly. "I guess we can last through a phone call." Inwardly Tom was as impatient as Bud about the exact nature of the message. Several months ago, the space creatures had sent their first communication in the form of mathematical symbols carved on a black missile which had landed on the grounds of Swift Enterprises. Tom and his father had decoded the symbols and beamed out a reply over a powerful radio transmitter. Later messages had been picked up by radio telescope and converted to appear as symbols on the oscilloscope screen. "Sandy must know what it's all about," Bud broke in. "She's the one who first mentioned the visitor." "Of course I know," Sandy said mysteriously. "So does Mother and so does Phyl. But don't think we're going to give it away!" she added teasingly. Tom and Bud cajoled the two girls and Mrs. Swift for further information. But Sandy and Phyl only shook their heads, obviously enjoying the situation. "At last we're getting back at them for the way they've neglected us!" Phyl said, her brown eyes sparkling with laughter. "Come on, Mother!" Tom said. "Be a sport. You tell us!" But Mrs. Swift too shook her head. "I'm sorry, Tom," she demurred gently, "but I think the girls are right. I'll say this much, though," she relented, "it will be the biggest challenge that Tom Swift Jr. and Sr. have ever faced!" "Whew!" Bud remarked as the two boys glanced at each other. "That must mean it's _plenty_ big news! It would have to be, skipper, to top all the other jobs you and your dad have taken on!" Conquering outer space, probing the ocean's secrets, drilling to the earth's core--these were only a few of Tom Swift's many exciting exploits. In his first adventure, Tom, in his Flying Lab, had gone to South America to fend off a gang of rebels seeking a valuable radioactive ore deposit. In his most recent challenge, Tom had defied the threats of Oriental killers determined to ferret out the secret of the Swifts' latest space research. As the two boys silently recalled the exciting events of the past months, Mr. Swift returned to the living room. Tom and Bud leaned forward in their chairs. "Well, boys," Mr. Swift said, "as I started to tell you, the space receiver picked up a message today from our unknown planetary friends. The message informed us that they are sending a visitor to earth--a visitor consisting of _pure energy!_" "_Energy?_" Tom was startled. "I don't get it, Dad!" "Frankly, I don't quite understand it myself," Tom Sr. confessed. "The message didn't explain how or in what form the energy would arrive. But, at any rate, they want us to construct some sort of container for it." The elder scientist paused thoughtfully. "In my opinion, the energy which they speak of must be a sort of invisible brain. The symbols were rather difficult to decode, but apparently our job will be to construct a device through which the energy will be able to receive impressions of what life is like here on earth, and also to communicate its own responses to us." Tom sat bolt upright. "Dad, this is terrific news!" he exclaimed. "If we're able to make this energy or 'brain' communicate, it may be able to tell _us_ what the space people are like!" Mr. Swift nodded, his own eyes blazing with as much excitement as Tom's were. Bud, too, was deeply impressed but could not resist quipping, "What sort of body will you give it? How about a beautiful, superintelligent space girl for me to date?" "Nothing doing!" Sandy retorted mischievously. "I insist on a handsome young man who'd have time to take two nice earth girls out on dates!" "Ouch!" Bud pretended to wince. "I really left myself wide open for that one!" Mrs. Swift put in, "Goodness, mightn't it get out of control and be rather overpowering? Suppose it went berserk!" "Rather an unpleasant possibility," Mr. Swift agreed, smiling wryly. "But I trust our space friends wouldn't let that happen." Both he and Tom became thoughtful as they discussed the problem. "The energy will arrive in two weeks," Mr. Swift added. "Unfortunately that phone call was a request that I go to Washington on urgent government business. So you may have to take over and work out a solution on your own, Tom." It was a sobering thought to the young inventor. "You were right, Mother. This is a terrific challenge." Soon afterward, the little gathering broke up. Bud, who had left his own convertible at the Swifts' that morning, offered to drop Phyl at her home. Tom awoke the next morning, refreshed by a good night's sleep. After a hearty breakfast of bacon and eggs, he drove off to Enterprises in his low-slung silver sports car. "Think I'll listen to the news," Tom thought, and switched on his dashboard radio. A moment later the announcer's voice came over the loud-speaker. "Casualties from yesterday's disastrous earthquake now total thirty-one injured," the announcer reported. "Most of these are employees of the Faber Electronics plant and four are in critical condition. There is one note of cheer, however. At last report, Mark Faber, the brilliant president of the company, is now expected to recover." Tom gave a thankful sigh of relief. The announcer continued, "The nearby town of Harkness was only lightly damaged, but the plant itself was almost totally demolished. No estimate of the losses has been released, but will certainly run into millions of dollars, including some highly secret defense items which were being developed at the plant. Scientists are puzzled by the severity of the quake in what had been considered a 'dead' area." For the first time Tom, too, was struck by this curious aspect of the disaster. So far as he knew, no serious tremors had ever before been reported within hundreds of miles of the region. He was mulling over the matter as he drove along a lonely wooded area, not far from Lake Carlopa. Suddenly his thoughts were interrupted as a man stepped out from among the trees ahead and gestured with his thumb for a ride. "Sorry, mister," Tom reflected, "but I've had trouble with hitchhikers before!" He shook his head to let the man know that he did not intend to stop. To the young inventor's amazement, the pedestrian deliberately stepped onto the road--squarely in the path of Tom's oncoming car! Tom jammed on the brakes, and the silver sports car screeched to a stop. Only a quick twist of the wheel had prevented an accident! Somewhat angrily, Tom exclaimed, "What's the big idea, mister? Don't you realize you might have been--" "Shut up!" the stranger snarled. In an instant the man had yanked open the door and climbed in beside Tom. "Take me inside the grounds of Swift Enterprises," he commanded in a foreign accent. "And no tricks or you will regret it!" CHAPTER III REPORT FROM INTERPOL Tom, astonished, stared at the stranger. "Who are you?" the young inventor demanded. "Never mind who I am. Just do as I say!" By this time Tom had recovered from his surprise and coolly sized up his enemy. The man was about thirty years old, with close-cropped black hair. Steely eyes glinted in a lean, hard-jawed face. Tom wondered, "_Should I risk a fight? Or is he armed?_" As if in answer, the stranger growled, "I gave you an order, my friend. Don't press your luck! Get going!" As he spoke, the man thrust one hand deep into his coat pocket, and Tom felt something hard poke against his ribs. The young inventor drove on, but proceeded slowly. He wanted time to think. Presently Swift Enterprises, enclosed by a high wall, came into view. Tom's brain was working fast. At last he decided on a ruse. He would head for the main gate, get out, and use his electronic key without waiting for the guard to admit him. At the same time, he would press a secret warning bell to alert the Swift security force. But the stranger seemed to read his thoughts. As Tom started to turn off toward the main gate, his passenger snapped, "Go to the private gate which you and your father use!" "And if I refuse?" Again the hard object poked into his ribs. "You will be what you call in this country a dead duck!" the stranger warned. "I will then let myself in with your key!" Tight-lipped, Tom drove on another half mile, then turned in at the private gate. The man got out with him as Tom walked up to the gate and beamed his electronic key at the hidden mechanism. Instantly the gate swung open, then closed again automatically after the car passed through. Tom parked in his usual spot. The stranger kept his hand in his pocket, still covering Tom but glancing around cautiously. The sprawling experimental station was a vast four-mile-square area with a cluster of gleaming modern laboratory buildings and workshops. In the distance, a tall glassed-in control tower overlooked Enterprises' long runways for jet planes. Suddenly the stranger stiffened. A paunchy, bowlegged figure, topped by a white Texas sombrero, was coming straight toward them. Tom's heart gave a leap of hope. The man was Chow Winkler, formerly a chuck-wagon cook and now head chef for the Swifts' expeditions. "Hi, boss!" Chow bellowed in his foghorn voice. As usual he was wearing a gaudy cowboy shirt. "Who's the new buckaroo?" the cook added, squinting at the stranger with open but friendly curiosity. "Why--actually I don't know his name yet, but he's looking for a job," Tom replied. Turning to the stranger, he added, "What _is_ your name, mister?" The stranger glared from Tom to Chow, as if not certain what to answer. Chow's eyes narrowed. He had detected something strange in the way Tom addressed the fellow as "mister," and had also noticed how the man kept one hand hidden in his pocket. Looking to Tom for a lead, Chow suddenly noticed the young inventor make a quick "thumbs down" gesture. "My name is..." The man's voice fell to a mumble, obscuring the syllables. "Frankly I am not yet sure I desire a job here, but being an engineer, I thought perhaps--" [Illustration (Tom and Chow fight the intruder)] The man's gaze switched back to Tom, and in that instant Chow jumped the intruder. With surprising agility for his rotund bulk, the cook bore down on him and let fly a gnarled fist at the stranger's jaw. Tom followed up like lightning, grabbing the man's wrist and yanking his hand out of his pocket. He was clutching a snub-nosed automatic. Tom twisted it from his grasp as the man landed, writhing on the hard ground. Chow quickly pinned his other arm and drove a knee into the man's solar plexus. "Jest lie quiet now, you varmint, or you may git yourself roughed up a bit," Chow warned, then added, "Who is he, Tom?" "Search me. He stopped my car on the road and forced me to drive him in through the private gate. Boy, was I ever glad to see you, old-timer!" Tom emptied out the clip of shells. Then he searched the stranger while Chow continued holding him down. The man carried no wallet, papers, or other means of identification. "Brand my tumbleweed salad," Chow grumbled, "he sure wasn't takin' no chances on people findin' out who he is! Which proves he's some sort o' crooked cowpoke! Honest ones ain't afeared o' showin' their own brand!" The man muttered something angrily in a foreign tongue. Chow merely pressed down harder with his knee. "What'll we do with him, boss?" "Let him up, Chow," Tom said. "Security should be here any second." Even as he spoke, Tom glimpsed a jeep speeding toward them in the distance. The young inventor knew what had happened. Since the stranger did not have the special electronic wrist amulet worn by all Swift employees, his presence had automatically shown up on the master radarscope. A security squad was coming to investigate. As Chow released the man, he got to his feet slowly. Then, without warning, he suddenly butted the cook square in the stomach. Chow was knocked sprawling! Before Tom could counter the surprise attack, the man's fist cracked against his cheekbone. Tom, though stunned, lashed out. More punches flew back and forth. Tom landed a stinging blow to his opponent's midriff, then took a punishing one himself. Suddenly Tom felt the stranger's hand clawing at his pocket for the key to the gate. With all his wiry strength, Tom locked his arms around the man and wrestled him to the ground. The stranger fought like a tiger. But a second later a jeep screeched to a stop. Three security guards, led by stocky Phil Radnor, leaped out. Within moments they had the man subdued. Tom quickly briefed the security men on what had happened. "All right, mister, start talking!" snapped Radnor, head security police officer. The man's only reply was a scowl of rage. "Okay, take him away till he cools off," Tom ordered. Disheveled and still panting, the man was bundled into the jeep and driven off to the security building. Tom arrived there by motor scooter several minutes later. Harlan Ames, the slim, dark-haired security chief of Enterprises, had taken charge of the case, and the prisoner was now being fingerprinted and photographed. "Any leads?" Tom inquired. Ames shook his head. "He won't talk and we've nothing on him in our files. His clothes have no tags or laundry marks, but I'd say they're of foreign make." Tom nodded. "He's definitely foreign. He spoke with an accent and he also muttered something at Chow--I didn't catch it, but it certainly wasn't in English." Ames frowned. "I don't like the looks of this, skipper. He may be a spy." "Have you notified the police?" Tom asked. "Right. Also the FBI. They're on the way right now to pick him up. Maybe they'll be able to worm something out of him." Tom spent the morning in routine work in the big double office which he shared with his father in Enterprises' main building. It was equipped with huge twin modern desks, deep-pile carpeting, and roomy leather chairs. Each of the two inventors had his own drawing board, designed to swing out from the wall at the press of a button. Small scale models of some of their most famous inventions were also placed about the office, including a red-and-silver replica of Tom's first rocket ship, the _Star Spear_; a blue plastic model of the jetmarine in which he had fought a band of undersea pirates; and also a gleaming silvery model of Tom's latest, unique space craft, the _Cosmic Sailer_. Because of his father's absence in Washington, the burden of administering the vast experimental station now fell on Tom's youthful shoulders. Telephone calls, letters, and other detailed work occupied him until noon. Chow broke in, bringing a lunch tray with milk, a hot chicken sandwich, and a chocolate eclair. Tom ate hungrily. "Kind o' peps up the ole supercharger, eh?" said Chow, lingering to chat. "Sure does," Tom agreed. "Wal, jest remember that, an' don't go missin' any meals--or sleep, either," Chow advised as he gathered up the tray. "A brainy young hombre like you needs plenty o' rest an' vitamins to keep from burnin' himself out." "I'll remember." Tom grinned affectionately as the leathery-faced old Texan took his leave. The Swifts had first met Chow when they were on an atomic research expedition in the Southwest. Chow had become so attached to Tom that he had returned to Shopton with the Swifts as a permanent employee. Soon after Chow left the office, the telephone rang. Tom took the call and had just finished talking with Harlan Ames when Bud came strolling in. "Any more news on that nut who jumped you this morning?" the young flier asked. "Ames told me about it." "Not yet, but there may be soon," Tom said. "Harlan just phoned and said he'd had a call from Washington, asking us to stand by the videophone at one-thirty sharp." Ames arrived in person shortly before the scheduled time. Moments later, a red signal flashed on the control board of the Swifts' private TV network. Tom flicked on the videophone and two men appeared on the screen. One was Blake, the Swifts' Washington, D.C., telecaster. He introduced the other man, a calm-faced, balding individual in a dark suit. "This is John Thurston of the Central Intelligence Agency, Tom," Blake said. "He thought it might be better to discuss this with you face to face." Tom, Bud, and Ames were also visible to the pair in Washington. "Glad to know you, sir," Tom said, and introduced his companions. "We've identified the man you captured this morning," Thurston began. "He's in the United States on a French passport under the name of Jacques Renard. But we've just learned from the International Police Organization that he's actually a Brungarian. His name is Samson Narko." Tom and Ames exchanged startled glances. In the past, certain Brungarian factions had been responsible for some of the most fiendish plots ever perpetrated against the Swifts. "Unfortunately, that's not all," Thurston went on. "Interpol believes that Narko is also a member of the same rebel outfit with whom you've had trouble before." Tom was dismayed by the news. "I sure thought that group had been smashed!" he said. Soon after Tom had balked their attempts to seize the satellite Nestria, the rebel ringleaders had reportedly been arrested and tried for treason. "It now appears," Thurston explained, "that only one segment was quelled. Other members of the antigovernment movement are active again and are said to be strongly organized." The CIA man related even more sinister news. It was suspected that a larger nation--by aiding the rebels--was planning a coup to take over Brungaria. They had already subverted various government agencies and were sending their own professors to staff the Brungarian technical schools. It was all part of their insidious fifth-column pattern. "Many top Brungarian officials have joined the plotters," Thurston added, "and it's now becoming very difficult for anyone to enter or leave the country." Ames asked for information on any rebel sympathizers known to be in the United States. Thurston was able to tell him very little. "We keep strict tabs, of course, on all Brungarians entering this country," Thurston explained. "But even though we screen them carefully, a rebel agent like Narko may slip in--usually on a stolen or faked passport." When the telecast ended, Tom, Bud, and Ames discussed the news grimly. "What if Narko has pals working with him?" Bud conjectured. "If he does," Tom said, "they may try carrying through Narko's mission." "I'll station extra guards around the outer wall on twenty-four-hour alert," Ames promised. Tom approved this measure wholeheartedly, but the purpose of Narko's secret mission remained a mystery. Why had he tried to force his way into Enterprises? What was he after? There was little hope of resolving these questions, since United States Intelligence had learned of the rebel movement itself only within the past few days. Thurston had asked Tom and his companions to treat the information as confidential. "I'd better get back to work," Tom decided after Bud and Ames had left his office. Tom sat down at his drawing board and began to sketch out some rough ideas for a vehicle to house the "brain energy" from space. Tom wondered if the brain would be able to perform actions by itself, given the proper mechanical output devices. Or would he have to help it function via an electronic computer to digest incoming information or stimuli and then to respond through servo controls? The problem was so baffling and complex that Tom became completely oblivious to the passage of time. He sketched out plan after plan, only to crumple and discard each one. Suddenly a disturbing thought jarred the young inventor out of his concentration. Perhaps the Brungarian rebel scientists had now figured out how to decode the radio messages from the Swifts' space friends! If so, when the brain energy was launched toward earth, they might try to divert it to their own receiving setup! CHAPTER IV ANOTHER TREMOR! Tom was appalled at this new danger. Shoving his drawing board back into its wall slot, the young inventor hurried to his desk and made a number of telephone calls. Within minutes, a group of five of his most trusted associates had assembled in Tom's office. First to arrive were Bud Barclay, Ames, and George Dilling, the Swifts' communications chief. They were joined moments later by Hank Sterling, the square-jawed chief engineer and trouble shooter of Enterprises, and Arvid Hanson. Hanson, a hulking six-footer, made all the delicate scale models of Tom Jr.'s and Tom Sr.'s inventions. He was not only an expert craftsman, but, like all the Swifts' key men, a trained aircraft and space pilot as well. "What's up, skipper?" Bud asked. "I guess you might call this a council of war," Tom replied. He divulged his fears that Brungarian scientists might hijack the brain energy to be sent from Planet X, home of the Swifts' unknown space friends. "Bud, you recall Mother's remark last night about the danger that this energy may prove overwhelmingly powerful," Tom went on. "Well, just suppose that our Brungarian pals fit it out in robot form, then turn it loose against us or our friends in other countries." Bud gave an awed whistle. "Boy, a thing like that might make even a powerful missile look like a toy!" Even if the brain energy proved too small to be harnessed for destructive purposes, Tom went on, it might turn out to possess superintelligence. Gifted with all the scientific know-how of the space people, it might be made to reveal those secrets to the Brungarians. "They might learn from it how to construct weapons or space craft powerful enough to conquer the free world!" Tom ended. His listeners were grim-faced at the thought. "I'd say that's a far worse danger than any chance of their coming up with a robot monster," Ames said. "Ditto!" Hanson agreed. "I think so too," Tom replied. "In any case, it's up to us to make sure the Brungarians don't switch that energy off course before it lands here." "Think their scientists are capable of such a stunt?" George Dilling inquired. Tom shrugged. "They're certainly far advanced in the fields of rocket guidance and telemetry. But actually we just don't know." Hank Sterling glanced hopefully at the young inventor. "Got any ideas, skipper?" he asked. Tom drummed a pencil on the table thoughtfully before replying. "Maybe our best bet is first to find out all we can about the lines of research on which they're concentrating. That might be the tip-off." After a thorough discussion, it was decided that Ames and Dilling would fly to Washington at once and talk to the FBI and Central Intelligence. Their job would be to garner and piece together every scrap of information on Brungarian scientists' accomplishments. "Let us know as soon as you get a general picture," Tom said. Ames and Dilling promised to do so, and the meeting broke up. Feeling somewhat reassured now that a definite plan of action had been decided upon, Tom resumed work on his sketches. Although both the problem and the solution were still hazy in his mind, a few ideas began to take shape. A radio antenna would certainly be needed, to receive or transmit signals at a distance. And repelatron units would give the brain a way to exert force when it wanted to act. These were devices which Tom had invented to produce a repulsion-force ray. He had used the principle in both air and space flight. A power plant might also be needed to generate additional energy in case the brain's own energy was very small. Lastly, there would have to be a control system for use either by the brain itself or by its human operators. After an hour of work at top speed, Tom was rather pleased with one rough sketch. He was mulling over the idea when Chow Winkler and Bud Barclay wandered into the office. Both were impressed when Tom explained the sketch. Chow stared at it, goggle-eyed at the thought of such a contraption "coming to life." "So that's the Ole Think Box, eh?" he muttered. Tom laughed. "Good name, Chow!" All three were startled as a voice suddenly broke in over the wall intercom. It was the operator on duty at the plant's communication center. "Turn on your TV, skipper," the operator suggested. "We've just had a news bulletin that an earthquake tremor has been felt over in Medfield. There's a big plant there that makes rocket nose cones. A mobile TV crew's been rushed to the scene in a helicopter and they're trying to pick up the action with a television camera." "Good night! Another quake?" Bud gasped. Tom had already rushed to the videophone. Flicking it on, he switched to a commercial channel. Soon a picture appeared on the screen. It was a panoramic shot of a landscape, evidently viewed from a hovering aircraft, with a large industrial plant just below. A TV commentator's voice was reporting developments. "Few visible signs of a tremor," he said. "As you can see, the rocket-plant personnel and the people of Medfield are making desperate attempts to evacuate. Fortunately, most of them have already left the immediate area." A few cars and trucks could still be seen speeding along the ribbonlike roads within view of the hovering television camera. "Oh--oh!" The commentator's voice broke in again. "Notice that tall stack just over the plant--see how it's starting to tremble!... It's beginning to crumble!... This must be it!" Suddenly the whole scene seemed to explode. Plant buildings collapsed like toy houses built of cards, while at the same time huge rocks and trees were uprooted as a yawning crack opened in the ground below. The three watchers in Tom's office stared in horrified dismay. But a moment later the picture on the TV screen became jerky and distorted, then faded out completely. After a brief interval, a studio announcer came on. "The relay transmitter must have been knocked out by the quake. We return you now to our regularly scheduled program, but will keep you informed as bulletins come in." "Great balls o' fire!" Chow gulped as Tom turned off the set. "I sure hope all o' those poor folks in cars got away safe!" Tom rushed to a wall shelf and pulled out a book on geology. He leafed quickly to a section dealing with known earthquake faults and the distribution of quakes. When he looked up at the others, his face was grim. "What's wrong, skipper?" Bud asked tensely. "That quake," Tom replied, "wasn't in a patterned zone any more than the Faber one was!" Chow's jaw dropped open in a comic look of dismay. "You mean this here ole earth we live on is gettin' all busted up an' twisted around inside?" "I wish I knew, Chow!" Tom paced worriedly about the office. "It just seems queer to me that both of those quakes should have destroyed vital defense factories!" On a sudden impulse, Tom snatched up the telephone. His two companions listened as he put through a call to the FBI in Washington. Within moments, a friend at the Bureau, Wes Norris, came on the line. "Look, Wes," Tom said, "is there any chance this quake that just happened at Medfield and the earlier one at Faber Electronics might have been caused by underground H-bomb blasts?" "As a matter of fact, we're checking on that very possibility," Norris replied. "In other words, sabotage. Things are pretty hot around here since that news on Medfield came in, so I can't talk much right now, Tom. But I can tell you this," Wes concluded, "we _are_ investigating, and I do mean thoroughly!" Bud and Chow were shocked when Tom reported his conversation with the FBI agent. "Brand my rattlesnake stew!" Chow exploded. "Any ornery varmint that'd cause an earthquake ought to be strung up like a hoss thief!" "I agree, Chow," Tom said. "But how do we find out for sure?" After closing time at the plant, Bud drove home with Tom. Both Mrs. Swift and Sandy were upset as the boys discussed the situation. "Tom, if this was deliberate," Mrs. Swift pointed out, "Enterprises may be next on the enemy's list!" Tom did his best to allay his mother's fears, but inwardly he himself felt apprehensive. Any large-scale sabotage plot would be almost certain to include Swift Enterprises, America's most daring and advanced research center. When his mother went upstairs to her room, Tom suggested to Bud that they drive to the nearby State Police post. Here he confided his fears to Captain Rock, an old friend of the Swifts. "You have some request in mind?" Captain Rock inquired. "How about making a search for any signs of suspicious digging or underground activity in the vicinity of Shopton?" Tom said. "There would have to be an excavation of some sort in order to set off an underground blast." Captain Rock mulled over Tom's suggestion. "Sounds like a big job, but I'm afraid you're right, Tom. We can't risk a similar disaster here." "We'd better move fast, too," Bud put in. "Those two quakes so far came only a day apart!" Rock picked up the telephone and barked out orders. Within half an hour, several carloads of troopers were covering the outlying roads that converged on Shopton. Firemen and Chief Slater's town police force were also pressed into action. They would search every cellar in town for signs of recent digging. Bud rode in one police car and Tom in another as a house-to-house search was conducted along the highway that ran past Enterprises. At one weather-beaten house, where Bud stopped with a state trooper, an old man came to the door. "What you fellers prowlin' around for?" he asked. "Bomb emergency," the trooper said laconically. "We have orders to search every house cellar for underground openings." Grumbling, the old man let them enter. He followed them down a rickety stairway. A moment later Bud stumbled and gave a yell. The trooper swung around just in time to see Bud drop from view! CHAPTER V SECRET CACHE As the trooper's flashlight stabbed through the cellar gloom at the spot where Bud had disappeared, there came a loud splash! The light showed a round hole in the floor, rimmed by a low circle of brickwork. "What's that hole?" the trooper snapped at the owner. "What does it look like?" the elderly man snapped back. "It's an old well." "A _well!_" the trooper exclaimed as he rushed to the spot. "And not even covered? What're you trying to do--kill people?" The old man sniffed. "Used to be covered, but the lid's gone. Didn't expect to have a bunch of nosy fellers pokin' around down here!" The state trooper muttered angrily under his breath as he shone his flashlight into the well-shaft. Bud was splashing around below, soaked and chagrined by his accident. "Give me a hand!" he called up. The trooper reached down, but was barely able to touch Bud's finger tips. To make matters worse, the sides of the well were slippery with moss. "Get a rope," the trooper ordered the old man. "Ain't got one." The policeman reddened and stood up to his full six-foot-two. "Look, mister--what's your name?" The elderly man shrank back, as if suspecting that the trooper's patience might have been tried too far. "Ben Smith," he mumbled. "Okay, Mr. Smith, you get a rope or something else to pull this boy out. And fast!" Ben Smith gulped on his chewing tobacco and hurried off. A minute or so later he returned with a length of clothesline. The trooper lowered it into the well and Bud was soon climbing out, looking like a drenched rat. "Sorry, son," Smith said apologetically. "Guess I should have warned ye." Bud chuckled good-naturedly. "It's all right," he said. "It was my own fault for not watching where I was going. Besides, you can't blame an American for not liking the idea of having his home searched." The old man chuckled too and flashed a wary eye at the trooper. "I'll go get ye a towel to dry off with," he told Bud. Meanwhile, Tom was investigating a house down the road with another state trooper. The owner, a paunchy unshaven bachelor named Pete Latty, and his seventeen-year-old nephew accompanied them to the basement. A naked light bulb, hanging from the ceiling, revealed an ancient furnace, and an accumulation of junk. Most of it was covered with dust, but Tom noticed a large packing crate that looked as if it had been freshly moved. He walked over and began to shove the heavy box aside. "What're you doing?" Latty asked gruffly. "I want to look underneath," Tom replied. A second later his eyes widened as he saw a trap door, evidently leading to a subcellar. Tom beckoned his partner over and showed his discovery. "Where does this lead to?" the trooper asked, turning back to Latty. "Just a little storage place," the owner replied with a shrug. "I didn't think it was worth mentioning. You'd better not go down there," he added hastily. "The steps ain't safe." "Just the same, we'll take a look," the trooper said. "Then do it at your own risk!" Latty snapped. The officer pulled up the trap door and Tom shone a light down. The shallow dirt-walled room below was about six feet square. On the floor, at the foot of a short rickety ladder, lay a large bundle wrapped in a tarpaulin. Tom descended the ladder cautiously and opened the tarpaulin to see what was inside. The contents made him gasp--a large, well-oiled collection of rifles and pistols! Looking up, Tom saw both the state trooper and Latty peering down at him--the trooper openmouthed with surprise, Latty scowling nervously. "Don't touch 'em!" Latty warned. "Some are loaded. I keep 'em hidden for safety, but sometimes my nephew Fred here and I have target practice." Just then Tom's keen eyes spotted a slip of paper tucked among the guns. He pulled it out. His heart gave a leap of excitement as he saw two words written on the paper--_Samson Narko!_ Hiding his amazement, Tom read the name aloud and added casually, "What's this? The make of one of the guns?" "Uh, yeah--that's right," the man replied. Without comment, Tom climbed out of the subcellar. As he bent down to drop the trap door, Tom flashed the officer a signal. Instantly the trooper grabbed Latty. "Hey! Why the rough stuff?" the prisoner exclaimed. Then, as he realized the officer was about to handcuff him, the man's face turned pasty white. He pulled free from the trooper's grasp and bolted toward the stairway. His nephew stood as if paralyzed at the sudden turn of events. [Illustration (Tom finds Latty's store of weapons)] Latty's attempt at flight was hopeless. Tom quickly brought him down with a flying tackle. Later, after Latty had been manacled, Tom helped him up. "In case you don't know it," the young inventory said coldly, "your friend Narko is in jail, so you may as well talk. What's the pitch?" Latty was trembling and still pale. "I--I d-didn't know there'd be any trouble with the cops or I'd never have done it," he quavered. "Narko offered me some dough to hide the guns. I needed money, so I took him up. That's all there was to it." "How long have you known this Narko?" Tom asked. "I met him a few days ago in a restaurant. Believe me, I'd never laid eyes on him before. And I wish I never had!" Latty added bitterly. The man's story had a ring of truth. "All right, Officer, let's take him in," Tom said. To the still-astounded Fred, he added, "We're sorry about this." Two hours later Tom and Bud sat in Chief Slater's office at Shopton police headquarters. Captain Rock and the Shopton fire chief were also on hand. "We've had troopers, detectives, and fire inspectors swarming all over Latty's place," Captain Rock reported. "They examined his house, the garage, two sheds out back, and every inch of the grounds. But there's no indication of any place where a bomb might have been planted to cause an underground explosion in Shopton." The fire chief nodded confirmation. "So that clue peters out," he said. With the waning of daylight, the other groups had finally abandoned their search of the Shopton area without turning up any information. "I'll notify the FBI immediately," Chief Slater said. Nevertheless, he promised that his men would continue their efforts the next day. "Even if we find nothing more, that arms cache was worth all the trouble," Slater added. "The country owes you a vote of thanks, Tom. A bunch of enemy agents could have hurt a lot of people with an arsenal like that!" "That's for sure," Captain Rock agreed. "It was a good day's haul, Tom." The two boys drove back to the Swift home and had a quick shower. Bud borrowed clean clothes from Tom. Then they sat down to enjoy a warmed-up but tasty supper, served by Sandy and Mrs. Swift. As they ate, the boys listened to music on the radio, interspersed with eager questions from Sandy about the bomb search. Suddenly the radio announcer broke in. "We interrupt this broadcast to bring you an important news bulletin!" CHAPTER VI BRUNGARIAN COUP Tom, Sandy, and Bud listened as the radio announcer continued: "Reports just in say that Brungaria has been taken over by a rebel group. Military aid to support the rebel coup is pouring in from Maurevia, Brungaria's powerful province in the north. The Brungarian prime minister, his cabinet, and all loyal administrative personnel have fled or been arrested. "Worried United States State Department officials admit that the surprise coup poses a new and dangerous threat to free-world security. Further news reports will be broadcast as soon as they reach this station," the announcer ended. For a moment Tom and Bud were too stunned to speak. Sandy was wide-eyed with the realization that the news spelled trouble for Swift Enterprises and all America. "Looks as though that CIA man who briefed us wasn't kidding, eh, skipper?" Bud muttered at last. "It came sooner than he expected!" Tom said. Jumping up from the table, Tom switched off the radio and hurried to the hall telephone. In a few moments he managed to get a long-distance call through to Wes Norris of the FBI. "Is the news on this Brungarian coup as bad as it sounds, Wes?" Tom inquired. "Worse! That rebel bunch really has it in for us, as you know, Tom," Norris replied. "They envy America and they'll move heaven and earth to steal our scientific secrets. This could touch off a whole epidemic of sabotage and other spy activity!" Tom's jaw clenched grimly. He then asked the FBI man his opinion about the discovery of the secret arms cache in Pete Latty's basement. Norris admitted he was puzzled. "It doesn't add up, Tom," the FBI agent said thoughtfully. "If our enemies were planning to destroy Shopton by a quake, why would anyone be needing a gun?" "I can't figure it myself, Wes--unless they were planning to raid and loot Enterprises after the place was thrown into disorder," Tom deduced. "What about Narko himself? Has he talked yet?" Norris replied that although he had not interviewed Narko himself, FBI agents who had grilled the spy had failed to elicit any information. "Here's something else, though, which might interest you," Norris went on. "We now have reports that at the time of the Harkness and Medfield disasters, seismographs recorded simultaneous quakes off the coast of Alaska near the Aleutian chain. Tremors were also felt off the southwest coast of South America." A new factor to consider! Tom frowned in puzzlement as he hung up the telephone after completing his talk with the FBI man. After Tom had repeated the conversation to his companions, Bud said, "You mean the H-bomb idea goes out the window?" Tom shrugged. "Wes says they've found no evidence to support the theory of man-produced underground blasts. It just doesn't jibe with those other remote tremors. They'd be too much of a coincidence, happening at the same time!" "Then the quakes at Harkness and Medfield were real earthquakes!" Sandy put in. "Looks that way," Tom admitted. "Those other tremors Wes mentioned follow a natural circum-Pacific belt which is well known to seismologists. I'm no expert, but perhaps they could have set off chain reactions below the earth's crust which triggered the two quakes in this part of the country." In that case, the young inventor reflected, it was only a freak of nature that the Faber and nose-cone factories had been wrecked by the shock. But in spite of the seismographic clues, Tom was not entirely convinced. A nagging doubt still buzzed in the back of his mind. The next morning Tom hurried off to his private glass-walled laboratory at Enterprises, eager to continue work on his container, or robot body, for the brain from space. Tom frowned as he studied the rough sketch he had drawn in his office the afternoon before. "This setup's full of bugs!" he muttered. Nevertheless, Tom decided, the basic idea was sound. Grabbing pencil and slide rule, he began to dash off page after page of diagrams and equations. "Chow down!" boomed a foghorn voice. Chow Winkler, wearing a white chef's hat, wheeled a lunch cart into the lab. "Oh... thanks." Tom scarcely looked up from his work as the cook set out an appetizing meal of Texas hash, milk, and deep-dish apple pie on the bench beside the young inventor's papers. Grumbling under his breath, Chow sauntered out. Tom went on working intently between mouthfuls. In another hour he finished a set of pilot drawings. Then he called Hank Sterling and Arvid Hanson and asked them to come to the laboratory. They listened with keen interest as Tom explained his latest creation. "No telling if it will work when the energy arrives from space," Tom said, "but I think everything tracks okay. Hank, get these plans blueprinted and assign an electronics group to the project. You'd better handle the hardware yourself." "Right." Hank rolled up the sketches. "And, Arv," Tom went on, "I'd like a scale model made to guide them on assembly. How soon can you have it?" Hanson promised the model for some time the next day, and the two men hurried off. As usual, Arv proved slightly better than his word. The expert modelmaker was devoted to his craft and as apt to forget the clock as Tom himself, when absorbed in a new project. By working on in his shop long after closing hours, Hanson had a desk-size model of the space-brain robot ready for Tom's inspection when the young inventor arrived at the plant early the following morning. "Wonderful, Arv!" Tom approved. "Every time I see one of your models of a new invention, I'm _sure_ it'll work!" Hanson grinned, pleased at the compliment. Tom hopped into a jeep and sped across the plant grounds to deliver the model to Hank Sterling and his project crew. Work was already well along on the electronic subassemblies and the strange-looking "body" was taking shape. That afternoon Ames and Dilling returned from Washington. The report they gave to Tom bore out his hunch that the rebel Brungarian scientists might well be able to divert the space energy. The next day was Friday. Tom was hoping, although none too optimistically, that the container might be completed before the week end. To his delight, an Enterprises pickup truck pulled up outside the laboratory later that afternoon and Hank rolled the queer-looking device inside. "Hi, buster!" Tom greeted it. "Is this your daddy?" Hank chuckled. "Don't look at me. It claims _you're_ its daddy. But hanged if I can see much resemblance!" "Think it'll live?" "If not," Hank replied, only half jokingly, "the boys who worked on it will sure be disappointed. No kidding, skipper, that's quite a gadget you dreamed up!" The device stood about shoulder-high, with a star-shaped head, one point of which could be opened. The head would contain the actual brain energy. Its upper body, cylindrical in shape and of gleaming chrome, housed the output units through which the brain would react, and also the controls. Antennas projecting out on either side gave the look of arms. Its "waist" was girdled with a ring of repelatron radiators for exerting a repulsion force when it wanted to move, by repelling itself away from nearby objects. Below the repelatrons was an hourglass-shaped power unit, housing a solar-charged battery. The power unit, in turn, was mounted on a pancake-shaped transportation unit. This unit was equipped with both casters and a sort of caterpillar-crawler arrangement for the contrivance to get about over obstacles. Inside was a gyro-stabilizer to keep the whole device upright. Tom felt a glow of pride--and eager impatience--as he inspected the device. If it worked as he hoped, this odd creature might one day provide earth scientists with a priceless store of information about intelligent life on Planet X! Bud and Chow, entering the laboratory soon after Hank Sterling had left, found Tom still engrossed in his thoughts. "Wow! Is this your spaceman?" Bud inquired. Tom nodded, then grinned at his callers' gaping expressions. Each was trying to imagine how the "thing" would look in action. "Sure is a queer-lookin' buckaroo!" Chow commented, when Tom finished explaining how it was supposed to work. On a sudden impulse, the old cowpoke took off his ten-gallon hat and plumped it on the creature. Then he removed his polka-dotted red bandanna and knotted it like a neckerchief just below the star head. Tom laughed heartily as Bud howled, "Ride 'em, spaceman!" Tom was eager to notify his mysterious space friends that the container was now ready to receive the brain energy. Bud went with him by jeep to the space-communications laboratory. Chow, however, stayed behind and stared in fascination at the odd-looking robot creature. The stout cook walked back and forth, eying the thing suspiciously from every angle. "Wonder what the critter eats?" he muttered. Feeling in his shirt pocket, Chow brought out a wad of his favorite bubble gum. Should he or shouldn't he? "Shucks, won't hurt to try," the old Texan decided. Chow unlocked the hinged point of the star head and popped the gum inside. He was somewhat disappointed when nothing happened. Feeling a trifle foolish, Chow finally removed his hat and bandanna from the creature and stumped off. Meanwhile, in the space-communications laboratory, Tom was pounding out a message on the keyboard of the electronic brain. Tom had invented this device for automatically coding and decoding messages between the Swifts and their space friends. It was connected to a powerful transmitting-and-receiving apparatus, served by a huge radio-telescope antenna mounted atop the communications building. Bud looked on as Tom signaled: TOM SWIFT TO SPACE FRIENDS. CONTAINER FOR ENERGY IS NOW READY. SHOULD IT BE PLACED OUTDOORS? Stirred by a worrisome afterthought, Tom added: MESSAGES MAY BE INTERCEPTED BY ENEMY WHO WISHES TO STEAL ENERGY. SUGGEST YOU USE FLIGHT PATH TO LAND EXACTLY TWO MILES WEST OF FIRST CONTACT WITH US. "By 'first contact,' you mean when that black missile landed at Enterprises?" Bud asked. Tom nodded. At that time, he reminded Bud, the Brungarians and their conquerors had not yet learned of the Swifts' communication from another planet. Hence they would have no idea of the site referred to--which would hamper any plans to kidnap the brain energy. "I get it," Bud said. "Smart idea, pal!" Tensely the two boys waited for a reply from outer space. CHAPTER VII WALL OF WATER! Minutes went by before the signal bell rang on the electronic brain. Both Tom and Bud dashed over to the machine as it began to spell out the incoming message on tape: ENERGY WILL COME TO THE SPOT YOU SUGGESTED. WE CAN CONTROL FLIGHT COURSE BUT WHILE THE ENERGY IS ON EARTH YOU WILL BE IN CHARGE. WE WILL HAVE NO CONTROL FOR TWENTY-ONE DAYS. THEN WE WILL RECALL ENERGY TO BRING US IMPRESSIONS AND DATA OF YOUR WORLD. The two boys stared at each other excitedly as the transmission ended. "Wow!" Bud murmured. "If Planet X is a peaceful place, Ole Think Box is sure in for a jolt here on earth!" Tom grinned fleetingly at the reference to Chow's nickname for the robot creature. Then he became serious, knowing that Bud's words were all too true. The space visitor might also take back impressions of the suffering and warlike threats that some earth countries inflict on one another. Maybe one day, Tom reflected, it would be different. In the meantime, the young inventor realized he had an awesome responsibility. He must not only make the best use of the brain energy during its stay on earth, but also keep it from falling into the hands of treacherous Brungarian plotters. Tom's thoughts were suddenly interrupted by the sound of girls' voices. Sandy and Phyl were standing in the doorway of the space-communications laboratory. "Talk about deep thinkers!" Sandy said teasingly. "Goodness, we had no idea we'd be interrupting a session of the brain trust," Phyl added with a mischievous sparkle in her brown eyes. "Maybe we should go away again, Sandy!" "Hey! Hold it, you two!" Bud exclaimed. "What do you think, Tom--are these the visitors we've been expecting from outer space?" "Well! I like that!" Sandy pouted. "Do we look like a couple of little green people?" Tom chuckled and seized the opportunity to do a little teasing of his own. "I think it's just your pointed heads that fooled us, Sis." Then, as the two girls broke down in laughter, he added, "Why the unexpected visit?" Sandy and Phyl explained that they had come to invite the boys to a picnic cruise on Lake Carlopa the next day. "And while we're here, since it's practically quitting time anyhow," Sandy went on, her blue eyes twinkling, "we might even let you drive us some place for dinner." "Guess they've trapped us, Bud," Tom said with a grin. "Okay, it's a deal. But first we have something to show you." He took the girls to his laboratory to show them the robot creature. "It's marvelous!" Sandy exclaimed, and Phyl agreed. Early the next morning Bud called for Tom and Sandy in his tomato-red convertible. Then they stopped at the Newtons' house to pick up Phyl. Each girl had packed a picnic basket for the day's sail. "Hmm. Looks as though we're going to be well fed," Bud commented jokingly. "What's on the menu, girls?" "Chicken and ham sandwiches..." Sandy began. "Pickles, olives, hard-boiled eggs, potato salad..." Phyl went on. "Chocolate cake, milk..." Sandy took up the list. "Stop! You have us hungry as bears already!" Tom warned. "Right!" Bud agreed. "Come on! Let's get this cruise under way!" The two couples drove to the Shopton Yacht Club dock on Lake Carlopa. There they boarded the _Sunspot_, a beautiful thirty-foot sailing ketch with auxiliary engine which Mr. Swift and Mr. Newton had purchased for a frequently promised but not yet realized joint family vacation. The craft was equipped with twin gravitex stabilizers, mounted one on each side of the hull. These gave it amazing smoothness even when plowing through rough seas. They were adaptations of a device Tom had invented for his space kite and _Cosmic Sailer_. "Oh, what a gorgeous day for a sail!" Phyl said, aglow with enthusiasm. The sky was a cloudless blue. Under a hot summer sun, a brisk breeze was ruffling the lake into tiny whitecaps. The two couples cast off eagerly and were soon scudding out across the water under full sail. Tom and Bud wore swimming trunks under their slacks. Unfortunately the girls had forgotten to bring their suits. When the _Sunspot_ reached the center of the lake, the boys hove to, stripped down to their trunks, and dived overboard. Meanwhile, the girls sun-bathed on deck. Soon it was time for the picnic lunch, and all four ate with healthy young appetites. "Jeepers!" Sandy whispered to Phyl with a giggle. "After a feast like this, we'll have to go on a diet!" "Don't say it," Phyl warned, "or Tom and Bud will use that as an excuse for never taking us out ag--" She broke off with a gasp. "What's wrong?" Tom asked. Breathless with fright, Phyl pointed off to starboard. The others paled. An enormous wave was sweeping across the lake, straight toward the ketch! "Jumpin' jets!" Bud gulped. "It's like a tidal wave!" The boat was already rocking under the swells that preceded the oncoming huge breaker. "Quick!" Tom yelled. "Grab life jackets while I start the engine!" The four leaped into action. Every instant the terrifying wave rushed closer! By now it was a twelve-foot wall of water! Tom and the others had just put on the jackets and the engine had barely gunned into life when disaster struck. The mammoth wave swept up the _Sunspot_ and heeled it far over into the trough like a toy bark. The next instant a cataract of water poured over the deck with stunning force! "We're going under!" Phyl screamed. All four were swept overboard in the maelstrom! Under the smashing impact of the water, the ketch's mainmast bent and groaned. A moment later came a crack like a gunshot. The mast broke off, hung teetering by shreds, then toppled into the water. As it fell, the mast struck Sandy a grazing blow on the head! "Sandy!" Bud cried fearfully as he struggled in the swirling torrent. Calling on every ounce of strength, he swam with powerful strokes toward the girl. Sandy was dazed and limp. Bud's husky arm circled her tightly. Then he began to fight his way toward shore. Tom and Phyl--each struggling in the turbulent water--could only breathe a prayer of thanks as they watched the rescue. [Illustration (a huge wave capsizes the Sunspot)] As the huge wave raced shoreward, the lake water gradually became calmer in its wake. Tom was able to assist Phyl, and Sandy by now had recovered her faculties. The _Sunspot_ had capsized but could still be seen afloat, some distance away. Rather than swim to it and cling to the hulk in the hope that a rescue boat would arrive, the four decided to continue on toward shore. They knew that the aftermath of the tidal wave would keep all shore facilities in an uproar for hours to come. As they neared the beach, the young people could see other overturned craft and heads bobbing in the water. A few daring persons finally began putting out in motorboats and rowboats to pick up the survivors. A hundred yards from shore, one of the boats took Tom's group aboard. Minutes later, they were scrambling out onto a dock. "Are you all right, Sandy?" Bud asked, his arm still around her. "I--I think so," she gasped weakly, "but I must have swallowed half the lake!" "Take it easy, Sis!" Tom added, as Sandy swayed and shuddered from the shock of her recent ordeal. Gently he made Sandy lie down and pillowed her head on a folded tarpaulin provided by the sympathetic boatman. Phyl, though wan and white-faced, was in somewhat better shape. "Tom, we must get these girls home as soon as possible," Bud declared. This, however, was not easily accomplished. The tidal wave had caused devastation along the entire shore front. Many docks had been wrecked, boats splintered like matchsticks, and buildings along the water smashed. When Tom's group reached Bud's convertible, parked near the yacht club pier, they found the car completely waterlogged. Its electrical system gave not even a faint sputter or spark. "Oh, fine!" Bud groaned. "The crowning touch!" Eventually ambulances and private cars began to arrive to transport the injured. Tom, Bud, and the two girls were given a lift to the Swift home where Sandy and Phyl were immediately put to bed by a worried Mrs. Swift. Downstairs, Tom switched on the TV set. A mobile camera crew from the local station was scanning the water front and interviewing witnesses of the disaster. To the two boys, the most interesting note came in a statement by the announcer that a very slight earth tremor had been felt in Shopton. "But no damage occurred except along the water front," the announcer explained. Tom gave a snort of anger, jumped up from his chair, and began pacing about the living room. "Bud, I feel sure that wall of water was caused by a minor earthquake!" the young inventor declared. "What's more, I'll bet it was _man-made!_" Bud stared at his friend, appalled but feeling a hot surge of anger himself. "If you're right, pal, it's the most fiendish sabotage I've ever heard of! Think of all the lives that were endangered!" Tom nodded grimly. "I _am_ thinking!" Both boys jerked around to look at the TV set again as a studio announcer's voice suddenly broke into the telecast: "Flash! A severe quake has occurred at the headquarters of the American Archives Foundation, a hundred miles from Shopton. The Foundation's buildings, containing many priceless government and scientific documents, were badly damaged, and an underground microfilm vault was utterly destroyed. Apparently this quake was part of the tremor felt here at Shopton." Within minutes the Swifts' home phone began jangling constantly. Some calls were from friends, others from strangers. Many of the calls were routed through from the Enterprises switchboard. One was from Dan Perkins of the _Shopton Bulletin_. "What about it, Tom?" the editor demanded. "I guess you know by now the public's aroused and in a state of near panic over all these quakes. What they all want to know is this: are you, Tom Swift, going to find a way to stop all this destruction?" Tom's jaw jutted out angrily. "Yes, I am!" he snapped. "And you can quote me on that!" CHAPTER VIII A SUSPECT TALKS The next morning Tom was up at the crack of dawn, grimly determined to find an answer to the earthquake menace. He ate a hasty breakfast, then drove to his private laboratory at Enterprises. He instructed the switchboard operator to shut off all incoming calls, then plunged into a study of the mystifying problem. Earthquake activity, Tom knew, tends to occur in circular patterns, like bands around the earth--for instance, the circum-Pacific belt, and another belt extending eastward from the Mediterranean through Asia and on into the East Indies. Often these quake lines are visible as breaks or ruptures along the ground surface, called _fault traces_. No doubt, Tom thought, there were many more uncharted ones. Could an enemy scientist be making use of these earth faults to produce a man-made quake? Tom mulled over the disturbing idea. "How would I tackle the job myself, if I had to undertake such a project for national defense?" the young inventor mused. He felt a growing sense of excitement as an idea began to take shape in his mind. _What about an artificial shock wave!_ An hour later Bud Barclay walked into the laboratory and found Tom hunched over a jumbled pile of reference books on his workbench. "What cooks, skipper?" Bud asked. Tom looked up, his blue eyes blazing. "Bud, I think I may have the answer!" Tom got up from his stool and paced about the laboratory. "Suppose the Brungarian rebel scientists have invented some sort of shock-wave producer--a device for sending vibrations through the earth's crust or the mantle underneath." "Okay, suppose they have," Bud replied. Tom snatched up a piece of chalk and made some quick diagrams on a blackboard. "Just this, pal. Let's say they set up two or three stations around the world for sending out such waves in a definite direction. Wherever the wave crosses an earth fault or another wave--_boom!_ An earthquake!" Bud stared. "No kidding, is that how those rats triggered off all these quakes?" "It must be," Tom declared. "It's the only possible explanation." "Good night!" Bud gasped weakly. "What a weapon! Just push a button every so often and you could blow up another country bit by bit--and no one could ever prove who was behind the attack!" Tom nodded. "Enough to make every American shiver, if he only knew!" "What can we do about it?" Bud asked. Tom resumed his worried pacing. "I'll have to invent a shock-wave deflector, Bud. It must be done in a hurry, too. Our enemy may start to destroy American cities as well as vital defense plants!" Immediately Tom put through an urgent call to an eminent scientist in Washington who was a member of the National Research Council. Quickly he outlined a plan. "Tom, I'll talk to the president's special science adviser at once," the man promised. "I'll try to set up a meeting for ten o'clock tomorrow morning at Enterprises." Feeling relieved, Tom left the plant with Bud. The two boys drove off to attend church with Mrs. Swift and Sandy. Then, after the Sunday midday meal, Tom returned to his laboratory to work on ideas for a shock-wave deflector. Bud and Sandy, meanwhile, drove to the Shopton Yacht Club to inspect the damage to the _Sunspot_. Tom had arranged with a salvage crew to tow the disabled ketch back to its slip. Monday morning, a sleek Air Force jet transport touched down at Swift Enterprises. Aboard were a select group of top government scientists. Tom and Bud greeted them as they disembarked on the runway, then drove them to a conference room in the Enterprises main building. "I'd say your theory is right, Tom, about the quakes being produced by artificial shock waves," said Bernt Ahlgren, a tall, hawk-faced man with a shock of red hair. He was a member of the Defense Department's Advanced Research Projects Agency. "But how do we stop them?" "I believe they can be damped out by opposing waves," Tom replied. "This is assuming that I can design the right sort of equipment to do the job--and also that we can set up a warning system to alert us of the enemy shock waves in time." The young inventor sketched out the sort of shock-wave deflector which he had in mind. The government experts were very much impressed. In the session that followed, the visiting scientists contributed many tips and suggestions. Tom noted them down gratefully. After a thorough discussion, it was agreed that the Defense Department would set up detectors at fifty check points around the country. Tom would choose the exact spots. Detection data from the check points would be fed to an electronic computer. The computer would establish the pattern, if any, of incoming enemy shock waves. Dr. Gregg Miles, a seismologist from the Bureau of Mines, agreed to take on the job of setting up the check points. "Thanks for your prompt co-operation," Tom said, smiling gratefully as the meeting broke up. "We should thank you, Tom, for coming up with a plan to cope with this fiendish threat," Ahlgren replied. The others heartily agreed. Shortly after lunch, Tom was hard at work in his laboratory when the telephone rang. It was Chief Slater at Shopton police headquarters. "You'd better get over here fast, Tom," Slater said. "Samson Narko is ready to talk!" Tom needed no urging. "Right, Chief!" As he drove into Shopton, Tom wondered what the Brungarian agent would reveal. Was it possible that he might tip off the whole secret behind the destructive man-made earthquakes? Chief Slater was waiting in his office. "Narko showed signs of cracking this morning," Slater told Tom, "so I notified the Central Intelligence Agency. They're flying a man up here--in fact he should be here by now. Narko won't talk till he arrives." "How come?" Tom asked. "Narko wants a bargain," Slater explained. "If the government will promise to deport him at once without trial, he'll spill what he knows." Tom whistled. "I sure wouldn't want to be in _his_ shoes when he gets back to Brungaria! His bosses aren't stupid. They'll know he must have made a deal to get off scot free!" Just then a taxi from the airport pulled up outside police headquarters, and the CIA official was ushered into Slater's office. He proved to be John Thurston. "Narko's waiting in his cell," Slater said, after an exchange of handshakes. "Let's hope he hasn't changed his mind." The Brungarian spy rose from his cot as the turnkey unlocked his cell door. "You are from Washington, eh?" Narko said to Thurston. "Very well. I presume the police have told you my offer. Is it a bargain?" Thurston was poker-faced. "You know the penalty for spying!" he snapped. "In your own country it would mean death. Why should we let you off?" Narko's calmness evaporated. Beads of sweat burst out on his forehead. "I have done no harm and I know little or nothing of my superiors' plans!" the spy said excitedly. "Why should I lie to you with my life at stake? After all, I am only an insignificant agent. But one important thing I do know--and this I will reveal if you promise to deport me at once!" Thurston eyed him coldly. "Very well," the CIA man decided. "You have my word." Narko sat down on his cot, breathing heavily. Then he looked up at the three Americans. "Your nation's capital, Washington, D.C., is going to be blown up!" the Brungarian asserted. His words struck like a bombshell. Chief Slater and John Thurston stared at Narko in open-mouthed astonishment. Then Slater scowled. "What a preposterous story! I suppose they're going to fly a plane over and drop an atom bomb--just like that!" He snapped his fingers. Thurston was also inclined to doubt Narko's story. Any such bold move by the Brungarians, he declared, would amount to an act of war. "It is the truth!" Narko shouted. "Do not forget--you have made a promise." Tom Swift did not share Chief Slater's and Thurston's skepticism. Narko's words had chilled him with dismay. He called the other two aside and gave them a quick whispered briefing on the theory he had discussed with the government scientists, asking them to keep it confidential. If the Brungarians indeed had a means of producing artificial shock waves, Tom pointed out, they could easily destroy Washington without the slightest risk to themselves. Both Thurston and Chief Slater were alarmed. Turning back to Narko, they grilled him for clues. But it seemed obvious that the Brungarian was telling all he knew--or, at any rate, all he intended to reveal. "We're wasting our time," Thurston said finally, with a look of disgust. "But I made a promise in the name of the United States government and the promise will be kept." Turning to Chief Slater, the CIA man added, "Turn him over to the FBI and have them take him to New York. I'll arrange for a seat on the first plane for Brungaria." Tom drove back thoughtfully to Enterprises. Bud was waiting in his laboratory with news. "Your dad went from Washington to Fearing Island and has gone up to your space outpost," Bud reported. "He has to do some experiments for the government project he's working on." The outpost was a space station which Tom Swift Jr. had built 22,300 miles above the earth. It was a production factory for his famous solar batteries, and also an immensely valuable setup for space research and exploration. "Think I'll radio Dad and let him know what's going on," Tom decided. "He may have some good suggestions. He usually does!" Tom warmed up his private transmitter-receiver and beamed out a code call through the automatic scrambler. Seconds later, the loud-speaker crackled in response. But just as the outpost operator's voice came through, the radio set exploded in Tom's face! CHAPTER IX THE CAVE MONSTER "Skipper!" Bud cried anxiously as Tom staggered back, his hands to his face. "I'm all right--no harm done," Tom assured his friend. Both boys were a bit shaken by the accident, nevertheless. Chow came rushing in as Bud was brushing the fragments of debris from Tom's clothes and examining the young inventor's face. "Brand my flyin' flapjacks, what happened?" Chow asked. The chef had been bringing a tray of fruit juice to the laboratory and had heard the explosion outside. "The radio set just blew up in my face," Tom explained. "Fortunately, the equipment was transistorized mostly with printed circuits. Otherwise," he added, "I might have been badly cut by slivers of glass from the exploding vacuum tubes." As it was, the young inventor had suffered only a few slight scratches and a bruise on the temple from a piece of the shattered housing. Bud swabbed Tom's injuries with antiseptic from the first-aid cabinet while Chow poured out glasses of grape juice. "What caused it, Tom?" Bud asked as they paused to sip the fruit drink. "Good question," Tom replied. "Frankly, I don't know." But he was wondering if the set might have been sabotaged. Tom was still eager to get in touch with his father and telephoned the electronics department to bring another set to his laboratory. Chow left just as the new set arrived. Tom hooked it up quickly, donned a set of goggles, and tuned to the space-station frequency. Then he picked up the microphone and stepped well back from the set, waving Bud out of range at the same time. "Tom Swift calling Outpost!... Come in, please!" A moment later came another explosion! _The new set had also blown up!_ "Good night!" Bud gasped in a stunned voice. "Don't tell me that's just a coincidence!" Tom shrugged. "We can certainly rule out the possibility that anything was wrong with the radio itself. Every set is checked before it leaves the electronics department." "So where does that leave us?" Bud persisted. Tom shook his head worriedly as he took off the goggles. "Both times it seemed to happen just as the reply was coming through from the space station. There is no possibility that their signal was too strong--in other words, that the explosion was caused by overloading the receiving circuits." "Are you implying that an enemy intercepted the message and sent some sort of ray that caused the set to explode?" Bud demanded. Tom's face showed clearly that Bud had pinpointed the suspicion in the young inventor's mind. "Could be." Bud was worried by this latest development. "Skipper, suppose I hop up to the space wheel and talk it over with your dad. He may be able to help us detect any enemy moves." "Good idea, pal," Tom agreed. "The sooner the better, I'd say." The boys exchanged a quick handshake and affectionate shoulder slaps. Then Bud hurried out to one of the Enterprises hangars to ready a helijet for the flight to Fearing Island. This was the Swifts' rocket base, just off the Atlantic coast. From there, Bud would board one of the regular cargo shuttle rockets operating between the space station and Fearing. Tom, meanwhile, plunged back to work on his shock-wave deflector. At ten the next morning he called in Hank Sterling and showed him a set of completed drawings. "Hank, you did a fast job on the container for the brain," Tom began apologetically, "but you'll really have to burn out a bearing on this one!" Hank grinned. "I'm geared to action. Say, what do we call it, anyhow?" he asked. Tom grinned. "Chow told me last night this gadget looked like a fireplug under a rose trellis and I ought to call it Fireplug Rose! But I've given it a more dignified name--the Quakelizor, which stands for an underground quake wave deflector." Briefly, Tom explained the various parts of his latest invention, which consisted of a hydrant-sized cylinder to be inserted into the ground, with magnetic coils near the top. A smaller hydraulic cylinder, mounted above this, was wired to a metal framework and radio transmitter. "This setup will detect any incoming enemy shock waves," Tom said. "We'll need fifty of 'em, so turn the job over to Swift Construction. And have Uncle Ned put on extra shifts." The Swift Construction Company, managed by Ned Newton, was the commercial division which mass-produced Tom Jr.'s and Tom Sr.'s inventions. Information from the detector-transmitters, Tom went on, would be fed into an electronic computer at the Bureau of Mines in Washington. The Quakelizor itself was housed in a massive cube-shaped casting with two large spheres mounted on top. From each of its four sides jutted a hydraulic piston. "How does it work, Tom?" Hank asked. "Dual-control spheres on top," Tom explained, "will receive by radio signal the pulse frequency computed in Washington." He added that inside each sphere was a "pulsemaker." This would produce changes in the pressure of the hydraulic fluid by affecting the kinetic energy of the fluid's atoms. The pressure changes would then be enormously magnified in the four hydraulic output drivers. When the unit was embedded in rock, underground, the huge pistons would send out counter shock waves through the earth's crust to neutralize the enemy waves. "Wow!" Hank Sterling was breathless at the sheer scope of the young scientist's newest invention. "I'll get hot on the job right away." After forty-eight hours of round-the-clock work, the equipment was ready. Tom conferred by telephone with both Dr. Miles in the Bureau of Mines and Bernt Ahlgren in the Pentagon. He had already chosen the spots for the detector-transmitter check points. Tom told the men that he believed the best spot for the Quakelizor itself was on a certain government reservation in Colorado. A deep underground cave there would provide a perfect site. "We'll be close enough to the San Andreas fault to prevent a really huge-scale disaster," Tom explained. "And the Rocky Mountain structure will give us a good bedrock medium for shooting out waves anywhere across the continent." Dr. Miles and Ahlgren agreed enthusiastically. Tom and the two scientists spoke over a three-way telephone hookup--with automatic scramblers to counter the danger of enemy monitors--laying plans to install the equipment. Ahlgren agreed to fly a technical crew out to the spot in Colorado which Tom had named. The next day, Tom, Hank, and several top Enterprises' engineers, including Art Wiltessa, took off in the _Sky Queen_. This was Tom's huge atomic-powered Flying Lab. The massive plane flew at supersonic speeds and was equipped with jet lifters for vertical take-off or hovering. A Whirling Duck heliplane, loaded with communications equipment, accompanied the _Sky Queen_. In little more than an hour, the two craft touched down in a rugged Colorado canyon. The government technical crew was already on hand. "Glad to know you," Tom said, shaking hands with the engineer in charge. He introduced his own men and added, "Better roll up your sleeves. This job is going to take plenty of oomph!" The parts of the Quakelizor were unloaded from the _Sky Queen_ onto dollies. Then the group, armed with bull's-eye lanterns, flashlights, and walkie-talkies, hauled the parts by tractor into the cave. "Okay. Now let's pick out the spot for embedding the unit," Tom said. The men had no sooner begun to look around the huge underground chamber when a fearsome growl rumbled through the cave. Everyone whirled about and the next instant froze in horror. A huge bear reared up in the mouth of the cave! The monster snarled and blinked its yellow eyes in the glare of lights. "We're trapped!" Hank cried out. The enormous bruin was now waving his huge head from side to side, as if daring the intruders to step up and fight. Several of the government men had brought rifles and shotguns. But in spite of their peril, no one wanted to shoot the handsome old fellow. "I'll send out an SOS," Tom said. "If help arrives before the bear attacks, we won't use guns." He radioed the local Forest Ranger post. After a nerve-racking wait, with the group expecting a charge from the beast at any minute, two rangers appeared and captured the bear with a net. One man of the government work crew knocked together a stout wooden cage. The beast, outraged, was loaded aboard the heliplane to be released in an area remote from the cave. [Illustration (Tom and Hank meet a bear in the cave)] Now the grueling job of installing the Quakelizor began. First the cave was cleared of debris, bats, and other small living creatures. Then a site was marked out on the cave floor. Tom had brought along a midget model of his great atomic earth blaster, which he had invented to drill for iron at the South Pole. With the blaster, Tom quickly drilled a pit of exact size into the bedrock. Then the Quakelizor was assembled and lowered into place by a portable crane. A power plant and radio antenna were set up and the installation was finally completed. "I must return to Shopton now," Tom said. "Art here will stick around and help you operate the setup," he told the government engineers after radio contact had been made with Washington. "If anything goes wrong, just flash word to Enterprises." The _Sky Queen_ and the heliplane sped back across the continent. As Tom landed at Enterprises he was greeted by Bud, who came speeding out on the airfield by jeep. "Just got back from the space wheel about an hour ago," Bud said. "Your dad's really worried about those exploding radio sets, Tom. He has no clues, but he's sure the scientists working for the Brungarian rebel setup are responsible. He thinks they may try to ruin all of Enterprises' communications system by remote control." Tom's face was grave as he listened. The two boys discussed the problem as they drove to the Swifts' office in the main building. "Boy, I sure wish I could think of some way to cope with it," Tom said wearily, flopping down in his desk chair. "Your dad said to give it the old college try," Bud reported. "And he also said he'd be back in two days to help you on the problem." Tom glanced at the calendar. "Which reminds me," he said, "on Monday the brain energy will be due from space!" The thought sent a thrill of excitement tinged with worry through the young inventor's mind. Would the container he had devised prove suitable? "Hey! A call on the videophone!" Bud pointed to the red light flashing on the control board. He jumped up and switched on the set. Blake, the Washington announcer, appeared on the screen. "Bad news, skipper," he said ominously. "An earthquake tremor was just felt here in Washington. It centered in a shipyard on the Potomac and caused great damage!" CHAPTER X ENERGY FROM PLANET X Tom and Bud listened in dismay as Blake reported all the details he had been able to gather. "Was my Quakelizor a flop, Bud?" Tom muttered, his shoulders drooping as the announcer signed off. "It must have been!" "Don't be silly! Snap out of it!" Bud gave his pal a cheerful poke in the ribs, hoping to buck him up. "You heard what Blake said--Washington itself was hardly touched. Without your setup, think of all the people that _might_ have been killed or injured! And all the government buildings that might have been wrecked, maybe even the White House. I'd say your shock-wave deflector must have been at least ninety per cent effective!" Tom brightened somewhat on hearing Bud's words. He picked up the phone, and placed a call to Dr. Miles at the Bureau of Mines. It was almost half an hour before the operator was able to get a line through. But Tom felt the suspense had been worth while when Dr. Miles exclaimed: "Tom, it was a miracle you completed the Quakelizor installation in time! In all probability it saved us from a major national disaster, perhaps worse than Pearl Harbor!" Tom felt a glow of pride and relief. "Thanks, sir. But what about the shipyard destruction?" he added, still not entirely convinced. "That was a bad break, Tom," Dr. Miles admitted. "Our detectors showed that the shock waves had been almost damped out when a sudden power failure occurred. It turned out that an overload had shorted the Quakelizor's power plant. The crew had it fixed within moments, but by that time the damage was done." Tom winced as he heard of the unfortunate accident, but was thankful the results had been no worse. Miles went on to say that he had just been conferring with Ahlgren at the Pentagon. The Defense Department now feared that attempts might be made against other large cities and was therefore eager to have Tom deliver several quake deflectors as soon as possible. These would be installed at strategic points around the country. "The government heads were so impressed with your invention, Tom," Dr. Miles added, "that they'll probably be walking the floor anxiously until the others arrive." Tom chuckled, then became serious. "Tell them we'll go to work right away," he informed the seismologist. "I'll have the new Quakelizors ready as soon as possible, but you'd better warn your associates it's bound to take a few days." As soon as the conversation was completed, Tom dialed Ned Newton at the Swift Construction Company. Although he was actually not a relative of the Swifts, both Tom and Sandy had from childhood called him "Uncle Ned." "What's up, Tom?" he asked. Tom told him of the latest request from Washington and asked that another three-shift work schedule be set up to turn out the additional Quakelizors. "Hank and I will bring the blueprints over right away, if you don't mind being late to dinner," Tom said. Ned Newton agreed willingly, only too happy to help cope with the quake menace. By eight o'clock that evening, work on the project was proceeding at great speed. The Swift Construction Company continued humming with activity around the clock. The week end was almost over by the time Mr. Swift arrived back from the space station. Tom flew to Fearing Island to meet him. On the short hop back to Enterprises, they discussed the radio problem. "I think the solution's been staring us in the face, Dad, but we've been too worried to think of it," Tom said. "Remember Li Ching's jamming-wave generator?" He was referring to a device used recently by an Oriental foe of Tom and his father. Mr. Swift's eyes lighted up with a quick flash of understanding. "Dad, you wrote a report on the generator for the government with a memo on possible ways to combat it," Tom went on. "Maybe the same measures would work in this case." The Swifts had discovered that their enemy had been intercepting Tom's messages, thereby learning the frequency to which the Swifts' receiver was tuned. They then radiated a signal at this frequency, modulated at the frequency to which the local oscillator was set. This had caused a buildup of energy in the I.F. transformers, resulting in their explosion. Now Mr. Swift said, "You're right, son. We'll insert a blocking filter in the R.F. stage that should do the trick." Their minds relieved of this problem, the Swifts were eagerly looking forward to the arrival of the brain energy from space the next day. The scheduled time, if pinpointed at exactly two weeks from the moment when the first message was received, would be half an hour past noon. The spot, two miles from Enterprises, was on a lonely hillside. It was shaded by trees, higher up the slope, with bushes and other wild-growing greenery softening its contours. Over the week end, Tom had had carpenters from Enterprises put up a small cabin at the foot. As twelve-thirty approached, Tom, Bud, Mr. Swift, Hank Sterling, Arv Hanson, and several other Swift technicians stood by at the scene with the star-headed container. Chow had also begged to be on hand. "I jest got to see Ole Think Box come to life!" he said. Eyes darted back and forth from wrist watches to sky as the zero moment ticked closer. Bud even began muttering a countdown. "X minus three... X minus two... X minus one... This is it!" All eyes flashed skyward. _But nothing happened!_ Not a speck showed in the blue, cloudless sky. The watchers glanced at one another uncertainly. More minutes went by. Soon it was quarter to one... then one o'clock. "No mistake about the time, was there?" Arv asked. Mr. Swift shook his head. "Not if the code was translated correctly." He frowned. "It's true they spoke merely in terms of days. But their time references are usually very precise." The waiting group fidgeted and prowled back and forth to ease their tension. Feelings of suspense began changing into gloom after two more hours had passed with no sign from the sky. Disappointed but unable to wait any longer, the technical men went back to the plant, one by one. Hank Sterling, too, and Arv Hanson finally had to leave. "Sorry, skipper," Hank muttered. "Ring us right away if it shows up." "Sure, Hank." As six o'clock went by, Chow tried to pep up his companions' drooping spirits with a simple but tasty supper, warmed up on an electric hot plate in the cabin. "What do you think, skipper? Are we out of luck?" Bud asked as they ate. "Our space friends haven't let us down yet," Tom replied. "I'm sure they won't this time." Though he didn't say so aloud, Tom was worried that their Brungarian enemies might have managed to divert and capture the energy. Mr. Swift seemed to read Tom's thoughts. "Let's hope no hitch has occurred," he said quietly. The sun went down. Twilight slowly deepened. The trees on the hillside faded from view in the gathering darkness. "_There it is!_" Bud yelled suddenly. Electrified, the four sprang up in an instant. A speck of light was sailing across the sky! But their faces fell as it drew closer. "Only an airplane," Bud grumbled. At ten o'clock Mr. Swift gave a weary yawn. "The spirit is willing but the flesh is weak," he confessed. "I got only two hours of sleep on the space wheel, and apparently last night wasn't enough to catch up. Sorry, fellows." "Why don't you go home, Dad? Hit the hay," Tom said sympathetically. Promising to take a turn on watch if the vigil continued through the next day, Mr. Swift drove off in his car. Time dragged by slowly as the three remaining watchers chatted and looked hopefully at the stars. Eventually Chow propped himself against a tree and dropped off to sleep to the accompaniment of low-droning snores. Bud too began to drowse. It was long past midnight when Tom suddenly caught sight of a moving light in the sky. He stiffened and held his breath. Another false alarm? But no! A glowing, faintly bluish mass with a comet tail of luminous orange red was slowly proceeding through the pattern of stars! "Hey, fellows! Wake up!" Tom shouted. He sprang to his feet and unlatched a single point of the star head. Within seconds, Bud and Chow were both wide awake, as excited as Tom. The blue nebulous mass moved closer and closer. The three watchers were speechless with awe. As the ball of energy descended toward them, it lit up the whole scene. The hillside looked almost as if it were on fire. The earth vibrated, and the air had the sharp smell of ozone. This was followed by a frightening clatter and rumble. The force of the energy was sweeping down rocks, gravel, and shrubbery in a hillside avalanche! "Look out!" Chow shrieked. "We'll be pulverized in this rock stampede!" He streaked for cover as a huge boulder came plunging straight toward him. "Hold fast, Bud!" Tom cried. "Nothing's headed our way!" Steeling his nerves, he grabbed the waiting container and held on grimly. An instant later the glowing mass sharpened and narrowed itself into a snakelike bolt of fire that arced straight into the head of Tom's invention. Tom gave a yell of triumph and clamped the star point shut, then pushed a button to activate the self-sealing process. Chow peered out cautiously from behind a clump of rock. The next second, he let out a Texas whoop, bounded from cover like an over-sized gnome, and sent his ten-gallon hat sailing high into the air. "_Yippee!_" Bud cheered too. "The visitor from Planet X has arrived!" In their excitement and relief, the three hugged one another and jumped for joy. "Should we wake up your dad and tell him the good news--or keep it a surprise till morning?" Bud asked Tom. "I guess we'd better--" Tom broke off in a gasp as the robotlike container suddenly began to whirl--slowly at first, then faster and faster. Spinning crazily like a huge runaway top, it darted up, down, and about the hillside. Tom and his two companions stared in helpless amazement. "Great horned toads! What's it up to?" Chow exclaimed. "Seems like the energy's trying to get out!" Bud guessed. "Something must be bothering it." Tom shook his head incredulously. "No reason for that. The container was absolutely empty." Chow suddenly gave a groan and slapped his forehead in dismay. "Brand my Big Dipper!" the cook said. "Mebbe Ole Think Box has gone loco! An' it could be my fault!" CHAPTER XI AN ELECTRICAL CHRISTENING "What are you talking about, Chow?" Tom asked, turning to the old Westerner in amazement. Chow related how he had dropped the bubble gum inside the robot's head. "Did I ruin the critter?" he asked fearfully. Tom was thoughtful for a moment, frowning as they watched Ole Think Box continue its gyrations. The figure seemed to be calming down somewhat, although Tom could not be sure of this. Suddenly his face brightened. A new thought had just struck the young inventor! To Chow's amazement, Tom slapped the cook happily on the back. "I think you've done me a favor, Chow!" he exclaimed. "I have?" The old Texan stared at his young boss, as if not sure whether or not to believe him. "How come?" "You saw how Ole Think Box reacted to the gum," Tom explained. "That shows the energy really is like a brain! It's responsive and sensitive to conditions of its environment, especially when coming up against something new and unexpected." "You mean they don't have bubble gum on Planet X?" Chow asked with a grin. Tom smiled as Bud said, "This means we should be able to communicate with it." "And the brain will probably be able to communicate back to us!" Tom went on excitedly. "We may even be able to learn about Planet X!" As he spoke, Ole Think Box's whirling became slower and slower. Finally it came to rest close to the three humans. "What do you suppose happened to the gum?" Bud asked. "Did he chew it all up?" "It's probably unchanged," Tom replied. "Our visitor is used to it now." Chow was still wide-eyed with awe. He stared at the strange creature as if expecting it to snap at him in revenge for the gum. "Don't worry, old-timer. Think Box won't bite," Bud teased. "With that gum spree, he's just been initiated into our American tribal customs!" The pilot grinned. "Hey! We haven't given him a proper name." "You're right." Tom looked at his pal and chuckled. "Got any ideas?" "Hmm. Let me see." Bud scowled and paced about with his hands clasped behind his back. "Firetop--John Q. Pyro--" "But it ain't on fire now," Chow pointed out. "Maybe not, but he sure blazed a trail getting here," Bud argued. Tom and Chow countered with several ideas of their own, but nothing seemed suitable until Bud suddenly stopped short and snapped his fingers. "I have it! He's a visitor from Planet X, so let's call him _Exman!_" Bud spelled it out. "Perfect!" Tom was delighted and Chow agreed that it seemed "a right good monicker." The Texan insisted seriously that if the creature were going to be named, he should also have a proper christening. "Why not?" Tom agreed, as both boys broke into laughter. Bud also liked the idea. Chow had a troublesome afterthought. He shoved back his sombrero, squinted frowningly at the brain container, and scratched his bald head. "For boat christenings and statues and what not, you break bottles on 'em or cut ribbons or pull a sheet off 'em," the cook said. "But how in tarnation do you christen a buckaroo from space?" "Nothing to it, Chow," Tom assured him. "We'll do the job up nice and fancy with a display of electricity. But first let's get Exman over to the lab." The three loaded the energy container into the pickup truck which had brought it to the hillside spot. Then Tom drove back to Enterprises and they took Exman into his private laboratory. Here Tom attached an electrode to each side of the star head. One electrode was safely grounded, the other connected to a Tesla coil. Then, with all lights turned off in the laboratory, Tom threw a switch. Instantly a dazzling arc of electricity sputtered through the darkness across the creature's head! The eerie display lit up the room with such impressive effect that both Bud and Chow felt their spines tingle. "I christen you Exman!" Tom intoned. For several moments he allowed the fiery arc to continue playing about the star head. Then he opened the power switch and turned the room lights back on. "Wow! Quite a ceremony!" Bud murmured. "After a send-off like that, I'll be expectin' the critter to do great things here on this lil ole planet Earth!" Chow declared fervently. "You could be right," Tom said. Worn out by the long wait for their visitor from Planet X and the excitement following his arrival, Chow finally went off to his own quarters at Enterprises for a well-earned sleep. "Guess you and I had better get some shut-eye too, pal," Tom told Bud. "And I think I won't tell Dad until morning." [Illustration (Tom, Bud and Chow celebrate building Exman)] The two boys decided to bunk on cots in the small apartment adjoining Tom's laboratory. Exman, meanwhile, was left locked in the laboratory with a tiny "night light" showing on him. "Just a little ray of energy to keep him company," Tom explained with a chuckle. Minutes later, the two boys were sound asleep. For a while, all was silent. Then the apartment's telephone rang, shattering the stillness. Tom struggled out of the depths of sleep, got up, and groped his way over to the wall phone. "Tom Swift Jr. speaking." A familiar voice asked, "Did it come?" "Oh, hi, Dad!" Tom replied, yawning. "Yes, Exman arrived in fine shape. We've put him to bed. Tell you all about it tomorrow morning." "Okay, Tom." As Tom hung up, Bud roused and switched on a lamp. He had awakened in time to catch only part of Tom's words. "Your father?" he inquired. Tom nodded sleepily and was about to go back to bed. But Bud, still fascinated by the space visitor, decided to have a peek at Exman. He got up and opened the door to the laboratory. A yell from him brought Tom rushing to his side. "Hey! It's gone!" The spot by the night light where they had left Exman was now deserted! Tom found a wall switch and pressed it. As light from the overhead fluorescent tubes flooded the room, the boys gave laughing cries of relief. Ole Think Box had merely moved himself to another corner of the room! "Guess he didn't like that little chum we left on for him," Bud said with a chuckle. "Let's leave him where he is," Tom agreed. The two boys went back to the adjoining apartment and were soon asleep again. Several hours later they were rudely awakened by a loud crash of glass and a heavy thud. "Something's happening to Exman!" Tom cried. With Bud at his heels, the young inventor dashed into the laboratory. CHAPTER XII EXMAN TAKES ORDERS A strange sight greeted Tom's and Bud's eyes. In the first rays of sunlight, the space robot was moving back and forth about the laboratory in wild zigzag darts and lunges. As he rolled toward a bench or other object, the brain energy seemed to send out invisible waves that knocked things over! Already the floor was strewn with toppled lab stools, books, and broken test tubes. The heavy thud had apparently been caused by a falling file cabinet. "Stop him!" Bud yelped. Exman was heading straight for a plate-glass window! Reaching from floor to ceiling, the glass formed one entire wall of the laboratory. "Oh, no!" Tom tensed, realizing that it was hopeless to try to stop Exman in time. But an instant later, the rolling robot stopped of its own accord, as if registering the fact that its energy waves were now striking a fragile surface. The thick pane of glass vibrated in its frame. "Good grief!" Tom wiped his brow. "Let's corral that thing before he wrecks the whole lab!" Exman was already rolling off on a new tack. The two boys managed to grab him before more harm was done. The brain energy in its container seemed to calm under their touch. "What in the name of space science triggered it off?" Bud wondered out loud. "Time. It must have reacted to the passage of time," Tom conjectured. "I suppose it just decided to explore this place." He added a bit nervously, "The sooner we can communicate with this energy, the better!" "But how?" Bud asked. Tom's brow furrowed. "Say, I wonder if Exman might understand a direct order?" Tom backed a few paces away from the space robot, then said in a loud, clear voice, "Come here!" Exman remained fixed to its spot. "Move right!" No response. "Move left!" Still no response. "Guess you're not getting through, skipper," Bud commented with a grin. "No," Tom agreed. "I can't predict what kind of energy this brain will respond to. Being only energy, it must respond to other energy and sound is our form of energy. The problem is the same as with radio waves, which are also energy. We must figure out how we can vary the energy, so it can transmit information to Exman." "What _do_ we try?" Bud asked. "Or is it hopeless?" "I'll try communicating with it via the electronic brain, which I have adapted to fit this problem." The boys cleaned up the wreckage caused by Exman in his dawn venturings. Then Tom went by jeep to the computer laboratory, made connections to his electronic brain, and wired it for remote control. Then he returned to the private laboratory. There Bud watched as he hooked up the leads from the computer to a transmitting-receiving decoder with a short-range antenna. "Speak, O Master!" Bud said, imitating a squeaky robot voice. "Sound off loud and clear!" Tom grinned and tapped out a command on the keyboard: _Move backward._ Exman rolled backward! Bud gave a whoop of delight. Tom signaled: _Move forward._ Obediently Exman rolled toward him. _Stop._ Exman stopped. "Hey, how about that?" Bud exclaimed happily. "It really savvies those electronic brain impulses!" "And minds them--which is equally important," Tom added. A moment later the brain energy seemed to become impatient. It spurted off in its wheeled container toward a laboratory workbench. _Crash!_ A rack of test tubes went sailing to the floor with an explosion of tinkling glass. _Stop!_ Tom signaled frantically. Again Exman obeyed the order. "It's like a mischievous kid," Bud said. Almost as if in defiance, Exman scooted off in another direction. Then it stopped abruptly and swiveled around, one of its antenna arms knocking a Bunsen burner to the floor as it did so. _Come here!_ Tom signaled. As the culprit approached, he added sternly, _Stop where you are. And stay there until you receive further orders._ This time Exman stood patiently, awaiting the next signal. Bud got a brush and dustpan, and the boys cleaned up the broken test tubes and replaced the burner on its shelf. Then Tom began feeding more complicated instructions to Exman through the electronic brain. He guided him through a number of dancelike movements and other drills, and got him to send out a wave of heat which the boys could instantly feel. Tom was even able to make the robot aim its wave energy so as to short-circuit a switch on an electrical control panel. Tom was both pleased and excited. "Bud," he exclaimed, "the brain reacts as quickly as that of a highly intelligent being! Just imagine--without any sort of decoding equipment, it can pick up and _understand_ the radio signals I beam out to it!" "What we need now," Tom went on, "is a simple language to get our ideas across to Exman without having to use the electronic brain all the time. That means I must find a way to give Exman senses as we humans have--smell, touch, sight, hearing, taste. Then it could receive the same reactions we do and talk directly to us!" "Sounds like quite an order," Bud said wryly. "Speaking of which, how about us phoning Chow an order for breakfast?" He did so, and a short time later Chow wheeled a food cart into the laboratory. As he dished out man-sized helpings of ham and eggs, the cook kept a wary eye on Exman. Tom was putting the robot through a few more lively maneuvers. "A good meal'd calm down Ole Think Box," Chow observed grumpily. "But what do you feed that there kind o' contraption?" "Well, not gum, that's for sure!" Bud teased. After tasting his first forkful of food, he gasped, "And none of this ham!" Jumping up from his lab stool, Bud began whirling, dancing around, and flapping his arms as if he were burning up. "Help! Help!" he yelled. "Chow's poisoned me--just like he did Exman!" Chow's leathery old face paled under its desert tan. "Great snakes, Tom!" the Texan gulped. "Have I really pizened him? Maybe we should call Doc Simpson!" Doc was the medic in charge of the Enterprises infirmary. Tom was unable to keep a straight face. "Better call someone with a strait jacket--or a butterfly net!" he said, quaking with laughter. "I'm afraid he's just pulling your leg, Chow!" Chow's jaw clamped shut like a bear trap and he glared at the pirouetting young flier. Bud collapsed on his stool, doubled over with mirth. "Sorry, old-timer," he gasped. "I just couldn't resist!" "Okay, Buddy boy," Chow said darkly. "And mebbe I won't be able to resist gettin' even one o' these days!" The cook stumped out of the laboratory in his high-heeled cowboy boots, a picture of outraged dignity. "Better watch out, pal!" Tom warned with a grin. "Just remember: it's never smart to bite the hand that feeds you!" "I guess you're right," Bud agreed, wiping away the tears of laughter. "I'll remember, just as long as Chow promises not to serve us any more armadillo soup or rattlesnake salad!" Chow's fondness for experimenting with weird dishes was a standing joke around Enterprises. The boys ate their meal hungrily. As they were finishing, Tom glanced at the big clock on the wall. It was now well past eight o'clock. "Wonder why Dad hasn't come to the lab," he remarked. "I'd better call and find out if he's all right." Tom picked up the telephone and asked the operator for the direct line to the Swifts' home. His father answered. "'Morning, Dad!" Tom greeted him. "I thought after your call last night, you'd be over bright and early to see our visitor. He's already--" "What are you talking about, son?" Mr. Swift broke in. "I didn't phone you last night!" CHAPTER XIII DISASTER STRIKES Tom was thunderstruck. "You didn't phone me? But, Dad, I got the call--I definitely heard your voice!" "That's impossible," Mr. Swift insisted. "Believe me, son, I slept soundly from the time I turned in until a little while ago." There was a moment of stunned silence as both Swifts realized that the telephone call had been faked! Then Tom exclaimed: "Dad, this is serious!" "Deadly serious, I agree," his father replied. "Are you calling from your lab?" "Yes!" "Stay there. I'll be right over," the elder scientist said. When Mr. Swift arrived, Tom related his conversation with the mysterious caller. His father listened with worried eyes and a puzzled frown. "It's bad enough that an enemy was able to get the information," Mr. Swift remarked. "But, potentially at least, it's even more dangerous that he was able to imitate my voice so well. If he could fool you, Tom, he could fool anyone!" "Are you thinking the same thing I am, Dad?" "That it may have been some insider here at Enterprises?" When Tom nodded, his father gravely agreed. "Yes, son, it does look that way. To imitate my voice convincingly, it would almost certainly have to be someone who's had close contact with us--either at the plant or here in Shopton." The thought of a traitor at the experimental station was repugnant to the Swifts and to Bud as well. Not only were all employees carefully screened, but there was a close, almost family relationship among those who took part in the exciting scientific ventures at Swift Enterprises. Tom called Security and asked Harlan Ames to come over to the laboratory at once. The security chief arrived within moments. Quickly Tom filled him in on the details of the puzzling telephone call. "Think back, skipper," Ames urged. "Was there anything at all you can remember about the voice that might give us a tip-off? I mean, was it deep, or maybe a bit higher-pitched than you expected? Or anything about the way the caller pronounced his words?" Tom shook his head. "Nothing. That's the trouble. He spoke only a couple of sentences, but so far as I knew, it _was_ my father calling!" "Hmmm." Ames frowned. "What about background noises?" Tom thought hard. "None. If I had detected any special sounds during the call, I'm sure they would have stuck in my mind." Ames tried another tack. He asked how many people had known about the expected arrival of the brain energy from space. This was harder to answer, but as Tom and his father enumerated the persons, it did help to narrow the circle of suspects. Besides the Swifts, Chow, Phyl, Ames, and George Dilling, there were three groups who had had access to the information. One was the radio operators at the space-communications laboratory. Another consisted of Arv Hanson and Hank Sterling and the workmen who had taken part in building the energy container. The last group, which also included Hank and Arv, were the technicians who had actually gone to the hillside to await the visitor from Planet X. Tom scowled. "None of those people would pull such a trick, Harlan--any more than the ones like you and Arv and Hank who are above suspicion. Most of them could have easily obtained the news without going through such a rigmarole." Mr. Swift nodded. "Tom's right. Unless, of course, they had some urgent reason for wanting to find out as soon as possible." "Which makes me think it may have been an outsider after all," Tom argued. "Remember, the Brungarians may have intercepted the code messages to or from our space friends." After a moment's silence, he added gloomily, "Whoever the caller was, he knew the energy was arriving. And now he knows it's here!" Bud interjected, "Well, if he was a Brungarian agent and he's hoping to steal the brain energy, one thing's sure. No earthquake will demolish this place as long as the energy is here at Enterprises." "A comforting thought, Bud," Mr. Swift commented with a wry smile. Again Tom frowned. "At any rate, Harlan, see if you can get a line on that impostor." Ames departed to begin a thorough check of all personnel at the plant who might have been implicated. Bud went on an errand, as Tom began showing his father the accomplishments of the space robot. "We've christened him Exman," Tom said. By means of the electronic brain, he made the visitor do a number of maneuvers in response to orders. "Wonderful!" Mr. Swift exclaimed, greatly impressed. "Let's see if he can use his caterpillar treads as well as he does the wheels." Tom brought a small flight of portable aluminum stairs which he used for reaching up on high shelves or tinkering with outsized machines. Tom was uncertain at first how to code the command, having no symbol for steps or stairs. Finally he moved Exman to the bottom of the steps and signaled simply: _Go up!_ Exman paused for a moment, then attempted the ascent. His caterpillar tracks clawed their way up the first step. Then, gingerly, he essayed the next. The robot body tilted, but its gyro kept it from toppling over. "Bravo!" Mr. Swift applauded encouragingly. But the next instant Exman gave up! He slid back to the floor again with a heavy bump. Then he began whirling and darting about madly. "Good night! Exman's gone berserk!" Tom cried. Now wafts of smoke could be seen issuing from the robot's wheels. He was banging wildly about the laboratory, leaving a trail of havoc. Bud, who had returned, opened the door to come in. Instantly Exman lunged toward him, antennas sparking fiercely and wheels smoking. Bud slammed the door hastily. The Swifts, too, found it wiser to take cover. They crouched behind a lab workbench until the frenzy was over. Presently Exman subsided and rolled to a complete standstill. "Good grief!" Tom stood up cautiously and eyed the creature. It made no further move. Bud poked his head through the doorway for a wary look, then re-entered the laboratory. "What made him blow his top?" Bud asked. Then Tom heard a quiet chuckle from his father. "Actually, boys," the elder scientist said, "I think we should be encouraged." "_Encouraged?_" Tom stared at his father. [Illustration (Tom Jr. and Tom Sr. watch as Exman tries to climb stairs)] Mr. Swift nodded. "Yes, the whole thing was rather a noteworthy reaction. I believe Exman was displaying a fear complex about navigating up those stairs." Tom gasped, then broke out laughing. "Dad, you're right! I'll bet when its body tilted over, the brain wasn't sure whether the gyro would keep it from being wrecked. It just shows Ole Think Box is getting more human all the time!" Bud ventured to pat Exman on its "back." "Relax, kid," he said with a chuckle. "You're among friends and we wouldn't dream of letting you get hurt. You're too valuable!" Mr. Swift stroked his jaw thoughtfully. "Valuable, yes, if we can only get it to communicate. Tom, I believe the first project we should work on is a way to make Exman talk." After the debris had been cleaned up, the two scientists pulled up stools to the workbench and began to discuss the problem. Bud, seeing them absorbed, and realizing the discussion would soon be far beyond his depth, snapped a grinning salute at Exman and quietly left the laboratory. "Dad, the toughest part won't be the speech mechanism itself," Tom pointed out. "There are several ways we could handle that--by modulating a column of air, for instance, or by some sort of speaker diaphragm. The real stumper will be how to teach him our spoken language." Mr. Swift nodded. "I'm afraid you're right. If the inhabitants of Planet X communicate telepathically, or by some sort of wave transfer, they may have long since forgotten any concept of a spoken language." The Swifts batted several ideas back and forth. Then Tom snapped his fingers. "Wait, Dad! We have the answer! The electronic brain!" Mr. Swift's eyes lighted up. "Of course! The machine already translates the space code into written English. All we need do is add a device to convert the machine's impulses into sound!" In two hours the Swifts had put together a mechanism designed to work through a tape recorder. This was hooked up to the electronic brain. After recording for several moments, Tom reversed the tape and switched on the playback. A squeaky jumble of noises could be heard. But one word seemed to come through fairly distinctly. "Universe!" "It's talking!" Tom cried out. "Trying to, but not succeeding very well," Mr. Swift said. Nevertheless, the two scientists were jubilant at this first breakthrough. Eagerly they began making adjustments--both on the electronic-brain hookup and the converter mechanism. Tom was just about to switch on the tape recorder again when the telephone rang. The young inventor was annoyed at being interrupted at such a crucial moment, but picked up the phone. "Tom Swift Jr. speaking." "You have an urgent call from Washington," the operator informed him. "Just a moment, please." Bernt Ahlgren was calling from the Pentagon. The defense expert's voice was strained. "Tom, there's just been another attempt to cause an earthquake here in Washington!" Tom gasped. "What happened?" "It failed, thanks to you. But Intelligence believes an attempt will be made on New York City very soon. We need your help to stop it. How near completion are the other shock deflectors?" Before Tom could answer, he heard excited voices at the other end of the line. Then Ahlgren broke in again abruptly. "A news flash, Tom! The Walling range-finder plant has been demolished by an earthquake!" CHAPTER XIV AIR-BORNE HIJACKERS Mr. Swift, hearing Tom's dismayed reaction, rushed to the telephone. "What's wrong, son?" Tom clamped his hand over the mouthpiece and quickly gave his father the news of the destroyed range-finder plant. Then he spoke into the telephone. "Bernt, we must prevent another disaster! Let me check with our construction company on the Quakelizors and I'll call you right back!" "Right, Tom," Ahlgren agreed. Both Tom and Mr. Swift were shocked by this latest blow of their enemies. Tom called Ned Newton at the Swift Construction Company at once and told him the news. "How soon will the Quakelizors be ready, Uncle Ned?" "They're finished, Tom. We're running a final inspection on them right now. We can have them ready to ship out by one o'clock." Tom relayed word to the Pentagon. Bernt Ahlgren was greatly relieved. "By the way," Tom went on, "what about the sites? Have they been chosen yet?" "Only tentatively," Ahlgren replied. "We wanted to get your opinion first." One of the deflectors, Ahlgren felt, should be based in position to guard the New York and New England area, in view of Intelligence warnings about a probable attack on New York City. Another, in the Cumberland plateau region of Kentucky, could damp out shock waves threatening either the heavily industrialized Great Lakes area or any southern city. As to the other three Quakelizors, Ahlgren suggested that one be installed on the West Coast, one in the Black Hills of South Dakota, and the third on the Atlantic island of San Rosario. This would protect both Latin-American allies and Caribbean defense bases of the United States. Before deciding, Tom asked that Dr. Miles at the Bureau of Mines be circuited into the telephone conversation. Mr. Swift, too, joined in on another line. The four scientists discussed the problem and referred to geologic maps. Finally the exact sites were agreed upon. "Dad, I'm going to deliver and install one of those Quakelizors myself," Tom declared, after the telephone conference ended. "Judging from that phone impostor last night, there's no telling what sort of trick our enemies may try next!" Mr. Swift approved heartily. "Good idea, son. In the meantime, I'll see what I can accomplish with Ole Think Box here." Tom notified Uncle Ned of the delivery sites. He requested that because of the urgency of the situation, Swift planes transport the Quakelizors. Mr. Newton promised to have five cargo jets loaded and prepared for take-off from the construction company airfield. Next, Tom turned to the job of rounding up flight crews. He decided that Hank Sterling, Arv Hanson, Art Wiltessa, and a crack Swift test pilot, Slim Davis, would each captain a plane. Tom was just hanging up the telephone when Chow wheeled in a lunch cart, bearing sizzling servings of steak for the two Swifts. "How's Ole Think Box comin' along?" Chow inquired. "All right now, but he went berserk a while back," Tom replied with a chuckle. Chow eyed the robot apprehensively and made a hasty exit. Both Tom Jr. and Tom Sr. were amused. As they ate, the two scientists continued their discussion on how to equip Exman with senses and the power of speech. Several minutes later, when they were finishing dessert, Bud came into the laboratory. "Tom, what's this about you hopping off somewhere to install a Quakelizor?" he asked anxiously. "Don't worry, pal. I'll need my usual copilot," Tom said with a grin. "Just didn't have time to call you before lunch. We'll be flying down to a place called San Rosario in the Caribbean." At one o'clock Tom briefed the flight crews and technicians. Slim was provided with three men who had worked on the original model of the quake deflector. After making sure that every man knew his job, Tom had the groups flown by helicopter over to the Swift Construction Company airfield. Tom and Bud's cargo jet was the second to take off. On signal from the tower, the big workhorse thundered down the runway and soared off into the blue. Soon it was spearing southward above the waters of the Atlantic. Presently Bud drew Tom's attention to some blurry specks of light on the radarscope. "Looks like a formation of planes, skipper." Tom studied the blips for a while. "Guess you're right. It's sure not a flock of sea gulls!" The young inventor frowned. "Worried, Tom?" Bud asked quietly. Tom shrugged. "It could be a routine military flight." He increased speed and climbed for altitude. But the blips on the radarscope showed that the planes were coming steadily closer. It was clear that they were targeting on the Swift cargo jet. Tom switched on the radio. Presently a voice crackled over their headphones: "Calling Swift jet!" The voice was heavily accented. "Brungarians!" Bud muttered. Tom made no reply to the radio challenge. Again came the voice: "Calling Swift jet! Make emergency landing on the water!" Tom's only response was a fresh burst of speed. Gunning the jet motors, he sent the big cargo ship arrowing forward at supersonic velocity. "There they are!" Bud cried suddenly. He pointed to a cluster of silvery glints in the sky at seven o'clock. Tom zoomed downward into a billowing cloud bank. It was a feeble hope and Tom knew it. His only real chance now was to outrun or outmaneuver the marauders. The slim hope faded as they emerged from the cloud cover moments later. The enemy planes were not only still dogging them, but closing in rapidly. Sleek, needle-nosed attack ships, they appeared to have seaplane hulls. "Wow! Those are new ones!" Bud gasped. "Our last warning to Swift jet! Hit the water or be shot down!" came the enemy voice. Tom raced along, his mind searching frantically for a method of escape. Bud switched off radio power momentarily. "If we're going to be hijacked, skipper, let's ditch your invention before it's too late!" Tom shook his head stubbornly. "Why should I let those pirates bulldoze us? Actually, I think they're after Exman!" This last thought was a hunch that had just occurred to Tom. It was clear that their foe had learned about the arrival of the energy from space. "But so far," Tom reasoned, "there's no cause to suppose they know anything about the quake deflectors." Stalling for time, Tom switched on the radio again and spoke into the mike. "Swift jet to attack planes. Our home base is picking up every word of your threats. Shoot us down and America will consider it an act of war!... Care to risk it?" There was a moment's silence, then a reply. "War, you say? How can there be a question of war? War against whom? You do not even know our national identity!" "Don't kid yourselves, mister!" Bud put in with a snarl. "We know, all right, and so does United States Intelligence!" Tom decided to risk a blunt query, without actually giving away any facts, in case his hunch about the Brungarian's knowledge was wrong. "There was a phone call to Swift Enterprises last night," he radioed. "We know it was a fake. We also know your agents are aware of our visitor.... Right?" After a pause, the enemy spokesman replied, "Perhaps. If so, what then?" "Just this," Tom radioed back. "If you're hoping to meet our visitor, you're out of luck. I'll give you my word for it. Do you think we'd risk such a valuable character in an unguarded crate like this?" Tom and Bud looked at each other. Somehow, both boys felt instinctively that Tom's words had struck home. The enemy had certainly risen to the bait. Finally came the reply. "You Swifts have a reputation for scrupulous honesty." There was a slight sneer in the speaker's voice as if he considered this a foolish weakness. "You give me your word of honor that this--er--character is not aboard?" "I do!" Tom snapped. "And if you don't trust me, go ahead and risk a war!" The boys waited breathlessly for the outcome of Tom's bold gamble. Soon they saw the result. The pursuing planes suddenly peeled off and sped away in the direction from which they had first appeared. "Whew!" Bud wiped his hand across his face and drew it away moist with perspiration. "How do you like that?" Tom chuckled with relief. "I like it fine, fly boy. But I was sure worried there for a while!" Less than an hour later, the big cargo jet touched down at the San Rosario airport. An armed guard was on hand to greet the boys, under command of an officer named Captain Sanchez. He had brought along a work crew of soldiers and also a geology expert, Professor Leone, from the island's small technical school. "I have selected a spot on the eastern shore of the island," the professor told Tom. He unrolled a map and explained the site. "Excellent," Tom agreed. The Quakelizor parts, communications equipment, and small atomic earth blaster were quickly unloaded and transported to the site by trucks. In three hours the installation was finished. Tom, who spoke Spanish fairly well, explained to a small group of San Rosario military technicians how the quake deflector worked. He also detailed one of his own men to stay on as trouble shooter for the setup. "And now," said Captain Sanchez, beaming, "we must relax and celebrate the friendship of our two countries." Tom and Bud, though eager to get home, hesitated to hurt the friendly officer's feelings. They sat through a delicious meal, followed by numerous speeches. When his own turn to speak came, Tom used it to warn against possible sabotage attempts by the Brungarians. At last the boys were allowed to take off with their crew. "Swell guys," Bud said, when the boys were airborne, "but a bit hard to break away from!" Tom grinned, then became serious. "You know, Bud," he said thoughtfully, "those aerial hijackers gave me an idea." "Let's have it, skipper." "If only I could get Exman perfected so he would report back to me," Tom explained, "I could _let_ him be kidnaped. Think what a wonderful 'inside man' he'd make in the enemy setup! He could tip us off to everything the Brungarians were doing!" "Hey, that's neat!" Bud exclaimed, wide-eyed. "But how could you be sure those Brungarian rebel scientists wouldn't change him somehow? I mean they might brainwash him or something." "It's a risk," Tom agreed. "But that's my problem--how to make a perfect spy out of him." It was midnight when the cargo jet touched down on the Enterprises airfield. The boys slept soundly. The next morning Tom reported to Mr. Swift and Harlan Ames the outcome of his trip to San Rosario, including the attack en route by unmarked sky raiders. He also privately told his father about his plan to use Exman as an electronic spy. Mr. Swift was enthusiastic. The two scientists promptly set to work. Mr. Swift built two powerful but miniature radio sets; one for receiving, one for transmitting. Tom, meanwhile, was busy on another device, also highly miniaturized, combining features of both the electronic decoder and Tom's famous midget computers, known as Little Idiots. With this equipment, Tom hoped, Exman would be able to monitor all communications at Brungarian rebel headquarters, then radio the information to Enterprises. Chow brought lunch to the laboratory at noon, and Bud came in later. Both stayed to watch the outcome of the experiment. Hank Sterling and Arv Hanson joined the group. By midafternoon the equipment was ready for a tryout. Tom opened Exman's star head, inserted the gear, and made the delicate wiring connections. "So far, so good," the young inventor murmured, stepping back. "Now for the real test! Will Exman answer our questions?" Tom walked over to the electronic decoder brain and began to tap out a message on the keyboard. The others waited in breathless suspense. CHAPTER XV KIDNAPED! The message which Tom signaled in code over the electronic brain said: WE HAVE A DANGEROUS PLAN. IF PLAN WORKS, YOU MAY BE EXPOSED TO ENEMY TAMPERING. WILL THIS BE SAFE? CAN YOU STAND THIS? There was a tense pause. Then the signal bell rang on the machine and the keys began to punch out a reply on tape: NO ONE CAN ALTER THIS BRAIN NOR CAN THEY CHANGE ITS PURPOSE. THEY CAN ONLY DESTROY THE ENERGY HOLDER. As Tom finished reading the message aloud, Chow gave a whoop of delight and the whole group burst into spontaneous cheers. "Terrific, skipper!" Bud exclaimed, clapping his pal on the back. The others gathered around to add their congratulations. Mr. Swift, beaming with pride, gave Tom a quick hand-squeeze. "It's an amazing achievement, son. And it may prove to be the key for unlocking the secrets of space, if and when we have time for some research after this crisis is over." "I sure hope so, Dad," Tom murmured. Though jubilant, the young inventor realized that this was only the first step in his plan to checkmate the Brungarian rebels. _The real perils still lay ahead!_ Tom called Harlan Ames and asked him to come to the laboratory for a conference. When the security chief arrived, he was as impressed as the others with the way Tom was able to communicate with Exman. "The problem now," Tom said, "is how do we have him kidnaped?" Chow, wary as a coyote, offered his opinion that the safest way would be merely to leave the space robot unguarded somewhere about the grounds of Enterprises. Ames shook his head. "Too obvious. They'd suspect a trap." Tom agreed. "Wal, then, how about truckin' him along the highway hereabouts, as if you all were sendin' him down to Washington?" This, too, was vetoed on the grounds that a shrewd espionage agent would guess that such a valuable prize would never be entrusted to a slow and vulnerable method of transport. "Then what about an air flight?" Hank Sterling suggested. "Brand my six-guns, that'd be jest beggin' to git yourself shot down!" Chow fumed. "Not if we used a plane like the _Sky Queen_, equipped with jet lifters," Hank argued. "If any hijack planes jumped us, they'd have to let us come down safely in order to get their hands on Exman. We could land on the water or just hover while they made the transfer." "And after they had it safe aboard their own plane, they'd blast yours to smithereens!" Chow retorted. Tom, too, thought a plane flight unwise, but for different reasons. It might look suspicious to the Brungarians after the Swifts had been warned by one aerial hijack attempt. Also, they might be deterred by fear of war, thinking that the United States Air Force would doubtless be alerted to the possibility of attack. "So right," Ames agreed. After a thoughtful pause, he added, "Tom, what about transporting Exman by submarine? We know that every spy apparatus in this hemisphere is constantly trying to probe what goes on at Fearing Island, where our subs are based." "No doubt about that," Tom conceded. "So," Ames continued, "any move to Fearing would certainly make the Brungarian agents prick up their ears. Their own spy subs probably would come prowling around the island and detect the departure of a Swift sub. And they might feel that an undersea hijack attempt would be a fairly safe gamble." The others looked thoughtful, then slowly nodded in agreement. Ames's reasoning sounded highly logical. "Tom, you'll insist on going, I suppose," Mr. Swift said somberly. "Of course, Dad. After all, the kidnap plan was my own idea," Tom replied. "Another thing I'll insist on is that you _don't_ go. We have Mother and Sandy to think of, and it's not right that both of us risk our necks." Realizing that it was hopeless to dissuade his son, and realizing the basic fairness of Tom's position, Mr. Swift did not argue. Bud, Hank, Chow, and Arv immediately volunteered to accompany the young inventor on his dangerous mission. Tom gratefully accepted their help. He asked all hands to assemble on the Enterprises airfield at six the next morning for the flight to Fearing. After the others had left, Tom and his father resumed their experiments with Exman. Mr. Swift suggested adding a device to the radio equipment to make it disintegrate if tampered with. "Before those rebel Brungarians can learn the secret of your electronic spy." "Good idea, Dad. And how about our doing the job with Swiftonium?" This was an unusual radioactive ore which Tom had discovered in South America. Mr. Swift nodded as he began work. Tom watched admiringly as his father reconstructed the radio, coating the entire thing with a Swiftonium compound. He at once placed the set in a small oven which he raised to 50 degrees centigrade. "When this cools, the set will be stable," Mr. Swift said. "But if you should move any part of it after it cools, all of the organic parts, like the circuit boards, the insulation, the carbon resistors, etc., will oxidize and disappear as gas. You will not even be able to tamper with a single unit." "Wonderful, Dad," Tom murmured when the device was finished. "I wish I had your know-how in microchemistry." "And I wish I had yours in electronics!" the elder scientist declared with a chuckle. After Mr. Swift had installed the device in Exman's star head, Tom used the electronic brain to inform the robot about the whole scheme. Both Tom Jr. and Tom Sr. were delighted when Exman showed real enthusiasm. It replied via the printed tape on the decoder: DO NOT WORRY, MY FRIENDS. I WILL NOT RESPOND TO ANY ATTEMPTS BY BRUNGARIAN SCIENTISTS TO COMMUNICATE WITH ME. MY PLANET IS WELL AWARE OF THEIR DANGEROUS AIMS. HAVING CONQUERED YOUR WORLD, THEY WOULD NEXT INVADE SPACE. "Looks as though Exman's got their number, all right!" Tom said with satisfaction. Early the next morning Mr. Swift drove Tom to the Enterprises airfield to meet his friends. Hank Sterling, Bud, and Chow were already on hand, and Arv Hanson arrived a few moments later. Tom and Bud left the others to bring Exman in a small panel truck. Soon the space robot was safely loaded aboard a transport helicopter. The others took their places inside the cabin. "Good luck, son!" Mr. Swift forced a smile as he gave Tom a parting handshake. "Don't worry, Dad. I'll be back soon!" Tom assured him. The nature of the trip had been described only vaguely to Mrs. Swift and Sandy in order to keep them from worrying. The short hop overwater to Fearing Island was soon completed. Lying just off the Atlantic coast, Fearing had once been a barren, thumb-shaped expanse of scrubgrass and sand dunes. Now it was the Swifts' top-secret rocket base, tightly guarded by drone planes and radar. As the helicopter approached its destination, Tom radioed for clearance, then whirred down toward the landing field. The barracks, workshops, and launching area of the base lay spread out in full view. Cargo rockets bristled on their launching pads, along with Tom's spaceships, including the mighty _Titan_, and the oddly shaped _Challenger_ and _Cosmic Sailer_. North and south, the island was fringed with docks. Here the recovery tugs and fuel tankers were moored, as well as the Swifts' fleet of undersea craft. Tom had chosen a cargo-hauling jetmarine, named the _Swiftsure_. It was a larger version of his original two-man jet sub, the _Ocean Dart_. He had given orders the night before to have it ready for sea by morning. By jeep and truck, Tom's group sped across the island to the dock. Exman was quickly lowered aboard through the sub's hatch. The others followed, the conning-tower hatch was dogged shut, and soon the _Swiftsure_ was gliding off into the shadowy blue-green depths. "What's your sailing plan, skipper?" Hank Sterling inquired. The quiet-spoken, square-jawed engineer stood beside Tom at the atomic turbine controls and looked out through the transparent nose of the jetmarine. "Go slow. Give 'em plenty of chance to pick up our trail," Tom replied. For two hours they cruised at moderate speed. Nothing happened. Disappointed, Tom surfaced and radioed his father for news, after cutting in the automatic scrambling device. "You're in time for an exciting flash," Mr. Swift reported jubilantly. "What is it, Dad?" "An attempt to earthquake New York has just failed!" Grins broke out on the faces of the crew as they heard Mr. Swift's words come over the loud-speaker. Bud let out a happy whoop. "That's great, Dad!" Tom said. "Maybe we've got 'em licked on the quake front. No luck so far, though, on our new project." "Well, keep in touch and let me know at once if anything happens," Mr. Swift urged. "Right, Dad!" Tom promised. Again the _Swiftsure_ submerged. This time it was only a few minutes before Arv Hanson gave a cry of warning. "Something on the sonarscope, skipper!" Bud, Hank, and Chow hastily gathered around the scope to watch. The blip grew larger rapidly. It was clearly another submarine, closing in on a collision course. Tom put on a burst of speed, as if attempting to outrace their pursuer. But he was careful to gauge his knots by reports from the sonarscope, in order not to widen the gap between the two craft. There seemed no danger that this would happen, although the _Swiftsure_ raced ahead faster and faster. Still the enemy sub continued to close in like a marauding shark, finally passing Tom's craft. "Some baby!" Bud muttered respectfully. The words were hardly out of his mouth when a missile streaked across their bow, in plain view through the _Swiftsure's_ transparent nose. Its foaming wake rocked the jetmarine. "They're attacking us!" Bud cried out. Tom slammed shut the turbine throttle, bringing his craft to a gliding halt in the water. At the same time, he switched on the sonarphone. "Orders to Swift sub!" a voice barked over the set. "Surface and heave to! No tricks, or the next missile will not be across your bow!" Tom blew his tanks and sent the _Swiftsure_ spearing upward. As the conning tower broke water, Tom and his men swarmed up on deck. Seconds later, a sleek gray enemy submarine knifed into view. Its hatch opened and several men climbed out. To Tom's amazement, their leader was Samson Narko! Chow let out a yelp of rage. "Why, you sneakin', double-dyed, bushwhackin' polecat!" the old Westerner bellowed. "We shoulda kept you hawg-tied, 'stead o' lettin' you go free!" Narko ignored the outburst and raised a megaphone to his lips. "Hand over your cargo and do it quickly!" "What cargo?" Tom snapped back. "And what's the meaning of this outrage? You realize this is piracy?" "I realize you will wind up on the bottom at the slightest show of resistance!" Narko warned menacingly. "You know very well what cargo I refer to! Now do not try our patience!" [Illustration (a submarine attacks the Swiftsure)] Tom and his crew pretended to put up a blustering, indignant front. Chow was especially convincing, with a blistering torrent of salty Texas invectives. Narko's only response was a barked-out order to his men in Brungarian. Quickly the enemy submarine maneuvered closer until the two craft were almost chockablock. Narko and his men then leaped aboard the _Swiftsure_, armed with sub-machine guns and automatics. "I'm warning you, Narko--" Tom began angrily. But Narko cut the young inventor short by a poke in his ribs with the gun muzzle, then issued orders to two of his men to go below. Moments later, Exman was being hauled up through the hatch and transferred aboard the raider. The Americans glared in angry silence. "Thanks so much, my stupid friends!" Narko taunted them with a jeering laugh. Then he followed his crewmen as the last one scrambled back to the enemy submarine. With laughs and waves, they disappeared into its conning tower. The hatch was clamped shut and the raider promptly submerged. Tom and his men were amazed, but delighted at not having been taken prisoner along with Exman. All of them broke into happy chuckles of relief. "Wow! That's what I call fast service!" Bud exclaimed. "It was sure a blamed sight easier'n I expected," Chow said. "Thought fer a while we might end up feedin' the fishes!" "You put on a real act, Chow!" Tom said, clapping the stout old cook on the back. "Well, they've taken the bait. Now let's hope it pays off--for us!" The Americans swarmed below again, closed the hatch, and submerged. Tom took his time in bringing the jet pumps up to speed. "Wonder if we should pretend to proceed on course, or turn around and head for home?" he murmured to Hank. Hank's reply was cut short by a yell from Hanson at the sonarphone. "Missile coming, skipper! Straight at us!" CHAPTER XVI A UNIQUE EXPERIMENT "Bearing?" Tom cried. "One-seven-five!" Arv Hanson sang out. Tom gunned his port jet turbine and swung the _Swiftsure_ hard right. The abrupt turn at high speed sent the craft sideslipping crazily like a skidding race boat. "Here she comes, skipper!" Bud yelled. He had rushed to the sonarscope with the other members of the crew. Tom's maneuver had carried them a good hundred yards off the missile's course. Now he yanked a lever, pulling the cadmium rods still farther from the atomic pile, in order to increase power and jet-blast their sub still farther out of range. But suddenly the men at the scope blanched. "The missile's turning too!" Hank cried. "It's homing in on us!" Unlike most Swift craft used on scientific expeditions, the cargo sub's hull had not been coated with Tomasite. This would have insulated it from all magnetic effects or any form of pulse detection. Tom had chosen the _Swiftsure_ partly for this very reason, so that the Brungarian rebels could easily pick up its trail after leaving Fearing. How ironic if his choice should prove fatal! As the thought flashed through Tom's brain, the missile came streaking into view through the sub's transparent nose. By this time, Tom had flipped up the _Swiftsure's_ diving planes. The craft plummeted deeper into the ocean depths. "Brand my whale blubber, she's turnin' again!" Chow gulped. The missile's arc, as it veered around to follow, painted a streak of light on the sonarscope. Anxious moments raced by while Tom steered their craft in a deadly game of tag with the sub-killer. Gradually the missile appeared to be losing momentum. "It's slowing down, all right!" Arv called out. In a few minutes the missile had lost so much way that Tom was easily able to outdistance it. The crew crowded to the scope, heaving sighs of relief. The missile, its velocity spent, sank harmlessly toward the bottom. "Boy, what a close call!" Bud gasped weakly. "You played that thing like a toreador sidestepping a bull, Tom! Nice going!" The others echoed Bud's sentiments, with fervent handshakes and backslaps for Tom's skillful evasive action. "Jest the same," said Chow, "I'd sure like to make Narko an' them Brungarian hoss thieves dance a Texas jig with a little hot lead sprayed around their boot heels! Sneakin' bushwhackers! It's jest like I told Hank about his airplane scheme--they'd try to gun us down, like as not, soon as they got their hands on Exman!" "I guess you had them figured right, Chow," Tom agreed wryly. "Well, at least we've lost their sub!" The Brungarian raider was no longer visible even as a faint blip on their radarscope. Evidently Narko had thought the jetmarine a sure victim and headed back to his own base. Nevertheless, Tom steered a wary zigzag course back to Fearing. When they arrived at the island, he immediately telephoned Bernt Ahlgren and Wes Norris in Washington to report the hijacking of the space brain. Both men praised the young inventor for his daring scheme to outwit the ruthless Brungarian rebel clique. "If your idea pays off, Tom, we should be able to checkmate every move those phonies and their allies make!" Norris declared. "I'm hoping we can do even better than that," Tom replied. "Part of my plan is to help the Brungarian loyalists through Exman's tip-offs. With some smart quarterbacking, we might be able to rally the rightful government before all resistance is crushed out." "Terrific!" Norris exclaimed. "Let's hope your scheme works!" Tom had ordered the space oscilloscopes to be manned constantly, both at Fearing and at Enterprises, in case of a flash from Exman. But no word had yet been received when Tom and his companions arrived at the mainland late that afternoon. Mr. Swift greeted his son warmly at the airfield. Tom had refrained from radioing the news to Enterprises after the hijacking and the missile attempt. Any such message, Tom feared, might be picked up by the enemy and bring on another attack. But the young inventor had telephoned his father immediately after calling Washington. Now Mr. Swift threw his arm affectionately around the lanky youth. "You look pretty well bushed, son. Why not hustle home and call it a day? That goes for the rest of you, too," he added to Bud, Chow, and the others. "You've just risked your lives and the strain is bound to tell." Tom urged his companions to comply. "But I'm sticking right here," the young inventor told his father. "I want to be on hand the minute Exman contacts us." Bud insisted upon staying with his pal. The two boys ate a quiet supper in Tom's private laboratory and finally lay down on cots in the adjoining apartment. But first Tom posted a night operator to watch the electronic brain. "Wake me up the second that alarm bell goes off," he ordered. "Okay, skipper," the radioman promised. No message arrived to disturb the boys' rest. Tom felt a pang of worry as he dressed the next morning, and then relieved the man on duty at the decoder. Had the Brungarians somehow outwitted him? Surely Exman should have reported by this time! "Relax, pal," Bud urged. "Our space chum's hardly had time to learn any secrets yet. Besides, those Brungarian scientists are probably giving him the once-over with all sorts of electronic doodads. Why risk sending a message till he has something important to tell us?" "That's true," Tom admitted. Chow brought in breakfast. "You jest tie into these vittles, boss, an' stop frettin'," the cook said soothingly. "I reckon Ole Think Box won't let us down." Tom sniffed the appetizing aroma of flapjacks and sausages. "Guess you're right, Chow," he said with a chuckle. As the boys ate hungrily, Tom's thoughts turned back to the problem of how to equip Exman with senses. He talked the project over with Bud. Most of his ideas were too technical for Bud to follow, but he listened attentively. He knew the young inventor found it helpful to have a "sounding board" for his ideas. "Too bad I didn't have time to tackle the job before Exman was kidnaped," Tom mused. "Think how much more he could learn with 'eyes' and 'ears'!" "Stop crabbing," Bud joked. "Isn't an electronic spy with a brain like Einstein's good enough?" Mr. Swift arrived at the laboratory an hour or so later. He found Tom setting up an experiment with a glass sphere to which were affixed six powerful electromagnets. Two shiny electrodes, with cables attached to their outer ends, had also been molded into the glass. Bud was looking on, wide-eyed. Tom explained to his father that he had blown the sphere himself, following a formula adapted from the quartz glass used for view panels in his space and undersea craft. "What's it for, son?" Mr. Swift asked, after studying the setup curiously. "Don't laugh, Dad, but I'm trying to produce a brain of pure energy. A substitute for Exman, so we can go ahead with our sensing experiments." Mr. Swift reacted with keen interest and offered to help. "But remember, son," he cautioned, "at best you can only hope to produce an ersatz brain energy--which will be vastly different from the real thing. Don't forget, Tom, the mind of a human being or any thinking inhabitant of our universe is based on a divine soul. No scientist must ever delude himself into thinking he can copy the work of our Creator." "I know that, Dad," Tom said soberly. "Man's work will always be a crude groping, compared to the miracles of Nature. All I'm hoping to come up with here is a sort of stimulus-response unit that we can use for testing any sensing apparatus we devise." The two scientists plunged into work. First, a bank of delicate gauges was assembled to record precisely every electrical reaction that took place inside the sphere. Then Tom threw a switch, shooting a powerful bolt of current across the electrodes. The field strength of the electromagnets, controlled by rheostats, instantly shaped the charge into a glowing ball of fire! "Wow! A real hothead!" Bud wisecracked, trying to hide his excitement. Tom grinned as he twirled several knobs and checked the gauges. The slightest variation in field strength triggered an instant response from the ball of energy. Mr. Swift tried exposing it to radio and repelatron waves. Each time the gauges showed a sensitive reaction. "Looks as if we're in business, Dad!" Tom said jubilantly. Bud left soon afterward as the two Swifts buckled down to work on the problem of perfecting an apparatus to simulate the human senses. Each concentrated on a different line of approach. At noon they broke off briefly for a lunch wheeled in by Chow. Then silence settled again over the laboratory. Tom had rigged up a jointed, clawlike mechanical arrangement with sensitive diaphragms in its "finger tips." The diaphragms were connected to a transistorized circuit designed to modulate the field current to the electromagnets. Suddenly the young inventor looked up at his father with a glow of triumph. "Dad, I just got a reaction to my sense-of-touch experiment!" CHAPTER XVII AN URGENT WARNING Mr. Swift looked on eagerly as Tom explained and demonstrated his touch apparatus. By moving a pantograph control, Tom was able to manipulate the claws like a hand with fingers. Whenever they touched any material, the brain gauges instantly registered an electrical reaction inside the sphere. The swing of a voltmeter needle showed how firmly the substance resisted the claw's touch, thus indicating its hardness or softness. "With a computer device, such as we planted in Exman," Tom went on, "the brain would also be able to assimilate the textural pattern of any substance." "Wonderful, son!" Mr. Swift exclaimed. "I hope I can do as well with this artificial sense of sight I'm working on." Another hour went by before Mr. Swift was ready to test his own arrangement. "You've probably heard of the experiments conducted with blind persons," he told Tom. "By stimulating the right part of their brain with a lead from a cathode-ray-tube device, an awareness of light and dark can be restored." Tom nodded. "Well, I'm using the same principle," Mr. Swift went on, "but with a sort of television camera scanning setup." He asked Tom to draw the drapes and shut off the room lights, throwing the laboratory into complete darkness, except for the weirdly glowing "brain" in the glass sphere. Then Mr. Swift shone a flashlight at the scanner. The brain responded by glowing more brightly itself! Next, after the drapes were opened again and the overhead fluorescent lights switched on, Mr. Swift painted a pattern of black-and-white stripes on a large piece of cardboard. He held this up to the scanner. Visible ripples of brightness and less-brightness passed through the glowing ball of energy inside the sphere. It was reproducing the striped pattern! "Dad, that's amazing!" Tom said with real admiration. Mr. Swift shook his head. "Pretty crude, I'm afraid. The brain energy by itself can't take the place of a picture tube in a TV receiver. What we need is an analog computer to sum up the scanning pattern picked up by the camera tube and then pass this information along in code form." Before Tom could comment, the alarm bell rang on the electronic brain. The Swifts dropped everything and rushed to the machine. "Wonder if it's Exman?" Tom exclaimed. The answer was quickly revealed as the keys began punching out the incoming message on tape. At the same time, a flow of strange mathematical symbols flashed, one after another, on the lighted oscilloscope screen mounted above the keyboard. Tom and his father read the tape as it unreeled. SPACE BEINGS TO SWIFTS. REQUEST INFORMATION ON PROGRESS AND RESULTS OF ENERGY SENT TO YOUR PLANET. After a quick consultation with his father, Tom beamed out the reply: WE ARE PLEASED WITH RESULTS SO FAR. FURTHER EXPERIMENTS NOW GOING ON. REQUEST VISIT TO CONTINUE LONGER THAN TWENTY-ONE DAYS AS PLANNED. Hopefully the Swifts stood by the machine. Would their space friends agree? As the minutes went by without a response coming through, father and son exchanged anxious glances. "They've _got_ to let Exman stay, Dad!" Tom said. Mr. Swift nodded. "I'm afraid, though, the space beings have decided otherwise. They--" He was interrupted by the ringing of the alarm bell. "Message, Dad!" Tom said tersely. A moment later they were overjoyed to see three words appear on the tape: VISIT EXTENSION GRANTED. Relieved, the two scientists went back to work on their sensing experiments. Twenty minutes later the signal bell rang again on the electronic brain. "This time it _must_ be Exman!" Tom cried. The unreeling tape quickly bore out his guess. EXMAN TO SWIFTS. TWENTY-FOUR-HOUR EARTHQUAKE UNDER HIGH LOYALTY. "What!" Tom stared at the tape, his brow creased in a puzzled frown. "That 'twenty-four-hour earthquake' bit must mean he's warning us that a quake will occur in twenty-four hours. But what about the rest of it?" "Hmm... 'Under high loyalty.'" Mr. Swift was as baffled as Tom. He studied the message for several minutes. It seemed highly unlikely that the electronic brain had made an error in decoding. Any new or untranslatable symbol caused a red light to flash on the machine. "I think the only thing we can do is signal Exman and ask for a clarification, Tom," Mr. Swift decided at last. Tom agreed. He beamed out a hasty code signal: EXPLAIN MESSAGE. Seconds later came Exman's reply. It was identical with the first message: TWENTY-FOUR-HOUR EARTHQUAKE UNDER HIGH LOYALTY. Tom and Mr. Swift stared at each other anxiously. "Good night, Dad! This is horrible!" Tom exclaimed. "Exman sends us ample warning of a disaster and we're stymied!" [Illustration (Tom Jr. and Tom Sr. read a message from Exman)] "Hi! What's going on, you two?" asked a merry voice. "More heavy thinking?" Sandy Swift stood smiling in the doorway. The smile gave way to a look of concern as Tom explained the crisis. "How dreadful!" Sandy gasped. "We _must_ figure out what it means!... Wait a minute!" Tom looked at her expectantly. "Got an idea, Sis?" "Well..." The pretty, blond teen-ager hesitated. "You don't suppose Exman might have been translating some foreign words with a meaning similar to 'high loyalty'? For instance, high loyalty could mean 'good faith.' I know that in Latin 'good faith' would be _bona fide_." "Sandy! You've guessed it!" Tom crossed the room in a single bound, gave his sister a quick hug, and whirled her around. "Exman must mean the Bona Fide Submarine Building Corporation! He didn't dare risk telling us the exact translation." "Of course!" Mr. Swift was equally jubilant. But his face was grave as he added, "The company's located on the West Coast close to the San Andreas fault. Tom, a quake in that area could be devastating!" "You're right, Dad," the young inventor replied. "I'll call Dr. Miles and Bernt Ahlgren at once!" The telephone conversation that followed was grim with tension. Both government men begged Tom to take personal charge of the quake-deflection measures. Dr. Miles pointed out that tremors along the fault might trigger off a chain of quakes amounting to a national disaster. After a hasty discussion, Tom agreed that he should station himself at the Colorado site, rather than at the West Coast Quakelizor installation. This would give him broader scope for damping out shock waves across the continent. "I'll fly out immediately!" the young inventor promised. Ahlgren, meanwhile, would flash orders to the Bona Fide Company and to civilian officials to have the entire area evacuated as soon as possible. Hasty preparations were made for Tom's departure. He telephoned the airfield to have a jet plane with lifters readied for take-off. He also had Bud paged over the plant intercom. The copilot came on the run. When he heard the news, he was eager to accompany his pal. "Listen, you two! I insist you have something to eat before you leave!" Sandy declared. Tom was impatient over any delay. When Sandy proceeded to call Chow, the old Texan solved the problem by volunteering to go along as cook. A short time later Chow came jouncing out to the airfield astride a motor scooter, hauling a cart loaded with supplies. "Good grief!" Tom said, unable to suppress a grin. "We'll be back tomorrow, unless something goes wrong!" "Bring food--that's my motto," Chow retorted, "like any good cook." Minutes later, after a parting handshake from his father and a worried kiss from Sandy, Tom sent the sleek jet racing down the runway for take-off. Soon they were air-borne and heading westward. Chow served a tasty meal en route. It was still daylight when the jet landed vertically in the Colorado canyon. The government crew manning the installation, and the Swift technician who had relieved Art Wiltessa as trouble shooter on the setup, greeted them eagerly. "Looks as if we're in for a real test, Tom," said Mike Burrows, the engineer in charge. "Let's hope we pass!" said Tom, holding up crossed fingers. He checked every detail of the Quakelizor, power plant, and the communications gear. He opened an inspection panel in each of the dual-control spheres and tuned the kinetic-hydraulic units so as to step up the working pressure of the four powerful drivers. "Well, all we can do now is wait," the young inventor muttered, wiping his arm across his forehead. Tom passed the night in a fitful sleep, half expecting to be wakened at any moment by the stand-by crew on watch. No alarm occurred, however. Dawn broke, and Chow delighted all hands with a hearty breakfast of bacon, eggs, and corn fritters. More hours of waiting dragged by. "What time do you think the attack will occur?" Bud asked. Tom shrugged. "The 'twenty-four-hour' business may have been approximate. But I'd say from two o'clock on is the danger period." The young inventor checked frequently with Washington and the other crews stationed around the country. Suddenly the radiotelephone operator gave a yell. "Your father is on the line, skipper!" The scientist was calling from the receiver-computer headquarters at Enterprises. "Exman has reported a quake pulse will be sent in seven minutes--at 21.36 G.M.T." "I'm ready, Dad," Tom said, then asked for various technical details before hanging up. He passed the word to the crew and glanced at his watch. A hasty, last-moment inspection was carried out, every man checking certain details of the setup. Soon the pulsemakers began ticking inside the dual-control spheres as they picked up the frequency signal by radio. Tom studied the gauge dials. Tension mounted rapidly among the waiting group. The same thought was throbbing through every mind: _Was the nation on the brink of a terrible disaster? Or would Tom Swift's invention safeguard the threatened area?_ As the deadline approached, Tom pushed a button. The mighty hydraulic drivers throbbed into action, sending out their pulse waves across the continent! CHAPTER XVIII EARTHQUAKE ISLAND Now came the hardest part of all for Tom and his companions--waiting to learn if the shock deflectors had succeeded in blotting out the enemy quake wave. No one spoke. As the silence deepened inside the cave, the suspense became almost unbearable. Minutes passed. "When will we know, skipper?" a crewman ventured at last. "Soon, I hope," Tom replied tersely. But the waiting seemed endless. Bud's eyes met Tom's. The flier grinned and held up crossed fingers, just as Tom had done to Mike Burrows the previous evening. Tom managed a feeble grin in response. Suddenly the telephone shrilled, shattering the silence of the cave. Tom snatched it from the radioman's hands. "Tom Swift here!... Yes?... Thank heavens! I guess we can all be grateful, Dr. Miles!" "Providence protected us, I'm sure, Tom," the seismologist replied at the other end of the line. "But in this instance it worked through Tom Swift's Quakelizors! The Bona Fide plant and the surrounding area never even felt the tremor--your quake deflectors worked perfectly!" There was no need to tell the others. Tom's words on the telephone and the grin on his face told the story. A spontaneous volley of cheers echoed through the cave as he hung up. Then the crew crowded around to slap Tom on the back and shake his hand. "I hope the whole country learns what you've done, Tom," Mike Burrows said. "If it doesn't, I'll be the first to spread the word as soon as the secrecy lid's taken off!" "Shucks, I knew all along Tom's contraption would do the trick!" Chow boasted, glowing with pride over his young boss's achievement. Tom could only smile happily. "Guess we can go home now," he said to Bud and Chow. They were preparing to leave when another flash from Washington came over the radiotelephone. A ship's captain, five hundred miles out on the Pacific, had just reported sighting a great waterspout, accompanied by considerable wave turbulence. "It could have been the spot where the enemy shock waves and our deflector waves met and damped out," Tom commented. "Dr. Miles thinks so, too," the caller said. Soon the sleek Swift jet was arrowing back across the continent. En route, Tom radioed word of his latest triumph to Mr. Swift. As always, he used the automatic scramblers to make sure any enemy eavesdroppers would pick up only static. "Great work, son!" Mr. Swift congratulated Tom. "I was confident you could handle the situation with your Quakelizors." "Thanks, Dad. See you soon." When the jet finally landed at Enterprises and came to a halt on the runway, the control tower operator spoke over the radio. "Harlan Ames would like to see Tom Jr. at the security building. He left word just a few minutes ago." "Roger!" Tom replied. Chow frugally carted off his leftover supplies. Tom and Bud, meanwhile, went by jeep across the plant grounds to security headquarters. Ames greeted the two boys enthusiastically. "Nice going on that earthquake situation, Tom!" he said. "And now I have some more good news. We've just nabbed the man who imitated your father's voice over the phone the other night." "What!" Both boys were excited, and Tom added eagerly, "Who is he?" "An actor at the Shopton summer playhouse." "How did you find out?" Tom asked. "I had a hunch," Ames went on. "If the impersonator wasn't a plant employee at Enterprises, then he had to be a person with a trained voice. That gave me the idea of checking on all actors and station announcers here in the vicinity. It paid off right away. The guy's name is Brent Nolan." "Have you questioned him yet?" Tom asked. "I'm about to," Ames replied. "Radnor just brought him in." The security chief led the way into an adjoining office. A slender, good-looking young man with blond wavy hair was seated on a chair with Phil Radnor on one side of him and a Shopton police officer on the other. The actor was visibly nervous and perspiring. "This is Tom Swift Jr.," Ames told him. "Brent Nolan." Nolan nodded. "Yes, I've seen your picture in the papers many times." The actor tried to force a smile but his face muscles twitched. "I--I seem to have pulled a pretty dumb stunt by faking that phone call from your father. I'm sorry." "What was the reason?" Tom asked. Nolan fingered his wavy blond hair uneasily and swallowed hard. "A man named Professor Runkle paid me to do it." "Professor Runkle?" Tom frowned. The name seemed vaguely familiar. "He spoke with a foreign accent. Said he was doing research at Grandyke University," Nolan explained. "He told me you might be expecting a rare biological specimen from the East Indies. He said both of you were eager to get hold of it for research purposes, but he was afraid that you had outbid him. However, if he asked you straight out, you would guard the secret very jealously. So he hired me to find out." "Didn't it occur to you he might be an espionage agent?" Ames asked coldly. Nolan seemed shocked. "Believe me, I had no such idea!" he averred. "Runkle seemed pleasant. He said it all was merely a short cut to save him from wasting any more time on the project. If Tom Swift had the specimen, he would quit. I--I guess I'm a little bit vain about the way I can mimic voices, and this gave me a chance to show off. Besides, I saw no harm in doing it." "No harm?" Bud snorted. "You had Swift Enterprises in a real lather when we found out." Nolan spread his hands in a helpless gesture. "I'm truly sorry," he repeated. "How were you able to find out how my father's voice sounded?" Tom asked. "I listened to a recording of a speech he made at the Fourth of July rally here in Shopton," Nolan explained. "I borrowed the tape from a local radio station. Guess that's how your security men got onto me." "What did this fellow Runkle look like?" Ames asked. Nolan thought for a moment. "Oh, he was past middle age, I should say. Grizzled hair, thick-lensed glasses. And he was quite heavy-set." "Hmm. Then it certainly wasn't Narko," Ames murmured to Tom. The young inventor nodded. "I believe I know him. The name just came back to me. I met a Professor Runkle in New York about a month ago, at a scientific convention. He was a member of the visiting Brungarian delegation." "We'll check on him," Ames promised. He turned back sternly to the young actor. "All right, Nolan, I guess you can go. But I warn you--no more impersonations." After more flustered apologies, the actor hurried out, obviously relieved. "What a dumb egg he is!" Bud muttered. "In a way he may have helped us," Tom pointed out. "If the Brungarian rebels hadn't found out about Exman, we couldn't have lured them into that kidnap plot. It's already helped us to save the Bona Fide Submarine Building Corporation." Monday morning Ames reported that Professor Runkle had left the country. Tom was not sorry, since an arrest and public trial might have led to dangerous publicity about Exman. The probings of a sharp-tongued defense attorney might even have tipped off the Brungarian to Tom's real purpose in letting the space brain be hijacked. Meanwhile, a telephone call from Washington announced that State Department men were flying to Enterprises to confer with the Swifts about taking official action against the Brungarian attacks. The group arrived by jet after lunch. Thurston of the CIA was also present. "The problem is this," a State Department official said as they discussed the matter in the Swifts' office. "Should we bring charges against Brungaria before the United Nations? Or should we rely on other means, short of war, to block the Brungarian rebel coup?" Mr. Swift frowned thoughtfully. "It might be difficult to prove they were responsible for the earthquake attacks," he pointed out. "I'd say it's impossible," Tom said, "unless we give away the secret about our electronic spy." He paused, then added, "Sir, if the State Department will agree, I'd like more time before you make any official moves." The Quakelizors, Tom argued, seemed to offer protection against any future quake waves, unless the power of the shocks was greatly stepped up. Meantime, working through Exman, Tom might be able to provide the Brungarian loyalists with valuable information. "I'm hoping it will help them overthrow the rebel clique and their brutal allied military bosses." The State Department men conferred, then Thurston spoke up quietly, "In our opinion, it's worth a gamble." After the group had left, the Swifts resumed their sensing experiments in Tom's private laboratory. They were hard at work when the signal bell suddenly rang on the electronic brain. The two scientists rushed to read the incoming message. It said: EXMAN TO SWIFTS. ONE ENEMY EARTHQUAKE PRODUCER IS AT... Here the message gave precise latitude and longitude figures. It went on: RUIN OF SWIFT PLACE IN ONE WEEK. Tom and his father gasped in dismay. "I thought the New York-New England Quakelizor was going to protect us!" the young inventor exclaimed. "Our enemies must have located another earth fault with Enterprises right in its path!" Hastily opening an atlas, Tom fingered the location of the proposed source of attack. It was Balala Island off the coast of Peru. "Dad, that settles it!" Tom declared grimly. "It's clear now that those Brungarian rebels want to destroy us and use Exman in some way to conquer the earth!" "I don't doubt that you're right, son," Mr. Swift said grimly. "We must act fast! But how?" Again, the signal bell interrupted. This time, Exman gave a number of military details, evidently picked up from orders issuing from Brungarian rebel headquarters. They concerned incoming troop movements from the north and operational plans for crushing out the last pockets of resistance by loyal government forces. Tom recorded them with TV tape, then snatched up the telephone and called the Central Intelligence Agency in Washington. He relayed the information from Exman and asked if American agents could transmit it to the loyalists. "Don't worry. We'll see that it reaches them," the CIA chief assured Tom. "Many thanks. This _could_ have important consequences." As Tom hung up he decided on a bold move. "Dad, I'm going to lead a raid on Balala!" "A raid!" The elder scientist was electrified. "According to the atlas, the island is barren and deserted," Tom said, "so no friendly power will object if we land there. If it's being used as an enemy base for quake attacks against our country, we have every right to investigate. I might be able to learn the secret of the setup--perhaps even put the equipment out of commission." "Nevertheless, a raid by a United States force could lead to trouble if the base there puts up any resistance," Mr. Swift said gravely. "That's why I intend to handle it myself," Tom declared. "I'll take all responsibility." Tom Sr.'s eyes flashed as he recalled some of his own hair-raising exploits in younger days. "All right, son," he said, putting a hand on Tom's shoulder. "I know I can trust your judgment. Good luck!" Again Tom issued a call for volunteers. Bud, Hank Sterling, Arv Hanson, and Chow were all eager to take part. Within an hour they were taking off for Fearing. At the rocket base, they embarked in the _Sea Hound_, Tom's favorite model of his diving seacopter. A powerful central rotor with reversible-pitch blades, spun by atomic turbines, enabled the craft to rise through the air or descend into the deepest abysses of the ocean. Propulsion jets gave it high speed in either medium. Loaded with equipment, the _Sea Hound_ streaked southward through the skies--first to Florida, then across the Gulf and Central America into the Pacific. Here Tom eased down to the surface of the water and submerged. It was near midnight when the _Sea Hound_ rose from the depths just off Balala. The lonely rocky island lay outlined like a huddled black mass against the star-flecked southern sky. No glimmer of light showed anywhere ashore. "Maybe no one's here," Bud murmured. "Don't bank on that," Tom said. "They wouldn't be apt to advertise their presence to passing ships or planes." Tom nosed inshore as closely as he dared from sonar soundings, finally easing the _Sea Hound_ up to a rocky reef that fingered out from the beach. Then he, Bud, Hank, and Arv clambered out, armed with wrecking tools and powerful flashlights. Chow, in spite of his muttered grumblings, was ordered to stay aboard and guard the ship with the other two crewmen who had come along. Tom led his party cautiously ashore from the reef. They probed the darkness of the beach. Their footfalls sounded eerily in the night silence, broken only by the soughing of the sea wind and splash of breakers. "Good place for spooks!" Bud whispered jokingly. A steep draw led upward among the rocky slopes. A hundred feet on, Tom's group found the black yawning mouth of a cave. The yellow beams of their flashlights revealed a tunnel leading downward inside. Tom checked with a pocket detector. Its gauge needle showed no field force caused by electrical equipment in operation. "Okay, let's go in!" Tom murmured. Cautiously they moved into the tunnel. Then suddenly ahead of them a powerful dazzling light burst on, nearly blinding the searchers! CHAPTER XIX A FIENDISH MACHINE A chill of fear gripped Tom and his companions as they blinked helplessly in the glare! Had the enemy detected them the first moment they had set foot on Balala Island? Had they walked blindly into a trap? Gradually Tom's eyes and those of his friends adjusted to the dazzling radiance. A door, blocking the tunnel just ahead, had slid open and the light was pouring out of a room beyond. "What happened?" Arv gasped. Tom pointed downward to a pedallike plunger inserted in the tunnel floor. "This must be a switch," he explained. "When I stepped on it accidentally, it must have opened the door and flashed on the lights." Bud whistled. "Wow! Let's be thankful it wasn't a booby trap!" "Maybe it is," murmured Hank grimly. Steeling their nerves, and with every sense alert, the searchers advanced into the secret room. Tom suddenly gave a cry of amazement. "The earthquake machine!" A huge hydraulic device, with massive steel bed and supporting pillars, looking somewhat like the enormous body presses found in automobile plants, stood embedded in a recess in one wall. Tom rushed to the machine and examined it in fascination. A powerful diesel generator stood nearby with banks of complicated electrical equipment, amid a spider-web tangle of wiring. Tom assumed this gear was for timing and synchronizing the shock waves. Evidently the whole setup was operated from a single control panel in the wall, studded with knobs and dials. "What a job of design!" Tom exclaimed in awe. His eyes roved over every detail of the equipment while he poked here and there with his hands. He was getting the "feel" of the setup almost as much by touch and handling as by his superb technical intuition. "Boy, I hate to admire anything those Brungarian rebel scientists do, but this is really masterful!" "Yes? Well, don't go ga-ga over it," said Bud. "Let's do what we came to do and scram out of here. This place makes me jumpy!" Tom appeared oblivious. "It seems like vandalism to wreck such an engineering achievement! Also, and this may sound strange to you," he went on in a doubtful tone, "are we _really_ justified in taking the law into our own hands?" "They're trying to wreck _our_ setup, aren't they?" Bud retorted. "Think of the destruction they've caused already! Do you want to stand by and see Enterprises destroyed too?" "Bud's right," Hank Sterling spoke up quietly. "Take a look at this." He beckoned them over to another corner of the cave and pointed to a series of notations, crudely scrawled in white chalk on the cave wall. Half hidden behind a clump of rock, they would have escaped casual notice. Tom read them and gave an angry gasp. A list of places and dates, already checked off, showed the quakes that had occurred so far. The last notation, not yet checked, said: SWIFT ENTERPRISES and was dated five days ahead. "Okay, that's all the convincing I need!" Tom said grimly. He issued quick orders. Hank and Arv were to rush back to the _Sea Hound_, get an underwater pump from the gear carried aboard, and install it just off the beach. From there, they were to run a pipe line up into the cave, using special plastic tubing which hooked together in a jiffy. "Cover the piping with sand and gravel, so it won't be noticed," Tom added. "In the meantime, Bud and I will go to work on this setup here." "Aye-aye, skipper!" Hank and Arv responded. As they hurried out through the tunnel, Tom and Bud set to work with the tools they had brought along. The diesel was partly dismantled, sand poured into its fuel feed, and the generator windings ripped out. The boys then tore off and tangled all wiring leads to the electrical equipment, took apart much of the equipment itself, and smashed the control panel. "Boy, if those Brungarian creeps get this setup working again, they're _really_ geniuses!" Bud said as he and Tom paused a second. "This is only the beginning, pal!" Tom said. "Let's tackle the machine!" The huge earthquake device was a far more difficult proposition to disable. Its heavy structural parts had to be disassembled or pried apart, one by one. Both boys were streaked with sweat as they finished. By this time, Hank and Arv had the piping installed halfway into the tunnel. Spurred on as if by a sixth sense of danger, Tom told them to go back to the beach and get the pump working while he and Bud connected the few remaining pipe lengths into the machine room. Minutes later, their job done, Tom and Bud rushed out to the mouth of the cave and waved their flashlights. Soon the water could be heard boiling through the pipeline. It gushed out with a roar, flooding the machine room. "Let's go!" Tom cried, yanking Bud's arm. As they reached the beach and joined Hank and Arv, Tom's keen ears picked up the drone of a plane somewhere in the darkness. He gave a yell of alarm and pointed skyward. A ghostlike jet came zooming into view, boring straight toward them. All four broke into a mad dash for the seacopter. They were halfway out on the reef when the plane leveled out of its dive with an earsplitting whine. "Hide!" Tom shouted, fearing a bomb might be dropped. [Illustration (Tom and friends are attacked by a ray gun from an airplane)] All leaped for cover among the rocks. At the same instant, a fiery beam like a bolt of lightning shot from the plane. It seared the spot on the reef they had just vacated! "A ray gun!" Bud gasped. The plane's speed had already carried it far past the island. Before it could maneuver around for another pass, Tom and his companions were on their feet, racing for the safety of the _Sea Hound_. They were aboard and clamping shut the hatch lid as the jet made its second pass. This time its fiery ray glanced harmlessly off the seacopter's Tomasite sheathing. Seconds later, the _Sea Hound_ had darted off beyond reach into the ocean waters. "Whew! We really broke all speed records that time!" Arv panted. The others looked at him with wan but triumphant grins. Then they began to speculate on what the beamlike bolt was, who was in the plane, and if their enemy knew who Tom's group were. Dawn was streaking the sky when the seacopter arrived at Fearing Island. The adventurers flew back to Enterprises at once. Tom and Bud snatched a few hours' sleep in the apartment adjoining Tom's laboratory. Later in the morning the whole group gathered in Tom's laboratory to recount the raid to Mr. Swift and Harlan Ames. A bell signal from the electronic brain brought them rushing to the decoder. Grim news awaited them. The message said: EXMAN TO SWIFTS. YOUR ENEMIES ARE NOW SURE I AM SPY. THEY PLAN TO DESTROY ME. "No! It mustn't happen!" Tom cried in dismay. "Dad, I'll rescue him myself!" His words were greeted with shocked protests from the others. "Don't be crazy!" Bud said. "You wouldn't have a chance!" "It would be suicide!" Arv Hanson declared. Chow grabbed his young boss by the arm. "Brand my cayenne pepper, before I'd let you make a blame fool move like that, I'd rope an' hawg-tie you myself!" Ames interjected the most convincing argument. "I know how you feel, Tom," he said sympathetically, "but I'm positive the United States government would never permit such a risky undertaking." Tom was beside himself with anxiety. Not only had he worked and struggled to make the space brain's visit a scientific success, but also it was he who had thought of the scheme to use Exman as a spy. In Tom's eyes, if the Brungarian rebels were to destroy the brain's body, it would amount to murder! The young inventor knew that the destruction of the "body" would not destroy the energy, but that it would be "lost" as far as the earth was concerned. Who knew, Tom asked himself, what priceless secrets the "brain" might ultimately yield to earth's scientific researchers? If the Brungarians were to succeed, this might deter the Swifts' space friends from ever attempting another visit to our planet! In despair, Tom turned to his father. "You know how much is at stake, Dad!" he pleaded. "Isn't there something we can do?" Mr. Swift had been silent, thoughtfully drumming his pencil on the workbench. He looked up. "Tom, I can think of only one thing," he said. "Perhaps our friends on Planet X can help us. They said they would have no control over the energy until it was ready to return home. But maybe we can get them to help us transfer the energy back here--not by any means of earth transportation, but by some extraterrestrial means known to their scientists." Tom's eyes kindled with hope. "Dad, that's a terrific idea!" he exclaimed. "Let's try!" A message was quickly beamed out into space. Minutes went by. Then the machine signaled a reply. It said: WE WILL ATTEMPT RESCUE IF YOU WILL ARC A POWERFUL RADIO BEAM FROM POINT OF ORIGINAL EARTH LANDING TO POINT WHERE ENERGY IS NOW. Moments later, a further message followed, giving technical instructions on how to project the beam. It ended: NOTIFY US WHEN SETUP IS READY. "Yahoo!" Chow whooped. "Brand my space guns, I reckon we'll get Ole Think Box home safe after all!" "He's not home yet, Chow," Tom cautioned, grinning but still tense with worry. "Glad you said that, though. It reminds me that the first job on our hands is to build a new think box for Exman!" With hope alive, Tom turned icy calm and buckled down to the work at hand. Before beginning construction of a new space robot, he contacted Exman via the electronic brain and asked him for his exact location in Brungaria. The answer came in precise latitude and longitude. Next, Tom radioed instructions for the rescue plan. As soon as Exman was notified that the invisible force from Planet X was ready to transport his energy, he was to unlatch point five of his star head. He would then be free to attach his energy to the rescue beam and be arced back to the hillside spot near Enterprises, where Tom would have a new robot body waiting. Exman replied tersely: MESSAGE UNDERSTOOD. WILL COMPLY. Tom snapped out orders. "Hank! Arv! Bud! And, Dad, we can sure use your help too! Every hour may be precious! We must construct a replica of Exman's robot container as fast as possible!" Every resource of Swift Enterprises was convulsed into action. But for all their scientific miracles, the staff could not perform magic. The complicated robot device required hours of highly skilled construction. Darkness had fallen by the time the energy container was ready. Meanwhile, a powerful transmitter and directional antenna had been set up at the hillside spot. Extensive reports on the condition of the ionosphere poured into headquarters. The Swifts and their small group of trusted associates trucked the new robot and the electronic brain out to the site. Tom then signaled his space friends that he was ready. They responded with the exact time for the rescue attempt. Tom transmitted the information to Exman, who replied: DANGER NEAR. BRUNGARIAN SCIENTISTS READY TO DESTROY ME. "Great bellowin' buffaloes!" Chow gulped. "Please make it quick, Tom! We got to save that space critter!" Tom glanced at his illuminated watch dial. The countdown ticked by. Suddenly his hand closed a switch, transmitting the rescue beam. More moments passed as the Swifts and the watchers strained their eyes toward the night sky. "Here it comes!" Bud yelled suddenly. A fiery bluish-white light had suddenly flamed into view. It grew steadily larger. Tom poised the container and opened one point of the star head. Now the blue fireball was arcing down over the hillside, trailing its orange-red comet tail. It hissed into the container and Tom snapped shut the star head. The next moment, the young inventor wavered and slumped unconscious! CHAPTER XX THE ROBOT SPY'S STORY "Tom!" his father cried. Anxiously the others crowded around the lanky young inventor, who had fallen beside the new robot. "Stand back! Give him air!" Bud urged. "How is he, Mr. Swift?" The elder scientist was feeling Tom's wrist. "His pulse is beating, but it's a bit weak. He must have received a terrific shock from all that energy!... Tom!... Tom, son, can you hear me?" The young inventor moaned and stirred faintly but his eyes did not open. His cheeks and lips seemed colorless in the glow of Mr. Swift's flashlight. Chow was terrified, hovering about helplessly. "I'll call Doc Simpson to bring a pulmotor!" Hank exclaimed. "Yes, do, Hank!" Mr. Swift pleaded. "Quick!" An ambulance arrived a few minutes later. Doc Simpson and an attendant leaped out, and the resuscitation equipment--specially designed by the Swifts for their plant infirmary--was hastily unloaded. Anxious moments followed, but finally Tom began to respond to the treatment. Soon his eyes were open and he regained full consciousness. As Doc held a paper cup of water for him to sip, Tom smiled wanly. "Okay." he murmured, "I'm all right now. Sorry if I scared you, Dad." He started to get up. "It's a hospital bed for you, skipper. And no arguments!" Doc Simpson said sternly. "What happened here?" "I believe," Mr. Swift answered, "that our space friends, in finding a way to move the energy back to us, had less close control over it on earth than when they sent it from space." By midmorning the next day, Tom had awakened refreshed from a good night's sleep and felt normal again. Over Doc Simpson's protests, he insisted upon dressing and hurrying over to his laboratory. Here he found his father working intently amid a jumble of mechanical parts, tools, and electronic equipment. Nearby stood Exman with a panel open in his upper body, exposing the controls and output equipment. "Hi, Dad!" Tom exclaimed as he strode into the laboratory. "What's doing with Ole Think Box?" Mr. Swift looked up with a smile of relief. "'Morning, son! All well again? That's wonderful! I'm just giving Exman an artificial speech mechanism. He's already briefed us via the electronic brain on the situation in Brungaria. But I thought it would be even better if he could tell us in person." Details on the earthquake plot, Mr. Swift went on, had already been reported to the Defense Department. Tom's raid on Balala Island had effectively blocked further quake attempts. The Brungarian rebels had become enraged by their failure to extract Exman's secrets, and had decided to disintegrate the robot creature and its brain energy. But the youthful Brungarian loyalist group had kept them so busy with resistance outbreaks that they had delayed too long. "Lucky thing!" Tom put in with an affectionate grin at Exman. "If they had started to destroy him half an hour sooner, it might have been pretty sad for Ole Think Box!" Tom was intrigued by his father's design for an artificial speech mechanism. After talking it over, they decided that Tom would go to work on a central computer device to integrate all the senses. He would also provide Exman with "ears," which would be sound-reception equipment. Mr. Swift, meanwhile, would continue work on the speech mechanism and also perfect the seeing equipment he had started earlier. The day sped by as the two Swifts worked with feverish intensity. Lunch was eaten from their workbenches, but the inventors reluctantly halted at dinnertime. After a tasty meal of fried chicken at home with Mrs. Swift and Sandy, both Toms returned to the plant. Father and son labored until well past midnight on their experiments. Then they snatched a few hours of sleep and resumed their tasks early the next morning. By early afternoon an atmosphere of excitement pervaded Enterprises. The visitor from Planet X would soon be able to communicate directly with his earth friends! Bud, Chow, Hank Sterling, Arv Hanson, and Art Wiltessa gathered in the laboratory, along with several other Swift key men. Mrs. Swift, Sandy, and Phyl also arrived to watch. At last the sensing equipment was completed and installed. Exman was ready to speak! His voice came out haltingly, but as the words were selected from a vast taped collection, they were clear and bold: GREETINGS TO YOU, MY EARTH FRIENDS! Sandy gave a squeal of delight and the room echoed with applause for Exman's first effort. After a few adjustments, he was able to speak more freely and smoothly. Tom whispered to Phyl, "Confidentially, we had a dummy run before lunchtime. At first, all Exman could do was croak like a frog." Phyl, thrilled by the spectacle of a speaking space creature, gave the young inventor's hand a squeeze. "Tom, he's just wonderful!" Tom agreed. "Our country owes him a lot for exposing the Brungarian rebel schemes." To Tom's amazement, Exman's "ears" picked up his murmured words, even above the babble of the spectators crowding the room. "Your country owes you much, Tom Swift," the creature said. "You conceived the idea of an electronic spy and found ways to block the rebels' destructive earthquake plans." As Tom flushed at the crowd's applause, Exman continued, "Unless I am mistaken, you will soon learn that you have accomplished even more." Tom was mystified by this. Meanwhile, the spectators listened spellbound as Exman went on talking, telling what he had learned of the valiant resistance efforts to overthrow the Brungarian rebels. A short time later the telephone rang. Tom answered, and the operator informed him that John Thurston of Central Intelligence was calling. "Great news, Tom," the CIA man said. "We've just learned that the rightful Brungarian government forces have struck hard in the capital city and at half a dozen other points. The rebel puppets and their troops have been crushed completely!" Tom was enthusiastic over the news. "That's not all," Thurston went on. "In case you don't realize it, the information which you supplied by means of your electronic spy is chiefly what enabled the government forces to win out. They've promised to dismantle the rebels' other two earthquake bases." As Tom hung up and relayed the electrifying news, Bud and the others burst into cheers. "It is all due to Tom Swift and his secret assistant," Exman said. Tom was puzzled by the remark but had no time to ask what he meant as the people in the room crowded around to shake his hand. Mr. and Mrs. Swift smiled proudly at their son's latest triumph. Phyl and Sandy expressed their feelings by giving Tom a quick kiss. "Hey! Where do I come in?" Bud protested. Before the girls could answer, the door of the laboratory opened and Harlan Ames walked in, accompanied by a lean, gray-eyed young man with dark close-cropped hair. _Samson Narko!_ Chow let out a yelp of rage. "Why, brand my sagebrush hash, it's that double-crossin' Brungarian--" "Hold it, Chow!" Ames cut short the outburst. "Allow me to introduce one of America's most effective counterespionage agents, Mr. Samson Narko!" Tom and his friends were astounded. Narko himself smiled somewhat uncomfortably. "I can imagine how you all feel--you especially, Tom. But, believe me, I could not risk pulling my punches even when it put you all in grave peril, such as when I fired that missile across the bow of your sub. I could only hope that Tom Swift would succeed in eluding us." Ames quickly briefed the others on Narko's background. Brungarian-born, he had received his engineering training in the United States and had learned to love America. When he saw his own country threatened by the forces of dictatorship, he had secretly offered his services to the CIA against the rebels. Soon afterward, the agency had approached him to become a counterspy. "I dared not relax from my role as a spy for a moment," Narko added. "I even grabbed the chance to plant that cache of firearms in Latty's cellar to convince any rebel agents who might be watching me that I was on their side. Tom, the rebels gave me the job of hijacking your space robot. But, going on the brief messages that the CIA was able to get through to me, I guessed that you were using it as bait." "I guess we all owe _you_ an apology," Tom said. "And our thanks. We were lucky to have you on our side." "He saved the lives of a number of loyalist prisoners and gave the government forces some vital tip-offs of his own," Ames added. As Tom shook hands with Narko, the young Brungarian said warmly, "It is good to know that Tom Swift is my friend." With a chuckle, Narko added, "I know from experience that you certainly make a dangerous enemy!" As the others gathered around to speak to Samson Narko and add their friendly congratulations, Bud slapped Tom on the back. "Well, skipper, what's next on the schedule?" For a moment Tom did not reply. He too wondered where his next scientific adventure would lead him. Finally Tom turned to Bud. "I'm not sure. But who knows what space secrets Exman may have up his mechanical sleeve!" * * * * * * * * * * * * * * [Errors noted by transcriber: Tom and Bud wore swimming trunks under their slacks. _text reads_ swiming Tom looked up, his blue eyes blazing. _text has period for comma_ KIDNAPED! [chapter title] _and elsewhere_ _spelling "kidnaped" consistent in text_ ] 
1281	----	TOM SWIFT AND HIS AERIAL WARSHIP or The Naval Terror of the Seas BY VICTOR APPLETON CONTENTS CHAPTER I TOM IS PUZZLED II A FIRE ALARM III A DESPERATE BATTLE IV SUSPICIONS V A QUEER STRANGER VI THE AERIAL WARSHIP VII WARNINGS VIII A SUSPECTED PLOT IX THE RECOIL CHECK X THE NEW MEN XI A DAY OFF XII A NIGHT ALARM XIII THE CAPTURE XIV THE FIRST FLIGHT XV IN DANGER XVI TOM IS WORRIED XVII AN OCEAN FLIGHT XVIII IN A STORM XIX QUEER HAPPENINGS XX THE STOWAWAYS XXI PRISONERS XXII APPREHENSIONS XXIII ACROSS THE SEA XXIV THE LIGHTNING BOLT XXV FREEDOM TOM SWIFT AND HIS AERIAL WARSHIP CHAPTER I TOM IS PUZZLED "What's the matter, Tom? You look rather blue!" "Blue! Say, Ned, I'd turn red, green, yellow, or any other color of the rainbow, if I thought it would help matters any." "Whew!" Ned Newton, the chum and companion of Tom Swift, gave vent to a whistle of surprise, as he gazed at the young fellow sitting opposite him, near a bench covered with strange-looking tools and machinery, while blueprints and drawings were scattered about. Ranged on the sides of the room were models of many queer craft, most of them flying machines of one sort or another, while through the open door that led into a large shed could be seen the outlines of a speedy monoplane. "As bad as that, eh, Tom?" went on Ned. "I thought something was up when I first came in, but, if you'll excuse a second mention of the color scheme, I should say it was blue--decidedly blue. You look as though you had lost your last friend, and I want to assure you that if you do feel that way, it's dead wrong. There's myself, for one, and I'm sure Mr. Damon--" "Bless my gasoline tank!" exclaimed Tom, with a laugh, in imitation of the gentleman Ned Newton had mentioned, "I know that! I'm not worrying over the loss of any friends." "And there are Eradicate, and Koku, the giant, just to mention a couple of others," went on Ned, with a smile. "That's enough!" exclaimed Tom. "It isn't that, I tell you." "Well, what is it then? Here I go and get a half-holiday off from the bank, and just at the busiest time, too, to come and see you, and I find you in a brown study, looking as blue as indigo, and maybe you're all yellow inside from a bilious attack, for all I know." "Quite a combination of colors," admitted Tom. "But it isn't what you think. It's just that I'm puzzled, Ned." "Puzzled?" and Ned raised his eyebrows to indicate how surprised he was that anything should puzzle his friend. "Yes, genuinely puzzled." "Has anything gone wrong?" Ned asked. "No one is trying to take any of your pet inventions away from you, is there?" "No, not exactly that, though it is about one of my inventions I am puzzled. I guess I haven't shown you my very latest; have I, Ned?" "Well, I don't know, Tom. Time was when I could keep track of you and your inventions, but that was in your early days, when you started with a motorcycle and were glad enough to have a motorboat. But, since you've taken to aerial navigation and submarine work, not to mention one or two other lines of activity, I give up. I don't know where to look next, Tom, for something new." "Well, this isn't so very new," went on the young inventor, for Tom Swift had designed and patented many new machines of the air, earth and water. "I'm just trying to work out some new problems in aerial navigation, Ned," he went on. "I thought there weren't any more," spoke Ned, soberly enough. "Come, now, none of that!" exclaimed Tom, with a laugh. "Why, the surface of aerial navigation has only been scratched. The science is far from being understood, or even made safe, not to say perfected, as water and land travel have been. There's lots of chance yet." "And you're working on something new?" asked Ned, as he looked around the shop where he and Tom were sitting. As the young bank employee had said, he had come away from the institution that afternoon to have a little holiday with his chum, but Tom, seated in the midst of his inventions, seemed little inclined to jollity. Through the open windows came the hum of distant machinery, for Tom Swift and his father were the heads of a company founded to manufacture and market their many inventions, and about their home were grouped several buildings. From a small plant the business had grown to be a great tree, under the direction of Tom and his father. "Yes, I'm working on something new," admitted Tom, after a moment of silence. "And, Ned," he went on, "there's no reason why you shouldn't see it. I've been keeping it a bit secret, until I had it a little further advanced, but I've got to a point now where I'm stuck, and perhaps it will do me good to talk to someone about it." "Not to talk to me, though, I'm afraid. What I don't know about machinery, Tom, would fill a great many books. I don't see how I can help you," and Ned laughed. "Well, perhaps you can, just the same, though you may not know a lot of technical things about machines. It sometimes helps me just to tell my troubles to a disinterested person, and hear him ask questions. I've got dad half distracted trying to solve the problem, so I've had to let up on him for a while. Come on out and see what you make of it." "Sure, Tom, anything to oblige. If you want me to sit in front of your photo-telephone, and have my picture taken, I'm agreeable, even if you shoot off a flashlight at my ear. Or, if you want me to see how long I can stay under water without breathing I'll try that, too, provided you don't leave me under too long, lead the way--I'm agreeable as far as I'm able, old man." "Oh, it isn't anything like that," Tom answered with a laugh. "I might as well give you a few hints, so you'll know what I'm driving at. Then I'll take you out and show it to you." "What is it--air, earth or water?" asked Ned Newton, for he knew his chum's activities led along all three lines. "This happens to be air." "A new balloon?" "Something like that. I call it my aerial warship, though." "Aerial warship, Tom! That sounds rather dangerous!" "It will be dangerous, too, if I can get it to work. That's what it's intended for." "But a warship of the air!" cried Ned. "You can't mean it. A warship carries guns, mortars, bombs, and--" "Yes, I know," interrupted Tom, "and I appreciate all that when I called my newest craft an aerial warship." "But," objected Ned, "an aircraft that will carry big guns will be so large that--" "Oh, mine is large enough," Tom broke in. "Then it's finished!" cried Ned eagerly, for he was much interested in his chum's inventions. "Well, not exactly," Tom said. "But what I was going to tell you was that all guns are not necessarily large. You can get big results with small guns and projectiles now, for high-powered explosives come in small packages. So it isn't altogether a question of carrying a certain amount of weight. Of course, an aerial warship will have to be big, for it will have to carry extra machinery to give it extra speed, and it will have to carry a certain armament, and a large crew will be needed. So, as I said, it will need to be large. But that problem isn't worrying me." "Well, what is it, then?" asked Ned. "It's the recoil," said Tom, with a gesture of despair. "The recoil?" questioned Ned, wonderingly. "Yes, from the guns, you know. I haven't been able to overcome that, and, until I do, I'm afraid my latest invention will be a failure." Ned shook his head. "I'm afraid I can't help you any," he said. "The only thing I know about recoils is connected with an old shotgun my father used to own. "I took that once, when he didn't know it," Ned proceeded. "It was pretty heavily loaded, for the crows had been having fun in our cornfield, and dad had been shooting at them. This time I thought I'd take a chance. "Well, I fired the gun. But it must have had a double charge in it and been rusted at that. All I know is that after I pulled the trigger I thought the end of the world had come. I heard a clap of thunder, and then I went flying over backward into a blackberry patch." "That was the recoil," said Tom. "The what?" asked Ned. "The recoil. The recoil of the gun knocked you over." "Oh, yes," observed Ned, rubbing his shoulder in a reflective sort of way. "I always thought it was something like that. But, at the time I put it down to an explosion, and let it go at that." "No, it wasn't an explosion, properly speaking," said Tom. "You see, when powder explodes, in a gun, or otherwise, its force is exerted in all directions, up, down and every way." "This went mostly backward--in my direction," said Ned ruefully. "You only thought so," returned Tom. "Most of the power went out in front, to force out the shot. Part of it, of course, was exerted on the barrel of the gun--that was sideways--but the strength of the steel held it in. And part of the force went backward against your shoulder. That part was the recoil, and it is the recoil of the guns I figure on putting aboard my aerial warship that is giving me such trouble." "Is that what makes you look so blue?" asked Ned. "That's it. I can't seem to find a way by which to take up the recoil, and the force of it, from all the guns I want to carry, will just about tear my ship to pieces, I figure." "Then you haven't actually tried it out yet?" asked Ned. "Not the guns, no. I have the warship of the air nearly done, but I've worked out on paper the problem of the guns far enough so that I know I'm up against it. It can't be done, and an aerial warship without guns wouldn't be worth much, I'm afraid." "I suppose not," agreed Ned. "And is it only the recoil that is bothering you?" "Mostly. But come, take a look at my latest pet," and Tom arose to lead the way to another shed, a large one in the distance, toward which he waved his hand to indicate to his chum that there was housed the wonderful invention. The two chums crossed the yard, threading their way through the various buildings, until they stood in front of the structure to which Tom had called attention. "It's in here," he said. "I don't mind admitting that I'm quite proud of it, Ned; that is, proud as far as I've gone. But the gun business sure has me worried. I'm going to talk it off on you. Hello!" cried Tom suddenly, as he put a key in the complicated lock on the door, "someone has been in here. I wonder who it is?" Ned was a little startled at the look on Tom's face and the sound of alarm in his chum's voice. CHAPTER II A FIRE ALARM Tom Swift quickly opened the door of the big shed. It was built to house a dirigible balloon, or airship of some sort. Ned could easily tell that from his knowledge of Tom's previous inventions. "Something wrong?" asked the young bank clerk. "I don't know," returned Tom, and then as he looked inside the place, he breathed a sigh of relief. "Oh, it's you, is it, Koku?" he asked, as a veritable giant of a man came forward. "Yes, master, it is only Koku and your father," spoke the big chap, with rather a strange accent. "Oh, is my father here?" asked Tom. "I was wondering who had opened the door of this shed." "Yes, Tom," responded the elder Swift, coming up to them, "I had a new idea in regard to some of those side guy wires, and I wanted to try it out. I brought Koku with me to use his strength on some of them." "That's all right, Dad. Ned and I came out to wrestle with that recoil problem again. I want to try some guns on the craft soon, but--" "You'd better not, Tom," warned his father. "It will never work, I tell you. You can't expect to take up quick-firing guns and bombs in an airship, and have them work properly. Better give it up." "I never will. I'll make it work, Dad!" "I don't believe you will, Tom. This time you have bitten off more than you can chew, to use a homely but expressive statement." "Well, Dad, we'll see," began Tom easily. "There she is, Ned," he went on. "Now, if you'll come around here..." But Tom never finished that sentence, for at that moment there came running into the airship shed an elderly, short, stout, fussy gentleman, followed by an aged colored man. Both of them seemed very much excited. "Bless my socks, Tom!" cried the short, stout man. "There sure is trouble!" "I should say So, Massa Tom!" added the colored man. "I done did prognosticate dat some day de combustible material of which dat shed am composed would conflaggrate--" "What's the matter?" interrupted Tom, jumping forward. "Speak out! Eradicate! Mr. Damon, what is it?" "The red shed!" cried the short little man. "The red shed, Tom!" "It's on fire!" yelled the colored man. "Great thunderclaps!" cried Tom. "Come on--everybody on the job!" he yelled. "Koku, pull the alarm! If that red shed goes--" Instantly the place was in confusion. Tom and Ned, looking from a window of the hangar, saw a billow of black smoke roll across the yard. But already the private fire bell was clanging out its warning. And, while the work of fighting the flames is under way, I will halt the progress of this story long enough to give my new readers a little idea of who Tom Swift is, so they may read this book more intelligently. Those of you who have perused the previous volumes may skip this part. Tom Swift, though rather young in years, was an inventor of note. His tastes and talents were developed along the line of machinery and locomotion. Motorcycles, automobiles, motorboats, submarine craft, and, latest of all, craft of the air, had occupied the attention of Tom Swift and his father for some years. Mr. Swift was a widower, and lived with Tom, his only son, in the village of Shopton, New York State. Mrs. Baggert kept house for them, and an aged colored man, Eradicate Sampson, with his mule, Boomerang, did "odd jobs" about the Shopton home and factories. Among Tom's friends was a Mr. Wakefield Damon, from a nearby village. Mr. Damon was always blessing something, from his hat to his shoes, a harmless sort of habit that seemed to afford him much comfort. Then there was Ned Newton, a boyhood chum of Tom's, who worked in the Shopton bank. I will just mention Mary Nestor, a young lady of Shopton, in whom Tom was more than ordinarily interested. I have spoken of Koku, the giant. He really was a giant of a man, of enormous strength, and was one of two whom Tom had brought with him from a strange land where Tom was held captive for a time. You may read about it in a book devoted to those adventures. Tom took Koku into his service, somewhat to the dismay of Eradicate, who was desperately jealous. But poor Eradicate was getting old, and could not do as much as he thought he could. So, in a great measure, Koku replaced him, and Tom found much use for the giant's strength. Tom had begun his inventive work when, some years before this story opens, he had bargained for Mr. Damon's motorcycle, after that machine had shot its owner into a tree. Mr. Damon was, naturally, perhaps, much disgusted, and sold the affair cheap. Tom repaired it, made some improvements, and, in the first volume of this series, entitled "Tom Swift and His Motor-cycle," you may read of his rather thrilling adventures on his speedy road-steed. From then on Tom had passed a busy life, making many machines and having some thrilling times with them. Just previous to the opening of this story Tom had made a peculiar instrument, described in the volume entitled "Tom Swift and His Photo-Telephone." With that a person talking could not only see the features of the person with whom he was conversing, but, by means of a selenium plate and a sort of camera, a permanent picture could be taken of the person at either end of the wire. By means of this invention Tom had been able to make a picture that had saved a fortune. But Tom did not stop there. With him to invent was as natural and necessary as breathing. He simply could not stop it. And so we find him now about to show to his chum, Ned Newton, his latest patent, an aerial warship, which, however, was not the success Tom had hoped for. But just at present other matters than the warship were in Tom's mind. The red shed was on fire. That mere statement might not mean anything special to the ordinary person, but to Tom, his father, and those who knew about his shops, it meant much. "The red shed!" Tom cried. "We mustn't let that get the best of us! Everybody at work! Father, not you, though. You mustn't excite yourself!" Even in the midst of the alarm Tom thought of his father, for the aged man had a weak heart, and had on one occasion nearly expired, being saved just in time by the arrival of a doctor, whom Tom brought to the scene after a wonderful race through the air. "But, Tom, I can help," objected the aged inventor. "Now, you just take care of yourself, Father!" Tom cried. "There are enough of us to look after this fire, I think." "But, Tom, it--it's the red shed!" gasped Mr. Swift. "I realize that, Dad. But it can't have much of a start yet. Is the alarm ringing, Koku?" "Yes, Master," replied the giant, in correct but stilted English. "I have set the indicator to signal the alarm in every shop on the premises." "That's right." Tom sprang toward the door. "Eradicate!" he called. "Yais, sah! Heah I is!" answered the colored man. "I'll go git mah mule, Boomerang, right away, an' he--" "Don't you bring Boomerang on the scene!" Tom yelled. "When I want that shed kicked apart I can do it better than by using a mule's heels. And you know you can't do a thing with Boomerang when he sees fire." "Now dat's so, Massa Tom. But I could put blinkers on him, an'--" "No, you let Boomerang stay where he is. Come on, Ned. We'll see what we can do. Mr. Damon--" "Yes, Tom, I'm right here," answered the peculiar man, for he had come over from his home in Waterford to pay a visit to his friends, Tom and Mr. Swift. "I'll do anything I can to help you, Tom, bless my necktie!" he went on. "Only say the word!" "We've got to get some of the stuff out of the place!" Tom cried. "We may be able to save it, but I can't take a chance on putting out the fire and letting some of the things in there go up in smoke. Come on!" Those in the shed where was housed what Tom hoped would prove to be a successful aerial warship rushed to the open. From the other shops and buildings nearby were pouring men and boys, for the Swift plant employed a number of hands now. Above the shouts and yells, above the crackle of flames, could be heard the clanging of the alarm bell, set ringing by Koku, who had pulled the signal in the airship shed. From there it had gone to every building in the plant, being relayed by the telephone operator, whose duty it was to look after that. "My, you've got a big enough fire-fighting force, Tom!" cried Ned in his chum's ear. "Yes, I guess we can master it, if it hasn't gotten the best of us. Say, it's going some, though!" Tom pointed to where a shed, painted red--a sign of danger--could be seen partly enveloped in smoke, amid the black clouds of which shot out red tongues of flame. "What have you got it painted red for?" Ned asked pantingly, as they ran on. "Because--" Tom began, but the rest of the sentence was lost in a yell. Tom had caught sight of Eradicate and the giant, Koku, unreeling from a central standpipe a long line of hose. "Don't take that!" Tom cried. "Don't use that hose! Drop it!" "What's the matter? Is it rotten?" Ned wanted to know. "No, but if they pull it out the water will be turned on automatically." "Well, isn't that what you want at a fire--water?" Ned demanded. "Not at this fire," was Tom's answer. "There's a lot of calcium carbide in that red shed--that's why it's red--to warn the men of danger. You know what happens when water gets on carbide--there's an explosion, and there's enough carbide in that shed to send the whole works sky high. "Drop that hose!" yelled Tom in louder tones. "Drop it, Rad--Koku! Do you want to kill us all!" CHAPTER III A DESPERATE BATTLE Tom's tones and voice were so insistent that the giant and the colored man had no choice but to obey. They dropped the hose which, half unreeled, lay like some twisted snake in the grass. Had it been pulled out all the way the water would have spurted from the nozzle, for it was of the automatic variety, with which Tom had equipped all his plant. "But what are you going to do, Tom, if you don't use water?" asked Ned, wonderingly. "I don't know--yet, but I know water is the worst thing you can put on carbide," returned Tom. For all he spoke Slowly his brain was working fast. Already, even now, he was planning how best to give battle to the flames. It needed but an instant's thought on the part of Ned to make him understand that Tom was right. It would be well-nigh fatal to use water on carbide. Those of you who have bicycle lanterns, in which that not very pleasant-smelling chemical is used, know that if a few drops of water are allowed to drip slowly on the gray crystals acetylene gas is generated, which makes a brilliant light. But, if the water drips too fast, the gas is generated too quickly, and an explosion results. In lamps, of course, and in lighting plants where carbide is used, there are automatic arrangements to prevent the water flowing too freely to the chemical. But Tom knew if the hose were turned on the fire in the red shed a great explosion would result, for some of the tins of carbide would be melted by the heat. Yet the fire needed to be coped with. Already the flames were coming through the roof, and the windows and door were spouting red fire and volumes of smoke. Several other employees of Tom's plant had made ready to unreel more hose, but the warning of the young inventor, shouted to Eradicate and Koku, had had its effect. Every man dropped the line he had begun to unreel. "Ha! Massa Tom say drop de hose, but how yo' gwine t' squirt watah on a fire wifout a hose; answer me dat?" and Eradicate looked at Koku. "Me no know," was the slow answer. "I guess Koku go pull shed down and stamp out fire." "Huh! Maybe yo' could do dat in cannibal land, where yo' all come from," spoke Eradicate, "but yo' can't do dat heah! 'Sides, de red shed will blow up soon. Dere's suffin' else in dere except carbide, an' dat's gwine t' go up soon, dat's suah!" "Maybe you get your strong man-mule, Boomerang," suggested Koku. "Nothing ever hurt him--explosion or nothing. He can kick shed all to pieces, and put out fire." "Dat's what I wanted t' do, but Massa Tom say I cain't," explained the colored man. "Golly! Look at dat fire!" Indeed the blaze was now assuming alarming proportions. The red shed, which was not a small structure, was blazing on all sides. About it stood the men from the various shops. "Tom, you must do something," said Mr. Swift. "If the flames once reach that helmanite--" "I know, Father. But that explosive is in double vacuum containers, and it will be safe for some time yet. Besides, it's in the cellar. It's the carbide I'm most worried about. We daren't use water." "But something will have to be done!" exclaimed Mr. Damon. "Bless my red necktie, if we don't--" "Better get back a way," suggested Tom. "Something may go off!" His words of warning had their effect, and the whole circle moved back several paces. "Is there anything of value in the shed?" asked Ned. "I should say there was!" Tom answered. "I hoped we could get some of them out, but we can't now--until the fire dies down a bit, at any rate." "Look, Tom! The pattern shop roof is catching!" shouted Mr. Swift, pointing to where a little spurt of flame showed on the roof of a distant building. "It's from sparks!" Tom said. "Any danger of using water there?" Ned wanted to know. "No, use all you like! That's the only thing to do. Come on, you with the hose!" Tom yelled. "Save the other buildings!" "But are you going to let the red shed burn?" asked Mr. Swift. "You know what it means, Tom." "Yes, Father, I know. And I'm going to fight that fire in a new way. But we must save the other buildings, too. Play water on all the other sheds and structures!" ordered the young inventor. "I'll tackle this one myself. Oh, Ned!" he called. "Yes," answered his chum. "What is it?" "You take charge of protecting the place where the new aerial warship is stored. Will you? I can't afford to lose that." "I'll look after it, Tom. No harm in using water there, though; is there?" "Not if you don't use too much. Some of the woodwork isn't varnished yet, and I wouldn't want it to be wet. But do the best you can. Take Koku and Eradicate with you. They can't do any good here." "Do you mean to say you're going to give up and let this burn?" "Not a bit of it, Ned. But I have another plan I want to try. Lively now! The wind's changing, and it's blowing over toward my aerial warship shed. If that catches--" Tom shook his head protestingly, and Ned set off on the run, calling to the colored man and the giant to get out another line of hose. "I wonder what Tom is going to do?" mused Ned, as he neared the big shed he and the others had left on the alarm of fire. Tom, himself, seemed in no doubt as to his procedure. With one look at the blazing red shed, as if to form an opinion as to how much longer it could burn without getting entirely beyond control, Tom set off on a run toward another large structure. Ned, glancing toward his chum, observed: "The dirigible shed! I wonder what his game is? Surely that can't be in danger--it's too far off!" Ned was right as to the last statement. The shed, where was housed a great dirigible balloon Tom had made, but which he seldom used of late, was sufficiently removed from the zone of fire to be out of danger. Meanwhile several members of the fire-fighting force that had been summoned from the various shops by the alarm, had made an effort to save from the red shed some of the more valuable of the contents. There were some machines in there, as well as explosives and chemicals, in addition to the store of carbide. But the fire was now too hot to enable much to be done in the way of salvage. One or two small things were carried out from a little addition to the main structure, and then the rescuers were driven back by the heat of the flames, as well as by the rolling clouds of black smoke. "Keep away!" warned Mr. Swift. "It will explode soon. Keep back!" "That's right!" added Mr. Damon. "Bless my powder-horn! We may all be going sky-high soon, and without aid from any of Tom Swift's aeroplanes, either." Warned by the aged inventor, the throng of men began slowly moving away from the immediate neighborhood of the blazing shed. Though it may seem to the reader that some time has elapsed since the first sounding of the alarm, all that I have set down took place in a very short period--hardly three minutes elapsing since Tom and the others came rushing out of the aerial warship building. Suddenly a cry arose from the crowd of men near the red shed. Ned, who stood ready with several lines of hose, in charge of Koku, Eradicate and others, to turn them on the airship shed, in case of need, looked in the direction of the excited throng. The young bank clerk saw a strange sight. From the top of the dirigible balloon shed a long, black, cigar-shaped body arose, floating gradually upward. The very roof of the shed slid back out of the way, as Tom pressed the operating lever, and the dirigible was free to rise--as free as though it had been in an open field. "He's going up!" cried Ned in surprise. "Making an ascent at a time like this, when he ought to stay here to fight the fire! What's gotten into Tom, I'd like to know? I wonder if he can be--" Ned did not finish his half-formed sentence. A dreadful thought came into his mind. What if the sudden fire, and the threatened danger, as well as the prospective loss that confronted Tom, had affected his mind? "It certainly looks so," mused Ned, as he saw the big balloon float free from the shed. There was no doubt but that Tom was in it. He could be seen standing within the pilot-house, operating the various wheels and levers that controlled the ship of the air. "What can he be up to?" marveled Ned. "Is he going to run away from the fire?" Koku, Eradicate and several others were attracted by the sight of the great dirigible, now a considerable distance up in the air. Certainly it looked as though Tom Swift were running away. Yet Ned knew his chum better than that. Then, as they watched, Ned and the others saw the direction of the balloon change. She turned around in response to the influence of the rudders and propellers, and was headed straight for the blazing shed, but some distance above it. "What can he be planning?" wondered Ned. He did not have long to wait to find out. An instant later Tom's plan was made clear to his chum. He saw Tom circling over the burning red shed, and then the bank clerk saw what looked like fine rain dropping from the lower part of the balloon straight into the flames. "He can't be dousing water on from up above there," reasoned Ned. "Pouring water on carbide from a height is just as bad as spurting it on from a hose, though perhaps not so dangerous to the persons doing it. But it can't be--" "By Jove!" suddenly exclaimed Ned, as he had a better view of what was going on. "It's sand, that's what it is! Tom is giving battle to the flames with sand from the ballast bags of the dirigible! Hurray? That's the ticket! Sand! The only thing safe to use in case of an explosive chemical fire. "Fine for you. Tom Swift! Fine!" CHAPTER IV SUSPICIONS High up aloft, over the blazing red shed, with its dangerous contents that any moment might explode, Tom Swift continued to hold his big dirigible balloon as near the flames as possible. And as he stood outside on the small deck in front of the pilot-house, where were located the various controls, the young inventor pulled the levers that emptied bag after bag of fine sand on the spouting flames that, already, were beginning to die down as a result of this effectual quenching. "Tom's done the trick!" yelled Ned, paying little attention now to the big airship shed, since he saw that the danger was about over. "Dhat's what he suah hab done!" agreed Eradicate. "Mah ole mule Boomerang couldn't 'a' done any better." "Huh! Your mule afraid of fire," remarked Koku. "What's dat? Mah mule afraid ob fire?" cried the colored man. "Look heah, yo' great, big, overgrowed specimen ob an equilateral quadruped, I'll hab yo' all understand dat when yo' all speaks dat way about a friend ob mine dat yo'--" "That'll do, Rad!" broke in Ned, with a laugh. He knew that when Tom's helper grew excited on the subject of his mule there was no stopping him, and Boomerang was a point on which Eradicate and Koku were always arguing. "The fire is under control now." "Yes, it seems to have gone visiting," observed Koku. "Visiting?" queried Ned, in some surprise. "Yes, that is, it is going out," went on Koku. "Oh, I understand!" laughed Ned. "Yes, and I hope it doesn't pay us another visit soon. Oh, look at Tom, would you!" he cried, for the young aviator had swung his ship about over the flames, to bring another row of sand bags directly above a place where the fire was hottest. Down showered more sand from the bags which Tom opened. No fire could long continue to blaze under that treatment. The supply of air was cut off, and without that no fire can exist. Water would have been worse than useless, because of the carbide, but the sand covered it up so that it was made perfectly harmless. Moving slowly, the airship hovered over every part of the now slowly expiring flames, the burned opening in the roof of the shed making it possible for the sand to reach the spots where it was most needed. The flames died out in section after section, until no more could be seen--only clouds of black smoke. "How is it now?" came Tom's voice, as he spoke from the deck of the balloon through a megaphone. "Almost out," answered Mr. Damon. "A little more sand, Tom." The eccentric man had caught up a piece of paper and, rolling it into a cone, made an improvised megaphone of that. "Haven't much more sand left," was Tom's comment, as he sent down a last shower. "That will have to do. Hustle that carbide and other explosive stuff out of there now, while you have a chance." "That's it!" cried Ned, who caught his chums meaning. "Come on, Koku. There's work for you." "Me like work," answered the giant, stretching out his great arms. The last of the sand had completely smothered the fire, and Tom, observing from aloft that his work was well done, moved away in the dirigible, sending it to a landing space some little distance away from the shed whence it had arisen. It was impossible to drop it back again through the roof of the hangar, as the balloon was of such bulk that even a little breeze would deflect it so that it could not be accurately anchored. But Tom had it under very good control, and soon it was being held down on the ground by some of his helpers. As all the sand ballast had been allowed to run out Tom was obliged to open the gas-valves and let some of the lifting vapor escape, or he could not have descended. "Come on, now!" cried the inventor, as he leaped from the deck of his sky craft. "Let's clean out the red shed. That fire is only smothered, and there may be sparks smoldering under that sand, which will burst into flame, if we're not careful. Let's get the explosives out of the way." "Bless my insurance policy, yes," exclaimed Mr. Damon. "That was a fine move of yours." "It was the only way I could think of to put out the fire," Tom replied. "I knew water was out of the question, and sand was the next thing." "But I didn't know where to get any until I happened to think of the ballast bags of my dirigible. Then I knew, if I could get above the fire, I could do the trick. I had to fly pretty high, though, as the fire was hot, and I was afraid it might explode the gas bag and wreck me." "You were taking a chance," remarked Ned. "Oh, well, you have to take chances in this business," observed Tom, with a smile. "Now, then, let's finish this work." The sand, falling from the ballast bags of the dirigible, had so effectually quenched the fire that it was soon cool enough to permit close approach. Koku, Tom and some of the men who best knew how to handle the explosives, were soon engaged in the work of salvage. "I wish I could help you, Tom," said his aged father. "I don't seem able to do anything but stand here and look on," and he gazed about him rather sadly. "Never you mind, Dad!" Tom exclaimed. "We'll get along all right now. You'd better go up to the house. Mr. Damon will go with you." "Yes, of course!" exclaimed the odd man, catching a wink from Tom, who wanted his father not to get too excited on account of his weak heart. "Come along, Professor Swift. The danger is all over." "All right," assented the aged inventor, with a look at the still smoking shed. "And, Dad, when you haven't anything else to do," went on Tom, rather whimsically, "you might be thinking up some plan to take up the recoil of those guns on my aerial warship. I confess I'm clean stumped on that point." "Your aerial warship will never be a success," declared Mr. Swift. "You might as well give that up, Tom." "Don't you believe it, Dad!" cried Tom, with more of a jolly air of one chum toward another than as though the talk was between father and son. "You solve the recoil problem for me, and I'll take care of the rest, and make the air warship sail. But we've got something else to do just now. Lively, boys." While Mr. Swift, taking Mr. Damon's arm, walked toward the house, Tom, Ned, Koku, and some of the workmen began carrying out the explosives which had so narrowly escaped the fire. With long hooks the men pulled the shed apart, where the side walls had partly been burned through. Tom maintained an efficient firefighting force at his works, and the men had the proper tools with which to work. Soon large openings were made on three sides of the red shed, or rather, what was left of it, and through these the dangerous chemicals and carbide, in sheet-iron cans, were carried out to a place of safety. In a little while nothing remained but a heap of hot sand, some charred embers and certain material that had been burned. "Much loss, Tom?" asked Ned, as they surveyed the ruins. They were both black and grimy, tired and dirty, but there was a great sense of satisfaction. "Well, yes, there's more lost than I like to think of," answered Tom slowly, "but it would have been a heap sight worse if the stuff had gone up. Still, I can replace what I've lost, except a few models I kept in this place. I really oughtn't to have stored them here, but since I've been working on my new aerial warship I have sort of let other matters slide. I intended to make the red shed nothing but a storehouse for explosive chemicals, but I still had some of my plans and models in it when it caught." "Only for the sand the whole place might have gone," said Ned in a low voice. "Yes. It's lucky I had plenty of ballast aboard the dirigible. You see, I've been running it alone lately, and I had to take on plenty of sand to make up for the weight of the several passengers I usually carry. So I had plenty of stuff to shower down on the fire. I wonder how it started, anyhow? I must investigate this." "Mr. Damon and Eradicate seem to have seen it first," remarked Ned. "Yes. At least they gave the alarm. Guess I'll ask Eradicate how he happened to notice. Oh, I say, Rad!" Tom called to the colored man. "Yais, sah, Massa Tom! I'se comin'!" the darky cried, as he finished piling up, at a safe distance from the fire, a number of cans of carbide. "How'd you happen to see the red shed ablaze?" Tom asked. "Why, it was jest dish yeah way, Massa Tom," began the colored man. "I had jest been feedin' mah mule, Boomerang. He were pow'ful hungry, Boomerang were, an', when I give him some oats, wif a carrot sliced up in 'em--no, hole on--did I gib him a carrot t'day, or was it yist'day?--I done fo'got. No, it were yist'day I done gib him de carrot, I 'member now, 'case--" "Oh, never mind the carrot, or Boomerang, either, Rad!" broke in Tom, "I'm asking you about the fire." "An' I'se tellin' yo', Massa Tom," declared Eradicate, with a rather reproachful look at his master. "But I wanted t' do it right an' proper. I were comin' from Boomerang's stable, an' I see suffin' red spoutin' up at one corner ob de red shed. I knowed it were fire right away, an' I yelled." "Yes, I heard you yell," Tom said. "But what I wanted to know is, did you see anyone near the red shed at the time?" "No, Massa Tom, I done didn't." "I wonder if Mr. Damon did? I must ask him," went on the young inventor. "Come, on, Ned, we'll go up to the house. Everything is all right here, I think. Whew! But that was some excitement. And I didn't show you my aerial warship after all! Nor have you settled that recoil problem for me." "Time enough, I guess," responded Ned. "You sure did have a lucky escape, Tom." "That's right. Well, Koku, what is it?" for the giant had approached, holding out something in his hand. "Koku found this in red shed," went on the giant, holding out a round, blackened object. "Maybe him powder; go bang-bang!" "Oh, you think it's something explosive, eh?" asked Tom, as he took the object from the giant. "Koku no think much," was the answer. "Him look funny." Tom did not speak for a moment. Then he cried: "Look funny! I should say it did! See here, Ned, if this isn't suspicious I'll eat my hat!" and Tom beckoned excitedly to his chum, who had walked on a little in advance. CHAPTER V A QUEER STRANGER What Tom Swift held in his hand looked like a small cannon ball, but it could not have been solid or the young aviator would not so easily have held it out at arm's length for his friend Ned Newton to look at. "This puts a different face on it, Ned," Tom went on, as he turned the object over. "Is that likely to go off?" the bank clerk asked, as he came to a halt a little distance from his friend. "Go off? No, it's done all the damage it could, I guess." "Damage? It looks to me as though it had suffered the most damage itself. What is it, one of your models? Looks like a bomb to me." "And that's what it is, Ned." "Not one of those you're going to use on your aerial warship, is it, Tom?" "Not exactly. I never saw this before, but it's what started the fire in the red shed all right; I'm sure of that." "Do you really mean it?" cried Ned. "I sure do." "Well, if that's the case, I wouldn't leave such dangerous things around where there are explosives, Tom." "I didn't, Ned. I wouldn't have had this within a hundred miles of my shed, if I could have had my way. It's a fire bomb, and it was set to go off at a certain time. Only I think something went wrong, and the bomb started a fire ahead of time. "If it had worked at night, when we were all asleep, we might not have put the fire out so easily. This sure is suspicious! I'm glad you found this, Koku." Tom was carefully examining the bomb, as Ned had correctly named it. The bank clerk, now that he was assured by his chum that the object had done all the harm it could, approached closer. What he saw was merely a hollow shell of iron, with a small opening in it, as though intended for a place through which to put a charge of explosives and a fuse. "But there was no explosion, Tom," explained Ned. "I know it," said Tom quietly. "It wasn't an explosive bomb. Smell that!" He held the object under Ned's nose so suddenly that the young bank clerk jumped back. "Oh, don't get nervous," laughed Tom. "It can't hurt you now. But what does that smell like?" Ned sniffed, sniffed again, thought for a moment, and then sniffed a third time. "Why," he said slowly, "I don't just know the name of it, but it's that funny stuff you mix up sometimes to put in the oxygen tanks when we go up in the rarefied atmosphere in the balloon or airship." "Manganese and potash," spoke Tom. "That and two or three other things that form a chemical combination which goes off by itself of spontaneous combustion after a certain time. Only the person who put this bomb together didn't get the chemical mixture just right, and it went off ahead of time; for which we have to be duly thankful." "Do you really think that, Tom?" cried Ned. "I'm positive of it," was the quiet answer. "Why--why--that would mean some one tried to set fire to the red shed, Tom!" "They not only tried it, but did it," responded Tom, more coolly than seemed natural under the circumstances. "Only for the fact that the mixture went off before it was intended to, and found us all alert and ready--well, I don't like to think what might have happened," and Tom cast a look about at his group of buildings with their valuable contents. "You mean some one purposely put that bomb in the red shed, Tom?" "That's exactly what I mean. Some enemy, who wanted to do me an injury, planned this thing deliberately. He filled this steel shell with chemicals which, of themselves, after a certain time, would send out a hot tongue of flame through this hole," and Tom pointed to the opening in the round steel shell. "He knew the fire would be practically unquenchable by ordinary means, and he counted on its soon eating its way into the carbide and other explosives. Only it didn't." "Why, Tom!" cried Ned. "It was just like one of those alarm-clock dynamite bombs--set to go off at a certain time." "Exactly," Tom said, "only this was more delicate, and, if it had worked properly, there wouldn't have been a vestige left to give us a clue. But the fire, thanks to the ballast sand in the dirigible, was put out in time. The fuse burned itself out, but I can tell by the smell that chemicals were in it. That's all, Koku," he went on to the giant who had stood waiting, not understanding all the talk between Tom and Ned. "I'll take care of this now." "Bad man put it there?" asked the giant, who at least comprehended that something was wrong. "Well, yes, I guess you could say it was a bad man," replied Tom. "Ha! If Koku find bad man--bad for that man!" muttered the giant, as he clasped his two enormous hands together, as though they were already on the fellow who had tried to do Tom Swift such an injury. "I wouldn't like to be that man, if Koku catches him," observed Ned. "Have you any idea who it could be, Tom?" "Not the least. Of course I know I have enemies, Ned. Every successful inventor has persons who imagine he has stolen their ideas, whether he has ever seen them or not. It may have been one of those persons, or some half-mad crank, who was jealous. It would be impossible to say, Ned." "It wouldn't be Andy Foger, would it?" "No; I don't believe Andy has been in this neighborhood for some time. The last lesson we gave him sickened him, I guess." "How about those diamond-makers, whose secret you discovered? They wouldn't be trying to get back at you, would they?" "Well, it's possible, Ned. But I don't imagine so. They seem to have been pretty well broken up. No, I don't believe it was the diamond-makers who put this fire bomb in the red shed. Their line of activities didn't include this branch. It takes a chemist to know just how to blend the things contained in the bomb, and even a good chemist is likely to fail--as this one did, as far as time went." "What are you going to do about it?" Ned asked. "I don't know," and Tom spoke slowly, "I hoped I was done with all that sort of thing," he went on; "fighting enemies whom I have never knowingly injured. But it seems they are still after me. Well, Ned, this gives us something to do, at all events." "You mean trying to find out who these fellows are?" "Yes; that is, if you are willing to help." "Well, I guess I am!" cried the bank clerk with sparkling eyes. "I wouldn't ask anything better. We've been in things like this before, Tom, and we'll go in again--and win! I'll help you all I can. Now, let's see if we can pick up any other clues. This is like old times!" and Ned laughed, for he, like Tom, enjoyed a good "fight," and one in which the odds were against them. "We sure will have our hands full," declared the young inventor. "Trying to solve the problem of carrying guns on an aerial warship, and finding out who set this fire." "Then you're not going to give up your aerial warship idea?" "No, indeed!" Tom cried. "What made you think that?" "Well, the way your father spoke--" "Oh, dear old dad!" exclaimed Tom affectionately. "I don't want to argue with him, but he's dead wrong!" "Then you are going to make a go of it?" "I sure am, Ned! All I have to solve is the recoil proposition, and, as soon as we get straightened out from this fire, we'll tackle that problem again--you and I. But I sure would like to know who put this in my red shed," and Tom looked in a puzzled manner at the empty fire bomb he still held. Tom paused, on his way to the house, to put the bomb in one of his offices. "No use letting dad know about this," he went on. "It would only be something else for him to worry about." "That's right," agreed Ned. By this time nearly all evidences of the fire, except for the blackened ruins of the shed, had been cleared away. High in the air hung a cloud of black smoke, caused by some chemicals that had burned harmlessly save for that pall. Tom Swift had indeed had a lucky escape. The young inventor, finding his father quieted down and conversing easily with Mr. Damon, who was blessing everything he could think of, motioned to Ned to follow him out of the house again. "We'll leave dad here," said Tom, "and do a little investigating on our own account. We'll look for clues while they're fresh." But, it must be confessed, after Tom and Ned had spent the rest of that day in and about the burned shed, they were little wiser than when they started. They found the place where the fire bomb had evidently been placed, right inside the main entrance to the shed. Tom knew it had been there because there were peculiar marks on the charred wood, and a certain queer smell of chemicals that confirmed his belief. "They put the bomb there to prevent anyone going in at the first alarm and saving anything," Tom said. "They didn't count on the roof burning through first, giving me a chance to use the sand. I made the roof of the red shed flimsy just on that account, so the force of the explosion if one ever came, would be mostly upward. You know the expanding gases, caused by an explosion or by rapid combustion, always do just as electricity does, seek the shortest and easiest route. In this case I made the roof the easiest route." "A lucky provision," observed Ned. That night Tom had to confess himself beaten, as far as finding clues was concerned. The empty fire bomb was the only one, and that seemed valueless. Close questioning of the workmen failed to disclose anything. Tom was particularly anxious to discover if any mysterious strangers had been seen about the works. There was a strict rule about admitting them to the plant, however, and it could not be learned that this had been violated. "Well, we'll just have to lay that aside for a while," Tom said the next day, when Ned again came to pay a visit. "Now, what do you say to tackling, with me, that recoil problem on the aerial warship?" "I'm ready, if you are," Ned agreed, "though I know about as much of those things as a snake does about dancing. But I'm game." The two friends walked out toward the shed where Tom's new craft was housed. As yet Ned had not seen it. On the way they saw Eradicate walking along, talking to himself, as he often did. "I wonder what he has on his mind," remarked Ned musingly. "Something does seem to be worrying him," agreed Tom. As they neared the colored man, they could hear him saying: "He suah did hab nerve, dat's what he did! De idea ob askin' me all dem questions, an' den wantin' t' know if I'd sell him!" "What's that, Eradicate?" asked Tom. "Oh, it's a man I met when I were comin' back from de ash dump," Eradicate explained. One of the colored man's duties was to cart ashes away from Tom's various shops, and dump them in a certain swampy lot. With an old ramshackle cart, and his mule, Boomerang, Eradicate did this task to perfection. "A man--what sort of a man?" asked Tom, always ready to be suspicious of anything unusual. "He were a queer man," went on the aged colored helper. "First he stopped me an' asted me fo' a ride. He was a dressed-up gen'man, too, an' I were suah s'prised at him wantin' t' set in mah ole ash cart," said Eradicate. "But I done was polite t' him, an' fixed a blanket so's he wouldn't git too dirty. Den he asted me ef I didn't wuk fo' yo', Massa Tom, an' of course I says as how I did. Den he asted me about de fire, an' how much damage it done, an' how we put it out. An' he end up by sayin' he'd laik t' buy mah mule, Boomerang, an' he wants t' come heah dis arternoon an' talk t' me about it." "He does, eh?" cried Tom. "What sort of a man was he, Rad?" "Well, a gen'man sort ob man, Massa Tom. Stranger t' me. I nebber seed him afo'. He suah was monstrous polite t' ole black Eradicate, an' he gib me a half-dollar, too, jest fo' a little ride. But I aint' gwine t' sell Boomerang, no indeedy, I ain't!" and Eradicate shook his gray, kinky head decidedly. "Ned, there may be something in this!" said Tom, in an excited whisper to his chum. "I don't like the idea of a mysterious stranger questioning Eradicate!" CHAPTER VI THE AERIAL WARSHIP Ned Newton looked at Tom questioningly. Then he glanced at the unsuspicious colored man, who was industriously polishing the half-dollar the mysterious stranger had given him. "Rad, just exactly what sort of a man was this one you speak of?" asked Tom. "Why, he were a gen'man--" "Yes, I know that much. You've said it before. But was he an Englishman, an American--or--" Tom paused and waited for an answer. "I think he were a Frenchman," spoke Eradicate. "I done didn't see him eat no frogs' laigs, but he smoked a cigarette dat had a funny smell, and he suah was monstrous polite. He suah was a Frenchman. I think." Tom and Ned laughed at Eradicate's description of the man, but Tom's face was soon grave again. "Tell us more about him, Rad," he suggested. "Did he seem especially interested in the fire?" "No, sah, Massa Tom, he seemed laik he was more special interested in mah mule, Boomerang. He done asted how long I had him, an' how much I wanted fo' him, an' how old he was." "But every once in a while he put in some question about the fire, or about our shops, didn't he, Rad?" Tom wanted to know. The colored man scratched his kinky head, and glanced with a queer look at Tom. "How yo' all done guess dat?" he asked. "Answer my question," insisted Tom. "Yes, sah, he done did ask about yo', and de wuks, ebery now and den," Rad confessed. "But how yo' all knowed dat, Massa Tom, when I were a-tellin' yo' all about him astin' fo' mah mule, done gets me--dat's what it suah does." "Never mind, Rad. He asked questions about the plant, that's all I want to know. But you didn't tell him much, did you?" Eradicate looked reproachfully at his master. "Yo' all done knows me bettah dan dat, Massa Tom," the old colored man said. "Yo' all know yo' done gib orders fo' nobody t' talk about yo' projections." "Yes, I know I gave those orders," Tom said, with a smile, "but I want to make sure that they have been followed." "Well, I done follered 'em, Massa Tom." "Then you didn't tell this queer stranger, Frenchman, or whatever he is, much about my place?" "I didn't tell him nuffin', sah. I done frowed dust in his eyes." Ned uttered an exclamation of surprise. "Eradicate is speaking figuratively," Tom said, with a laugh. "Dat's what I means," the colored man went on. "I done fooled him. When he asted me about de fire I said it didn't do no damage at all--in fack dat we'd rather hab de fire dan not hab it, 'case it done gib us a chance t' practice our hose drill." "That's good," laughed Tom. "What else?" "Well, he done sort ob hinted t' me ef we all knowed how de fire done start. I says as how we did, dat we done start it ourse'ves fo' practice, an dat we done expected it all along, an' were ready fo' it. Course I knows dat were a sort of fairy story, Massa Tom, but den dat cigarette-smokin' Frenchman didn't hab no right t' asted me so many questions, did he?" "No, indeed, Rad. And I'm glad you didn't give him straight answers. So he's coming here later on, is he?" "T' see ef I wants t' sell mah mule, Boomerang, yais, sah. I sort ob thought maybe you'd want t' hab a look at dat man, so I tole him t' come on. Course I doan't want t' sell Boomerang, but ef he was t' offer me a big lot ob money fo' him I'd take it." "Of course," Tom answered. "Very well, Rad. You may go on now, and don't say anything to anyone about what you have told me." "I won't, Massa Tom," promised the colored man, as he went off muttering to himself. "Well, what do you make of it, Tom?" asked Ned of his chum, as they walked on toward the shed of the new, big aerial warship. "I don't know just what to think, Ned. Of course things like this have happened before--persons trying to worm secrets out of Eradicate, or some of the other men." "They never succeeded in getting much, I'm glad to say, but it always keeps me worried for fear something will happen," Tom concluded. "But about this Frenchman?" "Well, he must be a new one. And, now I come to think of it, I did hear some of the men speaking about a foreigner--a stranger--being around town last week. It was just a casual reference, and I paid little attention to it. Now it looks as though there might be something in it." "Do you think he'll come to bargain with Eradicate about the mule?" Ned asked. "Hardly. That was only talk to make Eradicate unsuspicious. The stranger, whoever he was, sized Rad up partly right. I surmised, when Rad said he asked a lot of questions about the mule, that was only to divert suspicion, and that he'd come back to the subject of the fire every chance he got." "And you were right." "Yes, so it seems. But I don't believe the fellow will come around here. It would be too risky. All the same, we'll be prepared for him. I'll just rig up one of my photo-telephone machines, so that, if he does come to have a talk with Rad, we can both see and hear him." "That's great, Tom! But do you think this fellow had anything to do with the fire?" "I don't know. He knew about it, of course. This isn't the first fire we've had in the works, and, though we always fight them ourselves, still news of it will leak out to the town. So he could easily have known about it. And he might be in with those who set it, for I firmly believe the fire was set by someone who has an object in injuring me." "It's too bad!" declared Ned. "Seems as though they might let you alone, if they haven't gumption enough to invent things for themselves." "Well, don't worry. Maybe it will come out all right," returned Tom. "Now, let's go and have a look at my aerial warship. I haven't shown it to you yet. Then we'll get ready for that mysterious Frenchman, if he comes--but I don't believe he will." The young inventor unlocked the door of the shed where he kept his latest "pet," and at the sight which met his eyes Ned Newton uttered an exclamation of surprise. "Tom, what is it?" he cried in an awed voice. "My aerial warship!" was the quiet answer. Ned Newton gave vent to a long whistle, and then began a detailed examination of the wonderful craft he saw before him. That is, he made as detailed an examination as was possible under the circumstances, for it was a long time before the young bank clerk fully appreciated all Tom Swift had accomplished in building the Mars, which was the warlike name painted in red letters on the big gas container that tugged and swayed overhead. "Tom, however did you do it?" gasped Ned at length. "By hard work," was the modest reply. "I've been at this for a longer time than you'd suppose, working on it at odd moments. I had a lot of help, too, or I never could have done it. And now it is nearly all finished, as far as the ship itself is concerned. The only thing that bothers me is to provide for the recoil of the guns I want to carry. Maybe you can help me with that. Come on, now, I'll explain how the affair works, and what I hope to accomplish with it." In brief Tom's aerial warship was a sort of German Zeppelin type of dirigible balloon, rising in the air by means of a gas container, or, rather, several of them, for the section for holding the lifting gas element was divided by bulkheads. The chief difference between dirigible balloons and ordinary aeroplanes, as you all know, is that the former are lifted from the earth by a gas, such as hydrogen, which is lighter than air, while the aeroplane lifts itself by getting into motion, when broad, flat planes, or surfaces, hold it up, just as a flat stone is held up when you sail it through the air. The moment the stone, or aeroplane, loses its forward motion, it begins to fall. This is not so with a dirigible balloon. It is held in the air by means of the lifting gas, and once so in the air can be sent in any direction by means of propellers and rudders. Tom's aerial warship contained many new features. While it was as large as some of the war-type Zeppelins, it differed from them materially. But the details would be of more interest to a scientific builder of such things than to the ordinary reader, so I will not weary you with them. Sufficient to say that Tom's craft consisted first of a great semi-rigid bag, or envelope, made of specially prepared oiled silk and aluminum, to hold the gas, which was manufactured on board. There were a number of gas-tight compartments, so that if one, or even if a number of them burst, or were shot by an enemy, the craft would still remain afloat. Below the big gas bag was the ship proper, a light but strong and rigid framework about which were built enclosed cabins. These cabins, or compartments, housed the driving machinery, the gas-generating plant, living, sleeping and dining quarters, and a pilot-house, whence the ship could be controlled. But this was not all. Ned, making a tour of the Mars, as she swayed gently in the big shed, saw where several aluminum pedestals were mounted, fore and aft and on either beam of the ship. "They look just like places where you intend to mount guns," said Ned to Tom. "And that's exactly what they are," the young inventor replied. "I have the guns nearly ready for mounting, but I can't seem to think of a way of providing for the recoil. And if I don't take care of that, I'm likely to find my ship coming apart under me, after we bombard the enemy with a broadside or two." "Then you intend to fight with this ship?" asked Ned. "Well, no; not exactly personally. I was thinking of offering it to the United States Government. Foreign nations are getting ready large fleets of aerial warships, so why shouldn't we? Matters in Europe are mighty uncertain. There may be a great war there in which aerial craft will play a big part. I am conceited enough to think I can build one that will measure up to the foreign ones, and I'll soon be in a position to know." "What do you mean?" "I mean I have already communicated with our government experts, and they are soon to come and inspect this craft. I have sent them word that it is about finished. There is only the matter of the guns, and some of the ordnance officers may be able to help me out with a suggestion, for I admit I am stuck!" exclaimed Tom. "Then you're going to do the same with this aerial warship as you did with your big lantern and that immense gun you perfected?" asked Ned. "That's right," confirmed Tom. My former readers will know to what Ned Newton referred, and those of you who do not may learn the details of how Tom helped Uncle Sam, by reading the previous volumes, "Tom Swift and His Great Searchlight," and "Tom Swift and His Giant Cannon." "When do you expect the government experts?" Ned asked. "Within a few days, now. But I'll have to hustle to get ready for them, as this fire has put me back. There are quite a number of details I need to change. Well, now, let me explain about that gun recoil business. Maybe you can help me." "Fire away," laughed Ned. "I'll do the best I can." Tom led the way from the main shed, where the aerial warship was housed, to a small private office. As Ned entered, the door, pulled by a strong spring, swung after him. He held back his hand to prevent it from slamming, but there was no need, for a patent arrangement took up all the force, and the door closed gently. Ned looked around, not much surprised, for the same sort of door-check was in use at his bank. But a sudden idea came to him. "There you are, Tom!" he cried. "Why not take up the recoil of the guns on your aerial warship by some such device as that?" and Ned pointed to the door-check. CHAPTER VII WARNINGS For a moment or two Tom Swift did not seem to comprehend what Ned had said. He remained staring, first at his chum, who stood pointing, and from him Tom's gaze wandered to the top of the door. It may have been, and probably was, that Tom was thinking of other matters at that instant. But Ned said again: "Wouldn't that do, Tom? Check the recoil of the gun with whatever stuff is in that arrangement!" A sudden change came over Tom's face. It was lighted up with a gleam of understanding. "By Jove, Ned, old man!" he cried. "I believe you've struck it! And to think that has been under my nose, or, rather, over my head, all this while, and I never thought of it. Hurray! That will solve the problem!" "Do you think it will?" asked Ned, glad that he had contributed something, if only an idea, to Tom's aerial warship. "I'm almost sure it will. I'll give it a trial right away." "What's in that door-check?" Ned asked. "I never stopped before to think what useful things they are, though at the bank, with the big, heavy doors, they are mighty useful." "They are a combination of springs and hydrostatic valves," began Tom. "Good-night!" laughed Ned. "Excuse the slang, Tom, but what in the world is a hydrostatic valve?" "A valve through which liquids pass. In this door-check there may be a mixture of water, alcohol and glycerine, the alcohol to prevent freezing in cold weather, and the glycerine to give body to the mixture so it will not flow through the valves too freely." "And do you think you can put something like that on your guns, so the recoil will be taken up?" Ned wanted to know. "I think so," spoke Tom. "I'm going to work on it right away, and we'll soon see how it will turn out. It's mighty lucky you thought of that, for I sure was up against it, as the boys say." "It just seemed to come to me," spoke Ned, "seeing how easily the door closed." "If the thing works I'll give you due credit for it," promised Tom. "Now, I've got to figure out how much force a modified hydrostatic valve check like that will take up, and how much recoil my biggest gun will have." "Then you're going to put several guns on the Mars?" asked Ned. "Yes, four quick-firers, at least, two on each side, and heavier guns at the bow and stern, to throw explosive shells in a horizontal or upward direction. For a downward direction we won't need any guns, we can simply drop the bombs, or shells, from a release clutch." "Drop them on other air craft?" Ned wanted to know. "Well, if it's necessary, yes. Though I guess there won't be much chance of doing that to a rival aeroplane or dirigible. But in flying over cities or forts, explosive bombs can be dropped very nicely. For use in attacking other air craft I am going to depend on my lateral fire, from the guns mounted on either beam, and in the bow and stern." "You speak as though you, yourself, were going into a battle of the air," said Ned. "No, I don't believe I'll go that far," Tom replied. "Though, if the government wants my craft, I may have to go aloft and fire shots at targets for them to show them how things work. "Please don't think that I am in favor of war, Ned," went on Tom earnestly. "I hate it, and I wish the time would come when all nations would disarm. But if the other countries are laying themselves out to have aerial battleships, it is time the United States did also. We must not be left behind, especially in view of what is taking place in Europe." "I suppose that's right," agreed Ned. "Have you any of your guns ready?" "Yes, all but the mounting of them on the supports aboard the Mars. I haven't dared do that yet, and fire them, until I provided some means of taking up the recoil. Now I'm going to get right to work on that problem." There was considerable detailed figuring and computation work ahead of Tom Swift, and I will not weary you by going into the details of higher mathematics. Even Ned lost interest after the start of the problem, though he was interested when Tom took down the door-check and began measuring the amount of force it would take up, computing it on scales and spring balances. Once this had been done, and Tom had figured just how much force could be expected to be taken up by a larger check, with stronger hydrostatic valves, the young inventor explained: "And now to see how much recoil force my guns develop!" "Are you really going to fire the guns?" asked Ned. "Surely," answered Tom. "That's the only way to get at real results. I'll have the guns taken out and mounted in a big field. Then we'll fire them, and measure the recoil." "Well, that may be some fun," spoke Ned, with a grin. "More fun than all these figures," and he looked at the mass of details on Tom's desk. This was the second or third day after the fire in the red shed, and in the interim Tom had been busy making computations. These were about finished. Meanwhile further investigation had been made of clues leading to the origin of the blaze in the shed, but nothing had been learned. A photo-telephone had been installed near Eradicate's quarters, in the hope that the mysterious stranger might keep his promise, and come to see about the mule. In that case something would have been learned about him. But, as Tom feared, the man did not appear. Ned was much interested in the guns, and, a little later, he helped Tom and Koku mount them in a vacant lot. The giant's strength came in handy in handling the big parts. Mr. Swift strolled past, as the guns were being mounted for the preliminary test, and inquired what his son was doing. "It will never work, Tom, never!" declared the aged inventor, when informed. "You can't take up those guns in your air craft, and fire them with any degree of safety." "You wait, Dad," laughed Tom. "You haven't yet seen how the Newton hydrostatic recoil operates." Ned smiled with pleasure at this. It took nearly a week to get all the guns mounted, for some of them required considerable work, and it was also necessary to attach gauges to them to register the recoil and pressure. In the meanwhile Tom had been in further communication with government experts who were soon to call on him to inspect the aerial warship, with a view to purchase. "When are they coming?" asked Ned, as he and Tom went out one morning to make the first test of the guns. "They will be here any day, now. They didn't set any definite date. I suppose they want to take us unawares, to see that I don't 'frame-up' any game on them. Well, I'll be ready any time they come. Now, Koku, bring along those shells, and don't drop any of them, for that new powder is freakish stuff." "Me no drop any, Master," spoke the giant, as he lifted the boxes of explosives in his strong arms. The largest gun was loaded and aimed at a distant hill, for Tom knew that if the recoil apparatus would take care of the excess force of his largest gun, the problem of the smaller ones would be easy to solve. "Here, Rad, where are you going?" Tom asked, as he noticed the colored man walking away, after having completed a task assigned to him. "Where's I gwine, Massa Tom?" "Yes, Rad, that's what I asked you." "I--I'se gwine t' feed mah mule, Boomerang," said the colored man slowly. "It's his eatin' time, jest now, Massa Tom." "Nonsense! It isn't anywhere near noon yet." "Yais, sab, Massa Tom, I knows dat," said Eradicate, as he carefully edged away from the big gun, "but I'se done changed de eatin' hours ob dat mule. He had a little touch ob indigestion de udder day, an' I'se feedin' him diff'rent now. So I guess as how yo'll hab t' 'scuse me now, Massa Tom." "Oh, well, trot along," laughed the young inventor. "I guess we won't need you. Is everything all right there, Koku?" "All right, Master." "Now, Ned, if you'll stand here," went on Tom, "and note the extreme point to which the hand on the pressure gauge goes, I'll be obliged to you. Just jot it down on this pad." "Here comes someone," remarked the bank clerk, as he saw that his pencil was sharpened. He pointed to the field back of them. "It's Mr. Damon," observed Tom. "We'll wait until he arrives. He'll be interested in this." "Bless my collar button, Tom! What's going on?" asked the eccentric man, as he came up. "Has war been declared?" "Just practicing," replied the young inventor. "Getting ready to put the armament on my aerial warship." "Well, as long as I'm behind the guns I'm all right, I suppose?" "Perfectly," Tom replied. "Now then, Ned, I think we'll fire." There was a moment of inspection, to see that nothing had been forgotten, and then the big gun was discharged. There was a loud report, not as heavy, though, as Ned had expected, but there was no puff of smoke, for Tom was using smokeless powder. Only a little flash of flame was observed. "Catch the figure, Ned!" Tom cried. "I have it!" was the answer. "Eighty thousand!" "Good! And I can build a recoil check that will take up to one hundred and twenty thousand pounds pressure. That ought to be margin of safety enough. Now we'll try another shot." The echoes of the first had hardly died away before the second gun was ready for the test. That, too, was satisfactory, and then the smaller ones were operated. These were not quite so satisfactory, as the recoil developed was larger, in proportion to their size, than Tom had figured. "But I can easily put a larger hydrostatic check on them," he said. "Now, we'll fire by batteries, and see what the total is." Then began a perfect bombardment of the distant hillside, service charges being used, and explosive shells sent out so that dirt, stones and gravel flew in all directions. Danger signs and flags had been posted, and a cordon of Tom's men kept spectators away from the hill, so no one would be in the danger zone. The young inventor was busy making some calculations after the last of the firing had been completed. Koku was packing up the unfired shells, and Mr. Damon was blessing his ear-drums, and the pieces of cotton he had stuffed in to protect them, when a tall, erect man was observed strolling over the fields in the direction of the guns. "Somebody's coming, Tom," warned Ned. "Yes, and a stranger, too," observed Tom. "I wonder if that can be Eradicate's Frenchman?" But a look at the stranger's face disproved that surmise. He had a frank and pleasant countenance, obviously American. "I beg your pardon," he began, addressing everyone in general, "but I am looking for Tom Swift. I was told he was here." "I am Tom Swift," replied our hero. "Ah! Well, I am Lieutenant Marbury, with whom you had some correspondence recently about--" "Oh, yes, Lieutenant Marbury, of the United States Navy," interrupted Tom. "I'm glad to see you," he went on, holding out his hand. "We are just completing some tests with the guns. You called, I presume, in reference to my aerial warship?" "That is it--yes. Have you it ready for a trial flight?" "Well, almost. It can be made ready in a few hours. You see, I have been delayed. There was a fire in the plant." "A fire!" exclaimed the officer in surprise. "How was that? We heard nothing of it in Washington." "No, I kept it rather quiet," Tom explained. "We had reason to suspect that it was a fire purposely set, in a shed where I kept a quantity of explosives." "Ha!" exclaimed Lieutenant Marbury. "This fits in with what I have heard. And did you not receive warning?" he asked Tom. "Warning? No. Of what?" "Of foreign spies!" was the unexpected answer. "I am sorry. Some of our Secret Service men unearthed something of a plot against you, and I presumed you had been told to watch out. If you had, the fire might not have occurred. There must have been some error in Washington. But let me tell you now, Tom Swift--be on your guard!" CHAPTER VIII A SUSPECTED PLOT The officer's words were so filled with meaning that Tom started. Ned Newton, too, showed the effect he felt. "Do you really mean that?" asked the young inventor, looking around to make sure his father was not present. On account of Professor Swift's weak heart, Tom wished to spare him all possible worry. "I certainly do mean it," insisted Lieutenant Marbury. "And, while I am rather amazed at the news of the fire, for I did not think the plotters would be so bold as that, it is in line with what I expected, and what we suspected in Washington." "And that was--what?" asked Tom. "The existence of a well-laid plot, not only against our government, but against you!" "And why have they singled me out?" Tom demanded. "I might as well tell it from the beginning," the officer went on. "As long as you have not received any official warning from Washington you had better hear the whole story. But are you sure you had no word?" "Well, now, I won't be so sure," Tom confessed. "I have been working very hard, the last two days, making some intricate calculations. I have rather neglected my mail, to tell you the truth. "And, come to think of it, there were several letters received with the Washington postmark. But, I supposed they had to do with some of my patents, and I only casually glanced over them. There was one letter, though, that I couldn't make head or tail of." "Ha! That was it!" cried the lieutenant. "It was the warning in cipher or code. I didn't think they would neglect to send it to you." "But what good would it do me if I couldn't read it?" asked Tom. "You must also have received a method of deciphering the message," the officer said. "Probably you overlooked that. The Secret Service men sent you the warning in code, so it would not be found out by the plotters, and, to make sure you could understand it, a method of translating the cipher was sent in a separate envelope. It is too bad you missed it." "Yes, for I might have been on my guard," agreed Tom. "The red shed might not have burned, but, as it was, only slight damage was done." "Owing to the fact that Tom put the fire out with sand ballast from his dirigible!" cried Ned. "You should have seen it!" "I should have liked to be here," the lieutenant spoke. "But, if I were you, Tom Swift, I would take means to prevent a repetition of such things." "I shall," Tom decided. "But, if we want to talk, we had better go to my office, where we can be more private. I don't want the workmen to hear too much." Now that the firing was over, a number of Tom's men from the shops had assembled around the cannon. Most of them, the young inventor felt, could be trusted, but in so large a gathering one could never be sure. "Did you come on from Washington yesterday?" asked Tom, as he, Ned and the officer strolled toward the shed where was housed the aerial warship. "Yes, and I spent the night in New York. I arrived in town a short time ago, and came right on out here. At your house I was told you were over in the fields conducting experiments, so I came on here." "Glad you did," Tom said. "I'll soon have something to show you, I hope. But I am interested in hearing the details of this suspected plot. Are you sure one exists?" "Perfectly sure," was the answer. "We don't know all the details yet, nor who are concerned in it, but we are working on the case. The Secret Service has several agents in the field. "We are convinced in Washington," went on Lieutenant Marbury, when he, Tom and Ned were seated in the private office, "that foreign spies are at work against you and against our government." "Why against me?" asked Tom, in wonder. "Because of the inventions you have perfected and turned over to Uncle Sam--notably the giant cannon, which rivals anything foreign European powers have, and the great searchlight, which proved so effective against the border smugglers. The success of those two alone, to say nothing of your submarine, has not only made foreign nations jealous, but they fear you--and us," the officer went on. "Well, if they only take it out in fear--" "But they won't!" interrupted the officer--"They are seeking to destroy those inventions. More than once, of late, we have nipped a plot just in time." "Have they really tried to damage the big gun?" asked Tom, referring to one he had built and set up at Panama. "They have. And now this fire proves that they are taking other measures--they are working directly against you." "Why, I wonder?" "Either to prevent you from making further inventions, or to stop you from completing your latest--the aerial warship." "But I didn't know the foreign governments knew about that," Tom exclaimed. "It was a secret." "Few secrets are safe from foreign Spies," declared Lieutenant Marbury. "They have a great ferreting-out system on the other side. We are just beginning to appreciate it. But our own men have not been idle." "Have they really learned anything?" Tom asked. "Nothing definite enough to warrant us in acting," was the answer of the government man. "But we know enough to let us see that the plot is far-reaching." "Are the French in it?" asked Ned impulsively. "The French! Why do you ask that?" "Tell him about Eradicate, and the man who wanted to buy the mule, Tom," suggested Ned. Thereupon the young inventor mentioned the story told by Eradicate. He also brought out the fire-bomb, and explained his theory as to how it had operated to set the red shed ablaze. "I think you are right," said Lieutenant Marbury. "And, as regards the French, I might say they are not the only nation banded to obtain our secrets--yours and the government's!" "But I thought the French and the English were friendly toward us!" Ned exclaimed. "So they are, in a certain measure," the officer went on. "And Russia is, too. But, in all foreign countries there are two parties, the war party, as it might be called, and the peace element. "But I might add that it is neither France, England, nor Russia that we must fear. It is a certain other great nation, which at present I will not name." "And you think spies set this fire?" "I certainly do." "But what measures shall I adopt against this plot?" Tom asked. "We will talk that over," said Lieutenant Marbury. "But, before I go into details, I want to give you another warning. You must be very careful about--" A sudden knock on the door interrupted the speaker. CHAPTER IX THE RECOIL CHECK "Who is that?" asked Ned Newton, with a quick glance at his chum. "I don't know," Tom answered. "I left orders we weren't to be disturbed unless it was something important." "May be something has happened," suggested the navy officer, "another fire, perhaps, or a--" "It isn't a fire," Tom answered. "The automatic alarm would be ringing before this in that case." The knock was repeated. Tom went softly to the door and opened it quickly, to disclose, standing in the corridor, one of the messengers employed about the shops. "Well, what is it?" asked Tom a bit sharply. "Oh, if you please, Mr. Swift," said the boy, "a man has applied for work at the main office, and you know you left orders there that if any machinists came along, we were to--" "Oh, so I did," Tom exclaimed. "I had forgotten about that," he went on to Lieutenant Marbury and Ned. "I am in need of helpers to rush through the finishing touches on my aerial warship, and I left word, if any applied, as they often do, coming here from other cities, that I wanted to see them. How many are there?" Tom asked of the messenger. "Two, this time. They both say they're good mechanics." "That's what they all say," interposed Tom, with a smile. "But, though they may be good mechanics in their own line, they need to have special qualifications to work on airships. Tell them to wait, Rodney," Tom went on to the lad, "and I'll see them presently." As the boy went away, and Tom closed the door, he turned to Lieutenant Marbury. "You were about to give me another warning when that interruption came. You might complete it now." "Yes, it was another warning," spoke the officer, "and one I hope you will heed. It concerns yourself, personally." "Do you mean he is in danger?" asked Ned quickly. "That's exactly what I do mean," was the prompt reply. "In danger of personal injury, if not something worse." Tom did not seem as alarmed as he might reasonably have been under the circumstances. "Danger, eh?" he repeated coolly. "On the part of whom?" "That's just where I can't warn you," the officer replied. "I can only give you that hint, and beg of you to be careful." "Do you mean you are not allowed to tell?" asked Ned. "No, indeed; it isn't that!" the lieutenant hastened to assure the young man. "I would gladly tell, if I knew. But this plot, like the other one, directed against the inventions themselves, is so shrouded in mystery that I cannot get to the bottom of it. "Our Secret Service men have been working on it for some time, not only in order to protect you, because of what you have done for the government, but because Uncle Sam wishes to protect his own property, especially the searchlight and the big cannon. But, though our agents have worked hard, they have not been able to get any clues that would put them on the right trail. "So we can only warn you to be careful, and this I do in all earnestness. That was part of my errand in coming here, though, of course, I am anxious to inspect the new aerial warship you have constructed. So watch out for two things--your inventions, and, more than all, your life!" "Do you really think they would do me bodily harm?" Tom asked, a trifle skeptical. "I certainly do. These foreign spies are desperate. If they cannot secure the use of these inventions to their own country, they are determined not to let this country have the benefit of them." "Well, I'll be careful," Tom promised. "I'm no more anxious than anyone else to run my head into danger, and I certainly don't want any of my shops or inventions destroyed. The fire in the red shed was as close as I want anything to come." "That's right!" agreed Ned. "And, if there's anything I can do, Tom, don't hesitate to call on me." "All right, old man. I won't forget. And now, perhaps, you would like to see the Mars," he said to the lieutenant. "I certainly would," was the ready answer. "But hadn't you better see those men who are waiting to find out about positions here?" "There's no hurry about them," Tom said. "We have applicants every day, and it's earlier than the hour when I usually see them. They can wait. Now I want your opinion on my new craft. But, you must remember that it is not yet completed, and only recently did I begin to solve the problem of mounting the guns. So be a little easy with your criticisms." Followed by Ned and Lieutenant Marbury, Tom led the way into the big airship shed. There, swaying about at its moorings, was the immense aerial warship. To Ned's eyes it looked complete enough, but, when Tom pointed out the various parts, and explained to the government officer how it was going to work, Ned understood that considerable yet remained to be done on it. Tom showed his official guest how a new system of elevation and depressing rudders had been adopted, how a new type of propeller was to be used and indicated several other improvements. The lower, or cabin, part of the aircraft could be entered by mounting a short ladder from the ground, and Tom took Ned and Lieutenant Marbury through the engine-room and other compartments of the Mars. "It certainly is most complete," the officer observed. "And when you get the guns mounted I shall be glad to make an official test. You understand," he went on, to Tom, "that we are vitally interested in the guns, since we now have many aircraft that can be used purely for scouting purposes. What we want is something for offense, a veritable naval terror of the seas." "I understand," Tom answered. "And I am going to begin work on mounting the guns at once. I am going to use the Newton recoil check," he added. "Ned, here, is responsible for that." "Is that so?" asked the lieutenant, as Tom clapped his chum on the back. "Yes, that's his invention." "Oh, it isn't anything of the sort," Ned objected. "I just--" "Yes, he just happened to solve the problem for me!" interrupted Tom, as he told the story of the door-spring. "A good idea!" commented Lieutenant Marbury. Tom then briefly described the principle on which his aerial warship would work, explaining how the lifting gas would raise it, with its load of crew, guns and explosives, high into the air; how it could then be sent ahead, backward, to either side, or around in a circle, by means of the propellers and the rudders, and how it could be raised or lowered, either by rudders or by forcing more gas into the lifting bags, or by letting some of the vapor out. And, while this was being done by the pilot or captain in charge, the crew could be manning the guns with which hostile airships would be attacked, and bombs dropped on the forts or battleships of the enemy. "It seems very complete," observed the lieutenant. "I shall be glad when I can give it an official test." "Which ought to be in about a week," Tom said. "Meanwhile I shall be glad if you will be my guest here." And so that was arranged. Leaving Ned and the lieutenant to entertain each other, Tom went to see the mechanics who had applied for places. He found them satisfactory and engaged them. One of them had worked for him before. The other was a stranger, but he had been employed in a large aeroplane factory, and brought good recommendations. There followed busy days at the Swift plant, and work was pushed on the aerial warship. The hardest task was the mounting of the guns, and equipping them with the recoil check, without which it would be impossible to fire them with the craft sailing through the air. But finally one of the big guns, and two of the smaller ones were in place, with the apparatus designed to reduce the recoil shock, and then Tom decided to have a test of the Mars. "Up in the air, do you mean?" asked Ned, who was spending all his spare time with his chum. "Well, a little way up in the air, at least," Tom answered. "I'll make a sort of captive balloon of my craft, and see how she behaves. I don't want to take too many chances with that new recoil check, though it seems to work perfectly in theory." The day came when, for the first time, the Mars was to come out of the big shed where she had been constructed. The craft was not completed for a flight as yet, but could be made so in a few days, with rush work. The roof of the great shed slid back, and the big envelope containing the buoyant gas rose slowly upward. There was a cry of surprise from the many workmen in the yard, as they saw, most of them for the first time, the wonderful new craft. It did not go up very high, being held in place with anchor ropes. The sun glistened on the bright brass and nickel parts, and glinted from the gleaming barrels of the quick-firing guns. "That's enough!" Tom called to the men below, who were paying out the ropes from the windlasses. "Hold her there." Tom, Ned, Lieutenant Marbury and Mr. Damon were aboard the captive Mars. Looking about, to see that all was in readiness, Tom gave orders to load the guns, blank charges being used, of course. The recoil apparatus was in place, and it now remained to see if it would do the work for which it was designed. "All ready?" asked the young inventor. "Bless my accident insurance policy!" exclaimed Mr. Damon. "I'm as ready as ever I shall be, Tom. Let 'em go!" "Hold fast!" cried Tom, as he prepared to press the electrical switch which would set off the guns. Ned and Lieutenant Marbury stood near the indicators to notice how much of the recoil would be neutralized by the check apparatus. "Here we go!" cried the young inventor, and, at the same moment, from down below on the ground, came a warning cry: "Don't shoot, Massa Tom. Don't shoot! Mah mule, Boomerang--" But Eradicate had spoken too late. Tom pressed the switch; there was a deafening crash, a spurt of flame, and then followed wild cries and confused shouts, while the echoes of the reports rolled about the hills surrounding Shopton. CHAPTER X THE NEW MEN "What was the matter down there?" "Was anyone hurt?" "Don't forget to look at those pressure gauges!" "Bless my ham sandwich!" Thus came the cries from those aboard the captive Mars. Ned, Lieutenant Marbury and Tom had called out in the order named. And, of course, I do not need to tell you what remark Mr. Damon made. Tom glanced toward where Ned and the government man stood, and saw that they had made notes of the pressure recorded on the recoil checks directly after the guns were fired. Mr. Damon, blessing innumerable objects under his breath, was looking over the side of the rail to discover the cause of the commotion and cries of warning from below. "I don't believe it was anything serious, Tom," said the odd man. "No one seems to be hurt." "Look at Eradicate!" suddenly exclaimed Ned. "And his mule! I guess that's what the trouble was, Tom!" They looked to where the young bank employee pointed, and saw the old colored man, seated on the seat of his ramshackle wagon, doing his best to pull down to a walk the big galloping mule, which was dragging the vehicle around in a circle. "Whoa, dere!" Eradicate was shouting, as he pulled on the lines. "Whoa, dere! Dat's jest laik yo', Boomerang, t' run when dere ain't no call fo' it, nohow! Ef I done wanted yo' t' git a move on, yo'd lay down 'side de road an' go to sleep. Whoa, now!" But the noise of the shots had evidently frightened the long-eared animal, and he was in no mood for stopping, now that he had once started. It was not until some of the workmen ran out from the group where they had gathered to watch Tom's test, and got in front of Boomerang, that they succeeded in bringing him to a halt. Eradicate climbed slowly down from the seat, and limped around until he stood in front of his pet. "Yo'--yo're a nice one, ain't yo'?" he demanded in sarcastic tones. "Yo' done enough runnin' in a few minutes fo' a week ob Sundays, an' now I won't be able t' git a move out ob ye! I'se ashamed ob yo', dat's what I is! Puffickly ashamed ob yo'. Go 'long, now, an' yo' won't git no oats dish yeah day! No sah!" and, highly indignant, Eradicate led the now slowly-ambling mule off to the stable. "I won't shoot again until you have him shut up, Rad!" laughed Tom. "I didn't know you were so close when I set off those guns." "Dat's all right, Massa Tom," was the reply. "I done called t' you t' wait, but yo' didn't heah me, I 'spects. But it doan't mattah, now. Shoot all yo' laik, Boomerang won't run any mo' dis week. He done runned his laigs off now. Shoot away!" But Tom was not quite ready to do this. He wanted to see what effect the first shots had had on his aerial warship, and to learn whether or not the newly devised recoil check had done what was expected of it. "No more shooting right away," called the young inventor. "I want to see how we made out with the first round. How did she check up, Ned?" "Fine, as far as I can tell." "Yes, indeed," added Lieutenant Marbury. "The recoil was hardly noticeable, though, of course, with the full battery of guns in use, it might be more so." "I hope not," answered Tom. "I haven't used the full strength of the recoil check yet. I can tune it up more, and when I do, and when I have it attached to all the guns, big and little, I think we'll do the trick. But now for a harder test." The rest of that day was spent in trying out the guns, firing them with practice and service charges, though none of the shells used contained projectiles. It would not have been possible to shoot these, with the Mars held in place in the midst of Tom's factory buildings. "Well, is she a success, Tom?" asked Ned, when the experimenting was over for the time being. "I think I can say so--yes," was the answer, with a questioning look at the officer. "Indeed it is--a great success! We must give the Newton shock absorber due credit." Ned blushed with pleasure. "It was only my suggestion," he said. "Tom worked it all out." "But I needed the suggestion to start with," the young inventor replied. "Of course something may develop when you take your craft high in the air, and discharge the guns there," said the lieutenant. "In a rarefied atmosphere the recoil check may not be as effective as at the earth's surface. But, in such case doubtless, you can increase the strength of the springs and the hydrostatic valves." "Yes, I counted on that," Tom explained. "I shall have to work out that formula, though, and be ready for it. But, on the whole, I am pretty well satisfied." "And indeed you may well feel that way," commented the government official. The Mars was hauled back into the shed, and the roof slid shut over the craft. Much yet remained to do on it, but now that Tom was sure the important item of armament was taken care of, he could devote his entire time to the finishing touches. As his plant was working on several other pieces of machinery, some of it for the United States Government, and some designed for his own use, Tom found himself obliged to hire several new hands. An advertisement in a New York newspaper brought a large number of replies, and for a day or two Tom was kept busy sifting out the least desirable, and arranging to see those whose answers showed they knew something of the business requirements. Meanwhile Lieutenant Marbury remained as Tom's guest, and was helpful in making suggestions that would enable the young inventor to meet the government's requirements. "I'd like, also, to get on the track of those spies who, I am sure, wish to do you harm," said the lieutenant, "but clues seem to be scarce around here." "They are, indeed," agreed Tom. "I guess the way in which we handled that fire in the red shed sort of discouraged them." Lieutenant Marbury shook his head. "They're not so easily discouraged as that," he remarked. "And, with the situation in Europe growing more acute every day, I am afraid some of those foreigners will take desperate measures to gain their ends." "What particular ends do you mean?" "Well, I think they will either try to so injure you that you will not be able to finish this aerial warship, or they will damage the craft itself, steal your plans, or damage some of your other inventions." "But what object would they have in doing such a thing?" Tom wanted to know. "How would that help France, Germany or Russia, to do me an injury?" "They are seeking to strike at the United States through you," was the answer. "They don't want Uncle Sam to have such formidable weapons as your great searchlight, the giant cannon, or this new warship of the clouds." "But why not, as long as the United States does not intend to go to war with any of the foreign nations?" Tom inquired. "No, it is true we do not intend to go to war with any of the conflicting European nations," admitted Lieutenant Marbury, "but you have no idea how jealous each of those foreign nations is of all the others. Each one fears that the United States will cease to be neutral, and will aid one or the other." "Oh, so that's it?" exclaimed Tom. "Yes, each nation, which may, at a moments notice, be drawn into a war with one or more rival nations, fears that we may throw in our lot with its enemies." "And, to prevent that, they want to destroy some of my inventions?" asked Tom. "That's the way I believe it will work out. So you must be careful, especially since you have taken on so many new men." "That's so," agreed the young inventor. "I have had to engage more strangers than ever before, for I am anxious to get the Mars finished and give it a good test. And, now that you have mentioned it, there are some of those men of whom I am a bit suspicious." "Have they done anything to make you feel that way?" asked the lieutenant. "Well, not exactly; it is more their bearing, and the manner in which they go about the works. I must keep my eye on them, for it takes only a few discontented men to spoil a whole shop full. I will be on my guard." "And not only about your new airship and other inventions," said the officer, "but about yourself, personally. Will you do that?" "Yes, though I don't imagine anything like that will happen." "Well, be on your guard, at all events," warned Lieutenant Marbury. As Tom had said, he had been obliged to hire a number of new men. Some of these were machinists who had worked for him, or his father, on previous occasions, and, when tasks were few, had been dismissed, to go to other shops. These men, Tom felt sure, could be relied upon. But there were a number of others, from New York, and other large cities, of whom Tom was not so sure. "You have more foreigners than I ever knew you to hire before, Tom," his father said to him one day, coming back from a tour of the shops. "Yes, I have quite a number," Tom admitted. "But they are all good workmen. They stood the test." "Yes, some of them are too good," observed the older inventor. "I saw one of them making up a small motor the other day, and he was winding the armature a new way. I spoke to him about it, and he tried to prove that his way was an improvement on yours. Why, he'd have had it short-circuited in no time if I hadn't stopped him." "Is that so?" asked Tom. "That is news to me. I must look into this." "Are any of the new men employed on the Mars?" Mr. Swift asked. "No, not yet, but I shall have to shift some there from other work I think, in order to get finished on time." "Well, they will bear watching I think," his father said. "Why, have you seen anything--do you--" began the young man, for Mr. Swift had not been told of the suspicions of the lieutenant. "Oh, it isn't anything special," the older inventor went on. "Only I wouldn't let a man I didn't know much about get too much knowledge of my latest invention." "I won't, Dad. Thanks for telling me. This latest craft is sure going to be a beauty." "Then you think it will work, Tom?" "I'm sure of it, Dad!" Mr. Swift shook his head in doubt. CHAPTER XI A DAY OFF Tom Swift pondered long and intently over what his father had said to him. He sat for several minutes in his private office, after the aged inventor had passed out, reviewing in his mind the talk just finished. "I wonder," said Tom slowly, "if any of the new men could have obtained work here for the purpose of furthering that plot the lieutenant suspects? I wonder if that could be true?" And the more Tom thought of it, the more he was convinced that such a thing was at least possible. "I must make a close inspection, and weed out any suspicious characters," he decided, "though I need every man I have working now, to get the Mars finished in time. Yes, I must look into this." Tom had reached a point in his work where he could leave much to his helpers. He had several good foremen, and, with his father to take general supervision over more important details, the young inventor had more time to himself. Of course he did not lay too many burdens on his father's shoulders since Mr. Swift's health was not of the best. But Tom's latest idea, the aerial warship, was so well on toward completion that his presence was not needed in that shop more than two or three times a day. "When I'm not there I'll go about in the other shops, and sort of size up the situation," he decided. "I may be able to get a line on some of those plotters, if there are any here." Lieutenant Marbury had departed for a time, to look after some personal matters, but he was to return inside of a week, when it was hoped to give the aerial warship its first real test in flight, and under some of the conditions that it would meet with in actual warfare. As Tom was about to leave his office, to put into effect his new resolution to make a casual inspection of the other shops, he met Koku, the giant, coming in. Koku's hands and face were black with oil and machine filings. "Well, what have you been doing?" Tom wanted to know. "Did you have an accident?" For Koku had no knowledge of machinery, and could not even be trusted to tighten up a simple nut by himself. But if some one stood near him, and directed him how to apply his enormous strength, Koku could do more than several machines. "No accident, Master," he replied. "I help man lift that hammer-hammer thing that pounds so. It get stuck!" "What, the hammer of the drop forger?" cried Tom. "Was that out of order again?" "Him stuck," explained Koku simply. There was an automatic trip-hammer in one of the shops, used for pounding out drop forgings, and this hammer seemed to take especial delight in getting out of order. Very often it jammed, or "stuck," as Koku described it, and if the hammer could not be forced back on the channel or upright guide-plates, it meant that it must be taken apart, and valuable time lost. Once Koku had been near when the hammer got out of order, and while the workmen were preparing to dismantle it, the giant seized the big block of steel, and with a heave of his mighty shoulders forced it back on the guides. "And is that what you did this time?" asked Tom. "Yes, Master. Me fix hammer," Koku answered. "I get dirty, I no care. Man say I no can fix. I show him I can!" "What man said that?" "Man who run hammer. Ha! I lift him by one finger! He say he no like to work on hammer. He want to work on airship. I tell him I tell you, maybe you give him job--he baby! Koku can work hammer. Me fix it when it get stuck." "Well, maybe you know what you're talking about, but I don't," said Tom, with a pleasant smile at his big helper. "Come on, Koku, we'll go see what it all means." "Koku work hammer, maybe?" asked the giant hope fully. "Well, I'll see," half promised Tom. "If it's going to get out of gear all the while it might pay me to keep you at it so you could get it back in place whenever it kicked up a fuss, and so save time. I'll see about it." Koku led the way to the shop where the triphammer was installed. It was working perfectly now, as Tom could tell by the thundering blows it struck. The man operating it looked up as Tom approached, and, at a gesture from the young inventor, shut off the power. "Been having trouble here?" asked Tom, noting that the workman was one of the new hands he had hired. "Yes, sir, a little," was the respectful answer. "This hammer goes on a strike every now and then, and gets jammed. Your giant there forced it back into place, which is more than I could do with a big bar for a lever. He sure has some muscle." "Yes," agreed Tom, "he's pretty strong. But what's this you said about wanting to give up this job, and go on the airship construction." The man turned red under his coat of grime. "I didn't intend him to repeat that to you, Mr. Swift," he said. "I was a little put out at the way this hammer worked. I lose so much time at it that I said I'd like to be transferred to the airship department. I've worked in one before. But I'm not making a kick," he added quickly. "Work is too scarce for that." "I understand," said Tom. "I have been thinking of making a change. Koku seems to like this hammer, and knows how to get it in order once it gets off the guides. You say you have had experience in airship construction?" "Yes, sir. I've worked on the engines, and on the planes." "Know anything about dirigible balloons?" "Yes, I've worked on them, too, but the engineering part is my specialty. I'm a little out of my element on a trip-hammer." "I see. Well, perhaps I'll give you a trial. Meanwhile you might break Koku in on operating this machine. If I transfer you I'll put him on this hammer." "Thank you, Mr. Swift! I'll show him all I know about it. Oh, there goes the hammer again!" he exclaimed, for, as he started it up, as Tom turned away, the big piece of steel once more jammed on the channel-plates. "Me fix!" exclaimed the giant eagerly, anxious for a chance to exhibit his great strength. "Wait a minute!" exclaimed Tom. "I want to get a look at that machine." He inspected it carefully before he signaled for Koku to force the hammer back into place. But, if Tom saw anything suspicious, he said nothing. There was, however, a queer look on his face as he turned aside, and he murmured to himself, as he walked away: "So you want to be transferred to the airship department, do you? Well, we'll see about that. We'll see." Tom had more problems to solve than those of making an aerial warship that would be acceptable to the United States Government. Ned Newton called on his chum that evening. The two talked of many things, gradually veering around to the subject uppermost in Tom's mind--his new aircraft. "You're thinking too much of that." Ned warned him. "You're as bad as the time you went for your first flight." "I suppose I am," admitted Tom. "But the success of the Mars means a whole lot to me. And that's something I nearly forgot. I've got to go out to the shop now. Want to come along, Ned?" "Sure, though I tell you that you're working too hard--burning the electric light at both ends." "This is just something simple," Tom said. "It won't take long." He went out, followed by his chum. "But this isn't the way to the airship shed," objected the young bank clerk, as he noted in which direction Tom was leading him. "I know it isn't," Tom replied. "But I want to look at one of the trip-hammers in the forge shop when none of the men is around. I've been having a little trouble there." "Trouble!" exclaimed his chum. "Has that plot Lieutenant Marbury spoke of developed?" "Not exactly. This is something else," and Tom told of the trouble with the big hammer. "I had an idea," the young inventor said, "that the man at the machine let it get out of order purposely, so I'd change him. I want to see if my suspicions are correct." Tom carefully inspected the hammer by the light of a powerful portable electric lamp Ned held. "Ha! There it is!" Tom suddenly exclaimed. "Something wrong?" Ned inquired. "Yes. This is what's been throwing the hammer off the guides all the while," and Tom pulled out a small steel bolt that had been slipped into an oil hole. A certain amount of vibration, he explained to Ned, would rattle the bolt out so that it would force the hammer to one side, throwing it off the channel-plates, and rendering it useless for the time being. "A foxy trick," commented Tom. "No wonder the machine got out of kilter so easily." "Do you think it was done purposely?" "Well, I'm not going to say. But I'm going to watch that man. He wants to be transferred to the airship department. He put this in the hammer, perhaps, to have an excuse for a change. Well, I'll give it to him." "You don't mean that you'd take a fellow like that and put him to work on your new aerial warship, do you, Tom?" "Yes, I think I will, Ned. You see, I look at it this way: I haven't any real proof against him now. He could only laugh at me if I accused him. But you've heard the proverb about giving a calf rope enough and he'll hang himself, haven't you?" "I think I have." "Well, I'm going to give this fellow a little rope. I'll transfer him, as he asks, and I'll keep a close watch on him." "But won't it be risky?" "Perhaps, but no more so than leaving him in here to work mischief. If he is hatching a plot, the sooner it's over with the better I shall like it. I don't like a shot to hang fire. I'm warned now, and I'll be ready for him. I have a line on whom to suspect. This is the first clue," and Tom held up the incriminating bolt. "I think you're taking too big a risk, Tom," his chum said. "Why not discharge the man?" "Because that might only smooth things over for a time. If this plot is being laid the sooner it comes to a head, and breaks, the better. Have it done, short, sharp and quick, is my motto. Yes, I'll shift him in the morning. Oh, but I wish it was all over, and the Mars was accepted by Uncle Sam!" and Tom put his hand to his head with a tired gesture. "Say, old man!" exclaimed Ned, "what you want is a day off, and I'm going to see that you get it. You need a little vacation." "Perhaps I do," assented Tom wearily. "Then you'll have it!" cried Ned. "There's going to be a little picnic to-morrow. Why can't you go with Mary Nestor? She'd like you to take her, I'm sure. Her cousin, Helen Randall, is on from New York, and she wants to go, also." "How do you know?" asked Tom quickly. "Because she said so," laughed Ned. "I was over to the house to call. I have met Helen before, and I suggested that you and I would take the two girls, and have a day off. You'll come, won't you?" "Well, I don't know," spoke Tom slowly. "I ought to--" "Nonsense! Give up work for one day!" urged Ned. "Come along. It'll do you good--get the cobwebs out of your head." "All right, I'll go," assented Tom, after a moment's thought. The next day, having instructed his father and the foremen to look well to the various shops, and having seen that the work on the new aerial warship was progressing favorably, Tom left for a day's outing with his chum and the two girls. The picnic was held in a grove that surrounded a small lake, and after luncheon the four friends went for a ride in a launch Tom hired. They went to the upper end of the lake, in rather a pretty but lonesome locality. "Tom, you look tired," said Mary. "I'm sure you've been working too hard!" "Why, I'm not working any harder than usual," Tom insisted. "Yes, he is, too!" declared Ned, "and he's running more chances, too." "Chances?" repeated Mary. "Oh, that's all bosh!" laughed Tom. "Come on, let's go ashore and walk." "That suits me," spoke Ned. Helen and Mary assented, and soon the four young persons were strolling through the shady wood. After a bit the couples became separated, and Tom found himself walking beside Mary in a woodland path. The girl glanced at her companion's face, and ventured: "A penny for your thoughts, Tom." "They're worth more than that," he replied gallantly. "I was thinking of--you." "Oh, how nicely you say it!" she laughed. "But I know better! You're puzzling over some problem. Tell me, what did Ned mean when he hinted at danger? Is there any, Tom?" "None at all," he assured her. "It's just a sort of notion--" Mary made a sudden gesture of silence. "Hark!" she whispered to Tom, "I heard someone mention your name then. Listen!" CHAPTER XII A NIGHT ALARM Mary Nestor spoke with such earnestness, and her action in catching hold of Tom's arm to enjoin silence was so pronounced that, though he had at first regarded the matter in the light of a joke, he soon thought otherwise. He glanced from the girl's face to the dense underbrush on either side of the woodland path. "What is it, Mary?" he asked in a whisper. "I don't just know. I heard whispering, and thought it was the rustling of the leaves of the trees. Then someone spoke your name quite loudly. Didn't you hear it?" Tom shook his head in negation. "It may be Ned and his friend," he whispered, his lips close to Mary's ear. "I think not," was her answer. "Listen; there it is again." Distinctly then, Tom heard, from some opening in the screen of bushes, his own name spoken. "Did you hear it?" asked Mary, barely forming the words with her lips. But Tom could read their motion. "Yes," he nodded. Then, motioning to Mary to remain where she was, he stepped forward, taking care to tread only on grassy places where there were no little twigs or branches to break and betray his presence. He was working his way toward the sound of the unseen voice. There was a sudden movement in the bushes, just beyond the spot Tom was making for. He halted quickly and peered ahead. Mary, too, was looking on anxiously. Tom saw the forms of two men, partially concealed by bushes, walking away from him. The men took no pains to conceal their movements, so Tom was emboldened to advance with less caution. He hurried to where he could get a good view, and, at the sight of one of the men, he uttered an exclamation. "What is it?" asked Mary, who was now at his side. She had seen that Tom had thrown aside caution, and she had come up to join him. "That man--I know him!" the young inventor exclaimed. "It is Feldman--the one who wanted to be changed from the trip-hammer to the airship department. But who is that with him?" As Tom spoke the other turned, and at the sight of his face Mary Nestor said: "He looks like a Frenchman, with that little mustache and imperial." "So he is!" exclaimed Tom, in a hoarse whisper. "He must be the Frenchman that Eradicate spoke about. I wonder what this can mean? I didn't know Feldman had left the shop." "You may know what you're talking about, but I don't, Tom," said Mary, with a smile at her companion. "Are they friends of yours?" "Hardly," spoke the young inventor dryly. "That one, Feldman, is one of my workmen. He had charge of a drop-forge press and trip-hammer that--" "Spare me the details, Tom!" interrupted Mary. "You know I don't understand a thing about machinery. The wireless you erected on Earthquake Island was as much as I could comprehend." "Well, a trip-hammer isn't as complicated as that," spoke Tom, with a laugh, as he noticed that the two men were far enough away so they could not hear him. "What I was going to say was, that one of those men works in our shops. The other I don't know, but I agree with you that he does look like a Frenchman, and old Eradicate had a meeting with a man whom he described as being of that nationality." "And you say they are not friends of yours?" "I have no reason to believe they are." "Then they must be enemies!" exclaimed Mary with quick intuition. "Oh, Tom, you will be careful, won't you?" "Of course I will, little girl," he said, a note of fondness creeping into his voice, as he covered the small hand with his own large one. "But there is no danger." "Then why were these men discussing you?" "I don't know that they were, Mary." "They mentioned your name." "Well, that may be. Probably one of them, Feldman, who works for me, was speaking to his companion about the chance for a position. My father and I employ a number of men, you know." "Well, I suppose it is all right, Tom, and I surely hope it is. But you will be careful, won't you? And you look more worried than you used to. Has anything gone wrong?" "Not a thing, little girl. Everything is going fine. My new aerial warship will soon make a trial flight, and I'd be pleased to have you as a passenger." "Would you really, Tom?" "Of course. Consider that you have the first invitation." "That's awfully nice of you. But you do look worried, Tom. Has anything troubled you?" "No, not much. Everything is going all right now. We did have a little trouble at a fire in one of my buildings--" "A fire! Oh, Tom! You never told me!" "Well, it didn't amount to much--the only suspicious fact about it was that it seemed to have been of incendiary origin." Mary seemed much alarmed, and again begged Tom to be on his guard, which he promised to do. Had Mary known the warnings uttered by Lieutenant Marbury she might have had more occasion for worry. "Do you suppose that hammer man of yours came to these woods to meet that Frenchman and talk about you, Tom?" asked his companion, when the two men had strolled out of sight, and the young people were on their way back to the launch. "Well, it's possible. I have been warned that foreign spies are trying to get hold of some of my patents, and also to hamper the government in the use of some others I have sold. But they'll have their own troubles to get away with anything. The works are pretty well guarded, and you forget I have the giant, Koku, who is almost a personal bodyguard." "Yes, but he can't be everywhere at once. Oh, you will be careful, won't you, Tom?" "Yes, Mary, I will," promised the young inventor. "But don't say anything to Ned about what we just saw and heard." "Why not?" "Because he's been at me to hire a couple of detectives to watch over me, and this would give him another excuse. Just don't say anything, and I'll adopt all the precautions I think are needful." "I will on condition that you do that." "And I promise I will." With that Mary had to be content. A little later they joined Ned and his friend, and soon they were moving swiftly down the lake in the launch. "Well, hasn't it done you good to take a day off?" Ned demanded of his chum, when they were on their homeward way. "Yes, I think it has," agreed Tom. "You swung your thoughts into a new channel, didn't you?" "Oh, yes, I found something new to think about," admitted the young inventor, with a quick look at Mary. But, though Tom thus passed off lightly the little incident of the day, he gave it serious thought when he was alone. "Those fellows were certainly talking about me," he reasoned. "I wonder what for? And Feldman left the shop without my knowledge. I'll have to look into that. I wonder if that Frenchy looking chap I saw was the one who tried to pump Eradicate? Another point to settle." The last was easily disposed of, for, on reaching his shops that afternoon, Tom cross-questioned the colored man, and obtained a most accurate description of the odd foreigner. It tallied in every detail with the man Tom had seen in the woods. "And now about Feldman," mused Tom, as he went to the foreman of the shop where the suspected man had been employed. "Yes, Feldman asked for a day off," the foreman said in response to Tom's question. "He claimed his mother was sick, and he wanted to go to see her. I knew you wouldn't object, as we were not rushed in his department." "Oh, that's all right," said Tom quickly. "Did he say where his mother lived?" "Over Lafayette way." "Humph!" murmured Tom. To himself he added: "Queer that he should be near Lake Loraine, in an opposite direction from Lafayette. This will bear an investigation." The next day Tom made it his business to pass near the hammer that was so frequently out of order. He found Feldman busy instructing Koku in its operation. Tom resolved on a little strategy. "How is it working, Feldman?" he asked. "Very well, Mr. Swift. There doesn't seem to be any trouble at all, but it may happen any minute. Koku seems to take to it like a duck to water." "Well, when he is ready to assume charge let me know." "And then am I to go into the aeroplane shop?" "I'll see. By the way, how is your mother?" he asked quickly, looking Feldman full in the face. "She is much better. I took a day off yesterday to go to see her," the man replied quietly enough, and without sign of embarrassment. "That's good. Let me see, she lives over near Lake Loraine, doesn't she?" This time Feldman could not repress a start. But he covered it admirably by stooping over to pick up a tool that fell to the floor. "No, my mother is in Lafayette," he said. "I don't know where Lake Loraine is." "Oh," said Tom, as he turned aside to hide a smile. He was sure now he knew at least one of the plotters. But Tom was not yet ready to show his hand. He wanted better evidence than any he yet possessed. It would take a little more time. Work on the aerial warship was rushed, and it seemed likely that a trial flight could be made before the date set. Lieutenant Marbury sent word that he would be on hand when needed, and in some of the shops, where fittings for the Mars were being made, night and day shifts were working. "Well, if everything goes well, we'll take her for a trial flight to-morrow," said Tom, coming in from the shops one evening. "Guns and all?" asked Ned, who had come over to pay his chum a visit. Mr. Damon was also on hand, invoking occasional blessings. "Guns and all," replied Tom. Ned had a little vacation from the bank, and was to stay all night, as was Mr. Damon. What time it was, save that it must be near midnight, Tom could not tell, but he was suddenly awakened by hearing yells from Eradicate: "Massa Tom! Massa Tom!" yelled the excited colored man. "Git up! Git up! Suffin' turrible am happenin' in de balloon shop. Hurry! An' yo' stan' still, Boomerang, or I'll twist yo' tail, dat's what I will! Hurry, Massa Tom!" Tom leaped out of bed. CHAPTER XIII THE CAPTURE Tom Swift was something like a fireman. He had lived so long in an atmosphere of constant alarms and danger, that he was always ready for almost any emergency. His room was equipped with the end in view that he could act promptly and effectively. So, when he heard Eradicate's alarm, though he wondered what the old colored man was doing out of bed at that hour, Tom did not stop to reason out that puzzle. He acted quickly. His first care was to throw on the main switch, connected with a big storage battery, and to which were attached the wires of the lighting system. This at once illuminated every shop in the plant, and also the grounds themselves. Tom wanted to see what was going on. The use of a storage battery eliminated the running of the dynamo all night. And once he had done this, Tom began pulling on some clothes and a pair of shoes. At the same time he reached out with one hand and pressed a button that sounded an alarm in the sleeping quarters of Koku, the giant, and in the rooms of some of the older and most trusted men. All this while Eradicate was shouting away, down in the yard. "Massa Tom! Massa Tom!" he called. "Hurry! Hurry! Dey is killin' Koku!" "Killing Koku!" exclaimed Tom, as he finished his hasty dressing. "Then my giant must already be in the fracas. I wonder what it's all about, anyhow." "What's up, Tom?" came Ned's voice from the adjoining room. "I thought I heard a noise." "Your thoughts do you credit, Ned!" Tom answered. "If you listen right close, you'll hear several noises." "By Jove! You're right, old man!" Tom could hear his chum bound out of bed to the floor, and, at the same time, from the big shed where Tom was building his aerial warship came a series of yells and shouts. "That's Koku's voice!" Tom exclaimed, as he recognized the tones of the giant. "I'm coming, Tom!" Ned informed his chum. "Wait a minute." "No time to wait," Tom replied, buttoning his coat as he sped down the hall. "Oh, Tom, what is it?" asked Mrs. Baggert, the housekeeper, looking from her room. "I don't know. But don't let dad get excited, no matter what happens. Just put him off until I come back. I think it isn't anything serious." Mr. Damon, who roomed next to Ned, came out of his own apartment partially dressed. "Bless my suspenders!" he cried to Tom, those articles just then dangling over his hips. "What is it? What has happened? Bless my steam gauge, don't tell me it's a fire!" "I think it isn't that," Tom answered. "No alarm has rung. Koku seems to be in trouble." "Well, he's big enough to look after himself, that's one consolation," chuckled Mr. Damon. "I'll be right with you." By this time Ned had run out into the hall, and, together, he and Tom sped down the corridor. They could not hear the shouts of Eradicate so plainly now, as he was on the other side of the house. But when the two young men reached the front porch, they could hear the yells given with redoubled vigor. And, in the glare of the electric lights, Tom saw Eradicate leading along Boomerang, the old mule. "What is it, Rad? What is it?" demanded the young inventor breathlessly. "Trouble, Massa Tom! Dat's what it am! Trouble!" "I know that--but what kind?" "De worstest kind, I 'spects, Massa Tom. Listen to it!" From the interior of the big shed, not far from the house, Tom and Ned heard a confused jumble of shouts, cries and pleadings, mingled with the rattle of pieces of metal, and the banging of bits of wood. And, above all that, like the bellowing of a bull, was noted the rumbling voice of Koku, the giant. "Come on, Ned!" Tom cried. "It's suah trouble, all right," went on Eradicate. "Mah mule, Boomerang, had a touch ob de colic, an' I got up t' gib him some hot drops an' walk him around, when I heard de mostest terrific racket-sound, and den I 'spected trouble was comm." "It isn't coming--it's here!" called Tom, as he sped toward the big shop. Ned was but a step behind him. The big workshop where the aerial warship was being built was, like the other buildings, brilliantly illuminated by the lights Tom had switched on. The young inventor also saw several of his employees speeding toward the same point. Tom was the first to reach the small door of the shed. This was built in one of the two large main doors, which could be swung open when it was desired to slide the Mars in from the ground, and not admit it through the roof. "Look!" cried Tom, pointing. Ned looked over his chum's shoulder and saw the giant, Koku, struggling with four men--powerful men they were, too, and they seemed bent on mischief. For they came at Koku from four sides, seeking to hold his hands and feet so that he could not fight them back. On the floor near where the struggle was taking place was a coil of rope, and it was evident that it had been the intention of the men to overcome Koku and truss him up, so that he would not interfere with what they intended to do. But Koku was a match for even the four men, powerful as they were. "We're here, Koku!" cried Tom. "Watch for an opening, Ned!" he called to his chum. The sound of Tom's voice disconcerted at least two of the attackers, for they looked around quickly, and this was fatal to their chances. Though such a big man, Koku was exceptionally quick, and no sooner did he see his advantage, as two of the men turned their gaze away from him, than he seized it. Suddenly tearing loose his hands from the grip of the two men who had looked around, Koku shot out his right and left fists, and secured good hold on the necks of two of his enemies. The other two, at his back, were endeavoring to pull him over, but the giant's sturdy legs still held. So big was Koku's hands that they almost encircled the necks of his antagonists. Then happened a curious thing. With a shout that might have done credit to some ancient cave-dweller of the stone age, Koku spread out his mighty arms, and held apart the two men he had grasped. In vain they struggled to free themselves from that terrible grip. Their faces turned purple, and their eyes bulged out. "He's choking them to death!" shouted Ned. But Koku was not needlessly cruel. A moment later, with a quick and sudden motion he bent his arms, bringing toward each other the two men he held as captives. Their heads came together with a dull thud, and a second later Koku allowed two limp bodies to slip from his grip to the floor. "He's done for them!" Tom cried. "Knocked them unconscious. Good for you, Koku!" The giant grunted, and then, with a quick motion, slung himself around, hoping to bring the enemies at his back within reach of his powerful arms. But there was no need of this. As soon as the other two ruffians had seen their companions fall to the floor of the shop they turned and fled, leaping from an open window. "There they go!" cried Ned. "Some of the other men can chase them," said the young inventor. "We'll tie up the two Koku has captured." As he approached nearer to the unconscious captives Tom uttered a cry of surprise, for he recognized them as two of the new men he had employed. "What can this mean?" he asked wonderingly. He glanced toward the window through which the two men had jumped to escape, and he was just in time to see one of them run past the open door. The face of this one was under a powerful electric light, and Tom at once recognized the man as Feldman, the worker who had had so much trouble with the trip-hammer. "This sure is a puzzle," marveled Tom. "My own men in the plot! But why did they attack Koku?" The giant, bending over the men he had knocked unconscious by beating their heads together, seemed little worse for the attack. "We tie 'em up," he said grimly, as he brought over the rope that had been intended for himself. CHAPTER XIV THE FIRST FLIGHT Little time was lost in securing the two men who had been so effectively rendered helpless by Koku's ready, if rough, measures. One of them was showing signs of returning consciousness now, and Tom, not willing to inflict needless pain, even on an enemy, told one of his men, summoned by the alarm, to bring water. Soon the two men opened their eyes, and looked about them in dazed fashion. "Did--did anything hit me?" asked one meekly. "It must have been a thunderbolt," spoke the other dreamily. "But it didn't look like a storm." "Oh, dere was a storm, all right," chuckled Eradicate, who, having left his mule, Boomerang outside, came into the shed. "It was a giant storm all right." The men put their hands to their heads, and seemed to comprehend. They looked at the rope that bound their feet. Their forearms had been loosened to allow them to take a drink of water. "What does this mean--Ransom--Kurdy?" asked Tom sternly, when the men seemed able to talk. "Did you attack Koku?" "It looks as though he had the best of us, whether we did or not," said the man Tom knew as Kurdy. "Whew, how my head aches!" "Me sorry," said Koku simply. "Not half as sorry as we are," returned Ransom ruefully. "What does it mean?" asked Tom sternly. "There were four of you. Feldman and one other got away." "Oh, trust Feldman for getting away," sneered Kurdy. "He always leaves his friends in the lurch." "Was this a conspiracy?" demanded Tom. The two captives looked at one another, sitting bound on the floor of the shop, their backs against some boxes. "I guess it's all up, and we might as well make a clean breast of it," admitted Kurdy. "Perhaps it would be better," said Tom quietly. "Eradicate," he went on, to the colored man, "go to the house and tell Mrs. Baggert that everything is all right and no one hurt." "No one hurt, Massa Tom? What about dem dere fellers?" and the colored man pointed to the captives. "Well, they're not hurt much," and Tom permitted himself a little smile. "I don't want my father to worry. Tell him everything is all right." "All right, Massa Tom. I'se gwine right off. I'se got t' look after mah mule, Boomerang, too. I'se gwine," and he shuffled away. "Who else besides Feldman got away?" asked Tom, looking alternately at the prisoners. They hesitated a moment about answering. "We might as well give up, I tell you," spoke Kurdy to Ransom. "All right, go ahead, we'll have to take our medicine. I might have known it would turn out this way--going in for this sort of thing. It's the first bit of crooked business I ever tried," the man said earnestly, "and it will be the last--believe me!" "Who was the fourth man?" Tom repeated. "Harrison," answered Kurdy, naming one of the most efficient of the new machinists Tom had hired during the rush. "Harrison, who has been working on the motor?" cried the young inventor. "Yes," said Ransom. "I'm sorry to learn that," Tom went on in a low voice. "He was an expert in his line. But what was your object, anyhow, in attacking Koku?" "We didn't intend to attack him," explained Ransom, "but he came in when we were at work, and as he went for us we tried to stand him off. Then your colored man heard the racket, and--well, I guess you know the rest." "But I don't understand why you came into this shed at night," went on Tom. "No one is allowed in here. You had no right, and Koku knew that. What did you want?" "Look here!" exclaimed Kurdy, "I said we'd make a clean breast of it, and we will. We're only a couple of tools, and we were foolish ever to go in with those fellows; or rather, in with that Frenchman, who promised us big money if we succeeded." "Succeeded in what?" demanded the young inventor. "In damaging your new aerial warship, or in getting certain parts of it so he could take them away with him." Tom gave a surprised whistle. "A frenchman!" he exclaimed. "Is he one of the--?" "Yes, he's one of the foreign spies," interrupted Ransom. "You'd find it out, anyhow, if we didn't tell you. They are after you, Tom Swift, and after your machines. They had vowed to get them by fair means or foul, for some of the European governments are desperate." "But we were only tools in their hands. So were Feldman and Harrison, but they knew more about the details. We were only helping them." "Then we must try to capture them," decided Tom. "Ned, see if the chase had any results. I'll look after these chaps--Koku and I." "Oh, we give in," admitted Kurdy. "We know when we've had enough," and he rubbed his head gently where the giant had banged it against that of his fellow-conspirator. "Do you mean that you four came into this shop, at midnight, to damage the Mars?" asked Tom. "That's about it, Mr. Swift," replied Kurdy rather shamefacedly. "We were to damage it beyond repair, set fire to the whole place, if need be, and, at the same time, take away certain vital parts. "Harrison, Feldman, Ransom and I came in, thinking the coast was clear. But Koku must have seen us enter, or he suspected we were here, for he came in after us, and the fight began. We couldn't stop him, and he did for us. I'm rather glad of it, too, for I never liked the work. It was only that they tempted me with a promise of big money." "Who tempted you?" demanded Tom. "That Frenchman--La Foy, he calls himself, and some other foreigners in your shops." "Are there foreigners here?" cried Tom. "Bless my chest protector!" cried Mr. Damon, who had come in and had been a silent listener to this. "Can it be possible?" "That's the case," went on Kurdy. "A lot of the new men you took on are foreign spies from different European nations. They are trying to learn all they can about your plans, Mr. Swift!" "Are they friendly among themselves?" asked Tom. "No; each one is trying to get ahead of the other. So far the Frenchman seems to have had the best of it. But to-night his plan failed." "Tell me more about it," urged Tom. "That's about all we know," spoke Ransom. "We were only hired to do the rough work. Those higher up didn't appear. Feldman was only a step above us." "Then my suspicions of him were justified," thought Tom. "He evidently met La Foy in the woods to make plans. But Koku and Eradicate spoiled them." The two captives seemed willing enough to make a confession, but they did not know much. As they said, they were merely tools, acting for others. And events had happened just as they had said. The four conspirators had managed, by means of a false key, and by disconnecting the burglar alarm, to enter the airship shed. They were about to proceed with their work of destruction when Koku came on the scene. The giant's appearance was due to accident. He acted as a sort of night watchman, making a tour of the buildings, but he entered the shed where the Mars was because, that day, he had left his knife in there, and wanted to get it. Only for that he would not have gone in. When he entered he surprised the four men. Of course he attacked them at once, and they sprang at him. Then ensued a terrific fight. Eradicate, arising to doctor his mule, as he had said, heard the noise, and saw what was going on. He gave the alarm. "Well, Ned, any luck?" asked Tom, as his chum came in. "No, they got away, Tom. I had a lot of your men out helping me search the grounds, but it wasn't of much use." "Particularly if you depended on some of my men," said Tom bitterly. "What do you mean?" "I mean that the place is filled with spies, Ned! But we will sift them out in the morning. This has been a lucky night for me. It was touch and go. Now, then, Koku, take these fellows and lock them up somewhere until morning. Ned, you and I will remain on guard here the rest of the night." "I'm with you, Tom." "Will you be a bit easy on us, considering what we told you?" asked Kurdy. "I'll do the best I can," said Tom, gently, making no promises. The two captives were put in secure quarters, and the rest of the night passed quietly. During the fight in the airship shed some machinery and tools had been broken, but no great amount of damage was done. Tom and Ned passed the remaining hours of darkness there. A further search was made in the morning for the two conspirators who had escaped, but no trace of them was found. Tom then realized why Feldman was so anxious to be placed in the aeroplane department--it was in order that he might have easier access to the Mars. A technical charge was made against the two prisoners, sufficient to hold them for some time. Then Tom devoted a day to weeding out the suspected foreigners in his place. All the new men were discharged, though some protested against this action. "Probably I am hitting some of the innocent in punishing those who, if they had the chance, would become guilty," Tom said to his chum, "but it cannot be helped--I can't afford to take any chances." The Mars was being put in shape for her first flight. The guns, fitted with the recoil shock absorbers, were mounted, and Lieutenant Marbury had returned to go aloft in the big aerial warship. He congratulated Tom on discovering at least one plot in time. "But there may be more," he warned the young inventor. "You are not done with them yet." The Mars was floated out of her hangar, and made ready for an ascent. Tom, Ned, Lieutenant Marbury, Mr. Damon, and several workmen were to be the first passengers. Tom was busy going over the various parts to see that nothing had been forgotten. "Well, I guess we're ready," he finally announced. "All aboard!" "Bless my insurance policy!" exclaimed Mr. Damon. "Now that the time comes I almost wish I wasn't going." "Nonsense!" exclaimed Tom. "You're not going to back out at the last minute. All aboard! Cast off the ropes!" he cried to the assistants. A moment later the Mars, the biggest airship Tom Swift had ever constructed, arose from the earth like some great bird, and soared aloft. CHAPTER XV IN DANGER "Well, Tom, we're moving!" cried Ned Newton, clapping his chum on the back, as he stood near him in the pilot-house. "We're going up, old sport!" "Of course we are," replied Tom. "You didn't think it wouldn't go up, did you?" "Well, I wasn't quite sure," Ned confessed. "You know you were so worried about--" "Not about the ship sailing," interrupted Tom. "It was only the effect the firing of the guns might have. But I think we have that taken care of." "Bless my pin cushion!" cried Mr. Damon, as he looked over the rail at the earth below. "We're moving fast, Tom." "Yes, we can make a quicker ascent in this than in most aeroplanes," Tom said, "for they have to go up in a slanting direction. But we can't quite equal their lateral speed." "Just how fast do you think you can travel when you are in first-class shape?" asked Lieutenant Marbury, as he noted how the Mars was behaving on this, the first trip. "Well, I set a limit of seventy-five miles an hour," the young inventor replied, as he shifted various levers and handles, to change the speed of the mechanism. "But I'm afraid we won't quite equal that with all our guns on board. But I'm safe in saying sixty, I think." "That will more than satisfy the government requirements," the officer said. "But, of course, your craft will have to come up to expectations and requirements in the matter of armament." "I'll give you every test you want," declared Tom, with a smile. "And now we'll see what the Mars can do when put to it." Up and up went the big dirigible aerial warship. Had you been fortunate enough to have seen her you would have observed a craft not unlike, in shape, the German Zeppelins. But it differed from those war balloons in several important particulars. Tom's craft was about six hundred feet long, and the diameter of the gas bag, amidships, was sixty feet, slightly larger than the largest Zeppelin. Below the bag, which, as I have explained, was made up of a number of gas-tight compartments, hung from wire cables three cabins. The forward one was a sort of pilot-house, containing various instruments for navigating the ship of the air, observation rooms, gauges for calculating firing ranges, and the steering apparatus. Amidships, suspended below the great bag, were the living and sleeping quarters, where food was cooked and served and where those who operated the craft could spend their leisure time. Extra supplies were also stored there. At the stern of the big bag was the motor-room, where gas was generated to fill the balloon compartments when necessary, where the gasoline and electrical apparatus were installed, and where the real motive power of the craft was located. Here, also, was carried the large quantity of gasoline and oil needed for a long voyage. The Mars could carry sufficient fuel to last for over a week, provided no accidents occurred. There was also an arrangement in the motor compartment, so that the ship could be steered and operated from there. This was in case the forward pilot-house should be shot away by an enemy. And, also, in the motor compartment were the sleeping quarters for the crew. All three suspended cabins were connected by a long covered runway, so that one could pass from the pilot-house to the motor-room and back again through the amidship cabin. At the extreme end of the big bag were the various rudders and planes, designed to keep the craft on a level keel, automatically, and to enable it to make headway against a strong wind. The motive power consisted of three double-bladed wooden propellers, which could be operated together or independently. A powerful gasoline engine was the chief motive power, though there was an auxiliary storage battery, which would operate an electrical motor and send the ship along for more than twenty-four hours in case of accident to the gasoline engine. There were many other pieces of apparatus aboard, some not completely installed, the uses of which I shall mention from time to time, as the story progresses. The gas-generating machine was of importance, for there would be a leakage and shrinking of the vapor from the big bag, and some means must be provided for replenishing it. "You don't seem to have forgotten anything, Tom," said Ned admiringly, as they soared upward. "We can tell better after we've flown about a bit," observed the young inventor, with a smile. "I expect we shall have to make quite a number of changes." "Are you going far?" asked Mr. Damon. "Why, you're not frightened, are you?" inquired Tom. "You have been up in airships with me before." "Oh, no, I'm not frightened!" exclaimed the odd man. "Bless my suspenders, no! But I promised my wife I'd be back this evening, and..." "We'll sail over toward Waterford," broke in Tom, "and I'll drop you down in your front yard." "No, don't do that! Don't! I beg of you!" cried Mr. Damon. "You see--er--Tom, my wife doesn't like me to make these trips. Of course, I understand there is no danger, and I like them. But it's just as well not to make her worry-you understand!" "Oh, all right," replied Tom, with a laugh. "Well, we're not going far on this trip. What I want to do, most of all, is to test the guns, and see if the recoil check will work as well when we are aloft as it did down on the ground. You know a balloon isn't a very stable base for a gun, even one of light caliber." "No, it certainly is not," agreed Lieutenant Marbury, "and I am interested in seeing how you will overcome the recoil." "We'll have a test soon," announced Tom. Meanwhile the Mars, having reached a considerable height, being up so far, in fact, that the village of Shopton could scarcely be distinguished, Tom set the signal that told the engine-room force to start the propellers. This would send them ahead. Some of Tom's most trusted workmen formed the operating crew, the young inventor taking charge of the pilot-house himself. "Well she seems to run all right," observed Lieutenant Marbury, as the big craft surged ahead just below a stratum of white, fleecy clouds. "Yes, but not as fast as I'd like to see her go," Tom replied. "Of course the machinery is new, and it will take some little time for it to wear down smooth. I'll speed her up a little now." They had been running for perhaps ten minutes when Tom shoved over the hand of an indicator that communicated with the engine-room from the pilot-house. At once the Mars increased her speed. "She can do it!" cried Ned. "Bless my-hat! I should say so!" cried Mr. Damon, for he was standing outside the pilot-house just then, on the "bridge," and the sudden increase of speed lifted his hat from his head. "There you are--caught on the fly!" cried Ned, as he put up his hand just in time to catch the article in question. "Thanks! Guess I'd better tie it fast," remarked the odd man, putting his hat on tightly. The aerial warship was put through several evolutions to test her stability, and to each one she responded well, earning the praise of the government officer. Up and down, to one side and the other, around in big circles, and even reversing, Tom sent his craft with a true hand and eye. In a speed test fifty-five miles was registered against a slight wind, and the young inventor said he knew he could do better than that as soon as some of the machinery was running more smoothly. "And now suppose we get ready for the gun tests," suggested Tom, when they had been running for about an hour. "That's what I'm mostly interested in," said Lieutenant Marbury. "It's easy enough to get several good types of dirigible balloons, but few of them will stand having a gun fired from them, to say nothing of several guns." "Well, I'm not making any rash promises," Tom went on, "but I think we can turn the trick." The armament of the Mars was located around the center cabin. There were two large guns, fore and aft, throwing a four-inch projectile, and two smaller calibered quick-firers on either beam. The guns were mounted on pedestals that enabled the weapons to fire in almost any direction, save straight up, and of course the balloon bag being above them prevented this. However, there was an arrangement whereby a small automatic quick-firer could be sent up to a platform built on top of the gas envelope itself, and a man stationed there could shoot at a rival airship directly overhead. But the main deck guns could be elevated to an angle of nearly forty-five degrees, so they could take care of nearly any hostile aircraft that approached. "But where are the bombs I heard you speaking of?" asked Ned, as they finished looking at the guns. "Here they are," spoke Tom, as he pointed to a space in the middle of the main cabin floor. He lifted a brass plate, and disclosed three holes, covered with a strong wire netting that could be removed. "The bombs will be dropped through those holes," explained the young inventor, "being released by a magnetic control when the operator thinks he has reached a spot over the enemy's city or fortification where the most damage will be done. I'll show you how they work a little later. Now we'll have a test of some of the guns." Tom called for some of his men to take charge of the steering and running of the Mars while he and Lieutenant Marbury prepared to fire the two larger weapons. This was to be one of the most important tests. Service charges had been put in, though, of course, no projectiles would be used, since they were then flying over a large city not far from Shopton. "We'll have to wait until we get out over the ocean to give a complete test, with a bursting shell," Tom said. He and Lieutenant Marbury were beside a gun, and were about to fire it, when suddenly, from the stern of the ship, came a ripping, tearing sound, and, at the same time, confused shouts came from the crew's quarters. "What is it?" cried Tom. "One of the propellers!" was the answer. "It's split, and has torn a big hole in the gas bag!" "Bless my overshoes!" cried Mr. Damon. "We're going down!" All on board the Mars became aware of a sudden sinking sensation. CHAPTER XVI TOM IS WORRIED "Steady, all!" came in even tones from Tom Swift. Not for an instant had he lost his composure. For it was an accident, that much was certain, and one that might endanger the lives of all on board. Above the noise of the machinery in the motor room could be heard the thrashing and banging of the broken or loose propeller-blade. Just what its condition was, could not be told, as a bulge of the gas bag hid it from the view of those gathered about the gun, which was about to be fired when the alarm was given. "We're sinking!" cried Mr. Damon. "We're going down, Tom!" "That's nothing," was the cool answer. "It is only for a moment. Only a few of the gas compartments can be torn. There will soon enough additional gas in the others to lift us again." And so it proved. The moment the pressure of the lifting gas in the big oiled silk and aluminum container was lowered, it started the generating machine, and enough extra gas was pumped into the uninjured compartments to compensate for the loss. "We're not falling so fast now," observed Ned. "No, and we'll soon stop falling altogether," calmly declared Tom. "Too bad this accident had to happen, though." "It might have been much worse, my boy!" exclaimed the lieutenant. "That's a great arrangement of yours--the automatic gas machine." "It's on the same principle as the air brakes of a trolley car," explained Tom, when a look at the indicators showed that the Mars had ceased falling and remained stationary in the air. Tom had also sent a signal to the engine-room to shut off the power, so that the two undamaged propellers, as well as the broken one, ceased revolving. "In a trolley car, you see," Tom went on, when the excitement had calmed down, "as soon as the air pressure in the tanks gets below a certain point, caused by using the air for a number of applications of the brakes, it lets a magnetized bar fall, and this establishes an electrical connection, starting the air pump. The pump forces more air into the tanks until the pressure is enough to throw the pump switch out of connection, when the pump stops. I use the same thing here." "And very clever it is," said Mr. Damon. "Do you suppose the danger is all over, Tom?" "For the time being, yes. But we must unship that damaged propeller, and go on with the two." The necessary orders were given, and several men from the engine-room at once began the removal of the damaged blades. As several spare ones were carried aboard one could be put on in place of the broken one, had this been desired. But Tom thought the accident a good chance to see how his craft would act with only two-thirds of her motive force available, so he did not order the damaged propeller replaced. When it was lowered to the deck it was carefully examined. "What made it break?" Ned wanted to know. "That's a question I can't answer," Tom replied. "There may have been a defect in the wood, but I had it all carefully examined before I used it." The propeller was one of the "built-up" type, with alternate layers of ash and mahogany, but some powerful force had torn and twisted the blades. The wood was splintered and split, and some jagged pieces, flying off at a tangent, so great was the centrifugal force, had torn holes in the strong gas bag. "Did something hit it; or did it hit something?" asked Ned as he saw Tom carefully examining the broken blades. "Hard to say. I'll have a good look at this when we get back. Just now I want to finish that gun test we didn't get a chance to start." "You don't mean to say you're going to keep on, and with the balloon damaged; are you?" cried Mr. Damon, in surprise. "Certainly--why not?" Tom replied. "In warfare accidents may happen, and if the Mars can't go on, after a little damage like this, what is going to happen when she's fired on by a hostile ship? Of course I'm going on!" "Bless my necktie!" ejaculated the odd man. "That's the way to talk!" exclaimed Lieutenant Marbury. "I'm with you." There really was very little danger in proceeding. The Mars was just as buoyant as before, for more gas had been automatically made, and forced into the uninjured compartments of the bag. At the same time enough sand ballast had been allowed to run out to make the weight to be lifted less in proportion to the power remaining. True, the speed would be less, with two propellers instead of three, and the craft would not steer as well, with the torn ends of the gas bag floating out behind. But this made a nearer approach to war conditions, and Tom was always glad to give his inventions the most severe tests possible. So, after a little while, during which it was seen that the Mars was proceeding almost normally, the matter of discharging the guns was taken up again. The weapons were all ready to fire, and when Tom had attached the pressure gauges to note how much energy was expended in the recoil, he gave the word to fire. The two big weapons were discharged together, and for a moment after the report echoed out among the cloud masses every soul on the ship feared another accident had happened. For the big craft rolled and twisted, and seemed about to turn turtle. Her forward progress was halted, momentarily, and a cry of fear came from several of the members of the crew, who had had only a little experience in aircraft. "What's the matter?" cried Ned. "Something go wrong?" "A little," admitted Tom, with a rueful look on his face. "Those recoil checks didn't work as well in practice as they did in theory." "Are you sure they are strong enough?" asked Lieutenant Marbury. "I thought so," spoke Tom. "I'll put more tension on the spring next time." "Bless my watch chain!" cried Mr. Damon. "You aren't going to fire those guns again; are you, Tom?" "Why not? We can't tell what's the matter, nor get things right without experimenting. There's no danger." "No danger! Don't you call nearly upsetting the ship danger?" "Oh, well, if she turns over she'll right herself again," Tom said. "The center of gravity is low, you see. She can't float in any position but right side up, though she may turn over once or twice." "Excuse me!" said Mr. Damon firmly. "I'd rather go down, if it's all the same to you. If my wife ever knew I was here I'd never hear the last of it!" "We'll go down soon," Tom promised. "But I must fire a couple of shots more. You wouldn't call the recoil checks a success, would you?" and the young inventor appealed to the government inspector. "No, I certainly would not," was the prompt answer. "I am sorry, too, for they seemed to be just what was needed. Of course I understand this is not an official test, and I am not obliged to make a report of this trial. But had it been, I should have had to score against you. "I realize that, and I'm not asking any favors, but I'll try it again with the recoil checks tightened up. I think the hydrostatic valves were open too much, also." Preparations were now made for firing the four-inch guns once more. All this while the Mars had been speeding around in space, being about two miles up in the air. Tom's craft was not designed to reach as great an elevation as would be possible in an aeroplane, since to work havoc to an enemy's fortifications by means of aerial bombs they do not need to be dropped from a great height. In fact, experiments in Germany have shown that bombs falling from a great height are less effective than those falling from an airship nearer the earth. For a bomb, falling from a height of two miles, acquires enough momentum to penetrate far into the earth, so that much of the resultant explosive force is expended in a downward direction, and little damage is done to the fortifications. A bomb dropped from a lower altitude, expending its force on all sides, does much more damage. On the other hand, in destroying buildings, it has been found desirable to drop a bomb from a good height so that it may penetrate even a protected roof, and explode inside. Once more Tom made ready to fire, this time having given the recoil checks greater resistance. But though there was less motion imparted to the airship when the guns were discharged, there was still too much for comfort, or even safety. "Well, something's wrong, that's sure," remarked Tom, in rather disappointed tones as he noted the effect of the second shots. "If we get as much recoil from the two guns, what would happen if we fired them all at once?" "Don't do it! Don't do it, I beg of you!" entreated Mr. Damon. "Bless my toothbrush--don't do it!" "I won't--just at present," Tom said, ruefully. "I'm afraid I'll have to begin all over again, and proceed along new lines." "Well, perhaps you will," said the lieutenant. "But you may invent something much better than anything you have now. There is no great rush. Take your time, and do something good." "Oh, I'll get busy on it right away," Tom declared. "We'll go down now, and start right to work. I'm afraid, Ned, that our idea of a door-spring check isn't going to work." "I might have known my idea wouldn't amount to anything," said the young bank clerk. "Oh, the idea is all right," declared Tom, "but it wants modifying. There is more power to those recoils than I figured, though our first experiments seemed to warrant us in believing that we had solved the problem." "Are you going to try the bomb-dropping device?" asked the lieutenant. "Yes, there can't be any recoil from that," Tom said. "I'll drop a few blank ones, and see how accurate the range finders are." While his men were getting ready for this test Tom bent over the broken propeller, looking from that to the recoil checks, which had not come up to expectations. Then he shook his head in a worried and puzzled manner. CHAPTER XVII AN OCEAN FLIGHT Dropping bombs from an aeroplane, or a dirigible balloon, is a comparatively simple matter. Of course there are complications that may ensue, from the danger of carrying high explosives in the limited quarters of an airship, with its inflammable gasoline fuel, and ever-present electric spark, to the possible premature explosion of the bomb itself. But they seem to be considered minor details now. On the other hand, while it is comparatively easy to drop a bomb from a moving aeroplane, or dirigible balloon, it is another matter to make the bomb fall just where it will do the most damage to the enemy. It is not easy to gauge distances, high up in the air, and then, too, allowance must be made for the speed of the aircraft, the ever-increasing velocity of a falling body, and the deflection caused by air currents. The law of velocity governing falling bodies is well known. It varies, of course, according to the height, but in general a body falling freely toward the earth, as all high-school boys know, is accelerated at the rate of thirty-two feet per second. This law has been taken advantage of by the French in the present European war. The French drop from balloons, or aeroplanes, a steel dart about the size of a lead pencil, and sharpened in about the same manner. Dropping from a height of a mile or so, that dart will acquire enough velocity to penetrate a man from his head all the way through his body to his feet. But in dropping bombs from an airship the damage intended does not so much depend on velocity. It is necessary to know how fast the bomb falls in order to know when to set the time fuse that will explode it; though some bombs will explode on concussion. At aeroplane meets there are often bomb-dropping contests, and balls filled with a white powder (that will make a dust-cloud on falling, and so show where they strike) are used to demonstrate the birdman's accuracy. "We'll see how our bomb-release works," Tom went on. "But we'll have to descend a bit in order to watch the effect." "You're not going to use real bombs, are you, Tom?" asked Ned. "Indeed not. Just chalk-dust ones for practice. Now here is where the bombs will be placed," and he pointed to the three openings in the floor of the amidship cabin. The wire nettings were taken out and one could look down through the holes to the earth below, the ground being nearer now, as Tom had let out some of the lifting gas. "Here is the range-finder and the speed calculator," the young inventor went on as he indicated the various instruments. "The operator sits here, where he can tell when is the most favorable moment for releasing the bomb." Tom took his place before a complicated set of instruments, and began manipulating them. One of his assistants, under the direction of Lieutenant Marbury, placed in the three openings bombs, made of light cardboard, just the size of a regular bomb, but filled with a white powder that would, on breaking, make a dust-cloud which could be observed from the airship. "I have first to determine where I want to drop the bomb," Tom explained, "and then I have to get my distance from it on the range-finder. Next I have to know how fast I am traveling, and how far up in the air I am, to tell what the velocity of the falling bomb will attain at a certain time. This I can do by means of these instruments, some of which I have adapted from those used by the government," he said, with a nod to the officer. "That's right--take all the information you can get," was the smiling response. "We will now assume that the bombs are in place in the holes in the floor of the cabin," Tom went on. "As I sit here I have before me three buttons. They control the magnets that hold the bombs in place. If I press one of the buttons it breaks the electrical current, the magnet no longer has any attraction, and it releases the explosive. Now look down. I am going to try and drop a chalk bomb near that stone fence." The Mars was then flying over a large field and a stone fence was in plain view. "Here she goes!" cried Tom, as he made some rapid calculations from his gauge instruments. There was a little click and the chalk bomb dropped. There was a plate glass floor in part of the cabin, and through this the progress of the pasteboard bomb could be observed. "She'll never go anywhere near the fence!" declared Ned. "You let it drop too soon, Tom!" "Did I? You just watch. I had to allow for the momentum that would be given the bomb by the forward motion of the balloon." Hardly had Tom spoken than a puff of white was seen on the very top of the fence. "There it goes?" cried the lieutenant. "You did the trick, Swift!" "Yes, I thought I would. Well, that shows my gauges are correct, anyhow. Now we'll try the other two bombs." In succession they were released from the bottom of the cabin, at other designated objects. The second one was near a tree. It struck within five feet, which was considered good. "And I'll let the last one down near that scarecrow in the field," said Tom, pointing to a ragged figure in the middle of a patch of corn. Down went the cardboard bomb, and so good was the aim of the young inventor that the white dust arose in a cloud directly back of the scarecrow. And then a queer thing happened. For the figure seemed to come to life, and Ned, who was watching through a telescope, saw a very much excited farmer looking up with an expression of the greatest wonder on his face. He saw the balloon over his head, and shook his fist at it, evidently thinking he had had a narrow escape. But the pasteboard bomb was so light that, had it hit him, he would not have been injured, though he might have been well dusted. "Why, that was a man! Bless my pocketbook!" cried Mr. Damon. "I guess it was," agreed Tom. "I took it for a scarecrow." "Well, it proved the accuracy of your aim, at any rate," observed Lieutenant Marbury. "The bomb dropping device of your aerial warship is perfect--I can testify to that." "And I'll have the guns fixed soon, so there will be no danger of a recoil, too," added Tom Swift, with a determined look on his face. "What's next?" asked Mr. Damon, looking at his watch. "I really ought to be home, Tom." "We're going back now, and down. Are you sure you don't want me to drop you in your own front yard, or even on your roof? I think I could manage that." "Bless my stovepipe, no, Tom! My wife would have hysterics. Just land me at Shopton and I'll take a car home." The damaged airship seemed little the worse for the test to which she had been subjected, and made her way at good speed in the direction of Tom's home. Several little experiments were tried on the way back. They all worked well, and the only two problems Tom had to solve were the taking care of the recoil from the guns and finding out why the propeller had broken. A safe landing was made, and the Mars once more put away in her hangar. Mr. Damon departed for his home, and Lieutenant Marbury again took up his residence in the Swift household. "Well, Tom, how did it go?" asked his father. "Not so very well. Too much recoil from the guns." "I was afraid so. You had better drop this line of work, and go at something else." "No, Dad!" Tom cried. "I'm going to make this work. I never had anything stump me yet, and I'm not going to begin now!" "Well, that's a good spirit to show," said the aged inventor, with a shake of his head, "but I don't believe you'll succeed, Tom." "Yes I will, Dad! You just wait." Tom decided to begin on the problem of the propeller first, as that seemed more simple. He knew that the gun question would take longer. "Just what are you trying to find out, Tom?" asked Ned, a few nights later, when he found his chum looking at the broken parts of the propeller. "Trying to discover what made this blade break up and splinter that way. It couldn't have been centrifugal force, for it wasn't strong enough." Tom was "poking" away amid splinters, and bits of broken wood, when he suddenly uttered an exclamation, and held up something. "Look!" he cried. "I believe I've found it." "What?" asked Ned. "The thing that weakened the propeller. Look at this, and smell!" He held out a piece of wood toward Ned. The bank employee saw where a half-round hole had been bored in what remained of the blade, and from that hole came a peculiar odor. "It's some kind of acid," ventured Ned. "That's it!" cried Tom. "Someone bored a hole in the propeller, and put in some sort of receptacle, or capsule, containing a corrosive acid. In due time, which happened to be when we took our first flight, the acid ate through whatever it was contained in, and then attacked the wood of the propeller blade. It weakened the wood so that the force used in whirling it around broke it." "Are you sure of that?" asked Ned. "As sure as I am that I'm here! Now I know what caused the accident!" "But who would play such a trick?" asked Ned. "We might all have been killed." "Yes, I know we might," said Tom. "It must be the work of some of those foreign spies whose first plot we nipped in the bud. I must tell Marbury of this, but don't mention it to dad." "I won't," promised Ned. Lieutenant Marbury agreed with Tom that someone had surreptitiously bored a small hole in the propeller blade, and had inserted a corrosive acid that would take many hours to operate. The hole had been varnished over, probably, so it would not show. "And that means I've got to examine the other two blades," Tom said. "They may be doctored too." But they did not prove to be. A careful examination showed nothing wrong. An effort was made to find out who had tried to destroy the Mars in midair, but it came to nothing. The two men in custody declared they knew nothing of it, and there was no way of proving that they did. Meanwhile, the torn gas bag was repaired, and Tom began working on the problem of doing away with the gun recoil. He tried several schemes, and almost was on the point of giving up when suddenly he received a hint by reading an account of how the recoil was taken care of on some of the German Zeppelins. The guns there were made double, with the extra barrel filled with water or sand, that could be shot out as was the regular charge. As both barrels were fired at the same time, and in opposite directions, with the same amount of powder, one neutralized the other, and the recoil was canceled, the ship remaining steady after fire. "By Jove! I believe that will do the trick!" cried Tom. "I'm going to try it." "Good luck to you!" cried Ned. It was no easy matter to change all the guns of the Mars, and fit them with double barrels. But by working day and night shifts Tom managed it. Meanwhile, a careful watch was kept over the shops. Several new men applied for work, and some of them were suspicious enough in looks, but Tom took on no new hands. Finally the new guns were made, and tried with the Mars held on the ground. They behaved perfectly, the shooting of sand or water from the dummy barrel neutralizing the shot from the service barrel. "And now to see how it works in practice!" cried Tom one day. "Are you with me for a long flight, Ned?" "I sure am!" The next evening the Mars, with a larger crew than before, and with Tom, Ned, Mr. Damon and Lieutenant Marbury aboard, set sail. "But why start at night?" asked Ned. "You'll see in the morning," Tom answered. The Mars flew slowly all night, life aboard her, at about the level of the clouds, going on almost as naturally as though the occupants of the cabins were on the earth. Excellent meals were served. "But when are you going to try the guns?" asked Ned, as he got ready to turn in. "Tell you in the morning," replied Tom, with a smile. And, in the morning, when Ned looked down through the plate glass in the cabin floor, he uttered a cry. "Why, Tom! We're over the ocean!" he cried. "I rather thought we'd be," was the calm reply. "I told George to head straight for the Atlantic. Now we'll have a test with service charges and projectiles!" CHAPTER XVIII IN A STORM Surprise, for the moment, held Mr. Damon, Ned and Lieutenant Marbury speechless. They looked from the heaving waters of the ocean below them to the young pilot of the Mars. He smiled at their astonishment. "What--what does it mean, Tom?" asked Ned. "You never said you were going to take a trip as far as this." "That's right," chimed in Mr. Damon. "Bless my nightcap! If I had known I was going to be brought so far away from home I'd never have come." "You're not so very far from Waterford," put in Tom. "We didn't make any kind of speed coming from Shopton, and we could be back again inside of four hours if we had to." "Then you didn't travel fast during the night?" asked the government man. "No, we just drifted along," Tom answered. "I gave orders to run the machinery slowly, as I wanted to get it in good shape for the other tests that will come soon. But I told George, whom I left in charge when I turned in, to head for New York. I wanted to get out over the ocean to try the guns with the new recoil arrangement." "Well, we're over the ocean all right," spoke Ned, as he looked down at the heaving waters. "It isn't the first time," replied Tom cheerfully. "Koku, you may serve breakfast now," for the giant had been taken along as a sort of cook and waiter. Koku manifested no surprise or alarm when he found the airship floating over the sea. Whatever Tom did was right to him. He had great confidence in his master. "No, it isn't the first time we've taken a water flight," spoke Ned. "I was only surprised at the suddenness of it, that's all." "It's my first experience so far out above the water," observed Lieutenant Marbury, "though of course I've sailed on many seas. Why, we're out of sight of land." "About ten miles out, yes," admitted Tom. "Far enough to make it safe to test the guns with real projectiles. That is what I want to do." "And we've been running all night?" asked Mr. Damon. "Yes, but at slow speed. The engines are in better shape now than ever before," Tom said. "Well, if you're ready we'll have breakfast." The meal was served by Koku with as much unconcern as though they were in the Swift homestead back in Shopton, instead of floating near the clouds. And while it was being eaten in the main cabin, and while the crew was having breakfast in their quarters, the aerial warship was moving along over the ocean in charge of George Watson, one of Tom's engineers, who was stationed in the forward pilot-house. "So you're going to give the guns a real test this time, is that it, Tom?" asked Ned, as he pushed back his plate, a signal that he had eaten enough. "That's about it." "But don't you think it's a bit risky out over the water this way. Supposing something should--should happen?" Ned hesitated. "You mean we might fall?" asked Tom, with a smile. "Yes; or turn upside down." "Nothing like that could happen. I'm so sure that I have solved the problem of the recoil of the guns that I'm willing to take chances. But if any of you want to get off the Mars while the test is being made, I have a small boat I can lower, and let you row about in that until--" "No, thank you!" interrupted Mr. Damon, as he looked below. There was quite a heavy swell on, and the ocean did not appear very attractive. They would be much more comfortable in the big Mars. "I think you won't have any trouble," asserted Lieutenant Marbury. "I believe Tom Swift has the right idea about the guns, and there will be so small a shock from the recoil that it will not be noticeable." "We'll soon know," spoke Tom. "I'm going to get ready for the test now." They were now well out from shore, over the Atlantic, but to make certain no ships would be endangered by the projectiles, Tom and the others searched the waters to the horizon with powerful glasses. Nothing was seen and the work of loading the guns was begun. The bomb tubes, in the main cabin, were also to be given a test. As service charges were to be used, and as the projectiles were filled with explosives, great care was needed in handling them. "We'll try dropping bombs first," Tom suggested. "We know they will work, and that will be so much out of the way." To make the test a severe one, small floating targets were first dropped overboard from the Mars. Then the aerial warship, circling about, came on toward them. Tom, seated at the range-finders, pressed the button that released the shells containing the explosives. One after another they dropped into the sea, exploding as they fell, and sending up a great column of salt water. "Every one a hit!" reported Lieutenant Marbury, who was keeping "score." "That's good," responded Tom. "But the others won't be so easy. We have nothing to shoot at." They had to fire the other guns without targets at which to aim. But, after all, it was the absence of recoil they wanted to establish, and this could be done without shooting at any particular object. One after another the guns were loaded. As has been explained, they were now made double, one barrel carrying the projectile, and the other a charge of water. "Are you ready?" asked Tom, when it was time to fire. Lieutenant Marbury, Ned and Mr. Damon were helping, by being stationed at the pressure gauges to note the results. "All ready," answered Ned. "Do you think we'd better put on life preservers, Tom?" asked Mr. Damon. "Nonsense! What for?" "In case--in case anything happens." "Nothing will happen. Look out now, I'm going to fire." The guns were to be fired simultaneously by means of an electric current, when Tom pressed a button. "Here they go!" exclaimed the young inventor. There was a moment of waiting, and then came a thundering roar. The Mars trembled, but she did not shift to either side from an even keel. From one barrel of the guns shot out the explosive projectiles, and from the other spurted a jet of water, sent out by a charge of powder, equal in weight to that which forced out the shot. As the projectile was fired in one direction, and the water in one directly opposite, the two discharges neutralized one another. Out flew the pointed steel shells, to fall harmlessly into the sea, where they exploded, sending up columns of water. "Well!" cried Tom as the echoes died away. "How was it?" "Couldn't have been better," declared Lieutenant Marbury. "There wasn't the least shock of recoil. Tom Swift, you have solved the problem, I do believe! Your aerial warship is a success!" "I'm glad to hear you say so. There are one or two little things that need changing, but I really think I have about what the United States Government wants." "I am, also, of that belief, Tom. If only--" The officer stopped suddenly. "Well?" asked Tom suggestively. "I was going to say if only those foreign spies don't make trouble." "I think we've seen the last of them," Tom declared. "Now we'll go on with the tests." More guns were fired, singly and in batteries, and in each case the Mars stood the test perfectly. The double barrel had solved the recoil problem. For some little time longer they remained out over the sea, going through some evolutions to test the rudder control, and then as their present object had been accomplished Tom gave orders to head back to Shopton, which place was reached in due time. "Well, Tom, how was it?" asked Mr. Swift, for though his son had said nothing to his friends about the prospective test, the aged inventor knew about it. "Successful, Dad, in every particular." "That's good. I didn't think you could do it. But you did. I tell you it isn't much that can get the best of a Swift!" exclaimed the aged man proudly. "Oh, by the way, Tom, here's a telegram that came while you were gone," and he handed his son the yellow envelope. Tom ripped it open with a single gesture, and in a flash his eyes took in the words. He read: "Look out for spies during trial flights." The message was signed with a name Tom did not recognize. "Any bad news?" asked Mr. Swift. "No--oh, no," replied Tom, as he crumpled up the paper and thrust it into his pocket. "No bad news, Dad." "Well, I'm glad to hear that," went on Mr. Swift. "I don't like telegrams." When Tom showed the message to Lieutenant Marbury, that official, after one glance at the signature, said: "Pierson, eh? Well, when he sends out a warning it generally means something." "Who's Pierson?" asked Tom. "Head of the Secret Service department that has charge of this airship matter. There must be something in the wind, Tom." Extra precautions were taken about the shops. Strangers were not permitted to enter, and all future work on the Mars was kept secret. Nevertheless, Tom was worried. He did not want his work to be spoiled just when it was about to be a success. For that it was a success, Lieutenant Marbury assured him. The government man said he would have no hesitation in recommending the purchase of Tom's aerial warship. "There's just one other test I want to see made," he said. "What is that?" Tom inquired. "In a storm. You know we can't always count on having good weather, and I'd like to see how she behaves in a gale." "You shall!" declared the young inventor. For the next week, during which finishing touches were put on the big craft, Tom anxiously waited for signs of a storm. At last they came. Danger signals were put up all along the coast, and warnings were sent out broadcast by the Weather Bureau at Washington. One dull gray morning Tom roused his friends early and announced that the Mars was going up. "A big storm is headed this way," Tom said, "and we'll have a chance to see how she behaves in it." And even as the flight began, the forerunning wind and rain came in a gust of fury. Into the midst of it shot the big aerial warship, with her powerful propellers beating the moisture-laden air. CHAPTER XIX QUEER HAPPENINGS "Say, Tom, are you sure you're all right?" "Of course I am! What do you mean?" It was Ned Newton who asked the question, and Tom Swift who answered it. The chums were in the pilot-house of the dipping, swaying Mars, which was nosing her way into the storm, fighting on an upward slant, trying, if possible, to get above the area of atmospheric disturbance. "Well, I mean are you sure your craft will stand all this straining, pulling and hauling?" went on Ned, as he clung to a brass hand rail, built in the side of the pilot-house wall for the very purpose to which it was now being put. "If she doesn't stand it she's no good!" cried Tom, as he clung to the steering wheel, which was nearly torn from his hands by the deflections of the rudders. "Well, it's taking a big chance, it seems to me," went on Ned, as he peered through the rain-spotted bull's-eyes of the pilot-house. "There's no danger," declared Tom. "I wanted to give the ship the hardest test possible before I formally offered her to the government. If she can't stand a blow like this she isn't what I thought her, and I'll have to build another. But I'm sure she will stand the racket, Ned. She's built strongly, and even if part of the gas bag is carried away, as it was when our propeller shattered, we can still sail. If you think this is anything, wait until we turn about and begin to fight our way against the wind." "Are you going to do that, Tom?" "I certainly am. We're going with the gale now, to see what is the highest rate of speed we can attain. Pretty soon I'm going to turn her around, and see if she can make any headway in the other direction. Of course I know she won't make much, if any speed, against the gale; but I must give her that test." "Well, Tom, you know best, of course," admitted Ned. "But to me it seems like taking a big risk." And indeed it did seem, not only to Ned, but to some of the experienced men of Tom's crew, that the young inventor was taking more chances than ever before, and Tom, as my old readers well know, had, in his career, taken some big ones. The storm grew worse as the day progressed, until it was a veritable hurricane of wind and rain. The warnings of the Weather Bureau had not been exaggerated. But through the fierce blow the Mars fought her way. As Tom had said, she was going with the wind. This was comparatively easy. But what would happen when she headed into the storm? Mr. Damon, in the main cabin, sat and looked at Lieutenant Marbury, the eccentric man now and then blessing something as he happened to think of it. "Do you--do you think we are in any danger?" he finally asked. "Not at present," replied the government expert. "You mean we will be--later?" "It's hard to say. I guess Tom Swift knows his business, though." "Bless my accident insurance policy!" murmured Mr. Damon. "I wish I had stayed home. If my wife ever hears of this--" He did not seem able to finish the sentence. In the engine-room the crew were busy over the various machines. Some of the apparatus was being strained to keep the ship on her course in the powerful wind, and would be under a worse stress when Tom turned his craft about. But, so far, nothing had given way, and everything was working smoothly. As hour succeeded hour and nothing happened, the timid ones aboard began to take more courage. Tom never for a moment lost heart. He knew what his craft could do, and he had taken her up in a terrific storm with a definite purpose in view. He was the calmest person aboard, with the exception, perhaps, of Koku. The giant did not seem to know what fear was. He depended entirely on Tom, and as long as his young master had charge of matters the giant was content to obey orders. There was to be no test of the guns this time. They had worked sufficiently well, and, if need be, could have been fired in the gale. But Tom did not want his men to take unnecessary risks, nor was he foolhardy himself. "We'll have our hands full when we turn around and head into the wind," he said to his chum. "That will be enough." "Then you're really going to give the Mars that test?" "I surely am. I don't want any comebacks from Uncle Sam after he accepts my aerial warship. I've guaranteed that she'll stand up and make headway against a gale, and I'm going to prove it." Lieutenant Marbury was told of the coming trial, and he prepared to take official note of it. While matters were being gotten in readiness Tom turned the wheel over to his assistant pilot and went to the engine-room to see that everything was in good shape to cope with any emergency. The rudders had been carefully examined before the flight was made, to make sure they would not fail, for on them depended the progress of the ship against the powerful wind. "I rather guess those foreign spies have given up trying to do Tom an injury," remarked Ned to the lieutenant as they sat in the main cabin, listening to the howl of the wind, and the dash of the rain. "Well, I certainly hope so," was the answer. "But I wouldn't be too sure. The folks in Washington evidently think something is likely to happen, or they wouldn't have sent that warning telegram." "But we haven't seen anything of the spies," Ned remarked. "No, but that isn't any sign they are not getting ready to make trouble. This may be the calm before the storm. Tom must still be on the lookout. It isn't as though his inventions alone were in danger, for they would not hesitate to inflict serious personal injury if their plans were thwarted." "They must be desperate." "They are. But here comes Tom now. He looks as though something new was about to happen." "Take care of yourselves now," advised the young aero-inventor, as he entered the cabin, finding it hard work to close the door against the terrific wind pressure. "Why?" asked Ned. "Because we are going to turn around and fight our way back against the gale. We may be turned topsy-turvy for a second or two." "Bless my shoe-horn!" cried Mr. Damon. "Do you mean upside down, Tom?" "No, not that exactly. But watch out!" Tom went forward to the pilot-house, followed by Ned and the lieutenant. The latter wanted to take official note of what happened. Tom relieved the man at the wheel, and gradually began to alter the direction of the craft. At first no change was noticeable. So strong was the force of the wind that it seemed as though the Mars was going in the same direction. But Ned, noticing a direction compass on the wall, saw that the needle was gradually shifting. "Hold fast!" cried Tom suddenly. Then with a quick shift of the rudder something happened. It seemed as though the Mars was trying to turn over, and slide along on her side, or as if she wanted to turn about and scud before the gale, instead of facing it. But Tom held her to the reverse course. "Can you get her around?" cried the lieutenant above the roar of the gale. "I--I'm going to!" muttered Tom through his set teeth. Inch by inch he fought the big craft through the storm. Inch by inch the indicator showed the turning, until at last the grip of the gale was overcome. "Now she's headed right into it!" cried Tom in exultation. "She's nosing right into it!" And the Mars was. There was no doubt of it. She had succeeded, under Tom's direction, in changing squarely about, and was now going against the wind, instead of with it. "But we can't expect to make much speed," Tom said, as he signaled for more power, for he had lowered it somewhat in making the turn. But Tom himself scarcely had reckoned on the force of his craft, for as the propellers whirled more rapidly the aerial warship did begin to make headway, and that in the teeth of a terrific wind. "She's doing it, Tom! She's doing it!" cried Ned exultingly. "I believe she is," agreed the lieutenant. "Well, so much the better," Tom said, trying to be calm. "If she can keep this up a little while I'll give her a rest and we'll go up above the storm area, and beat back home." The Mars, so far, had met every test. Tom had decided on ten minutes more of gale-fighting, when from the tube that communicated with the engine-room came a shrill whistle. "See what that is, Ned," Tom directed. "Yes," called Ned into the mouthpiece. "What's the matter?" "Short circuit in the big motor," was the reply. "We've got to run on storage battery. Send Tom back here! Something queer has happened!" CHAPTER XX THE STOWAWAYS Ned repeated the message breathlessly. "Short circuit!" gasped Tom. "Run on storage battery! I'll have to see to that. Take the wheel somebody!" "Wouldn't it be better to turn about, and run before the wind, so as not to put too great a strain on the machinery?" asked Lieutenant Marbury. "Perhaps," agreed Tom. "Hold her this way, though, until I see what's wrong!" Ned and the government man took the wheel, while Tom hurried along the runway leading from the pilot-house to the machinery cabin. The gale was still blowing fiercely. The young inventor cast a hasty look about the interior of the place as he entered. He sniffed the air suspiciously, and was aware of the odor of burning insulation. "What happened?" he asked, noting that already the principal motive power was coming from the big storage battery. The shift had been made automatically, when the main motor gave out. "It's hard to say," was the answer of the chief engineer. "We were running along all right, and we got your word to switch on more power, after the turn. We did that all right, and she was running as smooth as a sewing-machine, when, all of a sudden, she short-circuited, and the storage battery cut in automatically." "Think you put too heavy a load on the motor?" Tom asked. "Couldn't have been that. The shunt box would have taken that up, and the circuit-breaker would have worked, saving us a burn-out, and that's what happened--a burn-out. The motor will have to be rewound." "Well, no use trying to fight this gale with the storage battery," Tom said, after a moment's thought. "We'll run before it. That's the easiest way. Then we'll try to rise above the wind." He sent the necessary message to the pilot-house. A moment later the shift was made, and once more the Mars was scudding before the storm. Then Tom gave his serious attention to what had happened in the engine room. As he bent over the burned-out motor, looking at the big shiny connections, he saw something that startled him. With a quick motion Tom Swift picked up a bar of copper. It was hot to the touch--so hot that he dropped it with a cry of pain, though he had let go so quickly that the burn was only momentary. "What's the matter?" asked Jerry Mound, Tom's engineer. "Matter!" cried Tom. "A whole lot is the matter! That copper bar is what made the short circuit. It's hot yet from the electric current. How did it fall on the motor connections?" The engine room force gathered about the young inventor. No one could explain how the copper bar came to be where it was. Certainly no one of Tom's employees had put it there, and it could not have fallen by accident, for the motor connections were protected by a mesh of wire, and a hand would have to be thrust under them to put the bar in place. Tom gave a quick look at his men. He knew he could trust them--every one. But this was a queer happening. For a moment Tom did not know what to think, and then, as the memory of that warning telegram came to him, he had an idea. "Were any strangers in this cabin before the start was made?" he asked Mr. Mound. "Not that I know of," was the answer. "Well, there may be some here now," Tom said grimly. "Look about." But a careful search revealed no one. Yet the young inventor was sure the bar of copper, which had done the mischief of short-circuiting the motor, had been put in place deliberately. In reality there was no danger to the craft, since there was power enough in the storage battery to run it for several hours. But the happening showed Tom he had still to reckon with his enemies. He looked at the height gauge on the wall of the motor-room, and noted that the Mars was going up. In accordance with Tom's instructions they were sending her above the storm area. Once there, with no gale to fight, they could easily beat their way back to a point above Shopton, and make the best descent possible. And that was done while, under Tom's direction, his men took the damaged motor apart, with a view to repairing it. "What was it, Tom?" asked Ned, coming back to join his chum, after George Ventor, the assistant pilot, had taken charge of the wheel. "I don't exactly know, Ned," was the answer. "But I feel certain that some of my enemies came aboard here and worked this mischief." "Your enemies came aboard?" "Yes, and they must be here now. The placing of that copper bar proves it." "Then let's make a search and find them, Tom. It must be some of those foreign spies." "Just what I think." But a more careful search of the craft than the one Tom had casually made revealed the presence of no one. All the crew and helpers were accounted for, and, as they had been in Tom's service for some time, they were beyond suspicion. Yet the fact remained that a seemingly human agency had acted to put the main motor out of commission. Tom could not understand it. "Well, it sure is queer," observed Ned, as the search came to nothing. "It's worse than queer," declared Tom, "it's alarming! I don't know when I'll be safe if we have ghosts aboard." "Ghosts?" repeated Ned. "Well, when we can't find out who put that bar in place I might as well admit it was a ghost," spoke Tom. "Certainly, if it was done by a man, he didn't jump overboard after doing it, and he isn't here now. It sure is queer!" Ned agreed with the last statement, at any rate. In due time the Mars, having fought her way above the storm, came over Shopton, and then, the wind having somewhat died out, she fought her way down, and, after no little trouble, was housed in the hangar. Tom cautioned his friends and workmen to say nothing to his father about the mysterious happening on board. "I'll just tell him we had a slight accident, and let it go at that," Tom decided. "No use in causing him worry." "But what are you going to do about it?" asked Ned. "I'm going to keep careful watch over the aerial warship, at any rate," declared Tom. "If there's a hidden enemy aboard, I'll starve him out." Accordingly, a guard, under the direction of Koku, was posted about the big shed, but nothing came of it. No stranger was observed to sneak out of the ship, after it had been deserted by the crew. The mystery seemed deeper than ever. It took nearly a week to repair the big motor, and, during this time, Tom put some improvements on the airship, and added the finishing touches. He was getting it ready for the final government test, for the authorities in Washington had sent word that they would have Captain Warner, in addition to Lieutenant Marbury, make the final inspection and write a report. Meanwhile several little things occurred to annoy Tom. He was besieged with applications from new men who wanted to work, and many of these men seemed to be foreigners. Tom was sure they were either spies of some European nations, or the agents of spies, and they got no further than the outer gate. But some strangers did manage to sneak into the works, though they were quickly detected and sent about their business. Also, once or twice, small fires were discovered in outbuildings, but they were soon extinguished with little damage. Extra vigilance was the watchword. "And yet, with all my precautions, they may get me, or damage something," declared Tom. "It is very annoying!" "It is," agreed Ned, "and we must be doubly on the lookout." So impressed was Ned with the necessity for caution that he arranged to take his vacation at this time, so as to be on hand to help his chum, if necessary. The Mars was nearing completion. The repaired motor was better than ever, and everything was in shape for the final test. Mr. Damon was persuaded to go along, and Koku was to be taken, as well as the two government officials. The night before the trip the guards about the airship shed were doubled, and Tom made two visits to the place before midnight. But there was no alarm. Consequently, when the Mars started off on her final test, it was thought that all danger from the spies was over. "She certainly is a beauty," said Captain Warner, as the big craft shot upward. "I shall be interested in seeing how she stands gun fire, though." "Oh, she'll stand it," declared Lieutenant Marbury. The trip was to consume several days of continuous flying, to test the engines. A large supply of food and ammunition was aboard. It was after supper of the first day out, and our friends were seated in the main cabin laying out a program for the next day, when sudden yells came from a part of the motor cabin devoted to storage. Koku, who had been sent to get out a barrel of oil, was heard to shout. "What's up?" asked Tom, starting to his feet. He was answered almost at once by more yells. "Oh, Master! Come quickly!" cried the giant. "There are many men here. There are stowaways aboard!" CHAPTER XXI PRISONERS For a moment, after hearing Koku's reply, neither Tom nor his friends spoke. Then Ned, in a dazed sort of way, repeated: "Stowaways!" "Bless my--" began Mr. Damon, but that was as far as he got. From the engine compartment, back of the amidship cabin, came a sound of cries and heavy blows. The yells of Koku could be heard above those of the others. Then the door of the cabin where Tom Swift and his friends were was suddenly burst open, and seven or eight men threw themselves within. They were led by a man with a small, dark mustache and a little tuft of whiskers on his chin--an imperial. He looked the typical Frenchman, and his words, snapped out, bore out that belief. What he said was in French, as Tom understood, though he knew little of that language. Also, what the Frenchman said produced an immediate result, for the men following him sprang at our friends with overwhelming fierceness. Before Tom, Ned, Captain Warner, Mr. Damon or Lieutenant Marbury could grasp any weapon with which to defend themselves, had their intentions been to do so, they were seized. Against such odds little could be done, though our friends did not give up without a struggle. "What does this mean?" angrily demanded Tom Swift. "Who are you? What are you doing aboard my craft? Who are--" His words were lost in smothered tones, for one of his assailants put a heavy cloth over his mouth, and tied it there, gagging him. Another man, with a quick motion, whipped a rope about Tom's hands and feet, and he was soon securely bound. In like manner the others were treated, and, despite the struggles of Mr. Damon, the two government men and Ned, they were soon put in a position where they could do nothing--helplessly bound, and laid on a bench in the main cabin, staring blankly up at the ceiling. Each one was gagged so effectively that he could not utter more than a faint moan. Of the riot of thoughts that ran through the heads of each one, I leave you to imagine. What did it all mean? Where had the strange men come from? What did they mean by thus assaulting Tom and his companions? And what had happened to the others of the crew--Koku, Jerry Mound, the engineer, and George Ventor, the assistant pilot? These were only a few of the questions Tom asked himself, as he lay there, bound and helpless. Doubtless Mr. Damon and the others were asking themselves similar questions. One thing was certain--whatever the stowaways, as Koku had called them, had done, they had not neglected the Mars, for she was running along at about the same speed, though in what direction Tom could not tell. He strained to get a view of the compass on the forward wall of the cabin, but he could not see it. It had been a rough-and-tumble fight, by which our friends were made prisoners, but no one seemed to have been seriously, or even slightly, hurt. The invaders, under the leadership of the Frenchman, were rather ruffled, but that was all. Pantingly they stood in line, surveying their captives, while the man with the mustache and imperial smiled in a rather superior fashion at the row of bound ones. He spoke in his own tongue to the men, who, with the exception of one, filed out, going, as Tom and the others could note, to the engine-room in the rear. "I hope I have not had to hurt any of you," the Frenchman observed, with sarcastic politeness. "I regret the necessity that caused me to do this, but, believe me, it was unavoidable." He spoke with some accent, and Tom at once decided this was the same man who had once approached Eradicate. He also recognized him as the man he had seen in the woods the day of the outing. "He's one of the foreign spies," thought Tom "and he's got us and the ship, too. They were too many for us!" Tom's anxiety to speak, to hold some converse with the captor, was so obvious that the Frenchman said: "I am going to treat you as well as I can under the circumstances. You and your other friends, who are also made prisoners, will be allowed to be together, and then you can talk to your hearts' content." The other man, who had remained with the evident ringleader of the stowaways, asked a question, in French, and he used the name La Foy. "Ah!" thought Tom. "This is the leader of the gang that attacked Koku in the shop that night. They have been waiting their chance, and now they have made good. But where did they come from? Could they have boarded us from some other airship?" Yet, as Tom asked himself that question, he knew it could hardly have been possible. The men must have been in hiding on his own craft, they must have been, as Koku had cried out--stowaways--and have come out at a preconcerted signal to overpower the aviators. "If you will but have patience a little longer," went on La Foy, for that was evidently the name of the leader, "you will all be together. We are just considering where best to put you so that you will not suffer too much. It is quite a problem to deal with so many prisoners, but we have no choice." The two Frenchmen conversed rapidly in their own language for a few minutes, and then there came into the cabin another of the men who had helped overpower Tom and his friends. What he told La Foy seemed to give that individual satisfaction, for he smiled. "We are going to put you all together in the largest storeroom, which is partly empty," La Foy said. "There you will be given food and drink, and treated as well as possible under the circumstances. You will also be unbound, and may converse among yourselves. I need hardly point out," he went on, "that calling for help will be useless. We are a mile or so in the air, and have no intention of descending," and he smiled mockingly. "They must know how to navigate my aerial warship," thought Tom. "I wonder what their game is, anyhow?" Night had fallen, but the cabin was aglow with electric lights. The foreigners in charge of the Mars seemed to know their way about perfectly, and how to manage the big craft. By the vibration Tom could tell that the motor was running evenly and well. "But what happened to the others--to Mound, Ventor and Koku?" wondered Tom. A moment later several of the foreigners entered. Some of them did not look at all like Frenchmen, and Tom was sure one was a German and another a Russian. "This will be your prison--for a while," said La Foy significantly, and Tom wondered how long this would be the case. A sharp thought came to him--how long would they be prisoners? Did not some other, and more terrible, fate await them? As La Foy spoke, he opened a storeroom door that led off from the main, or amidship, cabin. This room was intended to contain the supplies and stores that would be taken on a long voyage. It was one of two, being the larger, and now contained only a few odds and ends of little importance. It made a strong prison, as Tom well knew, having planned it. One by one, beginning with Tom, the prisoners were taken up and placed in a recumbent position on the floor of the storeroom. Then were brought in the engineer and assistant pilot, as well as Koku and a machinist whom Tom had brought along to help him. Now the young inventor and all his friends were together. It took four men to carry Koku in, the giant being covered with a network of ropes. "On second thought," said La Foy, as he saw Koku being placed with his friends, "I think we will keep the big man with us. We had trouble enough to subdue him. Carry him back to the engine-room." So Koku, trussed up like some roped steer, was taken out again. "Now then," said La Foy to his prisoners, as he stood in the door of the room, "I will unbind one of you, and he may loose the bonds of the others." As he spoke, he took the rope from Tom's hands, and then, quickly slipping out, locked and barred the door. CHAPTER XXII APPREHENSIONS For a moment or two, after the ropes binding his hands were loosed, Tom Swift did nothing. He was not only stunned mentally, but the bonds had been pulled so tightly about his wrists that the circulation was impeded, and his cramped muscles required a little time in which to respond. But presently he felt the tingle of the coursing blood, and he found he could move his arms. He raised them to his head, and then his first care was to remove the pad of cloth that formed a gag over his mouth. Now he could talk. "I--I'll loosen you all in just a second," he said, as he bent over to pick at the knot of the rope around his legs. His own voice sounded strange to him. "I don't know what it's all about, any more than you do," he went on, speaking to the others. "It's a fierce game we're up against, and we've got to make the best of it. As soon as we can move, and talk, we'll decide what's best to do. Whoever these fellows are, and I believe they are the foreign spies I've been warned about, they are in complete possession of the airship." Tom found it no easy matter to loosen the bonds on his feet. The ropes were well tied, and Tom's fingers were stiff from the lack of circulation of blood. But finally he managed to free himself. When he stood up in the dim storeroom, that was now a prison for all save Koku, he found that he could not walk. He almost toppled over, so weak were his legs from the tightness of the ropes. He sat down and worked his muscles until they felt normal again. A few minutes later, weak and rather tottery, he managed to reach Mr. Damon, whom he first unbound. He realized that Mr. Damon was the oldest of his friends, and, consequently, would suffer most. And it was characteristic of the eccentric gentleman that, as soon as his gag was removed he burst out with: "Bless my wristlets, Tom! What does it all mean?" "That's more than I can say, Mr. Damon," replied Tom, with a mournful shake of his head. "I'm very sorry it happened, for it looks as though I hadn't taken proper care. The idea of those men stowing themselves away on board here, and me not knowing it; and then coming out unexpectedly and getting possession of the craft! It doesn't speak very well for my smartness." "Oh, well, Tom, anyone might have been fooled by those plotting foreigners," said Mr. Damon. "Now, we'll try to turn matters about and get the best of them. Oh, but it feels good to be free once more!" He stretched his benumbed and stiffened limbs and then helped Tom free the others. They stood up, looking at each other in their dimly lighted prison. "Well, if this isn't the limit I don't know what is!" cried Ned Newton. "They got the best of you, Tom," spoke Lieutenant Marbury. "Are they really foreign spies?" asked Captain Warner. "Yes," replied his assistant. "They managed to carry out the plot we tried to frustrate. It was a good trick, too, hiding on board, and coming out with a rush." "Is that what they did?" asked Mr. Damon. "It looks so," observed Tom. "The attack must have started in the engine-room," he went on, with a look at Mound and Ventor. "What happened there?" he asked. "Well, that's about the way it was," answered the engineer. "We were working away, making some adjustments, oiling the parts and seeing that everything was running smoothly, when, all at once, I heard Koku yell. He had gone in the oil room. At first I thought something had gone wrong with the ship, but, when I looked at the giant, I saw he was being attacked by four strange men. And, before I, or any of the other men, could do anything, they all swarmed down on us. "There must have been a dozen of them, and they simply overwhelmed us. One of them hit Koku on the head with an iron bar, and that took all the fight out of the giant, or the story might have been a different one. As it was, we were overpowered, and that's all I know until we were carried in here, and saw you folks all tied up as we were." "They burst in on us in the same way," Tom explained. "But where did they come from? Where were they hiding?" "In the oil and gasoline storeroom that opens out of the motor compartment," answered Mound, the engineer. "It isn't half full, you know, and there's room for more than a dozen men in it. They must have gone in some time last night, when the airship was in the hangar, and remained hidden among the boxes and barrels until they got ready to come out and overpower us." "That's it," decided Tom. "But I don't understand how they got in. The hangar was well guarded all night." "Some of your men might have been bribed," suggested Ned. "Yes, that is so," admitted Tom, and, later, he learned that such had been the case. The foreign spies, for such they were, had managed to corrupt one of Tom's trusted employees, who had looked the other way when La Foy and his fellow-conspirators sneaked into the airship shed and secreted themselves. "Well, discussing how they got on board isn't going to do us any good now," Tom remarked ruefully. "The question is--what are we going to do?" "Bless my fountain pen!" cried Mr. Damon. "There's only one thing to do!" "What is that?" asked Ned. "Why, get out of here, call a policeman, and have these scoundrels arrested. I'll prosecute them! I'll have my lawyer on hand to see that they get the longest terms the statutes call for! Bless my pocketbook, but I will!" and Mr. Damon waxed quite indignant. "That's easier said than done," observed Tom Swift, quietly. "In the first place, it isn't going to be an easy matter to get out of here." He looked around the storeroom, which was then their prison. It was illuminated by a single electric light, which showed some boxes and barrels piled in the rear. "Nothing in them to help us get out," Tom went on, for he knew what the contents were. "Oh, we'll get out," declared Ned confidently, "but I don't believe we'll find a policeman ready to take our complaint. The upper air isn't very well patrolled as yet." "That's so," agreed Mr. Damon. "I forgot that we were in an airship. But what is to be done, Tom? We really are captives aboard our own craft." "Yes, worse luck," returned the young inventor. "I feel foolish when I think how we let them take us prisoners." "We couldn't help it," Ned commented. "They came on us too suddenly. We didn't have a chance. And they outnumbered us two to one. If they could take care of big Koku, what chance did we have?" "Very little," said Engineer Mound. "They were desperate fellows. They know something about aircraft, too. For, as soon as Koku, Ventor and I were disposed of, some of them went at the machinery as if they had been used to running it all their lives." "Oh, the foreigners are experts when it comes to craft of the air," said Captain Warner. "Well, they seem to be running her, all right," admitted the young inventor, "and at good speed, too. They have increased our running rate, if I am any judge." "By several miles an hour," confirmed the assistant pilot. "Though in which direction they are heading, and what they are going to do with us is more than I can guess." "That's so!" agreed Mr. Damon. "What is to become of us? They may heave us overboard into the ocean!" "Into the ocean!" cried Ned apprehensively. "Are we near the sea?" "We must be, by this time," spoke Tom. "We were headed in that direction, and we have come almost far enough to put us somewhere over the Atlantic, off the Jersey coast." A look of apprehension was on the faces of all. But Tom's face did not remain clouded long. "We won't try to swim until we have to," he said. "Now, let's take an account of stock, and see if we have any means of getting out of this prison." CHAPTER XXIII ACROSS THE SEA With one accord the hands of the captives sought their pockets. Probably the first thought of each one was a knife--a pocket knife. But blank looks succeeded their first hopeful ones, for the hands came out empty. "Not a thing!" exclaimed Mr. Damon. "Not a blessed thing! They have even taken my keys and--my fountain pen!" "I guess they searched us all while they were struggling with us, tying us up," suggested Ned. "I had a knife with a big, strong blade, but it's gone." "So is mine," echoed Tom. "And I haven't even a screwdriver, or a pocket-wrench," declared the engineer, "though I had both." "They evidently knew what they were doing," said Lieutenant Marbury. "I don't usually carry a revolver, but of late I have had a small automatic in my pocket. That's gone, too." "And so are all my things," went on his naval friend. "That Frenchman, La Foy, was taking no chances." "Well, if we haven't any weapons, or means of getting out of here, we must make them," said Tom, as hopefully as he could under the circumstances. "I don't know all the things that were put in this storeroom, and perhaps there may be something we can use." "Shall we make the try now?" asked Ned. "I'm getting thirsty, at least. Lucky we had supper before they came out at us." "Well, there isn't any water in here, or anything to eat, of so much I am sure," went on Tom "So we will have to depend on our captors for that." "At least we can shout and ask for water," said Lieutenant Marbury. "They have no excuse for being needlessly cruel." They all agreed that this might not be a bad plan, and were preparing to raise a united shout, when there came a knock on the door of their prison. "Are you willing to listen to reason?" asked a voice they recognized as that of La Foy. "What do you mean by reason?" asked Tom bitterly. "You have no right to impose any conditions on us." "I have the right of might, and I intend exercising it," was the sharp rejoinder. "If you will listen to reason--" "Which kind--yours or ours?" asked Tom pointedly. "Mine, in this case," snapped back the Frenchman. "What I was going to say was that I do not intend to starve you, or cause you discomfort by thirst. I am going to open the door and put in food and water. But I warn you that any attempt to escape will be met with severe measures. "We are in sufficient force to cope with you. I think you have seen that." He spoke calmly and in perfect English, though with a marked accent. "My men are armed, and will stand here ready to meet violence with violence," he went on. "Is that understood?" For a moment none of the captives replied. "I think it will be better to give in to him at least for a while," said Captain Warner in a low voice to Tom. "We need water, and will soon need food. We can think and plan better if we are well nourished." "Then you think I should promise not to raise a row?" "For the time being--yes." "Well, I am waiting!" came in sharp tones from the other side of the portal. "Our answer is--yes," spoke Tom. "We will not try to get out--just yet," he added significantly. A key was heard grating in the lock, and, a moment later, the door slid back. Through the opening could be seen La Foy and some of his men standing armed. Others had packages of food and jugs of water. A plentiful supply of the latter was carried aboard the Mars. "Keep back from the door!" was the stern command of La Foy. "The food and drink will be passed in only if you keep away from the entrance. Remember my men are armed!" The warning was hardly needed, for the weapons could plainly be seen. Tom had half a notion that perhaps a concerted rush would carry the day for him and his friends, but he was forced to abandon that idea. While the guards looked on, others of the "pirate crew," as Ned dubbed them, passed in food and water. Then the door was locked again. They all felt better after drinking the water, which was made cool by evaporation, for the airship was quite high above the earth when Tom's enemies captured it, and the young inventor felt sure it had not descended any. No one felt much like eating, however, so the food was put away for a time. And then, somewhat refreshed, they began looking about for some means of getting out of their prison. "Of course we might batter down the door, in time, by using some of these boxes as rams," said Tom. "But the trouble is, that would make a noise, and they could stand outside and drive us back with guns and pistols, of which they seem to have plenty." "Yes, and they could turn some of your own quick-firers on us," added Captain Warner. "No, we must work quietly, I think, and take them unawares, as they took us. That is our only plan." "We will be better able to see what we have here by daylight," Tom said. "Suppose we wait until morning?" That plan was deemed best, and preparations made for spending the night in their prison. It was a most uncomfortable night for all of them. The floor was their only bed, and their only covering some empty bags that had contained supplies. But even under these circumstances they managed to doze off fitfully. Once they were all awakened by a violent plunging of the airship. The craft seemed to be trying to stand on her head, and then she rocked violently from side to side, nearly turning turtle. "What is it?" gasped Ned, who was lying next to Tom. "They must be trying some violent stunts," replied the young inventor, "or else we have run into a storm." "I think the latter is the case," observed Lieutenant Marbury. And, as the motion of the craft kept up, though less violently, this was accepted as the explanation. Through the night the Mars flew, but whither the captives knew not. The first gray streaks of dawn finally shone through the only window of their prison. Sore, lame and stiff, wearied in body and disturbed in mind, the captives awoke. Tom's first move was toward the window. It was high up, but, by standing on a box, he could look through it. He uttered an exclamation. "What is it?" asked Ned, swaying to and fro from the violent motion of the aerial warship. "We are away out over the sea," spoke Tom, "and in the midst of a bad storm." CHAPTER XXIV THE LIGHTNING BOLT Tom turned away from the window, to find his companions regarding him anxiously. "A storm," repeated Ned. "What sort?" "It might turn into any sort," replied Tom. "All I can see now is a lot of black clouds, and the wind must be blowing pretty hard, for there's quite a sea on." "Bless my galvanometer!" cried Mr. Damon. "Then we are out over the ocean again, Tom?" "Yes, there's no doubt of it." "What part?" asked the assistant pilot. "That's more than I can tell," Tom answered. "Suppose I take a look?" suggested Captain Warner. "I've done quite a bit of sailing in my time." But, when he had taken a look through the window at which Tom had been standing, the naval officer descended, shaking his head. "There isn't a landmark in sight," he announced. "We might be over the middle of the Atlantic, for all I could tell." "Hardly as far as that," spoke Tom. "They haven't been pushing the Mars at that speed. But we may be across to the other side before we realize it." "How's that?" asked Ned. "Well, the ship is in the possession of these foreign spies," went on Tom. "All their interests are in Europe, though it would be hard to say what nationality is in command here. I think there are even some Englishmen among those who attacked us, as well as French, Germans, Italians and Russians." "Yes, it seems to be a combination of European nations against us," admitted Captain Warner. "Probably, after they have made good their seizure of Tom's aerial warship, they will portion her out among themselves, or use her as a model from which to make others." "Do you think that is their object?" asked Mr. Damon. "Undoubtedly," was the captain's answer. "It has been the object of these foreign spies, all along, not only to prevent the United States from enjoying the benefits of these progressive inventions, but to use them for themselves. They would stop at nothing to gain their ends. It seems we did not sufficiently appreciate their power and daring." "Well, they've got us, at any rate," observed Tom, "and they may take us and the ship to some far-off foreign country." "If they don't heave us overboard half-way there," commented Ned, in rather gloomy tones. "Well, of course, there's that possibility," admitted Tom. "They are desperate characters." "Well, we must do something," declared Lieutenant Marbury. "Come, it's daylight now, and we can see to work better. Let's see if we can't find a way to get out of this prison. Say, but this sure is a storm!" he cried, as the airship rolled and pitched violently. "They are handling her well, though," observed Tom, as the craft came quickly to an even keel. "Either they have a number of expert birdmen on board, or they can easily adapt themselves to a new aircraft. She is sailing splendidly." "Well, let's eat something, and set to work," proposed Ned. They brought out the food which had been given to them the night before, but before they could eat this, there came a knock on the door, and more food and fresh water was handed in, under the same precautions as before. Tom and his companions indignantly demanded to be released, but their protests were only laughed at, and while the guards stood with ready weapons the door was again shut and locked. But the prisoners were not the kind to sit idly down in the face of this. Under Tom's direction they set about looking through their place of captivity for something by which they could release themselves. At first they found nothing, and Ned even suggested trying to cut a way through the wooden walls with a fingernail file, which he found in one of his pockets, when Tom, who had gone to the far end of the storeroom, uttered a cry. "What is it--a way out?" asked Lieutenant Marbury anxiously. "No, but means to that end," Tom replied. "Look, a file and a saw, left here by some of my workmen, perhaps," and he brought out the tools. He had found them behind a barrel in the far end of the compartment. "Hurray!" cried Ned. "That's the ticket! Now we'll soon show these fellows what's what!" "Go easy!" cautioned Tom. "We must work carefully. It won't do to slam around and try to break down the door with these. I think we had better select a place on the side wall, break through that, and make an opening where we can come out unnoticed. Then, when we are ready, we can take them by surprise. We'll have to do something like that, for they outnumber us, you know." "That is so," agreed Captain Warner. "We must use strategy." "Well, where would be a good place to begin to burrow out?" asked Ned. "Here," said Tom, indicating a place far back in the room. "We can work there in turns, sawing a hole through the wall. It will bring us out in the passage between the aft and amidship cabins, and we can go either way." "Then let's begin!" cried Ned enthusiastically, and they set to work. While the aerial warship pitched and tossed in the storm, over some part of the Atlantic, Tom and his friends took turns in working their way to freedom. With the sharp end of the file a small hole was made, the work being done as slowly as a rat gnaws, so as to make no noise that would be heard by their captors. In time the hole was large enough to admit the end of the saw. But this took many hours, and it was not until the second day of their captivity that they had the hole nearly large enough for the passage of one person at a time. They had not been discovered, they thought. Meanwhile they had been given food and water at intervals, but to all demands that they be released, or at least told why they were held prisoners, a deaf ear was turned. They could only guess at the fate of Koku. Probably the giant was kept bound, for once he got the chance to use his enormous strength it might go hard with the foreigners. The Mars continued to fly through the air. Sometimes, as Tom and his friends could tell by the motion, she was almost stationary in the upper regions, and again she seemed to be flying at top speed. Occasionally there came the sound of firing. "They're trying my guns," observed Tom grimly. "Do you suppose they are being attacked?" asked Ned, hopefully. "Hardly," replied Captain Warner. "The United States possesses no craft able to cope with this one in aerial warfare, and they are hardly engaging in part of the European war yet. I think they are just trying Tom's new guns." Later our friends learned that such was the case. The storm had either passed, or the Mars had run out of the path of it, for, after the first few hours of pitching and tossing, the atmosphere seemed reduced to a state of calm. All the while they were secretly working to gain their freedom so they might attack and overpower their enemies, they took occasional observations from the small window. But they could learn nothing of their whereabouts. They could only view the heaving ocean, far below them, or see a mass of cloud-mist, which hid the earth, if so be that the Mars was sailing over land. "But how much longer can they keep it up?" asked Ned. "Well, we have fuel and supplies aboard for nearly two weeks," Tom answered. "And by the end of that time we may all be dead," spoke the young bank clerk despondently. "No, we'll be out of here before then!" declared Lieutenant Marbury. Indeed the hole was now almost large enough to enable them to crawl out one at a time. They could not, of course, see how it looked from the outside, but Tom had selected a place for its cutting so that the sawdust and the mark of the panel that was being removed, would not ordinarily be noticeable. They set night as the time for making the attempt--late at night, when it was hoped that most of their captors would be asleep. Finally the last cut was made, and a piece of wood hung over the opening only by a shred, all ready to knock out. "We'll do it at midnight," announced Tom. Anxious, indeed, were those last hours of waiting. The time had almost arrived for the attempt, when Tom, who had been nervously pacing to and fro, remarked: "We must be running into another storm. Feel how she heaves and rolls!" Indeed the Mars was most unsteady. "It sure is a storm!" cried Ned, "and a heavy one, too," for there came a burst of thunder, that seemed like a report of Tom's giant cannon. In another instant they were in the midst of a violent thunderstorm, the airship pitching and tossing in a manner to almost throw them from their feet. As Tom reached up to switch on the electric light again, there came a flash of lightning that well nigh blinded them. And so close after it as to seem simultaneous, there came such a crash of thunder as to stun them all. There was a tingling, as of a thousand pins and needles in the body of each of the captives, and a strong smell of sulphur. Then, as the echoes of the clap died away, Tom yelled: "She's been struck! The airship has been struck!" CHAPTER XXV FREEDOM For a moment there was silence, following Tom's wild cry and the noise of the thunderclap. Then, as other, though less loud reverberations of the storm continued to sound, the captives awoke to a realization of what had happened. They had been partially stunned, and were almost as in a dream. "Are--are we all right?" stammered Ned. "Bless my soul! What has happened?" cried Mr. Damon. "We've been struck by lightning!" Tom repeated. "I don't know whether we're all right or not." "We seem to be falling!" exclaimed Lieutenant Marbury. "If the whole gas bag isn't ripped to pieces we're lucky," commented Jerry Mound. Indeed, it was evident that the Mars was sinking rapidly. To all there came the sensation of riding in an elevator in a skyscraper and being dropped a score of stories. Then, as they stood there in the darkness, illuminated only by flashes from the lightning outside the window, waiting for an unknown fate, Tom Swift uttered a cry of delight. "We've stopped falling!" he cried. "The automatic gas machine is pumping. Part of the gas bag was punctured, but the unbroken compartments hold!" "If part of the gas leaked out I don't see why it wasn't all set on fire and exploded," observed Captain Warner. "It's a non-burnable gas," Tom quickly explained. "But come on. This may be our very chance. There seems to be something going on that may be in our favor." Indeed the captives could hear confused cries and the running to and fro of many feet. He made for the sawed panel, and, in another instant, had burst out and was through it, out into the passageway between the after and amidship cabins. His companions followed him. They looked into the rear cabin, or motor compartment, and a scene of confusion met their gaze. Two of the foreign men who had seized the ship lay stretched out on the floor near the humming machinery, which had been left to run itself. A look in the other direction, toward the main cabin, showed a group of the foreign spies bending over the inert body of La Foy, the Frenchman, stretched out on a couch. "What has happened?" cried Ned. "What does it all mean?' "The lightning!" exclaimed Tom. "The bolt that struck the ship has knocked out some of our enemies! Now is the time to attack them!" The Mars seemed to have passed completely through a narrow storm belt. She was now in a quiet atmosphere, though behind her could be seen the fitful play of lightning, and there could be heard the distant rumble of thunder. "Come on!" cried Tom. "We must act quickly, while they are demoralized! Come on!" His friends needed no further urging. Jerry Mound and the machinist rushed to the engine-room, to look after any of the enemy that might be there, while Tom, Ned and the others ran into the middle cabin. "Grab 'em! Tie 'em up!" cried Tom, for they had no weapons with which to make an attack. But none were needed. So stunned were the foreigners by the lightning bolt, which had miraculously passed our friends, and so unnerved by the striking down of La Foy, their leader, that they seemed like men half asleep. Before they could offer any resistance they were bound with the same ropes that had held our friends in bondage. That is, all but the big Frenchman himself. He seemed beyond the need of binding. Mound, the engineer, and his assistant, came hurrying in from the motor-room, followed by Koku. "We found him chained up," Jerry explained, as the big giant, freed from his captivity, rubbed his chafed wrists. "Are there any of the foreigners back there?' "Only those two knocked out by the lightning," the engineer explained. "We've made them secure. I see you've got things here in shape." "Yes," replied Tom. "And now to see where we are, and to get back home. Whew! But this has been a time! Koku, what happened to you?" "They no let anything happen. I be in chains all the while," the giant answered. "Jump on me before I can do anything!" "Well, you're out, now, and I think we'll have you stand guard over these men. The tables are turned, Koku." The bound ones were carried to the same prison whence our friends had escaped, but their bonds were not taken off, and Koku was put in the place with them. By this time La Foy and the two other stricken men showed signs of returning life. They had only been stunned. The young inventor and his friends, once more in possession of their airship, lost little time in planning to return. They found that the spies were all expert aeronauts, and had kept a careful chart of their location. They were then halfway across the Atlantic, and in a short time longer would probably have been in some foreign country. But Tom turned the Mars about. The craft had only been slightly damaged by the lightning bolt, though three of the gas bag compartments were torn, The others sufficed, however, to make the ship sufficiently buoyant. When morning came Tom and his friends had matters running almost as smoothly as before their capture. The prisoners had no chance to escape, and, indeed, they seemed to have been broken in spirit. La Foy was no longer the insolent, mocking Frenchman that he had been, and the two chief foreign engineers seemed to have lost some of their reason when the lightning struck them. "But it was a mighty lucky and narrow escape for us," said Ned, as he and Tom sat in the pilot-house the second day of the return trip. "That's right," agreed his chum. Once again they were above the earth, and, desiring to get rid as soon as possible of the presence of the spies, a landing was made near New York City, and the government authorities communicated with. Captain Warner and Lieutenant Marbury took charge of the prisoners, with some Secret Service men, and the foreigners were soon safely locked up. "And now what are you going to do, Tom?" asked Ned, when, once more, they had the airship to themselves. "I'm going back to Shopton, fix up the gas bag, and give her another government trial," was the answer. And, in due time, this was done. Tom added some improvements to the aircraft, making it better than ever, and when she was given the test required by the government, she was an unqualified success, and the rights to the Mars were purchased for a large sum. In sailing, and in the matter of guns and bombs, Tom's craft answered every test. "So you see I was right, after all, Dad," the young inventor said, when informed that he had succeeded. "We can shoot off even bigger guns than I thought from the deck of the Mars." "Yes, Tom," replied the aged inventor, "I admit I was wrong." Tom's aerial warship was even a bigger success than he had dared to hope. Once the government men fully understood how to run it, in which Tom played a prominent part in giving instructions, they put the Mars to a severe test. She was taken out over the ocean, and her guns trained on an obsolete battleship. Her bombs and projectiles blew the craft to pieces. "The Mars will be the naval terror of the seas in any future war," predicted Captain Warner. The Secret Service men succeeded in unearthing all the details of the plot against Tom. His life, at times, had been in danger, but at the last minute the man detailed to harm him lost his nerve. It was Tom's enemies who had set on fire the red shed, and who later tried to destroy the ship by putting a corrosive acid in one of the propellers. That plot, though, was not wholly successful. Then came the time when one of the spies hid on board, and dropped the copper bar on the motor, short-circuiting it. But for the storage-battery that scheme might have wrought fearful damage. The spy who had stowed himself away on the craft escaped at night by the connivance of one of Tom's corrupt employees. The foreign spies were tried and found guilty, receiving merited punishment. Of course the governments to which they belonged disclaimed any part in the seizure of Tom's aerial warship. It came out at the trial that one of Tom's most trusted employees had proved a traitor, and had the night before the test, allowed the foreign spies to secrete themselves on board, to rush out at an opportune time to overpower our hero and his friends. But luck was with Tom at the end. "Well, what are you going to tackle next, Tom?" asked Ned, one day about a month after these exciting experiences. "I don't know," was the slow answer. "I think a self-swinging hammock, under an apple tree, with a never-emptying pitcher of ice-cold lemonade would be about the thing." "Good, Tom! And, if you'll invent that, I'll share it with you." "Well, come on, let's begin now," laughed Tom. "I need a vacation, anyhow." But it is very much to be doubted if Tom Swift, even on a vacation, could refrain from trying to invent something, either in the line of airships, water, or land craft. And so, until he again comes to the front with something new, we will take leave of him. THE TOM SWIFT SERIES By VICTOR APPLETON These spirited tales convey in a realistic way, the wonderful advances in land and sea locomotion. Stories like these are impressed upon the memory and their reading is productive only of good. TOM SWIFT AND HIS MOTOR CYCLE TOM SWIFT AND HIS MOTOR BOAT TOM SWIFT AND HIS AIRSHIP TOM SWIFT AND HIS SUBMARINE BOAT TOM SWIFT AND HIS ELECTRIC RUNABOUT TOM SWIFT AND HIS WIRELESS MESSAGE TOM SWIFT AMONG THE DIAMOND MAKERS TOM SWIFT IN THE CAVES OF ICE TOM SWIFT AND HIS SKY RACER TOM SWIFT AND HIS ELECTRIC RIFLE TOM SWIFT IN THE CITY OF GOLD TOM SWIFT AND HIS AIR GLIDER TOM SWIFT IN CAPTIVITY TOM SWIFT AND HIS WIZARD CAMERA TOM SWIFT AND HIS GREAT SEARCHLIGHT TOM SWIFT AND HIS GIANT CANNON TOM SWIFT AND HIS PHOTO TELEPHONE TOM SWIFT AND HIS AERIAL WARSHIP TOM SWIFT AND HIS BIG TUNNEL TOM SWIFT IN THE LAND OF WONDERS TOM SWIFT AND HIS WAR TANK TOM SWIFT AND HIS AIR SCOUT TOM SWIFT AND HIS UNDERSEA SEARCH TOM SWIFT AMONG THE FIRE FIGHTERS TOM SWIFT AND HIS ELECTRIC LOCOMOTIVE THE MOVING PICTURE BOYS SERIES BY VICTOR APPLETON Moving pictures and photo plays are famous the world over, and in this line of books the reader is given a full description of how the films are made--the scenes of little dramas, indoors and out, trick pictures to satisfy the curious, soul-stirring pictures of city affairs, life in the Wild West, among the cowboys and Indians, thrilling rescues along the seacoast, the daring of picture hunters in the jungle among savage beasts, and the great risks run in picturing conditions in a land of earthquakes. The volumes teem with adventures and will be found interesting from first chapter to last. THE MOVING PICTURE BOYS THE MOVING PICTURE BOYS IN THE WEST THE MOVING PICTURE BOYS ON THE COAST THE MOVING PICTURE BOYS IN THE JUNGLE THE MOVING PICTURE BOYS IN EARTHQUAKE LAND THE MOVING PICTURE BOYS AND THE FLOOD THE MOVING PICTURE BOYS AT PANAMA THE MOVING PICTURE BOYS UNDER THE SEA THE MOVING PICTURE BOYS ON THE WAR FRONT THE MOVING PICTURE BOYS ON FRENCH BATTLEFIELDS MOVING PICTURE BOYS FIRST SHOWHOUSE MOVING PICTURE BOYS AT SEASIDE PARK MOVING PICTURE BOYS ON BROADWAY THE MOVING PICTURE BOYS OUTDOOR EXHIBITION THE MOVING PICTURE BOYS NEW IDEA 
1362	----	TOM SWIFT AND HIS UNDERSEA SEARCH or The Treasure on the Floor of the Atlantic by VICTOR APPLETON CONTENTS CHAPTER I UNTOLD MILLIONS II A STRANGE OFFER III THINKING IT OVER IV AGAINST HIS WILL V BUSY DAYS VI MARY'S ODD STORY VII THE TRIAL TRIP VIII THE MUD BANK IX READY TO START X STARTLING REVELATIONS XI BARTON KEITH'S STORY XII IN DEEP WATERS XIII THE SEA MONSTER XIV IN STRANGE PERIL XV TOM TO THE RESCUE XVI GASPING FOR AIR XVII WHERE IS IT? XVIII A SEPARATION XIX THE SERPENT WEED XX THE DEVIL FISH XXI A WAR REMINDER XXII STUDYING CURRENTS XXIII AN UNDERSEA COLLISION XXIV THE TREASURE SHIP XXV THE STEEL BOX TOM SWIFT AND HIS UNDERSEA SEARCH CHAPTER I UNTOLD MILLIONS "Tom, this is certainly wonderful reading! Over a hundred million dollars' worth of silver at the bottom of the ocean! More than two hundred million dollars in gold! To say nothing of fifty millions in copper, ten millions in--" "Say, hold on there, Ned! Hold on! Where do you get that stuff; as the boys say? Has something gone wrong with one of the adding machines, or is it just on account of the heat? What's the big idea, anyhow? How many millions did you say?" and Tom Swift, the talented young inventor, looked at Ned Newton, his financial manager, with a quizzical smile. "It's all right, Tom! It's all right!" declared Ned, and it needed but a glance to show that he was more serious than was his companion. "I'm not suffering from the heat, though the thermometer is getting close to ninety-five in the shade. And if you want to know where I get 'that stuff' read this!" He tossed over to his chum, employer, and friend--for Tom Swift assumed all three relations toward Ned Newton--part of a Sunday newspaper. It was turned to a page containing a big illustration of a diver attired in the usual rubber suit and big helmet, moving about on the floor of the ocean and digging out boxes of what was supposed to be gold from a sunken wreck. "Oh, that stuff!" exclaimed Tom, with a smile of disbelief as he saw the source of Ned's information. "Seems to me I've read something like that before, Ned!" "Of course you have!" agreed the young financial manager of the newly organized Swift Construction Company. "It isn't anything new. This wealth of untold millions has been at the bottom of the sea for many years--always increasing with nobody ever spending a cent of it. And since the Great War this wealth has been enormously added to because of the sinking of so many ships by German submarines." "Well, what's that got to do with us, Ned?" asked Tom, as he looked over some blue prints and other papers on his desk, for the talk was taking place in his office. "You and I did our part in the war, but I don't see what all this undersea wealth has to do with us. We've got our work cut out for us if we take care of all the new contracts that came in this week." "Yes, I know," admitted Ned. "But I couldn't help calling your attention to this article, Tom. It's authentic!" "Authentic? What do you mean? "Well, the man who wrote it went to the trouble of getting from the ship insurance companies a list of all the wrecks and lost vessels carrying gold and silver coin, bullion, and other valuables. He has gone back a hundred years, and he brings it right down to just before the war. Hasn't had time to compile that list, the article says. But without counting the vessels the Germans sank, there is, in various places on the bottom of the ocean today, wrecks of ships that carried, when they went down, gold, silver, copper and other metals to the value of at least ten billions of dollars!" Tom Swift did not seem to be at all surprised by the explosive emphasis with which Ned Newton conveyed this information. He gazed calmly at his friend and manager, and then handed the paper back. "I haven't time to look at it now," said Tom. "But is there anything new in the story? I mean has any of the wealth been recovered lately--or is it in a way to be?" "Yes!" exclaimed Ned. "It is! A company has been formed in Japan for the purpose of using a new kind of diving bell, invented by an American, it seems. The inventor claims that in his machine he can go down deeper than ever man went before, and bring up a lot of this lost ocean wealth." "Well, every so often an inventor, or some one who calls himself that, crops up with a new proposal for cleaning up the untold millions on the floor of the Atlantic or the Pacific," replied Tom. "Mind you, I'm not saying it isn't there. Everybody knows that hundreds of ships carrying gold and silver have gone down in storms or been sunk in war. And some of the gold and silver has been recovered by divers--I admit that. In fact, if you recall, my father and I perfected a new style diving dress a few years ago that was successfully used in getting down to a wreck off the Cuban coast. A treasure ship went down there, and I believe they recovered a large part of the gold bullion--or perhaps it was silver. "But this diving bell stunt isn't new, and it hasn't been successful. Of course a man can go down to a greater depth in a thick iron diving bell than he can in a diving suit. That's common knowledge. But the trouble with a diving bell is that it can't be moved about as a man can move about in a diving suit. The man in the bell can't get inside the wreck, and it's there where the gold or silver is usually to be found." "Can't they blow the wreck apart with dynamite, and scatter the gold on the bottom of the ocean?" asked Ned. "Yes, they could do that, but usually they scatter it so far, and the ocean currents so cover it with sand, that it is impossible ever to get it again. I admit that if a wreck is blown apart a man in a diving bell can perhaps get a small part of it. But the limitations of a diving bell are so well recognized that several inventors have tried adjusting movable arms to the bell, to be operated by the man inside." "Did they work?" asked Ned. "After a fashion, yes. But I never heard of any case where the gold and silver recovered paid for the expenses of making the bell and sending men down in it. For it takes the same sort of outfit to aid the man in the diving bell as it does the diver in his usual rubber or steel suit. Air has to be pumped to him, and he has to be lowered and raised." "Well, isn't there any way of getting at this gold on the floor of the ocean?" asked Ned, his enthusiasm a little cooled by the practical "cold water" Tom had thrown. "Oh, yes, of course there is, in a way," was the answer of the young inventor. "Don't you remember how my father and I, with Mr. Damon and Captain Weston, went in our submarine, the Advance, and discovered the wreck of the Boldero?" "I do recall that," admitted Ned. "Well," resumed Tom, "there was a case of showing how much trouble we had. An ordinary diving outfit never would have answered. We had to locate the wreck, and a hard time we had doing it. Then, when we found it, we had to ram the old ship and blow it apart before we could get inside. Even after that we just happened to discover the gold, as it were. I'm only mentioning this to show you it isn't so easy to get at the wealth under the sea as writers in Sunday newspaper supplements think it is." "I believe you, Tom. And yet it seems a shame to have all those millions going to waste, doesn't it?" And Ned spoke as a banker and financial man, who is not happy unless money is earning interest all the while. "Well, a billion of dollars is a lot," Tom admitted. "And when you think of all that have been sunk, say even in the last hundred years, it amazes one. But still, all the gold and silver was hidden in the earth before it was dug out, and now it's only gone back where it came from, in a way. We got along before men dug it out and coined it into money, and I guess we'll get along when it's under water. No use worrying over the ocean treasures, as far as I'm concerned." "You're a hopeless proposition!" laughed Ned. "You'd never make a banker, or a Napoleon of finance." "That's why my father and I got you to look after our financial affairs," and Tom smiled. "You're just the one--with your interest-bearing mind--to keep us off the shoals of business trouble." "Yes, I suppose I can do that, while you and your father go on inventing giant cannons, great searchlights, submarines, and airships," conceded Ned. "But this, to me, did look like an easy way of making money." "How's that, Ned?" asked Tom, a new note coming into his voice. "Were you thinking of going to Japan and taking a hand in the undersea search?" "No. But stock in this company is being sold, and shareholders stand to win big returns--if the wrecks are come upon." "That's just it!" exclaimed Tom. "If they find the wrecks! And let me tell you, Ned, that there's a mighty big 'if' in it all. Do you realize how hard it is to find anything on the ocean, to say nothing of something under it?" "I hadn't thought of it." "Well, you'd better think of it. You know on the ocean sailors have to locate a certain imaginary position by calculation, using the sun and stars as guides. Of course, they have navigation down pretty fine, and a good pilot can get to a place on the surface of the ocean and meet another craft there almost as well as you and I can make an appointment to meet at Main and Broad streets at a certain hour. "But lots of times there are errors in calculations or a storm comes up hiding the sun and stars, and, instead of a captain getting to where he wants to, he's anywhere from one to a hundred miles out. Now the location of Broad and Main Streets doesn't change even in a storm. "And I'm not saying that a location on an ocean changes. I'm only saying that the least disturbance or error in calculation makes it almost impossible to find the exact spot. And if it's that hard on the surface, where you can see what you're doing, how much harder is it in regard to something on the bottom of the sea? So don't take any stock in these ocean treasure recovering companies. They may not be fakes, but they're mighty uncertain." "Oh, I don't know that I was really going to buy any stock in this Japanese concern, Tom. I only thought it would be interesting to think about. And perhaps you might sell them a submarine or some of your diving apparatus." "Nothing doing, Ned. We've got other plans, my father and I. There's that new tractor for use in the big wheat-growing belt, to say nothing of--" Tom's remarks were interrupted by voices outside his office door. One voice, in particular, rose above the others. It said: "No can go in! The Master he am busily! No can go in!" "Nonsense, Koku!" exclaimed a man, and at the sound of his voice Tom and Ned smiled. "Nonsense! Of course I can go in! Why, bless my watch fob, I must go in! I've got the greatest proposition to lay before Tom Swift that he ever heard of! There's at least a million in it! Let me pass, Koku!" "Mr. Damon!" murmured Tom Swift. "I wonder what he has on his mind now?" As he spoke the door opened rather violently and a short, stout man, evidently much excited, fairly burst into the room, followed, more sedately, by a stranger. CHAPTER II A STRANGE OFFER "Hello, Tom Swift! Hello, Ned! Glad to see you both! Busy, as usual, I'll wager. Bless my check book! I never saw you when you weren't busy at some scheme or other, Tom, my boy. But I won't take up much of your time. Tom Swift, let me introduce my friend, Mr. Dixwell Hardley. Mr. Hardley, shake hands with Tom Swift, one of the youngest, and yet one of the greatest, inventors in the world! I've told you a little about him, but it would take me all day to tell you what he really has done and--" "Hold on, Mr. Damon!" laughed Tom, as he shook hands with the man whom Mr. Damon had named Dixwell Hardley. "Hold on, if you please. There's a limit to it, you know, and already you've said enough about me to--" "Bless my ink bottle, Tom, I haven't said half enough!" interrupted the little, eccentric man. "Wait until you hear what he has done, Mr. Hardley. Then, if you don't say he's the very chap for your wonderful scheme, I'm mighty much mistaken! And shake hands with Ned Newton, too. He's Tom's financial manager, and of course he'll have something to say. Though when he hears how you are going to turn over a couple of million dollars or more, why, I know he'll be on our side." Ned's eyes sparkled at the mention of the money. In truth he dealt in dollars and cents for the benefit of Tom Swift. Ned shook hands with Mr. Hardley and Tom motioned Mr. Damon and his friend to chairs. "Now, Tom," went on the strange little man, "I know you're busy. Bless my adding machine, I never saw you when--" At that moment there arose in the corridor outside Tom's private office a discord of voices, in which one could be heard exclaiming: "Now yo' clear out oh heah! Massa Tom done tole me to sweep dish yeah place, an' ef yo' doan let me alone, why--why--" "Huh! Radicate him big stiff--dat's what! Big stiff! Too stiff for sweep Master's floor. Koku sweep one hand!" "Oh, yo' t'ink 'case yo' is sich a big giant, yo' kin git de best ob ole black Rad! But I'll show yo' dat--" "Excuse me a moment," said Tom, with a smile to his guests as he arose. "Eradicate and Koku are at it again, I'm sorry to say. I'll have to go out and arbitrate the strike," and he left the room. While he is settling the differences between his faithful old black servant and Koku, the giant, I will take the opportunity of telling my new readers something about Tom Swift. Those who are familiar with the previous books of this series may skip this part. But it will give my new audience a better insight into this story if they will bear with me a moment and peruse these few lines. As related in the first book, "Tom Swift and His Motor Cycle," the hero seemed born an inventive genius. It was this inventive faculty which enabled him to take the motor cycle that tried to climb a tree with Mr. Wakefield Damon on it and make the wreck into a serviceable bit of mechanism. Thus Tom became acquainted with Mr. Damon, who among other eccentricities, was always "blessing" something personal. Tom Swift lived in the city of Shopton with his father and their faithful housekeeper, Mrs. Baggert. It was so named because the Swift shops were an important industry there. Tom's father, as well as Tom himself, was an inventor of note, and employed many men in building machines of various kinds. During the Great War the services of Tom and his father had been dedicated to the government. There are a number of books dealing with Tom's activities, the list of titles of which may be found at the beginning of this volume. Sufficient to say here, that Tom invented and operated motor boats, airships, and submarines. In addition he traveled on many expeditions with Mr. Damon, Ned, and others. He went among the diamond makers and it was when he escaped from captivity that he managed to bring away Koku, the giant, with him. Since then Koku and Eradicate Sampson, the faithful colored man, had periodic quarrels as to who should serve the young inventor. Besides inventing and using many machines of motive power, Tom Swift engaged in other industries. He helped dig a big tunnel, he constructed a photo-telephone, a great searchlight and a monster cannon. Occasionally he had searched for treasure, once under the sea, with considerable success. Of late his and his father's industries had become so important that a number of new buildings had been constructed and the plant greatly enlarged. Ned Newton, who had once worked in a Shopton bank, became financial manager for Tom and his father, and plenty of work he found with which to occupy himself. Just prior to the opening of this story Tom had perfected a noiseless aeroplane--or one so nearly silent as to justify the name. The details of it will be found in the book called "Tom Swift and His Air Scout." In this mechanism of the air Tom had had some wonderful experiences, and they had not been at home more than a few weeks when New Newton broached the subject of undersea wealth. The talk of Tom and his financial manager was interrupted by the arrival of Mr. Damon and the stranger he had introduced as Mr. Hardley. Eradicate, or "Rad," and Koku, have been mentioned. Rad was an ancient colored man who once owned a mule named Boomerang. Sampson was the colored servant's last name, and he declared he had chosen the one "Eradicate" because in his younger days he was a great cleaner and whitewasher, "eradicating" the dirt, so to speak. Boomerang had, some time since, gone where all good mules go, though Eradicate declared he would get another and call him Boomerang II. But, so far, he had not done so. Rad, though too old to do heavy work, still believed he was indispensable to the welfare of Tom and his father; and as the giant Koku, who was physically an immense man, held the same view, it followed there were frequent clashes between the two, as on the occasion just mentioned. "What was the matter, Tom?" asked Ned, when the young inventor came back into the room. "Oh, the same old story," replied Tom. "Rad wanted to sweep the hall, and Koku insisted he was to do it." "What'd you do, Tom?" asked Mr. Damon. "I settled it by having Rad sweep this hall and sending Koku to do another--a bigger one I told him. He likes hard work, so he was pleased. Now we'll have it quiet for a little while. Did I understand you to say, Mr. Damon, that--er--Mr. Hardley I believe the name is--had a proposition to make to me?" "That's exactly it, my dear Mr. Swift!" broke in the man in question. "I have a wonderful offer to make you, and I'm sure you will admit that it will be well worth your while to consider and accept it. There will be at least a million in it--" "Bless my check book, I thought you said several millions!" exclaimed Mr. Damon. "So I did," was the rather nettled answer. "I was about to say, Mr. Damon, that there will be at least a million in it for Mr. Swift, and another million for myself. There may be more, but I want to be conservative." "Talking in millions, and calling himself conservative," mused Ned Newton. "Somehow or other I don't just cotton to this fellow!" "When our mutual friend, Mr. Damon, told me about you, my dear Mr. Swift," went on Mr. Hardley, "I at once came to the conclusion that you were the very man I wanted to do business with. I'm sure it will be to our mutual advantage." Tom Swift said nothing. He was willing to let the other talk, while he waited to see how far he would go. And, as Tom said afterward, he, as had Ned, took an instinctive dislike to Mr. Hardley. He could not say definitely what it was, but that was his feeling. That he might be mistaken, he admitted frankly. Time alone could tell. "Have you a half hour to give me while it explain matters?" asked Mr. Hardley. "I may go farther and say I need considerable time to go into all the details. May I speak now?" To tell the truth Tom Swift had many important matters to consider, and, in addition, Ned Newton was prepared to go over some financial ends of the business with Tom. But the young inventor felt that, in justice to his friend Mr. Damon, who had brought Mr. Hardley, he could do no less than give the stranger a hearing. But only the introduction by Mr. Damon brought this about. "I shall be glad to hear what you have to say, Mr. Hardley," said Tom, as courteously as he could. "I will not go so far as to say that my time is unlimited, but I will listen to you now if you care to go into details." "That's good!" exclaimed the visitor. "I'm sure that when you have listened you will agree with me." "He's a little bit too sure!" mused Ned. "Bless my pocketbook, Tom, but there are millions in it!" exclaimed Mr. Damon. "Literally millions, Tom!" Mr. Hardley settled himself comfortably in his chair and looked from Tom to Ned. "May I speak freely here?" he asked, with obvious intent. "You may," the young inventor answered. "Mr. Newton is my financial manager, and I do nothing of importance without consulting him. You may regard him as a member of the firm, in fact, as he does own some stock. My father is practically retired, and I do not trouble him with unimportant details. So Mr. Newton and I are prepared to listen to you." "Very well, Mr. Swift, I'm going to ask you a question. Have you all the money you want?" Tom laughed. "I suppose any man would answer that question in the negative," he replied. "Frankly, I could use more money, though I am not poor." "So I have heard. Well, would a million dollars clear profit appeal to you?" "It certainly would," was the answer. "Then I am prepared to offer you that sum," went on Mr. Hardley. "But there are certain conditions, and I may say that this vast wealth is not easy to come at. However, with your inventive genius, I am sure you will be able to solve the mystery of the sea. Now then as to details. There lies, on the floor of the ocean--" "Hark!" exclaimed Tom, raising a hand to enjoin silence. "I think I hear some one coming." At that moment there was a knock at the door. CHAPTER III THINKING IT OVER "Father, is that you?" asked Tom. "Father hasn't been feeling well, of late," he said to the assembled company, "and I told him to go to lie down. But he's hard to manage, and he won't rest more than ten minutes at a time. My father, I might explain, Mr. Hardley," Tom went on, "is actively associated with me in business." "So I have understood," said the man who had been introduced by Mr. Damon. "Dis Koku!" came the guttural voice of the giant from the other side of the door. "Koku want more work. Hall, him all clean. Maybe I help dat no-good Rad now." "No you don't, Koku!" exclaimed the young inventor, with a laugh. "You keep away from Rad. You'll get to disputing again and interrupt me, and I have business on hand. Here, wait a minute. I'll find something for you to do," he went on, opening the door to disclose the immense man standing outside, a broom in his hand seeming like a toy. "Excuse me one moment," went on Tom to his friends. Taking up his desk telephone he called one of the shops, asking: "Have you any heavy work on hand this morning; lifting big castings, or anything like that? You have? Good! I'll send Koku right over." Turning to the giant who apparently had not paid much attention to the talk over the wire, Tom said: "Koku, go over to shop number ten, ask for the foreman, and he'll keep you busy. There are some five-hundred-pound castings that need assembling, and you can help him." "Good!" exclaimed the giant, with a cheerful grin. "Koku like big work--no like sweep. Good for women and Rad, but not for Koku!" "He spoke the truth there," remarked Ned Newton, as the giant stalked down the hall. "I never saw such a strong man. I'm afraid to shake hands with him, for fear I'll be minus a couple of fingers in the operation." "Well, he's disposed of," remarked Tom, as he closed the door. "And now, Mr. Hardley, I'm at your service, as far as listening to your proposition is concerned." "Thank you. I shall endeavor to be brief," remarked the visitor. "Am I correct in assuming that you have had some experience in submarine work? I believe Mr. Damon mentioned something of that sort." "Submarine work? Bless my hydrometer, I should say so!" exclaimed the eccentric man. "And not only in submarine, but in aeroplane! but you don't need any aeroplanes, my dear Mr. Hardley. It's the submarine end of it that you are interested in, as far as Tom Swift is concerned. Now go ahead and tell him what you told me, and how many millions there are in it." "Very well," assented the visitor. "Have you ever had any experience in recovering treasure from sunken wrecks?" he asked Tom. "Yes," was the answer. "And it is curious that you should ask me that, for my friend here, Ned Newton, and I were just talking about that very matter. Here's what brought it up," and Tom showed the page from the Sunday paper. "Hum! Yes!" musingly remarked Mr. Hardley. "That's all very well. Part of it is true; but I imagine most of it is the work of imagination of some enterprising reporter. Of course there is no question but that there are untold millions on the bottom of the ocean. The only trouble, as I think you will agree with me, Mr. Swift, is in coming at the money." "Exactly," said Tom. "And will you bear me out when I say that if the wreck of a treasure ship could be exactly located in water that is not too deep, half the trouble would be solved?" asked Mr. Hardley. "A good share of it would," answered Tom. "That is usually the chief difficulty--locating the wreck. Nearly always they are anywhere from one to five miles from where the persons seeking them think they are. And five miles, or even half a mile, is a good distance on the bottom of the ocean." "Exactly," echoed Mr. Hardley. "Then if I could give you the exact location of a sunken treasure ship, and prove to you that the owners had given up the search for it, leaving it open to salvage on the part of whoever wished to try--would that be any inducement to you to make an attempt, Mr. Swift?" "I should want to hear more about it before I gave an answer," replied Tom. "As perhaps Mr. Damon has told you, I once went on a hunt for treasure in my submarine. We found it, but only after considerable trouble, and then I declared I'd never again engage in such a search. There wasn't enough net profit in it." "But there are millions in this, Tom! Bless my gold tooth, but there are millions!" cried the excitable Mr. Damon. "Hurry up and tell him!" he urged his friend. "I will," assented Mr. Hardley. "I can readily believe," he went on, "that the cost of hunting for undersea treasure is great. I have taken that into consideration. Now, in brief, my plan is this. I will join forces with you, and bear half the expense if I am allowed to share half the proceeds. That's fair, isn't it?" he asked Tom. "So far, yes," replied the young inventor. "Now then, to business!" exclaimed the visitor. "Will you join with me in searching for some of the wealth-laden wrecks that are rotting at the bottom of the sea, Mr. Swift?" "Do you mean make an indiscriminate search for any one of a number of wrecks?" Tom wanted to know. "I should want the understanding broad enough to include all wrecks we might discover," was the answer, "but I have in mind one in particular now. It is the wreck of the steamer Pandora which was sunk off the coast of one of the West Indian Islands about a year ago." Ned Newton quickly caught up the page of the Sunday supplement and scanned the list of wrecks given there. "No mention of the Pandora here," he said. "No," agreed Mr. Hardley, "the story of this wreck is not generally known, and the story of the treasure she carried is hardly known at all. As a matter of fact, this money, mostly in gold, was to finance a South American revolution, and such matters are generally kept quiet. That is why nothing much appeared in the papers about the Pandora. But I happen to know that she carried over two million dollars in gold, and I know--" "Think of that, Tom! Think of that!" cried Mr. Damon. "Two million dollars in gold! Why bless my--bless my--" But the eccentric man could think of nothing adequate to bless under the circumstances, and he subsided with a murmur. "Excuse me for interrupting you," he said to his new friend. "But I just couldn't help it." "That's all right," Mr. Hardley remarked, with a smile that showed two rows of very even, white teeth. "I don't blame you for getting excited. Does that interest you?" he asked Tom. "Two million dollars in gold, besides a quantity of silver--just how much I don't know." "It certainly sounds interesting," replied Tom, with a smile. "But are you sure of your facts?" "Absolutely," was the answer. "I was a passenger on the Pandora when she was wrecked in a storm. I saw the gold put on board. It was not taken off, and is on her now as she lies at the bottom of the sea." "And the location?" queried Tom. "I know that, too!" said Mr. Hardley eagerly. "I was with the captain just before we had to abandon ship, and I heard the exact nautical location given him by an officer who made the calculation. I have it written down to the second--latitude and longitude. That will be a help in locating the wreck, won't it?" "Why, yes," Tom had to agree, "it will be, but if you know it, then the captain and others must know it. And what is to prevent them from making a search for the Pandora if they have not already done so?" "The best reason in the world," was the answer. "The boat containing the captain and the officer who gave him the ship's position was sunk, and all on board lost. The boat I was in was the only one picked up, and I believe I am the only one who knows exactly where the Pandora lies. "Now, here is my offer, Mr. Swift," went on the seeker after the ocean's hidden wealth. "I will bear half the expense of fitting out a submarine, or for any other kind of expedition to go in search of the wreck of the Pandora. I will furnish you with the exact nautical location, as I have it. And when the wealth is found and brought to the surface, I will give you half--in other words at least a million dollars! Does that appeal to you?" "I must say it is a fair, though perhaps strange, offer," conceded Tom. "And a million dollars is not made every day nor every year. But what about the title to this money? After we have recovered it--provided we are successful--will not some person or some government lay claim to it?" "None can successfully," declared Mr. Hardley. "As I told you, the money was to finance a revolution. It was raised for an unlawful purpose, so to speak, and no one has a valid claim to it under the circumstances, so lawyers whom I have consulted have told me. But if that is not enough, I have papers to prove that those who might be called the owners have given up the search for it. More than a year has elapsed, and though I don't know just how long it takes to outlaw an under-ocean claim, I feel sure that we would have a legal and moral right to take this gold if we could find it." "I should want to be satisfied on that point before I undertook the search," said Tom. "Then you will undertake it?" eagerly exclaimed Mr. Hardley. "I will think it over," Tom answered quietly--so quietly that distinct disappointment showed on the face of the visitor. CHAPTER IV AGAINST HIS WILL For a moment it seemed that Mr. Damon, as well as Mr. Hardley, felt disappointment at Tom's answer, for the eccentric man exclaimed: "Bless my leather belt, Tom, but you aren't very keen on making a million dollars!" "Oh, yes, I like to make money," the young inventor answered. "I guess you know that, as well as any one, for you've been with me on several trips. And I don't mind hard work, nor danger." "I'll say you don't!" added Ned, as he thought of some of Tom's perilous voyages, among the diamond makers and in the caves of ice. "Well, if you are anxious to make money, as I admit I am," said Mr. Hardley, "why can't you give me an answer now?" "Because," answered Tom, "there are many things to be considered. Hunting for a treasure on the floor of the Atlantic isn't like going to some location on land, however wild or inaccessible it might be. Do you realize, Mr. Hardley, what a large difference in miles a small error in nautical calculations makes? We might go to the exact spot where you thought the wreck of the Pandora lies, only to find that we would have to hunt around a long time. "I must think of that, and also think of my other business affairs. Then, too, there is my father. He is getting old, and while he is still active in the affairs of the company, particularly when it comes to taking up new lines of work, I do not like to think of leaving him, as I should have to, in case I went on this trip." "Take him along!" exclaimed Mr. Damon. "He's gone with us before, Tom." "He's too old now," said the young inventor a bit sadly. "Father will never make another extended trip. But I will let you have my answer as soon as I can, Mr. Hardley, and I will give the matter considerable thought." "I'm sure I hope you will, and also that you will consent to go," was the answer. "A million is not easily to be come at in these days after the Great War." "I realize that," agreed Tom with a smile. "And you shall have my answer as soon as possible." With this the visitor was forced to be content, and a little later he withdrew with Mr. Damon, the latter telling Tom that he would see him again soon. "Well, that was queer, wasn't it?" remarked Ned, when he and Tom were alone again. "What was?" asked Tom, as though his mind was far away, as indeed it was. "That this man should come in with his project to search for a sunken treasure wreck just as we were talking about how many millions were on the bottom of the ocean." "Yes, it was quite a coincidence," Tom admitted. "What do you think of it--and him?" asked Ned. "Well, to tell you the truth, I didn't take a great fancy to Mr. Hardley," Tom said. "I think he's altogether too cocksure, and takes too much for granted. Still I may misjudge him. Certainly he doesn't have a chance at a million dollars every day." "Do you think you could get the treasure out of this wreck, Tom, if you could locate her?" "Why, it's possible; yes. We proved that with the Boldero." "Would you use the same submarine?" "No, I think I'd have to rebuild it, or make an altogether new one. Possibly I might get one of Uncle Sam's and add some improvements of my own." "Yes, you could do that," agreed Ned. "You've done so much for the government that it couldn't refuse you something reasonable, now that the war is over. Then do you think you'll go?" "Really, Ned, I can't make up my mind yet. Now let's forget the Pandora and all the millions and get down to business. This Criterion company seems to me to want altogether too much, We'll have to trim their request down a bit. They owe the money and ought to pay it." "Yes, I'll get after them," said Ned, and then he and his chum, as well as employer, plunged into a mass of business details. It was the next afternoon, when Tom, following a strenuous morning of work, leaned back in his chair at his desk, that Mr. Damon was announced. "Tell him to come in," ordered Tom, always glad to see his friend. "Wait a minute, though!" he called to the messenger. "Is any one with him?" "No, sir; he is alone." "Good! Then show him right in. I was afraid," said Tom to Ned, who was also in the office, "that he had Hardley with him. I'm not quite ready to see him yet." "Then you haven't made up your mind about going for the treasure?" "Not exactly. I shall, perhaps, this week." "Bless my matchbox, Tom, but I'm glad to see you!" cried Mr. Damon, as he hastened forward with outstretched hand. "I was afraid you might be out. Now look here! What about my friend Hardley? He's very anxious to know your decision about going for that treasure, and I said I'd come over and sound you. I don't mind saying, Tom, that if you go I'm going too; if you'll take me, of course." "Well, Mr. Damon, you know you'll always be welcome, as far as I am concerned," said the young inventor; "but, as a matter of fact, I don't believe I'm going." "What? Not going to pick up a million dollars off the floor of the ocean, Tom? Bless my bank balance! but that's foolish, it seems to me." "Perhaps it is, but I can't help it." "What's your principal objection?" asked the eccentric man. "It isn't that you don't want the money, is it?" "Not exactly." "Then it must be that you object to Mr. Hardley personally." went on Mr. Damon. "I began to suspect that, Tom, and I want to say that you are wrong. Mr. Hardley is a friend of mine--a good friend. I have not known him long, but he strikes me as being all right. He had some good letters of introduction, and I believe he has money." "Where'd he get it?" asked Tom. "I don't know, exactly. Seems to me I heard him mention silver mines, or it may have been gold. Anyhow, it had something to do with getting wealth out of the ground. Now, Tom, I don't mind saying that I stand to make a little money in case this thing goes through." "How's that, Mr. Damon?" asked the young scientist in surprise. "Why, I agreed to bear part of the expense," was the answer. "I thought this was a pretty good scheme, and when Mr. Hardley came to me and told me of the possibilities I agreed to help him finance the expenses. That is, I have taken shares in the company he formed to raise his half of the expense money. "Of course I thought of you at once when he spoke of having to search out a sunken wreck, and I proposed your name. He'd heard of you, he said, but didn't know you. So I brought you together and now--bless my apple pie, Tom! I hope you aren't going to turn down a chance to make a million and, incidentally, help an old friend." "Well," remarked Tom, slowly, "I must admit, Mr. Damon, that I didn't think you'd go into a thing like this. Not that it is more risky than other schemes, but I thought you didn't care for speculation." "Well, this sort of appealed to me Tom. You know--sunken wreck under the ocean, down in a diving bell perhaps, and all that! There's romance to it." "Yes, there is romance," agreed Tom. "And hard work, too. If I undertook this it would mean an extra lot of work getting ready. I suppose I could use my own submarine. I could get her in commission, and make improvements more quickly than on any other." "Then you'll go?" quickly cried the eccentric man. "Well, since you tell me you are interested financially, I believe I will," assented Tom, but he spoke reluctantly. "As a matter of fact, I am going against my better judgment. Not that I fear we shall be in danger," he hastened to add; "but I think it will prove a failure. However, as Mr. Hardley will bear half the expense, and as by using my own submarine that will not be much, I'll go!" "Then I'll tell him!" exclaimed Mr. Damon. "Hurray! This is great! I haven't had an exciting trip for a long while! Don't tell my wife about it," he begged Tom and Ned. "At least not until just before we start. Then she can't object in time. I'll have a wonderful experience, I know. This will be good news to Dixwell Hardley!" And as Mr. Damon hastened away to acquaint his new friend with Tom's decision, the young inventor remarked to Ned: "I'll go; but, somehow, I have a feeling that something will happen." "Something bad?" asked the financial manager. "No, I wouldn't go so far as to say that. But I believe we'll have trouble. I'll start on the search for the sunken millions, but rather against my better judgment. However, maybe Mr. Damon's luck and good nature will pull us through!" CHAPTER V BUSY DAYS Once Tom Swift had made up his mind to do a thing he did it--even though it was against his better judgment. His word, passed, was his bond. In conformity then with his decision to take Mr. Damon and the latter's friend, Mr. Hardley, on an undersea search for treasure, Tom at once proceeded to make his preparations. Ned, too, had his work to do, since the decision to make what might be a long trip would necessitate a change in Tom's plans. But, as in everything he did, he threw himself into this whole-heartedly and with enthusiasm. Not once did Tom Swift admit to himself that he was going into this scheme because he thought well of it. It was all for Mr. Damon, after Tom had learned that his friend had invested considerable money in a company Mr. Hardley had formed to pay half the expenses of the trip. Tom even tried to buy Mr. Damon off, by offering the latter back all the money the eccentric man had invested with his new friend. But Mr. Damon exclaimed: "Bless my gasolene tank, Tom! I'm in this thing as much for the love of adventure, as I am for the money. Now let's go on with it. You will like Hardley better when you know him better." "Perhaps," said Tom dryly, but he did not think so. The young inventor insisted, before making any preparations for the trip, that all the cards be laid on the table. That is, he wanted to be sure there had been such a ship as the Pandora, that she was laden with gold, and that she had sunk where Mr. Hardley said she had. The latter was perfectly willing to supply all needful proofs, even though some were difficult, because of the nature of the voyage of the treasure craft. As a filibuster she was not trading openly. "Here are all the records," said Mr. Hardley to Tom one day, when the young inventor, Ned, and Mr. Damon were gathered in Tom's office. "You may satisfy yourself." And, with Ned's help, Tom did. There was no question but what the Pandora had sailed from a certain port on a certain date. The official reports proved that. And that she did carry a considerable treasure in gold was also established to the satisfaction of Tom Swift. Because the gold was to be used for furthering ends against one of the South American governments, the gold shipment was not insured and, in consequence, no recovery could be made. "Then you are satisfied, are you, Mr. Swift, that the ship, set out with over two millions in gold on board?" asked Mr. Hardley. "Yes, that seems to be proved," Tom admitted, and Ned nodded. "The next thing to prove is that she foundered in a storm about the position I am going to tell you," went on Mr. Damon's friend. "He doesn't tell you the exact location now, Tom," explained Mr. Damon, "because it might leak out. He'll disclose it to us as soon as we are out of sight of land in the submarine." "I'm willing to agree to that proposition," Tom said. "But I want to be sure she really did sink." This was proved to him by official records. There was no question but that the Pandora had gone down in a big storm. And Mr. Hardley was on board. He proved that, too, a not very difficult task, since the official passenger list was open to inspection. Mr. Hardley repeated his story about having overheard the exact location of the ship a few minutes before she sank, and he also told of the captain and several members of the ship's company having been drowned. This, too, was confirmed. "Then," went on Mr. Hardley, "all that remains for me to do is to deposit at some bank my half of the expenses and await your word to go aboard the submarine." "I believe that is all," returned Tom. "But, on my part, it will take some little time to fit the submarine out as I want to have her. There are some special appliances I want to take along which will aid us in the search for the gold, if we find the place where the Pandora is sunk." "Oh, we'll find that all right," declared Mr. Hardley, "if you will only follow my directions." Tom looked slightly incredulous, but said nothing. Then followed busy days. The submarine Advance, which had made several successful trips, as related in the book bearing the title, "Tom Swift and His Submarine Boat," was hauled into dry dock and the work of overhauling her begun. Tom put his best men to work, and, after a consultation with his father, decided on some radical changes in the craft. "Tom, my boy," said the aged Mr. Swift, "I wish you weren't going on this trip." "Why, Dad?" asked the young inventor. "Because I fear something will happen. We don't really need this money, and suppose--suppose--" "Oh, I'm not worrying, Dad," was the answer. "I've taken worse risks than this, many a time. I'm really doing it as a favor to Mr. Damon. He's got too much money invested to let him lose it. And we can use a million dollars ourselves. It will enable me to put in operation a plan to pension our workmen. I've long had that in mind, but I've never had enough capital to carry it out." "Well, of course, Tom, that's a worthy object, and I won't make any further objections. But take my advice, and strengthen the submarine." "Why, Dad?" asked Tom in some surprise. "Because you'll find the water there of a greater depth than you think," was the answer. "I know you have the official hydrographic charts, but there's a mistake, I'm sure. I once made a study of that part of the ocean, and there are currents there at certain seasons of the year that no one suspects, and deep caverns that aren't charted. If the Pandora lies in one of these you'll need a great strength of walls to your submarine to withstand the pressure of deep water." The craft Tom Swift proposed to use in searching for the treasure ship Pandora was of the regular cigar-shape, but inside it had many special features. It was more comfortable than the usual submarine, not being intended for fighting, though it did carry guns and a torpedo tube. Tom intended renaming the craft, which had been called Advance, and one day, when there had been some discussion as to what the undersea craft ought to be called, Ned explained: "Why don't you name it after her?" "After whom?" inquired Tom, in some surprise, looking up from a letter he was writing. "Your friend and future wife, Mary Nestor," answered Ned. "I'm sure she'd appreciate it." "That isn't such a bad idea," conceded Tom musingly. "The only thing about it is that I don't want Mary's name bandied about that way." "Use her initials, then," suggested Ned. "How do you mean?" "Why not call it the M. N. 1.? Isn't that a good name?" "The M. N. 1." mused Tom. "Not so bad. If the N. C. 4 flew over the ocean the M. N. 1 ought to be able to navigate under it. I think I'll do that, Ned." So the Advance, rebuilt and refitted in many ways, was christened the M. N. 1, and a wonderful craft she proved to be. Mary Nestor was quite pleased when Tom told her what he had done. She appreciated the delicate compliment he had paid her. Busy and more busy were the days that passed. As the M. N. 1 had to be refitted some miles from Tom's home, where it was feasible to launch her for the trip, he had to make the journey between the drydock and his shop either by automobile or aeroplane. Often he choose the latter, since he had a number of small, speedy craft in his hangars. Sometimes Ned or Mr. Damon went with him, but Mr. Hardley could never be induced to ride in an airship. "I'll travel on the ocean or under it," he said, "but I'm not going to take a chance in the air. I'm too afraid of falling." "Tom, what's this?" asked Ned one day, when he and Tom had come to see how the work of remodeling the submarine was getting along. "It looks like something you used when you dug your big tunnel." "That's a new kind of diving bell," Tom answered. "You know it isn't easy to get treasure out of a sunken ship. It isn't like picking it off the bottom of the ocean. We've got to get it out from inside--perhaps from inside a strong box or a safe. This bell may come in useful." "Can't you use the special diving suits that you always used to carry?" the financial manager wanted to know. "We might, if the water isn't too deep," replied Tom. "But you know there is a limit to how far down a man in even my kind of diving dress can go. With this diving bell a much greater depth can be reached. And this diving bell is not like any you have ever seen or read about. My father gave me the idea for it. I'll demonstrate it to you some day." A diving bell is shaped like its name. A common glass tumbler thrust down into a pail of water, with the open side down, will show exactly the principle on which a diving bell works. It illustrates the fact that two things cannot occupy the same place at the same time. Pushing the tumbler, open end down, into the pail of water, leaves a space in the upper end of the tumbler which the water cannot fill, because it is already occupied with air. Imagine a big tumbler, made of thick steel, lowered into the water. Air pumped into the upper part not only keeps the water from entering, but also enables a man inside to breathe and to move about inside the bell which may be lowered to the floor of the ocean. But, as Tom told Ned, his diving bell was a big improvement over those commonly used. The two young men inspected the progress made in refitting the submarine, and Tom expressed himself as satisfied. "How soon do you think you can start?" asked Ned. "In about two weeks," was the answer. "I'll want to get to the West Indies before the fall storms start. Not only will it be impossible to make a search then, but the very location of the sunken wreck may be changed." "How so?" asked Ned. "Because of undersea currents. They are strong enough, not only to sweep a wreck away from the place where it may have settled, but they may cover it with sand, and then it is hopeless to try to dig it out. So we've got to go soon, if we go at all." "Well, I'm with you!" exclaimed Ned. "Hello! here's some one looking for you, I guess," he added, as a boy came hurrying down to the dock from the temporary office Tom had set up there. "You're wanted on the telephone, Mr. Swift," said the messenger. "It's important, too." "All right. I'll come at once," was the answer. "Hope it isn't bad news," mused Ned, as his chum hurried on in advance. "Maybe Hardley has found out he hasn't a right to search for that sunken gold after all. That would be too bad for Mr. Damon!" CHAPTER VI MARY'S ODD STORY "Hello! Hello! Yes, this is Tom Swift. What's that? You've had an accident? Great Scott, Mary! I hope you aren't hurt." Ned overheard these words as he stood outside the temporary office, from inside which Tom Swift was telephoning. "There's been an accident!" thought the financial manager. "I wonder if I can help?" He was about to hurry in to offer his services when he heard Tom laugh, and then he knew it was all right. He heard his chum say: "I'll be right over and get you. Just where are you?" Then followed a period of listening on the part of Tom, to be broken by the words: "All right, I'll be right with you. Lucky I have my Air Scout with me. You aren't afraid to ride in that, are you? No, that's good! I'll be right over. Ned is here with me, and I'll have him telephone to your father and mother." With that Tom hung up the receiver and joined his chum. "Mary had a slight automobile accident about five miles from here," Tom told his chum. "Some green driver ran into her and dished one of her wheels. No one hurt, but she hasn't a spare wheel and can't navigate. She called me up at the house, not wishing to alarm her father, and Mrs. Baggert told her you and I had come down to the dock, so she reached me here. I'll go in the small aeroplane and get her. Luckily I left it here the last time I made a trip. Will you call up Mary's home and let them know she's all right and that I'll soon be home with her? They might hear an exaggerated account of the accident." Ned promised to do this, and at once put in a call for the home of his chum's fiancee, while Tom had one of his men run out the Air Scout. This was an aeroplane recently perfected by the young inventor which slipped through space with scarcely a sound. So silent was it that the craft had been dubbed "Silent Sam," and it stood Tom in good stead as those of you know who have read the volume just before the present book. This sky glider Tom would now use in going to the rescue of Mary Nestor was not, however, the same large craft that figured in the previous story. That airship had been given to the United States government for war purposes. But Tom had built himself a smaller one for his own use. It had the advantage of enabling him to carry on a conversation with his passenger when he took one aloft. About a week before Tom and Ned had flown from Shopton to the dry dock where the submarine was being reconstructed in this small airship. Engine trouble had developed after they had landed, and they had gone back by automobile, leaving the Air Scout to be repaired. This had been done, and now Tom intended to use it in going to Mary's rescue. Now, when the Air Scout had been run out of the hangar, Tom climbed into it. "Sorry I can't take you along," he called to Ned, who had finished telephoning to Mary's home, "but, under the circumstances--" "Two's company and three's a crowd!" laughed Ned. "I know!" "No, I didn't mean that," Tom said. "You know Mary likes you, but this will carry only two." "I know!" answered his chum. "On your way!" And with an almost noiseless throb of her engine and a whirr of her propeller, the aeroplane rolled swiftly over the level starting ground and took the air like a swan leaving its lake. Tom did not rise to a great height, as he would need only a few minutes to reach the place where Mary was stalled by the accident to her machine. Soon he was hovering over a level field, one of several that lined the country highways in that section. A small crowd on the turnpike gathered about an evidently disabled automobile gave Tom the clew he needed, and presently he made a landing. Instantly the throng of country people who had gathered to look at the automobile crash deserted that for a view of something more sensational--an airship. Cautioning the boys who gathered about not to "monkey" with any of the mechanism, Tom hastened over to where Mary was standing near her car. "Are you sure you aren't hurt?" he asked her anxiously. "Oh, yes, very sure," she replied, smiling at him. "It isn't much of an accident--only one wheel smashed. We were both going slowly." "But it was all my fault!" insisted a young fellow who had been driving the car that crashed into Mary's. "I'm all kinds of sorry, and of course I'll pay all damages. I wanted this young lady to let me drive her home and then send a garage man to tow her car, but she said she had other plans. I don't blame her for not wanting to ride in my jitney bus when I see what kind of car you have," and he looked over toward Tom's aeroplane. "Thank you, just the same," murmured Mary. "I'm not quite sure that it was all your fault. But if you will be so good as to send a man after my machine I'll go back with Mr. Swift. Wait until I get my bag," she added, and she extracted it from the seat in her automobile. "There'll be room for this, won't there?" she asked. "I've been shopping." "You must have made some large purchases," laughed Tom, looking critically at the small bag. "Yes, there'll be room for that, all right." He made a brief examination of Mary's machine, ascertaining that the dished wheel was the main damage, and then, having given the young man who caused the accident directions for the garage attendant, Tom led his pretty companion across the field to the waiting airship. Of course a crowd gathered to see them start off, and this was not long delayed, as Tom was not fond of curiosity seekers. In a few minutes he and Mary were soaring aloft. "Well, how are you?" he asked Mary, when they were alone well above the earth. "Fine and dandy," she answered, smiling at him, for they were riding side by side and could converse with little difficulty owing to the silent running of Tom's latest invention. "I'm sorry to have called you away from your work," she added, "but when Mrs. Baggert told me you were at the submarine dock I thought perhaps you could run out and get me in your machine. I didn't expect you to fly to me." "I'm always ready to do that!" exclaimed Tom, as he shot upward to avoid a bank of low-lying clouds. "Were you frightened at the crash in the machine?" "Not greatly. I saw it coming, and knew it was unavoidable. That chap hasn't been running autos very long, I imagine, and he lost his head in the emergency. But I had my brakes on and he just coasted into me. I was lucky in that it wasn't worse." "I should say so! Do you want to get right home?" "I think I'd better. Mother and father may be a little worried about me. And they've had trouble enough of late." "Trouble!" exclaimed Tom, in a questioning voice. "Anything serious?" "No, just family financial matters. Not ours," she hastened to add, as she saw Tom look quickly at her. "A relative. I shouldn't have mentioned it, but father and mother are a little worried, and I don't want to add to it." "Of course not," agreed Tom. "If there's anything I can do?" "Oh, I expected you to say that!" laughed Mary. "Thanks. If there is we'll call on you. But it may all be straightened out. Father was expecting a message from Uncle Barton today. So, though I'd like to take a cloud-ride with you, I think I'd better get home." "All right," agreed Tom. "I told Ned to telephone that you were all right, so they won't worry. And now try to enjoy yourself." "I'll try," promised Mary, but it was obvious, even from the quick glances Tom gave her, that she was worried about something. Mary was not her usual, spontaneous, jolly self, and Tom realized it. "Well, here we are!" he announced a little later, as they soared above a level field not far from her home. "Sorry I can't let you down right on your roof, but it isn't flat enough nor big enough." "Oh, I don't mind a little walk, especially as I didn't have to hike it all the way in from Bailey Corners," she said, referring to the place of the automobile accident. "I suppose the time will come when everybody who now has an auto will have an airship and a landing place, or a starting place, for it at his own door," she added. "Either that, or else we'll have airships so compact that they can set off and land in as small a space as an auto now requires," said Tom. "The latter would be the best solution, as one great disadvantage of airships now is the manner of starting and stopping. It's too big." Tom left his Air Scout in a field owned by Mr. Nestor, where he had often landed before, and walked up to the house with Mary. "Oh, I'm glad you're back!" exclaimed Mrs. Nestor, when she saw the two coming up the steps. "You weren't worried, were you, after Ned telephoned?" asked Tom. "Not exactly worried, but I thought perhaps he was making light of it. Do tell me what happened, Mary!" Thereupon the girl related all the circumstances of the smash, and Tom added his share of the story. "Did father hear anything from Uncle Barton?" asked Mary, after her mother's curiosity had been satisfied. "Yes," was the answer, in rather despondent tones, "he did, but the news was not encouraging. The papers cannot be found." "It's mother's brother we're talking about," Mary explained to Tom. "Barton Keith in his name. Perhaps you remember him?" "I've heard you speak of him," Tom admitted. "Well," resumed Mary, "Uncle Barton is in a peck of trouble. He was once very rich, and he invested heavily in oil lands, in Oklahoma, I believe." "No, in Texas," corrected Mrs. Nestor. "Yes, it was Texas," agreed Mary. "Well he bought, or got, somehow, shares in some valuable oil lands in Texas, and expected to double his fortune. Now, instead, he's probably lost it all." "That's too bad!" exclaimed Tom. "How did it happen?" "In rather an odd way," went on Mary. "He really owns the lands, or at least half of them, but he cannot prove his title because the papers he needs were taken from him, and, he thinks, by a man he trusted. He's been trying to get the documents back, and every day we've been expecting to hear that he has them, but mother says there has been no result." "No," said Mrs. Nestor. "My brother thought sure he had a trace of the man he believes has the papers, or who had them, but he lost track of him. If we could only find him--" At that moment a maid came into the room to announce that Tom Swift was wanted at the telephone. CHAPTER VII THE TRIAL TRIP "This is my busy day!" announced the young inventor as he went into the Nestor sitting room, where the telephone was installed. "Perhaps it is some one else who wants you to come to their rescue," suggested Mary. But it was not, as Tom related a little later when he had finished his talk over the wire. "Just a business matter," he announced to Mary and her mother, when he rejoined them. "A gentleman with whom I expect to make a submarine trip is at the house, and wants to consult with me about details. He is getting anxious to start. Mr. Damon is there, too." "Blessing every thing he lays eyes on, I suppose," remarked Mrs. Nestor, with a smile. "Yes, and some things he doesn't see," agreed Tom. "He is going with us on this submarine trip." "Oh, Tom, are you going to undertake another of those dangerous voyages?" asked Mary, in some alarm. "Well, I don't know that they are particularly dangerous," replied Tom, with a smile. "But we expect to make a search for a sunken treasure ship in a submarine. That's the vessel I'm working on now," he added. "We're rebuilding the Advance, you know, making her more up-to-date, and adding some new features, including her name--M. N. 1." "I suppose Mr. Damon's friend is getting anxious to make a start, particularly as he has already invested several thousand dollars in the project," went on the young inventor. "He formed a company to pay half the expenses of the search, and they will share in the treasure--if we find it," Tom said. "I wish Mr. Damon, who holds most of the shares the promoter let out of his own hands, had not gone into it, but, since he has, I'm going to do the best I can for him." "Then aren't you friendly with the other man?" asked Mary. "I don't especially care for him," the young inventor admitted. "He isn't just my style--too fond of himself, and all that. Still I may be misjudging him. However, I'm in the game now, and I'm going to stick. I'll have to be traveling on," he said. "Mr. Damon and his friend are at my house, and they've been telephoning all over to find me. I guess this was one of the first places they tried," he said with a smile, referring to the fact that he spent considerable time at Mary's home. "Well, I'm glad they found you, but I'm sorry you have to go," Mary said with a smile. A little later Tom Swift, with Ned, for whom he called, was on his way back home in his Air Scout, having said goodbye to Mary and her mother and expressing the hope that Mr. Keith would soon be over his business troubles. "Oil wells are queer, anyhow," mused Tom. Then Tom got to thinking about Dixwell Hardley: "I don't like the man, and the more I see of him the less I like him. But I'm in for it now, and I'll stick to the finish. I only wish I could locate the treasure ship, give him his share, and get back to my work. I'm going to try to turn out an airship that a man can use as handily as he does a flivver now." Musing on the possibilities in this field, Tom, having left Ned at the latter's home, soared down from aloft, and a little later, having told Koku to look after the Air Scout, much to the delight of the giant and the discomfiture of Rad, the young inventor was closeted with Mr. Damon and Dixwell Hardley. "Bless my straw hat, Tom!" exclaimed the eccentric man, "but we just couldn't wait any longer. How are you coming on, and when can we start on this treasure-hunting trip? I declare it makes me feel young again to think about it!" "Well, it won't be long now," was the answer. "The men are working hard to get the submarine in shape, and I should say that in another week, or two weeks at the most, we could set off!" "Good!" exclaimed Mr. Hardley. "I have received additional information," he went on, "to the effect that the amount of gold on board the Pandora was even greater than we at first thought." "That sounds encouraging," replied Tom. "It only remains to find the sunken ship now. But what interests me greatly is whether, after we have gotten this gold, supposing we are successful, we shall be allowed to keep it." "Bless my bank book! why not?" asked Mr. Damon. "Isn't it wealth abandoned at the bottom of the sea, and isn't finding keeping?" "Not always," answered Tom. "There are certain rules and laws about treasure, and it might happen that after we got this--if we do--it could be taken away from us." "I think there will be no difficulty on this score," said Mr. Hardley. "In the first place, two attempts were made to get this wealth, and were unsuccessful. Then it was practically abandoned, and I believe under the law the persons who now find it will be entitled to keep it. Besides the persons who gathered it together did so for an unlawful purpose--that of starting a revolution in a friendly country--and they would not dare claim it for fear of giving their secret away." "Well, perhaps you are right," assented Tom. "We'll make a try for it, anyhow." "You say the submarine is nearly ready?" asked Mr. Hardley. "She will be ready for a trial trip at the end of this week," said Tom, "and be fitted up for the voyage within another seven days, I hope. Then for the great adventure!" and he laughed, though, truth to tell, he had no real liking for his task. The more he saw of Mr. Hardley the less he liked him. "I shall begin getting my affairs in shape," said the latter, as he gathered up some papers he had brought to attempt to prove to Tom that the wealth of the Pandora was greater than had been supposed. "I have many large interests," he went on, rather pompously, "and they need looking after; especially if I undertake anything so extra hazardous as a submarine trip." "Yes, there always is some danger," admitted Tom. "But then there is danger walking along the street." "Oh, there's no danger with Tom Swift!" exclaimed Mr. Damon. "I've been under the sea and above the clouds with him, and, bless my rainbow! he always brought us safe home." "And I'll try to do the same this time," said the young inventor. Busy days followed for Tom Swift and his friends. The force at work on the submarine turned night into day to rush her completion, and in due season she was set afloat in the dry dock basin and formally rechristened the M. N. 1. Mary blushed as she gave the boat her new name, and there was a little cheer from the group of workmen gathered at the dock. There was no launching in the real sense of the word, since as the Advance that ceremony had been gone through with for the undersea craft. She had been greatly changed interiorly and outwardly. Her skin, or plates, having been doubled and strengthened. For Tom proposed to go to a much greater depth than ever before. In addition to using the submarine herself in a search for the gold on the Pandora, Tom had installed on board some new kinds of diving apparatus and also a diving bell. If one would not serve, the other might, he reasoned. "Well, Tom," remarked his aged father the night before they were to start on the trial trip, "I understand you have practically rebuilt the Advance." "Yes; and I think she's a much better craft, too, Father." "Glad to hear that, Tom. Of course you kept the gyroscope rudder feature?" "No, I didn't," replied Tom. "If I had left that installed it would have meant carrying a smaller diving bell, and I think that last will be more useful than the gyroscope. I put in a set of double-acting depth rudders instead." Mr. Swift shook his head. "I'm sorry for that, Tom," he remarked. "There's nothing like the gyroscope rudder in a tight pinch--say when there's a storm. And for holding the boat steady, if you have to make a sudden turn under water, to avoid an obstruction you come upon unexpectedly, a gyroscope can't be improved on. It holds you steady and prevents your turning turtle." "I've put side fin-keels to correct that," Tom explained. But still his father was not satisfied. "I'd rather you had kept the gyroscope," he said, and the time was to come when Tom Swift wished that himself. But it was too late to make the change now, and so, with more than usual confidence in his own designing abilities, the next day the young inventor and his friends went aboard the M. N. 1 for the trial trip. "You don't easily get seasick, do you?" Tom asked Mr. Hardley, as they descended the hatchway into the interior of the craft. "No, I'm considered a good sailor." "Well, you'll need to be," went on Tom, with a smile. "Not that we are likely to strike any rough water now, though the reports say a stiff breeze is blowing in the bay. But when we once start for the West Indies you are likely to experience a new sensation. I've known sailors who never had any qualms, even in terrible storms, to get ill in a submarine when she went through only a small blow. The motion is different from that on a surface boat." "I can imagine so," returned Mr. Hardley. "But I'll be thinking of the millions in gold on the Pandora, and that will keep my mind off being seasick." "Let us hope so," murmured Tom. He gave the word, they all descended, the hatch covers were closed down, and the M. N. 1 was ready to start on a trial trip. CHAPTER VIII THE MUD BANK "What's that noise?" asked Mr. Hardley. Mr. Hardley, Tom Swift, Mr. Damon, Ned Newton, Koku, and one or two navigating officers of the craft, were gathered in the operating cabin of the M. N. 1. "That's water being pumped into the tanks," explained Tom. "We are now going down. If you'll watch the depth gauge you can note our progress." "Going down, are we?" remarked Mr. Hardley. "Well, it's interesting to say the least," and he observed the gauge, which showed them to be twenty feet under the surface. "Bless my hydrometer, but he's got nerve for a first trip in a submarine! He's all right, isn't he?" whispered Mr. Damon to Tom. "Well, I'm glad to see he isn't nervous," remarked Tom, honest enough to give his visitor credit for what was due him. And indeed many a person is nervous going down in a submarine for the first time. "Still we can't go more than thirty feet down in this water," went on Tom. "A better test will be when we get about five hundred feet below the surface. That's a real test, though as far as knowing it is concerned, a person can't tell ten feet from ten hundred in a submarine under water, unless he watches the gauge." "Well, I think you'll find Mr. Hardley all right," said Mr. Damon, who seemed to have taken a strong liking to his new friend. Certainly the latter showed no signs of nervousness as the craft slowly settled to the proper depth. He asked numberless questions, showing his interest in the operation of the M. N. 1, but he showed not the least sign of fear. However, as Tom said, that might come later. "We are going down now," Tom explained, as he pointed out to Mr. Hardley the various controlling wheels and levers, "by filling our ballast tanks with water. We can rise, when needful, by forcing out this water by means of compressed air. When we are on the ocean we can go down by using our diving rudders, and in much quicker time than by filling our tanks." "How is that?" asked the seeker after the Pandora's gold. "Filling the tanks is slow work in itself," replied Tom, "and they have to be filled very carefully and evenly, so we don't stand on our stern or bow in going down. We want to sink on an even keel, and sometimes this is hard to accomplish. But we are doing it now," and he called attention to an indicator which told how much the M. N. 1 might be listing to one side or to one end or the other. A submarine, as everyone knows, is essentially a water-tight tank, shaped like a cigar, with a propeller on one end. It can sink below the surface and move along under water. It sinks because rudders force it down, and water taken into tanks in its interior hold it to a certain depth. It can rise by ejecting this extra water and by setting the rudders in the proper position. A submarine moves under water by means of electric motors, the current of which is supplied by storage batteries. On the surface when the hatches can be opened, oil or gasolene engines are used. These engines cannot be used under water because they depend on a supply of air, or oxygen, and when the submarine is tightly sealed all the air possible is needed for her crew to breathe. While cruising on the surface a submarine recharges her storage batteries to give her motive power when she is submerged. There are many types of submarines, some comparatively simple and small, and others large and complex. In some it is possible for the crew to live many days without coming to the surface. Tom Swift's reconstructed craft compared favorably with the best and largest ever made, though she was not of exceptional size. She was very strong, however, to allow her to go to a great depth, for the farther down one goes below the surface of the sea, the greater the pressure until, at, say, six miles, the greatest known depth of the ocean, the pressure is beyond belief. And yet is possible that marine monsters may live in that pressure which would flatten out a block of solid steel into a sheet as thin as paper. "Well, we are as deep down as it is safe to go in the river," announced Tom, as the gauge showed a distance below the surface of a little less than twenty-nine feet. "Now we'll move into the bay. How do you like it, Mr. Hardley?" "Very well, so far. But it isn't very exciting yet." "Bless my accident policy!" exclaimed Mr. Damon, "I hope you aren't looking for excitement." "I'm used to it," was the answer. "The more there is the better I like it." "Well, you may get your wish," said Tom. He turned a lever, and those on board the submarine became conscious of a forward motion. She was no longer sinking. She trembled and vibrated as the powerful electric motors turned her propellers, and Tom, having seen that all was running smoothly in the main engine room, called Mr. Damon, Ned, and Mr. Hardley to him. "We'll go into the forward pilot house and give Mr. Hardley a view under water," he announced. "Of course, you'll see nothing like what you'll view when we're in the ocean," added the young inventor, "but it may interest you." The four were soon in the forward compartment of the craft. She could be directed and steered from here when occasion arose, but now Tom was letting his navigator direct the craft from the controls in the main engine room. A conning tower, rising just above the deck of the craft, gave the pilot the necessary view. "Here you are!" exclaimed Tom, as he switched out the lights in the cabin. For a moment they were in darkness, and then, with a click, steel plates, guarding heavy plate glass bull's-eyes, moved back, and Mr. Hardley for the first time looked out on an underwater scene. He saw the murky waters of river down which they were proceeding to the bay moving past the glass windows. Now and then a fish swam up, looking in, and, with a swirl of its tail, shot away again, apparently frightened well-nigh to death. "Bless my shoe laces, Tom!" exclaimed Mr. Damon, "this isn't a marker compared to some of the sights we've seen, is it?" "I can imagine not," said Mr. Hardley. "But it is interesting. I shall be anticipating more wonderful sights." "And you'll get them!" exclaimed Ned. "Do you remember, Tom, the time the big octopus tried to hold us back?" "Yes, indeed," answered the young inventor. "That gave us a scare for the time being." Steadily the M. N. 1 kept on her way under water. Her path was illuminated to a considerable degree by a broad, diffused beam of light from a powerful searchlight that was fixed just back of the conning tower, giving the helmsman a certain degree of vision. This light also served to illuminate the water, so that those in the forward cabin could see what was going on around them. "There isn't much of interest in the river," said Tom. "No big fish, or anything else of moment. Even in the bay we won't see much to attract our attention. But I want to make sure everything is working smoothly before we start for the West Indies." "That's right!" agreed Mr. Hardley. "We want to make a success of this trip." He remained at the glass bull's-eyes, now and then exclaiming as some shad or other fair-sized fish came into view. Suddenly, however, his exclamation was sharper than usual. "Look!" he exclaimed. "There's part of a wreck!" Ned, Mr. Damon, and Tom looked out and saw, sweeping past them, the ribs and worm-eaten timbers of some craft, lying on the bottom of the river. "Yes, that's the remains of an old brick scow," the young inventor explained. "That's one of our water-marks, so to speak. It is at the bend of the river. We turn now, and head for the bay." As he spoke they all became aware of a sudden swerve in the course of the submarine. The helmsman had, doubtless, noted the "water-mark," as Tom termed it, and as an automobilist on land might swing at the cross-roads, the steersman was changing the course of his craft. "We'll go deeper," said Tom a moment later, as the wreck passed out of view. "We can go about fifty feet down now. Yes, he's sinking her," he added, as a gauge showed the craft to be descending. "Nelson knows his business all right." "He is your captain?" asked Mr. Hardley. "One of the best, yes. He'll go with us on the search for the Pandora." They talked of various matters, Tom relating to Mr. Hardley how a tug had rammed the brick scow some years ago, and sunk it in the river. The submarine was now about forty-eight feet below the surface, and suddenly they all became aware that her speed had increased. "Guess he's going to give the motors a good try-out," observed Tom. "I think I'll go back to the engine room. You may remain here, if you like, and you'll probably see--" A cry from Mr. Damon interrupted him. "Bless my rubber boots, Tom! Look!" cried the eccentric man. "We're going to ram a mud bank!" As he spoke they all became aware of a solid black mass looming in front of the bull's-eye window. An instant later the submarine came to a jarring stop, as if she had struck some soft, yielding substance. There was a confused shouting throughout the craft, the noise of machinery, a trembling and vibration, and then ominous quiet. CHAPTER IX READY TO START Characteristic it was of Tom Swift to act calmly in times of stress and danger, and he ran true to form now. Only for an instant did he show any sign of perturbation. Then with calmness and deliberation the young inventor quickly did a number of things to the controls within his reach. First of all he signaled to the engine room that he was going to take charge of the boat. This meant that the navigator in the conning tower was to keep his hands off the various levers and wheel-valves. It was possible to operate the M. N. 1 from three positions, but Tom wanted no triplicate handling of his craft now. Almost the instant Tom signaled that he would take charge back came flashing the electrical signal from the conning tower that his orders were understood. The next thing that those aboard the craft became aware of was a tremor that seemed to run through the whole under-sea ship. The quiet had changed to a subdued humming, and the ominous lack of motion was succeeded by violent vibration. "Backing her up, Tom?" asked Ned, in a low voice. "Trying to," was the answer. "But I'm afraid her nose has gone in pretty deep. I've reversed the propellers." For perhaps a minute this vibration continued, showing that the powerful electric motors were turning over the twin propellers at the blunt stern of the craft. But she did not change her position. With a touch of his hand, and still almost as cool as the proverbial cucumber (though why they should be cool it is hard to say), Tom stopped the motors. Once again the craft was quiet, but now, instead of the occupants being able to see clearly from the thick, glass windows in the forward cabin, the water showed muddy and murky in the glare of the underwater searchlight. "Bless my postage stamps, Tom! what has happened?" exclaimed Mr. Damon. "Has a giant squid attacked us, as one did some time ago, and is he roiling up the water?" "No, it isn't a squid, Mr. Damon," replied the young inventor easily; "though the water does look as if a squid had spilled a lot of his ink in it. This is just the effect of mud stirred up by our propellers. There may be more of it." Ned looked toward Mr. Hardley to see how he was taking it. The seeker after gold apparently had good control of his nerves, or else he was ignorant of what was going on. For he asked, casually enough: "Have we stopped?" "We have," answered Tom. "I thought I'd give you a view of the scenery." Perhaps he spoke sarcastically, but, if he did, Mr. Damon's friend did not seem to be aware of it. Coolly enough he replied: "Well, if this is a fair sample of underwater scenery I prefer something up above, though I appreciate that this may be needful." "We'll soon be traveling along," announced Tom. "Koku," he added to the giant, who had been calmly sitting during the excitement, "go to the engine room and help with the big levers." "Yes, Master," was the answer. Koku had implicit faith in Tom. Waiting a moment for his faithful servant to reach the post assigned to him, Tom again signaled to his helpers and then quickly turned a wheel which produced startling results. For all within the submarine suddenly slid forward across the cabin floor. "Bless my hammock hooks, Tom! are you standing her on her head?" cried Mr. Damon. "That's exactly what I'm doing," was the answer. "I've started to empty one of the after ballast tanks, and that, naturally, raises the stern while the nose is held down." The submarine was indeed in a peculiar position. She was on a slant in the water, her nose held fast in the soft mud bank, and it was Tom's idea that by making the stern buoyant it might help to pull her free. To this end he also gave what assistance the propellers were capable of adding by starting the motors again, so that the craft once more trembled and vibrated. But it all seemed to no purpose. Aside from the slanting position, there was no change in the M. N. 1. Ned, looking out into the murky water, which had cleared slightly, saw that the craft was still held fast. And then, for the first time, Mr. Hardley seemed to become aware that something serious was the matter. Up to now he seemed to think that all that had occurred was done for the purpose of testing the newly outfitted underseas boat. "Is there anything wrong?" he asked sharply of Tom. "Why are we in this position, and why don't we go on out to the open ocean and make a test at considerable depth? We'll have to go down deeper than this if we find the Pandora!" "I suppose so," agreed Tom. "But we have had an accident, and--" "An accident!" interrupted the gold-seeker, and then Ned saw him turn pale. "Do you mean to say this is not part of the test?" "We have run into a mud bank," said Tom. "The steersman must have become confused, or else, since we last used the submarine, there has been a shift of the mud banks in this river and one exists where there was none before. At any rate, we ran our nose deep into it, and here we are--stuck!" "Can't we get loose--go up to the surface?" demanded Mr. Hardley. "I'm trying to bring that about," announced Tom calmly. "So far her engines haven't been able to pull her loose." "But Great Scott, man, we can't stay here!" cried the now excited adventurer. "We'll be drowned like rats in a trap! Let me out! Isn't there some way? I'll be shot through a torpedo tube, if necessary! I must get out! I can't stay here to be drowned! I have too much at stake!" "Now wait a minute!" calmly advised Tom Swift. "You haven't any more at stake than the rest of us. None of us wants to be drowned, and there is only a remote possibility that we shall be. I haven't played all my cards yet. We can live on this boat for a week, if need be." "You mean under water as we are now?" asked Mr. Hardley. "Yes. I always keep the boat provisioned and with plenty of air and water for a long stay, if need be," replied Tom. "And I did not overlook the fact that we might have an accident on the trial trip." "I don't see how you let an accident happen before we even got started," complained the gold-seeker. "I should think your steersman would have been more careful." "He is very careful," explained Tom. "But we have not used the craft for some time, and, meanwhile, there have been changes in the river, due, I suppose, to heavy tides. But we may get out of the grip of the mud bank soon." "And if we don't, what then?" asked Mr. Hardley. "Then there is always the torpedo tube," said Tom calmly. "And we are not very deep down. I think I can save you all." "I certainly hope so!" was the fretful comment of the adventurer. "I have too much at stake to be drowned like a rat in a trap! You must send me up first if it becomes necessary to use the tube." Tom did not answer. But as he looked out of the observation windows to see if possible the conformation of the mud bank, the young inventor whispered to Ned one word. And that word was: "Yellow!" "You said it!" was Ned's whispered rejoinder. Tom Swift arrived at a sudden determination. Once again the motors were stopped, and the boat gradually assumed an even keel. "What are you going to try, Tom?" asked Ned. "I'm going to shove her farther into the mud bank," announced the young inventor. "I think that's the only way to get her loose." "Bless my apple pie, Tom!" cried Mr. Damon, "doesn't that seem a foolish thing to do?" "It's the only thing to do, I believe," was the answer. "This mud is of a peculiar sticky and holding kind. The sub's nose is in it like a peg in a hole. What I propose to do now is to enlarge the hole, and then our nose will come loose--I hope." "But you haven't any right to shove our nose further in!" cried Mr. Hardley. "I won't allow it! I demand to be put on the surface! I won't be drowned down here before I get the gold that's coming to me--the gold and--" "Now look here!" suddenly cried Tom. "I'm in command of this boat, and you'll do as I say. I'll gladly set you on the surface if I can, and this is the only way it can be brought about--it's the only way to save all of us. I'm going to enlarge the mud hole so we can pull out. Please keep still!" Mr. Hardley stared at the young inventor a moment, seemed about to say something, and then changed his mind. "Hold fast, everybody!" suddenly called Tom. The next moment the M. N. 1 began behaving in a most peculiar manner. She appeared to be acting like a corkscrew. While her bow was comparatively steady, her stern described a circle in the water which was churned to mud by the two propellers, each being revolved in a different direction. "I'm trying to make the hole bigger just as an amateur carpenter makes a nail hole bigger, so he can pull out the nail, by twisting it around," explained Tom. "The motion may be a bit unpleasant, but it is needful." And indeed the motion was unpleasant. Tom, veteran airman and sailor that he was, began to feel a trifle seasick, and Mr. Hardley was in very evident distress. Suddenly, however, something happened. The M. N. 1 gave a lurch to one side and then shot upward so quickly that Ned and Mr. Damon lost their balance and slumped over on the bench that ran around three sides of the room. "Are we free?" cried Mr. Hardley. "We have come loose from the mud bank," said Tom quietly. "By boring into it the hole was enlarged sufficiently to enable us to pull loose. There is no more danger!" His announcement was received in momentary silence, and then Ned exclaimed: "Hurray!" "Bless my accident policy!" voiced Mr. Damon. Mr. Hardley appeared dazed, and then, as the submarine was again moving through the water, seemingly none the worse for the accident, the gold seeker approached Tom Swift. "I want to apologize, Mr. Swift, for my actions and words," said Mr. Hardley frankly. "I admit that I lost my head. But it's my first trip in a submarine." "I realize that," said Tom, equally frank, "and we'll forget all about it. It was a strain on you--on all of us--though there really was no very great danger. Now, are you game enough to continue the trip?" "Try me!" exclaimed the adventurer. "You won't find me acting so like a baby again." Nor did he, even when the craft reached the open ocean and went down to a considerable depth, where, had any accident occurred, there would have been grave danger to all. But Mr. Hardley seemed to enjoy it. "Maybe I've misjudged him," Tom said to Ned, when they were getting ready to go back. "It's possible," agreed the financial manager. This trial, which so nearly ended disastrously, was only one of several. No damage resulted from the collision with the river mud bank, and that trip and the ones following gave Tom some new ideas in interior construction which he followed out. About a month later all was ready for the trip to the West Indies to look for the ill-fated Pandora. Tom's affairs were put in shape, the submarine was laden with stores and provisions, the new diving bell and other wonderful apparatus were put aboard, and the crew and officers picked. Ned, Mr. Damon, Koku, and Tom were, of course, together, and though Mr. Hardley was a stranger, he seemed to become more friendly as the days passed. "Well, we start in the morning," said Tom to Ned one evening. "I'm going over to tell Mary goodbye." "Give her my regards," requested Ned, and Tom said he would. CHAPTER X STARTLING REVELATIONS "Oh, Tom! And so you are really ready to start on that perilous trip!" exclaimed Mary Nestor, a little later that same evening, when Tom called at Mary's house in his speedy electric runabout, a car in which he had once made a sensational ride. "Perilous? I don't know why you call it that!" exclaimed the young inventor. "Didn't you tell me you were stuck in a mud bank away down under the river and had hard work to get loose?" asked the young lady, as she made a place for Tom on the sofa beside her. "Oh, that! Why, that wasn't anything!" he declared. "It would have been if you hadn't come up." "Ah, but we did come up, Mary." "Suppose you get in a similar position when you find the wreck of the Pandora? You won't get up so easily, will you?" "No. But there aren't any mud banks in that part of the Atlantic, so I can't be stuck in one," answered Tom. For some time Tom Swift and Mary talked of mutual friends and happenings in which they were both interested. Mr. and Mrs. Nestor stepped into the room for a minute, to wish the young inventor good luck on his voyage, and when they had gone out, promising to see Tom before he left for the night, the latter remarked to Mary: "Did your uncle ever find the oil-well papers and get his affairs straightened out?" "No," was the answer, "he never did. And we feel very sorry for him. Just think, he had a fortune in his grasp, and now it is slipping away." "Just what happened?" asked Tom, hoping there might be some way in which he could aid Mary's uncle. Of course, Tom wanted to help Mary, and this was one of the ways. "Well, I don't exactly understand it all," she replied. "Father says I'll never have a head for business. But as nearly as I can tell, my uncle, Barton Keith, went into partnership with a man to prospect for oil in Texas. My uncle has been in that business before, and he was very successful. He supplied the working knowledge about oil wells, I believe, and the other man put up the money. My uncle was to have a half share in whatever oil wells he located, and his partner supplied the cash for putting down the pipe, or whatever is done." "I believe putting down a pipe is the proper term," said Tom. "Well, anyhow," went on Mary, "my uncle spent many weary months prospecting in Texas. In fact, he made himself ill, being out in all sorts of weather, looking after the drilling. At last they struck oil, as I believe they call it. They drilled down until they brought in what my uncle called a 'gusher,' and there was a chance of him and his partner getting rich." "Why didn't he?" asked Tom. "A gusher, I believe, is one of the best sort of oil wells. Why didn't your uncle clean up a fortune, to use a slang term?" "Because he lost the papers showing that he had a right to half the oil well," answered Mary. "At least my uncle thinks he lost them, but he was so ill, directly after the well proved a success, that he says he isn't sure what happened. At any rate, his partner claims everything and my uncle can do nothing. He has been hoping he might find the papers somewhere, or that something would happen to prove the rights of his claim." "And nothing has?" inquired Tom. "Not yet. My father and mother have been trying to help him, and dad engaged a lawyer, but he says nothing can be done unless my uncle recovers the partnership and other papers. As it stands now, it is my uncle's word against the word of his partner, and both are equally good in a court of law. But if Uncle Barton could find the documents everything would come out all right. He could claim his half of the oil well then." "Is it still producing?" Tom questioned. "Yes, better than ever. But that's all the good it does my uncle. He is ill, discouraged, and despondent. All his fortune was eaten up in prospecting, and he depended on the gusher to make him rich again. And now, because of a rascally partner, he may be doomed to die a poor man. Of course we will always help him, but you know what it is to be dependent on relatives." "I can imagine," conceded Tom. "It is tough luck! I wish I could help, and perhaps I can after I get back from this trip." "The only way you or any one could help, would be to get back my uncle's missing papers," said Mary. "And as he himself isn't sure what became of them, it seem hopeless." "It does," Tom agreed. "But wait until I get back." "I wish you weren't going," sighed Mary. "So do I--more than a little," was Tom's remark. "I'm sorry I ever let Mr. Damon persuade me to go into this deal with Dixwell Hardley!" Mary sat bolt upright on the couch. "What name did you say?" she cried. "Dixwell Hardley," repeated Tom. "That's the name of the man who claims to know where the wreck of the Pandora lies. He says she has two millions or more in gold on board, and I'm to get half." "Well!" exclaimed Mary, with spirit, "if you don't get any bigger share out of the wreck than my uncle got out of the oil well, you won't be doing so very nicely, Tom." "What do you mean?" asked the young inventor. "What has the oil well to do with recovering gold from the wreck?" "A good deal, I should say," answered the girl, "seeing that the same man is mixed up in both." "What same man?" "Dixwell Hardley!" "Is he the man who cheated your uncle?" cried Tom. "I won't say that he cheated him," said Mary. "But Dixwell Hardley is the man who furnished the money when my uncle went into partnership with him to locate oil wells in Texas. The oil wells were located, Mr. Hardley got his share, and my uncle got nothing. And just because he can't prove there was a legal partnership! I hope you won't have the same experience with Mr. Hardley, Tom." "Whew!" whistled the young inventor. "This is news to me! I can say one thing, though. Mr. Hardley doesn't take a dollar out of that wreck unless I get one to match it. I think I hold the best cards on this deal. But, Mary, are you sure it's the same man?" "Pretty sure. Wait, I'll call my father and make certain," she answered, and as she went from the room to summon Mr. Nestor, Tom felt a vague sense of uneasiness. CHAPTER XI BARTON KEITH'S STORY "What's this Mary tells me, Tom?" asked Mr. Nestor, as he followed his daughter back into the room. "You mean about Dixwell Hardley?" "Yes. Do you suppose he can be the same man who has so meanly treated my brother-in-law?" "I wouldn't want to say, Mr. Nestor, until you describe to me the Mr. Hardley you know. Then I can better tell. But from what little I have seen of the man to whom I was introduced by my friend Mr. Damon, I'd say, off hand, that he was capable of such action." "Does Mr. Damon know this Mr. Hardley well?" asked Mrs. Nestor, who accompanied her husband. "I wouldn't say that he did," Tom replied. "I don't know just how Mr. Damon met this chap--I think it was in a financial way, though." "Well, if it's the same Mr. Hardley, I'll say he has some queer financial ways," said Mr. Nestor. "Now let's see if we can make the two jibe. Describe him, Tom." This the young inventor did, and when this description had been compared with one given of the Mr. Hardley with whom Mr. Keith once was associated, Mrs. Nestor said: "It surely is the same man! The Mr. Hardley who wants you to get wealth from the bottom of the ocean, Tom, is the same fellow who is keeping my brother out of the oil well property! I'm sure of it!" "It does seem so," Tom agreed. "Dixwell Hardley is not a usual name; but we must be careful. In spite of its unusualness there may be two very different men who have that name. I think the only way to find out for certain is to see Mr. Keith. He'd know a picture of the Dixwell Hardley who, he claims, cheated him, wouldn't he?" "Indeed he would!" exclaimed Mrs. Nestor. "But where could we get a picture of your Mr. Hardley? I call him that, though I don't suppose you own him, Tom," and she smiled at her future son-in-law. "No, I don't own him, and I don't want to," was Tom's answer. "But I happen to have a picture of him. I made him furnish me with proofs that he was on the Pandora at the time she foundered in a gale, and among the documents he gave was his passport. It has his picture on. I have it here." Tom drew the paper from his pocket. In one corner was pasted a photograph of the man who had been introduced to Tom by Mr. Damon. "It looks like the same man my brother described," said Mrs. Nestor, "but of course I couldn't be sure." "There is only one way to be," Tom stated, "and that is to show this picture to Mr. Keith. Where is he?" "Ill at his home in Bedford," answered Mrs. Nestor. "Then we'll go there and see him!" declared Tom. "But it's a hundred miles from here!" exclaimed Mary. "And you are leaving on your submarine trip the first thing in the morning, Tom!" "No, I'm not leaving until I settle this matter," declared the young inventor. "I'm not going on an undersea voyage with a man who may be a cheater. I want this matter settled. I'll postpone this trip until I find out. A day's delay won't matter." "But it will take longer than that," said Mr. Nestor. "Bedford is a small place, and there's only one train a day there. You'll lose at least three days Tom, if you go there." "Not necessarily," was the quick answer. "I can go by airship, and make the trip in a little over an hour. I can be back the same day, perhaps not in time to start our submarine trip, as Mr. Keith may be too ill to see me. But I won't lose much time in my Air Scout. "Mary, will you go with me to see your uncle? We'll start the first thing in the morning and I'll show him this picture. Will you go?" "I will!" exclaimed the girl. "Good!" cried Tom. "Then I'll make preparations. I don't want to form any rash judgment, so we'll make certain; but it wouldn't surprise me a bit to have it turn out that the Dixwell Hardley who wants me to help him recover the Pandora treasure is the same one who is trying to cheat Mr. Keith." Early the next morning, when Tom arose in his own home, he met Mr. Damon and Mr. Hardley, both of whom were guests at the Swift house, pending the beginning of the undersea trip. "Well, Tom," began the eccentric man, "we have good weather for the start. Bless my rubber boots! Not that it much matters, though, what sort of weather we have when we're in the submarine. But I always like to start in the sunshine." "So do I," agreed Mr. Hardley. "I suppose we'll get off early this morning," he added. "We'll go to the dock in the auto, as usual, shall we not?" he asked. "We aren't going to start this morning," said Tom, as he sat down to breakfast. "Not going to start this morning!" exclaimed Mr. Hardley. "Why--why--" "Bless my alarm clock!" voiced Mr. Damon, "has anything happened, Tom? No accident to the M. N. 1 is there? You aren't backing out now, at the last minute, are you?" "Oh, no," was the easy answer. "We'll go, as arranged, but not today. I had some unexpected news last night which necessitates making a trip this morning. I expect to be back tonight, if all goes well, and we'll start tomorrow morning instead of this. It's a matter of important business." "Well, I don't know that we can find fault with Mr. Swift for attending to business," said Mr. Hardley, with a short laugh. "Business is what keeps the world moving. And we are a little ahead of our schedule, as a matter of fact. May I ask where you are going, Mr. Swift?" "To Bedford, to call on a Mr. Barton Keith," answered Tom quickly, looking the adventurer straight in the eyes. Mr. Hardley was a good actor, or else he was a perfectly innocent man, for he showed not the least sign of perturbation. "Oh, Bedford," he remarked. "Don't know that I ever heard of the place." "Or Mr. Keith, either?" asked Tom, a bit sharply. "No, certainly not. Why should I?" he asked, boldly. "I didn't know," Tom replied. "I'm sorry to postpone our trip, but it's necessary," he added. "I'll be back as soon as I can. Everything is in readiness, so there will be no delay." Tom made a hurried meal, and then, giving Ned a hint of what was in the wind, but cautioning him to say nothing about it, Tom had the small Air Scout brought out, and in that he flew over to Mary's home. He found her waiting for him, and, after being duly cautioned by her mother to "be careful," though whether that was of any value or not is possibly debatable, the small, speedy craft again took the air. "You haven't heard anything from your uncle since last night, have you?" asked Tom, as they flew along. "Yes," answered Mary, "mother had a letter. He is worse, if anything, and the doctor says the only thing that will save him is the knowledge that the oil-well matter has turned out right and that my uncle will get his share of the wealth." "That's too bad!" sympathized Tom. "I hope we can make it turn out that way. If the two Dixwell Hardley chaps are the same it may be that I can do something for your uncle. If not--we'll have to wait and see." It was not difficult for Tom and Mary to talk while in the aeroplane, as it was almost noiseless. In due time, Bedford was reached without mishap, and Tom and Mary were soon at the home of her uncle. An explanation to the housekeeper and an inspection on the part of the nurse, brought forth permission for Tom to see the patient. Though he had never known Mr. Keith he could see that the man's health was indeed fast waning. Wasting little time in preliminaries, the object of the visit was told and Tom showed the passport photograph of Dixwell Hardley. "Is that the man who cheated you on the oil-well deal?" asked the young inventor. "I won't admit he has yet cheated me, but he is trying to!" exclaimed Mr. Keith, with something of a return of his former spirit. "If I ever get off my back I'm going to fight him tooth and nail. But that's the same scoundrel! He got me to locate the wells, and when they panned out big--bigger than either of us dreamed--he turned me out cold. He denied he had ever offered to share with me, and said I was only working for monthly wages! Why, sometimes I didn't get even that!" "How did he get the best of you?" asked Tom. "By making away with or hiding the papers by which I could prove our partnership and my right to half a share in all the wells," answered Mary's uncle. "Yes, that's the same man all right. I'd know his face anywhere, and he has the same name." "He isn't going under a false name, that's sure," agreed Tom. "He must be a bold chap." "He is--bold and unscrupulous! That's what makes him so successful in his own way!" declared Mr. Keith. "And so you are working with him! Well, I'm sorry for you." "I'm not exactly working with him," replied Tom. "As a matter of fact, I'm sorry I ever agreed to look for this wreck." He told the details of the pending treasure-trove expedition, and mentioned it as his belief that Mr. Damon had been mistaken in his estimate of Mr. Hardley. "But, so far, Mr. Damon is quite taken with him," Tom went on. "Now, Mr. Keith, if it isn't too much for you, I should like to hear all the particulars." Thereupon Mary's uncle told his story. It was a long one. After many hardships in life, which Mr. Keith related in some detail to Tom, the oil-well prospector at last fell in with Dixwell Hardley. Then followed the combination of interests. "We are actually partners," declared Mr. Keith. "I agreed to do the work, and he agreed to furnish the money. I must say this for him, that he kept to that end of the bargain. He supplied the money to locate and drill the wells, but I got very little of it personally. And I fulfilled my end of it. I discovered the wells. Then, when the break came, and I wanted to be rid of the man--for I caught him in some crooked transactions--he surprised me by telling me to get out. I asked for my share of the oil-well stock, and was told I was not entitled to any. "I put up a fight, naturally, and took the matter to court. But when it came to trial Dixwell Hardley did not appear, and, though I won a technical victory over him, I never got any money." "Where was he during the trial?" asked Tom. "At sea, I believe." "At sea?" "Yes, he was mixed up in some South American revolution, I heard." "A South American revolution!" exclaimed Tom, and a great light came to him. "Yes," went on Mary's uncle. "He was always that kind--mixing up in anything he thought would produce money. He didn't make out very well in the revolution business, so I understood. The revolutionary party was beaten, or they lost their shipment of arms, or something like that. At any rate, Dixwell Hardley had a narrow escape with his life when a ship went down, and from then on I've been trying to get him to restore my rights to me." "Did he have the papers that would prove you were entitled to a half share in the oil wells?" asked Tom. "He certainly did!" said the sick man, who was obviously being weakened by this long and exhausting talk. "At first I was not sure of what happened, but now I am positive he stole the papers and took them to sea with him. What happened to them after that I don't know. But if I had Dixwell Hardley here--now--I--I'd--" Mr. Keith fell back in a faint on the bed, and, in great alarm, Tom summoned the nurse. CHAPTER XII IN DEEP WATERS Mary Nestor, as well as Tom Swift, felt great alarm over the condition of Mr. Keith. But the nurse, after reviving him, said: "He is in no special immediate danger. Talking about his trouble overstrained him, but in the end it may do him good." "Then will he get well?" asked Mary. "He may," was the noncommittal answer. "His recovery would be hastened, however, if his mind could be relieved. He keeps worrying about the loss of his papers that proved his share in the Texas oil wells. Until they can be given back to him he is bound to suffer mentally, and of course that effects him physically." "Oh, if we only could do something!" murmured Mary. "Perhaps we can," said Tom in a low voice. "I've learned something these last few hours. I don't want to promise too much, but I think I begin to see how matters lie. There, he's rousing. Speak to him, Mary." Mr. Keith opened his eyes, and smiled at his niece. "Did I dream it," he asked in a low voice, "or was there some young man with you, Mary, my dear, to whom I was telling my troubles about the oil-well papers?" "You didn't dream it, Uncle," Mary answered. "You were talking to Tom Swift. Here he is," and Tom came forward. "Oh, yes, I remember now," said Mr. Keith passing his hand wearily over his eyes. "I thought, for a moment, that he had recovered my papers for me. But that was a dream, I'm sure." "It may not be, Mr. Keith!" exclaimed Tom. "May not be? What do you mean?" "I mean," replied the young inventor, "that I am much interested in what you have told me. Now that I have proved that the Dixwell Hardley who is to sail with me is the same one who has treated you so shabbily, I think I understand the truth. I don't want to make a promise that I may not be able to carry out, but I am going to watch this man while he's on the submarine with me." "Then you are going on with the voyage, Tom?" asked Mary. "I shall have to," he said. "I have entered into an agreement with this man and I'm not going to break my contract, no matter what he does. But I think I know what his game is. Mr. Keith, I'm going to ask you to keep quiet about this matter until I come back from the treasure search. I may then have some news for you." "I hope you do, young man, I hope you do!" exclaimed the oil contractor, with more energy than he had previously shown. "It means a lot, at my age, to lose a small fortune. If I were well and strong I'd tackle this Dixwell Hardley myself, and make him give up the papers I'm sure he has hidden away. He has them, I'm positive." "Well, he may not have them, but perhaps he knows where they are," said Tom. "And I'm going to make it my business to watch him and see if I can find out his secret. I won't let him know I've heard from you. I'll apply the old saying of giving him plenty of rope, and I'll watch what happens. "Now, Mr. Keith, take care of yourself. Mary and I must be getting back. Try not to worry, and I'll do my best for you," Tom concluded. Mary added a few words of comfort and encouragement to her uncle, and then she and Tom took leave of him, flying back to Shopton in the speedy Air Scout. "What are you going to do, Tom?" asked Mary, as he left her at her home, having told Mr. and Mrs. Nestor his part in the visit to Barton Keith. "I'm going to start on the submarine voyage tomorrow," was the answer of the young inventor. "Do you really believe there is a treasure ship?" "Well, I've satisfied myself that a ship named the Pandora sunk about where Hardley says it did, and she had some treasure on board. Whether it's just the kind he has told me it was I don't know. But I'm going to find out." "Then you'll be saying goodbye for a long time," observed Mary, rather wistfully. "Oh, it may not be for so very long," and Tom tried to speak cheerfully. "I'll bring you back some souvenirs from the bottom of the sea," he added with a laugh. "Bring me back--yourself!" said Mary in a low voice, and then she hurried away. By appointment Tom met Mr. Damon and Mr. Hardley at the submarine dock the next morning. Everything had been made ready for the start, postponed from the day before. Mr. Hardley's estimated share of the expenses had been deposited in a bank, to be paid over later. "Well, are we really going this time, or are you going to delay again?" asked the gold seeker, and his voice lacked a pleasant tone. "Oh, we're going this time!" exclaimed Tom. "And I hope everything turns out the way I want it to," he added meaningly. "We'll find the treasure on the ship all right, if we can find the ship," said Mr. Hardley. "That part is your job, Mr. Swift." "And I'll find her if she's where you say she went down," answered Tom. "Now then, as soon as Ned comes we'll start." Ned Newton had been intrusted with some last-moment messages, but he arrived a little later, and hurried on board the M. N. 1 which lay at her dock, just afloat. "All aboard!" called Tom, when he saw his financial manager coming down the pier. "We're ready to start now." "Bless my fountain pen!" exclaimed Mr. Damon, "but we ought to do something, Tom--sing a song, make a speech or something, oughtn't we?" "We'll sing a song of victory when we come back," replied Tom, with a laugh. "Everything all right at home, Ned?" he asked, for his chum had just come on from Shopton. "Yes; your father sent his regards, but he told me to make a last appeal to you to install a gyroscope rudder." "It's too late for that now," said Tom. "He attaches, I think, too much importance to that device. I shan't need it with the improvements I have made to the craft. Get aboard!" Ned climbed down the hatchway, which, however, was not closed, as it was decided to navigate the craft on the surface until it was necessary to submerge her because of too rough water, or when the vicinity of the wreck was reached. "Though we will go down to the bottom when we get to the Atlantic for the purpose of testing her in deep water," decided Tom. "Most of the time we'll steam on the surface, for we'll save our batteries that way, and it's more comfortable breathing natural air." So, with part of her deck above the surface, the M. N. 1 began her voyage, sent on her way by the cheers of the small force of Tom's workmen at the submarine plant. The general public was not admitted, for the object of the quest was kept secret from all save those immediately interested. "Rad, him be plenty mad he not come," said Koku to Tom, as the giant moved about the cabin, putting things to rights. "Well, don't start crowing over him until we get back," warned the young inventor. "He may have the laugh on us." "Rad no laugh," declared Koku. "Rad him too mad dat I come on trip." "A submarine voyage is no place for old, faithful Eradicate," murmured Tom. "He's better off looking after my father." The first part of the trip was without incident of moment. No mishap attended the voyage of the M. N. 1 down the river, out into the bay, and so on to the great Atlantic. Fairly good time was made, as there was no particular object in speeding, and on the second day after leaving the dock Tom gave orders for the hatch to be closed, the deck cleared, and everything made tight and fast. "What's up?" asked Ned, hearing the instructions passed around. "We're approaching deep water," was the answer. "I'm going to submerge." A little later, by means of her diving rudders, aided also by the tanks, the M. N. 1 began to sink. Down, down, down she went. "Now I'll be able to show you some pretty sights, Mr. Hardley," said Tom, as he and his friends entered the forward compartment, while the steel shutters were rolled back from the heavy glass windows. "We'll be in deep waters presently." Ten minutes later the depth gauge showed that they were down about three hundred feet, and that is pretty deep for a submarine. But Tom's boat was capable of even greater depths than that. At first there was nothing much to observe save the opal-tinted water illuminated by the powerful lights of the submarine. Small, and evidently frightened, fish darted to and fro, but there was nothing especially to attract the attention of Tom and his friends, who had made much more sensational trips than this under water. Mr. Hardley, however, was fascinated, and kept close to the observation windows. "Are there any wrecks around here?" he asked Tom. "Possibly," was the answer. "Though they do not contain any treasure, I imagine--brick schooners or cargo boats would be about all." The submarine went deeper, plowing her way through the Atlantic at a depth of more than three hundred and fifty feet, for Tom wanted to subject her to a good test. Suddenly Mr. Hardley, who was now alone at the window on the port side, uttered a cry of alarm. "Look! Look!" he fairly shouted. "We're surrounded by a school of sharks! What monsters! Are we in danger?" CHAPTER XIII THE SEA MONSTER Tom Swift, who had been making readings of the various gauges, taking notes for future use, and otherwise busying himself about the navigation of his reconstructed craft, turned quickly from the instrument board at the cry from Mr. Hardley. The gold-seeker, with a look of terror on his face, had recoiled from the observation windows. "Bless my hat band!" cried Mr. Damon. "Look, Tom!" They all turned their attention to the glass, and through the plates could be seen a school of giant fishes that seemed to be swimming in front of the submarine, keeping pace with it as though waiting for a chance to enter. "Are we well protected against sharks, Mr. Swift?" demanded the adventurer. "Are these sea monsters likely to break the glass and get in at us?" "Indeed not!" laughed Tom. "There is absolutely no danger from these fish--they aren't sharks, either." "Not sharks?" cried Mr. Hardley. "What are they, then?" "Horse mackerel," Tom answered. "At least that is the common name for the big fish. But they are far from being sharks, and we are in no danger from them." "Oh!" exclaimed Mr. Hardley, and he seemed a little ashamed of the exhibition of fear he had manifested. "Well, they certainly seem determined to follow us," he added. The big fish were, indeed, following the submarine, and it required no exertion on their part to maintain their speed, since below the surface the M. N. 1 could not move very fast, as indeed no submarine can, due to the resistance of the water. "They do look as though they'd like to take a bite or two out of us," observed Ned. "Are they dangerous, Tom?" "Not as a rule," was the answer. "I don't doubt, though, but if a lone swimmer got in a school of horse mackerel he'd be badly bitten. In fact, some years ago, when there was a shark scare along the New Jersey coast, some fishermen declared that it was horse mackerel that were responsible for the death and injury of several bathers. A number of horse mackerel were caught and exhibited as sharks, but, as you can easily see, their mouths lack the under-shot arrangement of the shark, and they are not built at all as are the man-eaters." "Bless my toothbrush!" exclaimed Mr. Damon. "Still, between a horse mackerel and a shark there isn't much choice!" Mr. Hardley, with a shudder, turned away from the glass windows, and Tom glanced significantly at Ned. It was another exhibition of the man's lack of nerve. "We'll have trouble with him before this voyage is over," declared the young inventor to his chum, a little later. "What makes you think so?" asked Ned. "Because he's yellow; that's why. I thought him that once before, and then I revised my opinion. Now I'm back where I started. You watch--we'll have trouble." "Well, I guess we can handle him," observed the financial manager. "I'm going a little deeper," announced Tom, toward evening on the first day of the voyage on the open ocean. "I want to see how she stands the pressure at five hundred feet. I feel certain she will, and even at a greater depth. But if there's anything wrong we want to correct it before we get too far away from home. We're going down again, deeper than before." A little later the submarine began the descent into the lower ocean depths. From three hundred and fifty feet she went to four hundred, and when the hand on the gauge showed four hundred and fifty there was a tense moment. If anything went wrong now there would be serious trouble. But Tom Swift and his men had done their work well. The M. N. 1 stood the strain, and when the gauge showed four hundred and ninety feet Mr. Damon gave a faint cheer. "Bless my apple dumpling, Tom!" he replied, "this is wonderful." "Oh, we've been deeper than this," replied the young inventor, "but under different conditions. I'm glad to see how well she is standing it, though." Suddenly, as the needle pointer on the depth gauge showed five hundred and two feet, there came a slight jar and vibration that was felt throughout the craft. "What's that?" suddenly and nervously cried Mr. Hardley. "Have we struck something?" "Yes, the bottom of the ocean," answered Tom quietly. "We are now on the floor of the Atlantic, though several hundred miles, and perhaps a thousand, from the treasure ship. We bumped the bottom, that's all," and as he spoke he brought the submarine to a stop by a signal to the engine room. And there, as calmly and easily as some of the masses of seaweed growing on the ocean floor around her, rested the M. N. 1. It was a test of her powers, and well had she stood the test, though harder ones were in store for her. And inside the submarine Tom and his party were under scarcely greater discomfort than they would have been on the surface. True, they were confined to a restricted space, and the air they breathed came from compression tanks, and not from the open sky. The lights had to be kept aglow, of course, for it was pitch dark at that depth. The sunlight cannot penetrate to more than a hundred feet. But sunlight was not needed, for the craft carried powerful electric lights that could illuminate the sea in the immediate vicinity of the submarine. "Are you going to stay here long?" asked Mr. Hardley, when Tom had spent some time making accurate readings of the various instruments of the boat. "Of course, I realize that you are the commander, but if we don't get to the treasure ship soon some one else may loot her before we have a chance. She's been given up as a hopeless task more than once, but the lure of the millions may attract another gang." "I want to stay here until I make sure that nothing is leaking and that everything is all right," answered the young inventor. "This is a test I have not given her since the rebuilding. But I think she is coming through it all right, and we can soon start off again. Before we do, though, I want to try the new diving outfit. Ned, are you game for it now? This is a little deeper than you have gone out in for some time, but--" "Oh, I'm game!" exclaimed the young financial manager. "Get out the suit, Tom, and I'll put it on. I'll go for a stroll on the bottom of the sea. Who knows? Perhaps I may pick up a pearl." "Pearls aren't found in these northern waters, any more than are sharks," said Tom with a laugh. "However, I'll have the suits made ready. I'll send Koku with you, and I'll stay in this time. Mr. Damon, do you want to go out?" "Not this time, Tom," answered the eccentric man. "My heart action isn't what it used to be. The doctor said I mustn't strain it. At a depth not quite so great I may take a chance." "How about you, Mr. Hardley?" asked Tom. "Do you want to put on one of my portable diving suits and walk around on the bottom of the sea?" "I--I don't believe I've had enough experience," was the hesitating answer. "I'll watch the others first." Tom felt that it would be this way, but he said nothing. He ordered the diving suits made ready, a special size having been built for the giant, and soon preparations were under way for the two to step outside the craft. Those who have read of Tom Swift's submarine boat know how his special diving outfit was operated. Instead of the diver being supplied with the air through a hose connected with a pump on the surface, there was attached to the suit a tank of compressed air, which was supplied as needed through special reducing valves. The diving dress, too, was exceptionally strong, to withstand the awful pressure of water at more than five hundred feet below the surface. The usual rubber was supplemented by thin, reinforced sheets of steel, and this feature, together with an auxiliary air pressure, kept the wearer safe. Thus Ned and Koku could leave the submarine, walk about on the floor of the ocean as they pleased, and return, unhampered by an air hose or life line. In dangerous waters, infested by sea monsters, weapons could be carried that were effective under water. The diving suit was also provided with a powerful electric light operated by a new form of storage current, compact and lasting. "Well, I think we're all ready," announced Ned, as he and Koku were helped into their suits and they waited for the glass-windowed helmets to be put on. Once these were fastened in place talk would have to be carried on with the outside world by means of small telephones or by signals. "Give me axe!" exclaimed Koku, as some of the sailors were about to put his helmet in place. "What do you want of an axe?" Tom asked. "Maybe so one them cow fish come along," explained the giant. "Koku whack him with axe." "He means horse mackerel," laughed Ned. "Give him the axe, Tom. I don't like the looks of those fish, either. I'll take a weapon myself." Two keen axes were handed to the divers, their helmets were screwed on, and they immediately began breathing the compressed air carried in a tank on their shoulders. Slowly and laboriously they walked to the diving chamber. Their progress would be easier in the water, which would buoy them up in a measure. Now they were heavily weighted. To leave the submarine the divers had to enter a steel chamber in the side of the craft. This craft contained double doors. Once the divers were inside the door leading to the interior of the submarine was hermetically closed. Water from outside was then admitted until the pressure was equalized. Then the outer door was opened and Ned and Koku could step forth. They entered the chamber, the door was closed tightly and then Tom Swift turned the valve that admitted the sea water. With a hiss the Atlantic began rushing in, and in a short time the outer door would be opened. "If you'll come around to the observation windows you can see them," said Tom, when a look at the indicators told him Ned and Koku had stepped forth. To the front cabin he and the others betook themselves, and when the interior lights were turned out and the exterior ones turned on they waited for a sight of the two divers. "Bless my pickle bottle!" cried Mr. Damon, "there they are, Tom." As he spoke there came into view, moving slowly, Ned and Koku. Their portable lights were glowing, and then, in order to see them better, Tom turned out the exterior searchlights. This made the two forms, in their rather grotesque dress, stand out in bold relief amid the swirling green waters of the Atlantic. Ned and the giant moved slowly, for it was impossible to progress with any speed under that terrific pressure. They looked toward the submarine and waved their hands in greeting. They had no special object on the ocean floor, except to try the new diving dress, and it seemed to operate successfully. Ned made a pretense of looking for treasure amid the sand and seaweed, and once he caught and held up by its tail a queer turtle. Koku stalked about behind Ned, looking to right and left, possibly for a sight of some monster "cow fish." "They're coming back in, I think," remarked Tom, when he saw Ned turn and start back for the side of the craft, where, amidships, was located the diving chamber. "They're satisfied with the test." Suddenly Koku was seen to glide to the side of Ned, and point at something which none of the observers in the M. N. 1 could see. The giant was evidently perturbed, and Ned, too, showed some agitation. "Bless my rubber shoes! what's the matter?" cried Mr. Damon. "I don't know," answered Tom. "Perhaps they have sighted a wreck, or something like that." "Look! It's a sea monster!" cried Mr. Hardley. "I can see the form of some great fish, or something. Look! It's coming right at them!" As he spoke all in the observation chamber saw a great, black form, as if of some monster, move close to the two divers. CHAPTER XIV IN STRANGE PERIL "What is it, Tom? What is it?" cried Mr. Damon, not stopping in this moment of excitement to bless anything. "What is going to attack Ned and Koku?" "I don't know," answered the young inventor. "It's some big fish evidently. I must get to the diving chamber!" He gave a quick glance through the observation windows. Ned and the giant were moving as fast as they could toward the side of the craft where they could enter. The black, shadowy form was nearer now, but its nature could not be made out. Calling to his force of assistants, Tom stood ready to let his chum and Koku out of the diving chamber as soon as the water should have been pumped from it. A little later, as they all stood waiting in tense eagerness, there came a signal that the two divers had entered the side chamber. Quickly Tom turned the lever that closed the outer door. "They're safe!" he exclaimed, as he started the pumps to working. But even as he spoke they felt a jar, and the submarine rolled partly over as if she had collided with some object. Yet this could not be, as she was stationary on the floor of the ocean. "Bless my cake of soap, Tom!" cried Mr. Damon, "what in the world is that?" "If it's an accident!" exclaimed Mr. Hardley, "I think it ought to be prevented. There have been too many happenings on this trip already. I thought you said your submarine was safe for underwater trips!" he fairly snapped at Tom. The young inventor gave one look at the irate man who was coming out in his true colors. But it was no time to rebuke him. Too much yet remained to be done. Ned and Koku were still in the chamber and protected from some unknown sea monster by only a comparatively thin door. They must be inside to be perfectly safe. Tom speeded up the pumps that were forcing the water from the chamber so the inner door could be opened. Eagerly he and his men watched the gauges to note when the last gallon should have been forced out by the compressed air. Not until then would it be safe to let Ned and Koku step into the interior of the craft. The submarine had not ceased rolling from the force of the blow she had received when there came another, and this time on the opposite side. Once more she rolled to a dangerous angle. "Bless my tea biscuit!" cried Mr. Damon, "what is it all about, Tom Swift?" "I don't know," was the low-voiced answer, "unless a pair of monsters are attacking us on both sides alternately. But we'll soon learn. There goes the last of the water!" The gauge showed that the diving chamber was empty. Quickly the inner doors were opened, and, with their suits still dripping from their immersion in the salty sea, Ned and Koku stepped forth. In another moment their helmets were loosed from the bayonet catches, and they could speak. "What was it, Ned?" cried Tom. "Big fish!" answered Koku. "Two monster whales!" gasped Ned. "We barely got away from them! They're ramming the sub, Tom!" As he spoke there came a blow on the port side, greater than either of the two preceding ones. Those in the M. N. 1 staggered about, and had to hold on to objects to preserve their footing. "Both at the same time!" cried Ned. "The two whales are coming at us both at once!" This was evidently the case. Tom Swift quickly hurried to the engine room. "What are you going to do?" asked Mr. Hardley. "You ought to do something! I'm not going to be killed down here by a whale. You've got to do something, Swift! I've had enough of this!" Tom did not deign an answer, but hurried on. Mr. Damon followed him, having seen that some of the sailors were helping Ned and Koku out of the diving suits. "Are we in any danger, Tom?" asked the eccentric man. "Yes; but I think it is easily remedied," was the answer. "We'll go up to the surface. I don't believe the whales will follow us. Or, if they do, they can't do much damage when we are in motion. It's because we are stationary and they are moving that the blows seem so violent. Unless they collide head on with us, in the opposite direction to ours, we ought to be able to get clear of them. If they persist in following us--" He paused as he pulled over the lever that would send the M. N. 1 to the surface. "Well, what then?" asked Mr. Damon. "Then we'll have to use some weapon, and I have several," finished the young inventor. A few moments later the craft was in motion, not before, however, she was struck another blow, but only a glancing one. "We're puzzling them!" cried Tom. Having done all that was possible for the time being, Tom hurried to the observation chamber, followed by the others. There Tom switched on the powerful lights. For a moment nothing was to be seen but the swirling, green water. Then, suddenly, a great shape came into view of the glass windows, followed by another. "Whales!" cried Tom Swift. "And the largest I've ever seen." It was true. Two immense specimens of the cetacean species were in front of the submarine, one on either bow, evidently much puzzled over the glaring lights. They were bow-heads, and immense creatures, and it would not take many blows from them to disable even a stouter craft than was the submarine. But the motion of the undersea ship, the bright lights, and possibly the feel of her steel skin was evidently not to the liking of the sea monsters. One, indeed, came so close to the glass that he seemed about to try to break it, but, to the relief of all, he veered off, evidently not liking the look of what he saw. Just once again, before the craft reached the surface, was there another blow, this time at the stern. But it was a parting tap, and none others followed. "They've gone!" exclaimed Mr. Damon, as the whales vanished from the sight of those in the forward cabin. "Have you any adequate protection against these monsters of the deep?" asked Mr. Hardley in a fault-finding voice. "I should think you would have taken precautions, Swift!" He had dropped the formal "Mr." and seemed to treat Tom as an inferior. "We have other protection than running away," said the young inventor quietly. "There are guns we can use, and, if the whales had been far enough away, I could have sent a small torpedo at them. Close by it would be dangerous to use that, as it would operate on us just as the depth bombs operated on the German submarines. However, I fancy we have nothing more to fear." And Tom was right. When the surface was reached and the main hatch opened, the sea was calm and there was no sight of the whales. They evidently had had enough of their encounter with a steel fish, larger even than themselves. "But they surely were monsters," said Ned, as he told of how he and Koku had sighted the animals; for a whale is an animal, and not a fish, though often mistakenly called one. "Koku was for attacking them with his axe," went on Ned, "but I motioned to him to beat it. We wouldn't have stood a show against such creatures. They were on us before we noticed their coming, but I presume the big submarine attracted them away from us." "It might have been the lights you carried that drew them," suggested Tom. "I am glad you came out of it so well." Mr. Hardley seemed to recover some of his former manners, once the peril was passed, but his conduct had been a revelation to Mr. Damon. "Tom," said the eccentric man in private to the young inventor, "I'm disgusted with that fellow. I don't see how I was ever bamboozled into taking up his offer." "I don't, either," replied Tom frankly. "But we're in for it now. We've agreed to do certain things, and I'll carry out my end of the bargain. However, I won't put up with any of his nonsense. He's got to obey orders on this ship! I know more than he thinks I do!" The next two days the M. N. 1 progressed along on the surface, and nothing of moment occurred. Then, as they neared southern waters, and Tom desired to make some observations of the character of the bottom, it was decided to submerge. Accordingly, one day the order was given. Not until the gauge showed a hundred fathoms, or six hundred feet, did the craft cease descending, and then she came to rest on the bottom of the sea--a greater depth than she had yet attained on this voyage. "How beautiful!" exclaimed Mr. Damon, when Tom turned on the lights and they looked out of the forward cabin windows. "How wonderful and beautiful!" Well might he say that, for they were resting on pure white sand, and about them, growing on the bottom of this warm, tropical sea were great corals, purple and white, of wondrous shapes, waving plants like ferns and palms, and, amid it all, swam fish of queer shapes and beautiful colors. "This is worth waiting for!" murmured Ned. "If only moving pictures of this could be taken in colors, it would create a sensation." "Perhaps I may try that some day," said Tom with a smile. "But just now I have something else to do. Ned, are you game for another try in the diving dress? I want to see how it operates with a new air tank I've fitted on. Want to try?" "Sure I'll go out," was the ready answer. "It's nicer walking around on this white sand than on the black mud where we saw the whales. You can see better, too." A little later he and one of the sailors were outside the submarine, walking around in the diving dress, while Tom and the others watched through the glass windows. The new air tank seemed to be working well, for Ned, coming close to the window, signaled that he was very comfortable. He walked around with the sailor, breaking off bits of odd-shaped coral to bring back to Tom. Suddenly, as those inside the craft looked out, they saw the sailor turn from Ned's side, and with a warning hand, point to something evidently approaching. The next instant a queer shape seemed to envelope Ned Newton, coming out from behind a ledge of weed-draped coral. And a cry went up from those in the submarine as Ned was seen to be enveloped in long, waving arms. "An octopus!" cried Mr. Damon. "Bless my soul, Tom, an octopus has Ned!" "No, it isn't that!" cried the young inventor hoarsely. "It's some other monster. It has only five arms--an octopus has eight! I've got to save Ned!" And he hurried toward the diving chamber, while the others, in fascinated horror, looked at the diver who was in such strange peril. CHAPTER XV TOM TO THE RESCUE Mr. Damon came to a pause in the compartment from which the diving chamber gave access to the ocean outside. Tom, standing before the sliding steel door, had summoned to him several of his men and was rapidly giving them directions. "What are you going to do, Tom Swift?" asked the eccentric man. "I'm going out there to save Ned!" was the quick answer. "He's in the grip of some strange monster of the sea. What it is I don't know, but I'm going to find out. Koku, you come with me!" "Yes, Master, me come!" said the giant simply, as if Tom had told him to go for a pail of water instead of risking his life. "Barnes, the electric gun!" cried the young inventor to one of his helpers, while others were getting out the diving suits. "The electric gun!" exclaimed the man. "Do you mean the small one?" "No, the largest. The improved one." "Right, sir! Here you are!" "Do you mean to say you are going out there, where that monster is, and attack it with a gun?" asked Mr. Hardley. "That's what I'm going to do!" answered Tom, as he began to put on the suit of steel and rubber, an example followed by Koku. "But you may be attacked by the monster! You may be killed! You are risking your life!" cried the gold seeker. "I know it." Tom spoke simply. "Ned would do the same for me!" "But hold on!" cried Mr. Hardley. "If you are killed there will be no one to navigate this boat to the place of the wreck! You can't desert this way!" Tom gave the man one look of contempt. "You need have, no fears," he said. "This submarine is under international maritime laws. If I die, Captain Nelson, the next in command, takes charge, and the original orders will be carried out. If it is possible to get the gold for you it will be done. Now let me alone. I've got work to do!" "Bless my apple cart, Tom, that's the way to talk!" exclaimed Mr. Damon, and he, too, for the first time, seemed ready to break with Hardley. "If I were a bit younger I'd go out with you myself and help save Ned." "Koku and I can do it--if he's still alive!" murmured the young inventor. "Lively now, boys! Is that gun ready?" "Yes, and doubly charged," was the answer. "Good! I may need it. Koku, take a gun also!" "Me take axe, Master," replied the giant. "Well, perhaps that will be better," Tom agreed. "If two of us get to shooting under the water we may hit one another. Quick, now! The helmets. And, Nash, you work the big searchlight!" "Aye, aye, sir!" answered the sailor. The helmets were now put on, and any further orders Tom had to give must come through the telephone, and it was by that same medium that he must listen to the talk of his friends. It was possible for the divers to talk and listen to one another while in the water by means of these peculiarly constructed telephones. "All ready, Koku?" asked Tom. "All ready, Master," answered the giant, as he grasped his keen axe. The inner door of the diving chamber was now opened, and, the water having been pumped out of the chamber since Ned and the sailor had emerged, it was ready for Tom and Koku. They entered, the door was closed, and presently they felt the pressure of water all about them, the sea being admitted through valves in the outer door. While this was going on Mr. Damon, the gold-seeker, and some of the crew and officers went into the forward chamber to observe the undersea fight against the monster that had attacked Ned. Suddenly the waters glowed with a greatly increased light, and in this illumination it was seen that the monster, whatever it was, had almost completely enveloped Tom's chum with its five arms. "What makes it possible to see better?" asked Mr. Damon. "I've turned on the big searchlight," was the answer. "Mr. Swift had it installed at the last moment. It's the same kind he invented and gave to the government, but he retained the right to use it himself." "It's a good thing he did!" exclaimed the eccentric man. "Now he can see what he's doing! Poor Ned! I'm afraid he's done for!" "Look!" exclaimed one of the crew. "Norton, the sailor who went out with Mr. Newton, is trying to kill the monster with his spear!" This was so. Ned's companion, armed with a lone pole to which he had lashed a knife, was stabbing and jabbing at the black form which almost completely hid Ned from sight. But the efforts of the sailor seemed to produce little effect. "What in the world can it be?" asked Mr. Damon. "Tom says it isn't an octopus, and it can't be, unless it has lost three of its arms. But what sort of monster is it?" No one answered him. The powerful searchlight continued to glow, and in the gleam Ned could be seen trying to break away from the grip of the Atlantic beast. But his efforts were unavailing. It was as if he was enveloped in a sort of sack, made in segments, so that they opened and closed over his head. About all that could be seen of him was his feet, encased in the heavy lead-laden boots. The form of the other sailor, who had gone out of the submarine with him, could be seen moving here and there, stabbing at the huge creature. "Here comes Tom!" suddenly exclaimed Mr. Damon, and the young inventor, followed by the giant Koku, came into view. They had emerged from the diving chamber, walked around the submarine as it rested on the ocean floor, and were now advancing to the rescue. Tom carried his electric rifle, and Koku an axe. So desperately was Norton engaged in trying to kill the sea beast that had attacked Ned, that for the moment he was unaware of the approach of Tom and Koku. Then, as a swirl of the water apprised him of this, he turned and, seeing them, hastened toward them. "What is it?" Tom asked through the telephone, this information being given to the watchers in the submarine later, as all they could gather then was by what they saw. "What sort of monster is it?" "A giant starfish!" answered Norton, speaking into his mouthpiece and the water serving as a transmitting medium instead of wires. "I never knew they grew so big! This one has its five arms all around Mr. Newton!" "A starfish!" murmured Tom. This accounted for it, and, as he looked at the monster from closer quarters, he saw that Norton had spoken the truth. Small starfish, or even large ones, two feet or more in diameter, may be seen at the seashore almost any time. Nearly always the specimens cast up on the beach are in extended form, either limp, or dead and dried. In almost every instance they are spread out just as their name indicates, in the conventional form of a star. But a starfish alive, and at its business of eating oysters or other shell animals in the sea, is not at all this shape. Instead, it assumes the form of a sack, spreading its five radiating arms around the object of its meal. It then proceeds to suck the oyster out of its shell, and so powerful a suction organ has the starfish that he can pull an oyster through its shell, by forcing the bivalve to open. And it was a gigantic starfish, a hundred times as large as any Tom had ever seen, that had Ned in its grip. The creature had doubtless taken the diver for a new kind of oyster, and was trying to open it. An octopus has suckers on the inner sides of its eight arms. A starfish has little feelers, or "fingers," arranged parallel rows on the inner side of its arms--thousands of little feelers, and these exert a sort of sucking action. The gigantic starfish had attacked Ned from above, settling down on him so that the head of the diver was at the middle of the creature's body, the five arms, dropping over Ned in a sort of living canopy. And the arms held tightly. "Come on, Koku, and you, too, Norton!" called Tom through his headpiece telephone. "We'll all attack it at once. I'll fire, and then you begin to hack it. The electric charge ought to stun it, if it doesn't kill the beast!" Tom's new electric gun, unlike one kind he had first invented, did not fire an electrically charged bullet. Instead it sent a powerful charge of electricity, like a flash of lightning, in a straight line toward the object aimed at. And the current was powerful enough to kill an elephant. Bracing his feet on the white sand, which gleamed and sparkled in the glare of the searchlight, Tom aimed at the gigantic starfish which had enveloped Ned. Standing on either side of him, ready to rush in and attack with axe and lance, were Koku and Norton. For an instant Tom hesitated. He was wondering whether the powerful electric charge might not penetrate the body of the starfish and kill his chum. "But the rubber suit ought to insulate and protect him," mused the young inventor. "Here goes!" Taking quick aim, Tom pulled the switch, and the deadly charge shot out of the rifle toward the sea monster. CHAPTER XVI GASPING FOR AIR For an instant after the electrical charge had been fired nothing seem to happen. The giant starfish still enveloped Ned Newton in its grip, while Tom and his two companions stood tensely waiting and those in the submarine looked anxiously out through the thick glass windows. Then, as the powerful current made itself felt, those watching saw one of the arms slowly loosen its grip. Another floated upward, as a strand of rope idly drifts in the current. Tom saw this, and called through his telephone: "He's feeling it! Go to him, boys! Koku, you with the axe!" They needed no second urging. Springing toward the monster, Koku with upraised axe and Norton with the lance, they attacked the starfish. Hacking and stabbing, they completed the work begun by Tom's electric gun. With one powerful stroke, even hampered as he was by the heavy medium in which he operated, Koku lopped off one of the legs. Norton thrust his lance deep into the body of the monster, but this was hardly needed, for the starfish was now dead, and gradually the remaining arms relaxed their hold. Pushing with their weapons, the giant and the sailor now freed Ned from the bulk of the creature, which floated away. It was almost immediately attacked by a school of fish that seemed to have been waiting for just this chance. Ned Newton was freed, but for a moment he staggered about on the floor of the sea, hardly able to stand. "Are you all right, Ned? Did he pierce your suit?" asked Tom, anxiously through the telephone. "Yes, I'm all right," came back the reassuring answer. "I'm a bit cramped from the way he held me, but that's all. Guess he found this suit of rubber and steel too much for his digestion." Slowly, for Ned was indeed a bit stiff and cramped, they made their way back to the submarine, passing through a vast horde of small fishes which had been attracted by the dismemberment of the monster that had been killed. "There'll be sharks along soon," said Tom to Ned through the telephone. "They're not going to miss such a gathering of food as these small fry present. And sharks will present a different emergency from starfish." Tom spoke truly, for a little later, when they were all once more safely within the submarine, looking through the windows, they saw a school of hungry sharks feeding on the millions of small fish that gathered to eat the creature that had attacked Ned. "What did you think was happening to you out there?" asked Tom, when the diving suits had been put away. "I didn't know what to think," was the answer. "I was prospecting around, and I leaned over to pick up a particularly beautiful bit of coral. All at once I felt something over me, as a cloud sometimes hides the sun. I looked up, saw a big black shape settling down, and then I felt my arms pinned to my sides. At first I thought it was an octopus, but in a moment I realized what it was. Though I never thought before that starfish grew so large." "Nor I," added Tom. "Well, you've had an experience, to say the least." They remained a little longer in the vicinity, Tom and his officers making observations they thought would be useful to them later, and then the submarine went up to the surface. They cruised in the open the rest of that day, recharging the storage batteries and getting ready for the search which, Tom calculated, would take them some time. As he had explained, it would not be easy to locate the Pandora in the fathomless depths of the sea. Ned and Mr. Damon did some fishing while they were on the surface, and, as their luck was good, there was a welcome change from the usual food of the M. N. 1. Though, as Tom had installed a refrigerating plant, fresh meat could be kept for some time, and this, in addition to the tinned and preserved foods, gave them an ample larder. "When are we going to begin the real search for the gold?" asked Mr. Hardley that evening. "I should say in another day or two," Tom answered, after he had consulted the charts and made calculations of their progress since leaving their dock. "We shall then be in the vicinity of the place where you say the Pandora went down, and, if you are sure of your location, we ought to be able to come approximately near to the location of the gold wreck." "Of course I am sure of my figures," declared Mr. Hardley. "I had them directly from the first mate, who gave them to the captain." "Well, it remains to be seen," replied Tom Swift. "We'll know in a few days." "And I hope there will be no more taking chances," went on the gold-seeker. "I don't see any sense in you people going out in diving suits to fight starfish. We need those suits to recover the gold with, and it's foolish to take needless risks." His tone and manner were dictatorial, but Tom said nothing. Only when he and Mr. Damon were alone a little later the eccentric man said: "Tom will you ever forgive me for introducing you to such a pest?" "Oh, well, you didn't know what he was," said Tom good-naturedly. "You're as badly taken in as I am. Once we get the gold and give him his share, he can get off my boat. I'll have nothing more to do with him!" Not wishing to navigate in the darkness, for fear of not being able to keep an accurate record of the course and the distance made Tom submerged the craft when night came and let her come to rest on the bottom of the sea. He calculated that two days later they would be in the vicinity of the Pandora. The night passed without incident, situated, as they were, on the sand about three hundred feet below the surface; and after breakfast Tom announced that they would go up and head directly for the place where the Pandora had foundered. The ballast tanks were emptied, the rising rudder set, and the M. N. 1 began to ascend. She was still several fathoms from the surface when all on board became aware of a violent pitching and tossing motion. "Bless my postage stamp, Tom!" exclaimed Mr. Damon, "what's the matter now?" "Has anything gone wrong?" demanded Mr. Hardley. "Nothing, except that we are coming up into a storm," answered the young inventor. "The wind is blowing hard up above and the waves are high. The swell makes itself felt even down here." Tom's explanation of the cause of the pitching and rolling of the submarine proved correct. When they reached the surface and an observation was taken from the conning tower, it was seen that a terrific storm was raging. It was out of the question to open the hatches, or the M. N. 1 would have been swamped. The waves were high, it was raining hard and the wind blowing a hurricane. "Well, here's where we demonstrate the advantage of traveling in a submarine," announced Tom, when it was seen that journeying on the surface was out of the question. "The disturbance does not go far below the top. We'll submerge and be in quiet waters." He gave the orders, and soon the craft was sinking again. The deeper she went the more untroubled the sea became, until, when half way to the bottom, there was no vestige of the storm. "Are we going to lie here on the bottom all day, or make some progress toward our destination?" asked the gold-seeker, when Tom came into the main cabin after a visit to the engine room. "It seems to me," went on Mr. Hardley, "that we've wasted enough time! I'd like to get to the wreck, and begin taking out the gold." "That is my plan," said Tom quietly. "We will proceed presently--just as soon as navigating calculations can be made and checked up. If we travel under water we want to go in the right direction." His manner toward the gold-seeker was cool and distant. It was easy to see that relations were strained. But Tom would fulfill his part of the contract. A little later, after having floated quietly for half an hour or so, the craft was put in motion, traveling under water by means of her electric motors. All that day she surged on through the salty sea, no more disturbed by the storm above than was some mollusk on the sandy bottom. It was toward evening, as they could tell by the clocks and not by any change in daylight or darkness, that, as the submarine traveled on, there came a sudden violent concussion. "What's that?" cried Mr. Damon. "We've struck something!" replied Tom, who was with the others in the cabin, the navigation of the craft having been entrusted to one of the officers. "Keep cool, there's no danger!" "Perhaps we have struck the wreck!" exclaimed Mr. Hardley. "We aren't near her," answered the young inventor. "But it may be some other half-submerged derelict. I'll go to see, and--" Tom's words were choked off by a sudden swirl of the craft. She seemed about to turn completely over, and then, twisted to an uncomfortable angle, so that those within her slid to the side walls of the cabin, the M. N. 1 came to an abrupt stop. At the same time she seemed to vibrate and tremble as if in terror of some unknown fate. "Something has gone wrong!" exclaimed Tom, and he hurried to the engine room, walking, as best he could with the craft at that grotesque angle. The others followed him. "What's the matter, Earle?" asked Tom of his chief assistant. "One of the rudders has broken, sir," was the answer. "It's thrown us off our even keel. I'll start the gyroscope, and that ought to stabilize us." "The gyroscope!" cried Tom. "I didn't bring it. I didn't think we'd need it!" For a moment Earle looked at his commander. Then he said: "Well, perhaps we can make a shift if we can repair the broken rudder. We must have struck a powerful cross current, or maybe a whirlpool, that tore the main rudder loose. We've rammed a sand bank, or stuck her nose into the bottom in some shallow place, I'm afraid. We can't go ahead or back up." "Do you mean we're stuck, as we were in the mud bank?" asked Mr. Hardley. "Yes," answered Tom, and Earle nodded to confirm that version of it. "But we'll get out!" declared Tom. "This is only a slight accident. It doesn't amount to anything, though I'm sorry now I didn't take my father's advice and bring the gyroscope rudder along. It would have acted automatically to have prevented this. Now, Mr. Earle, we'll see what's to be done." All night long they worked, but when morning came, as told by the clocks, they were still in jeopardy. And then a new peril confronted them! Earle, coming from the crew's quarters, spoke to Tom quietly in the main cabin. "We'll have to turn on one of the auxiliary air tanks," he said. "We've consumed more than the usual amount on account of the men working so hard, and we used one of the compressed air motors to aid the electrics. We'll have to open up the reserve tank." "Very well, do so," ordered Tom. But a grim look came to his face when Earle, returning a little later, reported with blanched cheeks: "The extra tank hasn't an atom of air in it, sir!" "What do you mean?" asked Tom, in fear and alarm. "I mean that the valve has been opened in some way--broken perhaps by accident--and all the air we have is what's in the submarine now. Not an atom in reserve, sir!" "Whew!" whistled Tom, and then he stood up and began breathing quickly. Already the atmosphere was beginning to be tainted, as it always becomes in a closed place when no fresh oxygen can enter. Without more fresh air the lives of all in the submarine were in imminent peril. And even as Tom listened to the report of his officer, he and the others began gasping for breath. CHAPTER XVII WHERE IS IT? "Down on your faces!" called Tom to those with him in the cabin. "Lie down, every one! The freshest air is near the floor; the bad air rises, being lighter with carbonic acid. Lie down!" All obeyed, Tom following the advice he himself gave. It was a little easier to breathe, lying on the tilted cabin floor, but how long could this be kept up? That was a question each one asked himself. "Is every bit of our reserve air used?" asked Tom, speaking to Earle. "As far as I can learn, yes, sir. If I had known that the auxiliary tank was empty I wouldn't have ordered the compressed air motor used. But I didn't know." "No one is to blame," said Tom in a low voice. "It is one of the accidents that could not be foreseen. If there is any blame it attaches to me for not installing the gyroscope rudder. If we had had that when we were caught in the cross current, or the whirlpool swirl, our equilibrium would have been automatically maintained. As it is--" He did not finish, but they all knew what he meant. "Bless my soda fountain, Tom!" murmured Mr. Damon, "but isn't there any way of getting fresh air?" "None without rising to the top," Tom answered. "We'll have to try that. Come with me to the engine room, Mr. Earle. It may be possible we can pull her loose." They started to crawl on their hands and knees, to take advantage of the purer air at the floor level. The situation of the M. N. 1 was exactly the same as it had been when she ran into the mud bank in the river, with the exception that now she was in graver danger, for the supply of air for breathing was almost exhausted. Reaching the engine room, where he found the crew lying down to take advantage of the better air near the floor, Tom made a hasty examination of the apparatus. There was still plenty of power left in the storage batteries, but, so far, the motors they operated had not been able to pull the craft loose from where her nose was stuck fast. "Are the tanks completely emptied?" asked Tom. "As nearly so as we could manage with the pumps not acting to their full capacity," answered Earle. "If we could turn the craft on a more level keel we might empty them further, and then her natural buoyancy would send her up." "Then that's the thing to try to do!" exclaimed Tom, his head beginning to feel the heaviness due to the impure air. "We'll move every stationary object over to the port side, and we'll all stand there, or lie there, ourselves. That may heel her over, and help loosen the grip of the sand." "It's worth trying," said Earle. "Get ready, men!" he called to the crew. Tom crawled back to the main cabin and told Mr. Damon and the others what was to be attempted. "Koku, you come and help move things," requested Tom. "Me move anything!" boasted the giant, who, because of his great strength and reserve power did not seem as greatly affected as were the others. Going back to the engine room with Koku, Tom assisted, as well as he could, in the shifting of pieces of apparatus, stores and other things that were movable. They all worked at a great disadvantage except Koku, and he did not seem to feel the lack of vitalizing air. One thing after another was shifted, and still the M. N. 1 maintained the dangerous angle. "It isn't going to work!" gasped Tom, as he noticed the indicator which told to what angle the craft was still off an even keel. "We'll have to try something else." "Is there anything to try?" asked Earle, in a faint voice. He was on the point of fainting for lack of air. Tom looked desperately around. There was one piece of heavy machinery that might be moved to the other side of the engine room. It was bolted to the floor, but its added weight, with that of the crew and passengers, together with what had already been shifted, might turn the trick. "Let's try to move that!" said Tom faintly, pointing to it. "It will take an hour to unbolt it," said one of the men. "Koku!" gasped Tom, pointing to the heavy apparatus. "See if--see if you--" Tom's breath failed him, and he sank down in a heap. But he had managed to make the giant understand what was wanted. "Koku do!" murmured the big man. Striding to the piece of machinery, the legs of which were bolted to the floor, Koku got his arms under it. Bending over, and arching his back, so as to take full advantage of his enormous muscles, the giant strained upward. There was a cracking of bone and sinew, a rasping sound, but the machinery did not leave the floor. "Him must come!" gasped the giant. "One more go!" He took a hold lower down. Tom's eyes were dim now, and he could not see well. Some of the men were unconscious. Then, suddenly, there was a loud, breaking sound, and something tinkled on the steel floor of the submarine engine room. It was the heads of the bolts which Koku had torn loose. Like hail they fell about the giant, and in another instant the big man had pulled loose the machine, weighing several hundreds of pounds. In another moment he shoved it across the floor, toward the elevated side of the craft. For a second or two nothing happened. Then slowly, very slowly, the M. N. 1 began to heel over. "She's turning!" some one gasped. An instant later, freed by this turning motion from the grip of the sand bank, the submarine shot to the surface. Up and up she went, breaking out on the open sea as a great fish darts upward from the hidden depths. It was the work of only a few seconds for the man nearest it to open the hatch, and then in rushed the life-giving air. Tom and his companions were saved, and by Koku's strength. "Me say him machine got to come up--him come up!" said the giant, smiling in happy fashion, when, after they had all gulped down great mouthfuls of the precious oxygen, they were talking of their experience. "Yes, you certainly did it," said Tom, and due credit was given to Koku. "Never again will I travel without a gyroscope," declared Tom. "I'm almost ready to go back and have one installed now." "No, don't!" exclaimed the gold-seeker. "We are almost at the place of the wreck." "Well, I suppose we can travel more slowly and not run a risk like that again," decided Tom. "I'll put double valves on the emergency air tank, so no accident will release our supply again." This was done, after the broken valves had been repaired, and then, when the machine Koku had torn loose was fastened down again, and the submarine restored to her former condition, a consultation was held as to what the next step should be. They were in the neighborhood of the West Indies, and another day, or perhaps less, of travel would bring them approximately to the place where the Pandora had foundered. The latitude and longitude had been computed, and then, with air tanks filled, with batteries fully charged, and everything possible done to insure success, the craft was sent on the last leg of her journey. For two days they made progress, sometimes on the surface, and again submerged, and, finally, on the second noon, when the sun had been "shot," Tom said: "Well, we're here!" "You mean at the place of the wreck?" asked Mr. Hardley. "At the place where you say it was," corrected Tom. "Well, if this is the place of which I gave you the longitude and latitude, then it's down below here, somewhere," and the gold-seeker pointed to the surface of the sea. It was a calm day and the ocean was the proverbial mill pond. "Let's go down and try our luck," suggested Tom. The orders were given, the tanks filled, the rudders set, and, with hatches closed, the M. N. 1 submerged. Then, with the powerful searchlight aglow, the search was begun. Moving along only a few feet above the floor of the ocean, those in the submarine peered from the glass windows for a sight of the sunken Pandora. All the rest of that day they cruised about below the surface. Then they moved in ever widening circles. Evening came, and the wreck had not been found. The search was kept up all night, since darkness and daylight were alike to those in the undersea craft. But when three days had passed and the Pandora had not been seen, nor any signs of her, there was a feeling of something like dismay. "Where is it?" demanded Mr. Hardley. "I don't see why we haven't found it! Where is that wreck?" and he looked sharply at Tom Swift. CHAPTER XVIII A SEPARATION "Mr. Hardley," began Tom calmly, as he took a seat in the main cabin, "when we started this search I told you that hunting for something on the bottom of the sea was not like locating a building at the intersection of two streets." "Well, what if you did?" snapped the gold-seeker. "You're supposed to do the navigating, not I! You said if I gave you the latitude and longitude, down to seconds, as well as degrees and minutes, which I have done, that you could bring your submarine to that exact point." "I said that, and I have done it," declared Tom. "When we computed our position the other day we were at the exact location you gave me as being the spot where the Pandora foundered." "Then why isn't she here?" demanded the unpleasant adventurer. "We went down to the bottom at the exact spot, and we've been cruising around it ever since, but there isn't a sign of the wreck. Why is it?" "I'm trying to explain," replied Tom, endeavoring to keep his temper. "As I said, finding a place on the open sea is not like going to the intersection of two streets. There everything is in plain sight. But here our vision is limited, even with my big searchlight. And being a few feet out of the way, as one is bound to be in making nautical calculations, makes a lot of difference. We may have been close to the wreck, but may have missed it by a few yards." "Then what's to be done?" asked Mr. Hardley. "Keep on searching," Tom answered. "We have plenty of food and supplies. I came out equipped for a long voyage, and I'm not discouraged yet. Another thing. The ship may have moved on several fathoms, or even a mile or two, after her last position was taken before she went down. In that case she'd be all the harder to find. And even granting that she sank where you think she did, the ocean currents since then may have shifted her. Or she may be covered by sand." "Covered by sand!" exclaimed the gold-seeker. "Yes," replied Tom. "The bottom of the ocean is always changing and shifting. Storms produce changes in currents, and currents wash the sand on the bottom in different directions. So that a wreck which may have been exposed at one time may be covered a day or so later. We'll have to keep on searching. I'm not ready to give up." "Maybe not. But I am!" snapped out Mr. Hardley. "What do you mean?" asked the young inventor. "Just what I said," was the quick answer. "I'm not going to stay down here, cruising about without knowing where I'm going. It looks to me as if you were hunting for a needle in a haystack." "That's just about what we are doing," and Tom tried to speak good-naturedly. "Then do you know what I think?" the gold-seeker fairly shot forth. "Not exactly," Tom replied. "I think that you don't understand your business, Swift!" was the instant retort. "You pretend to be a navigator, or have men who are, and yet when I give you simple and explicit directions for finding a sunken wreck you can't do it, and you cruise all around looking for it like a dog that has lost the scent! You don't know your business, in my estimation!" "Well, you are entitled to your opinion, of course," agreed Tom, and both Mr. Damon and Ned were surprised to see him so calm. "I admit we haven't found the wreck, and may not, for some time." "Then why don't you admit you're incompetent?" cried Mr. Hardley. "I don't see why I should," said Tom, still keeping calm. "But since you feel that way about it, I think the best thing for us to do is to separate." "What do you mean?" stormed the other. "I mean that I will set you ashore at the nearest place, and that all arrangements between us are at an end." "All right then! Do it! Do it!" cried Mr. Hardley, shaking his fist, but at no one in particular. "I'm through with you! But this is your own decision. You broke the contract--I didn't, and I'll not pay a cent toward the expenses of this trip, Swift! Mark my words! I won't pay a cent! I'll claim the money I deposited in the bank, and I won't pay a cent!" "I'm not asking you to!" returned Tom, with a smile that showed how he had himself in command. "You put up a bond, secured by a deposit, to insure your share of the expenses--yours and Mr. Damon's. Very well, we'll consider that bond canceled. I won't charge you a cent for this trip. But, mark this, Hardley: What I find from now on, is my own! You don't share in it!" "You mean that--" "I mean that if I discover the wreck of the Pandora and take the gold from her, that it is all my own. I will share it with Mr. Damon, provided he remains with me--" "Bless my silk hat, Tom, of course I'll stay with you!" broke in the eccentric man. "But you don't share with me," went on the young inventor, looking sternly at the gold-seeker. "What I find is my own!" "All right--have it that way!" snapped the adventurer. "Set me ashore as soon as you can--the sooner the better. I'm sick of the way you do business!" "Nothing like being honest!" murmured Ned. But, as a matter of fact, he was glad the separation had come. There had been a strain ever since Hardley came aboard. Mr. Damon, too, looked relieved, though a trifle worried. He had considerable at stake, and he stood to lose the money he had invested with Dixwell Hardley. "This is final," announced Tom. "If we separate we separate for good, and I'm on my own. And I warn you I'll do my best to discover that wreck, and I'll keep what I find." "Much good may it do you!" sneered the other. "Perhaps two can play that game." No one paid much attention to his words then, but later they were recalled with significance. "Get ready to go up!" Tom called the order to the engine room. "Where are you going to land me?" asked Mr. Hardley. "I have a right to know that?" "Yes," conceded Tom, "you have. I'll tell you in a moment." He consulted a chart, made a few calculations and then spoke. "I shall land you at St. Thomas," answered the young inventor. "I do not wish to bring my submarine to a place that is too public, as too many questions may be asked. From St. Thomas you can easily reach Porto Rico, and from there you can go anywhere you wish." "Very well," murmured the malcontent. "But I don't consider that I owe you a cent, and I'm not going to pay you." "I wouldn't take your money," Tom answered. "And don't forget what I said--that what I find is my own." The other answered nothing. Nor from then on did he hold much conversation with Tom or any others in the party. He kept to himself, and a day later he was landed, at night, at a dock, and if he said "good-bye" or wished Tom and his friends a safe voyage, they did not hear him. They were steaming along on the surface the next day, and at noon the submarine suddenly halted. "What's on now, Tom?" asked Ned, as he saw his chum prepare to go up on deck with some of the craft's officers. "We're going to 'shoot the sun' again," was the answer. "I want to make sure that we were right in our former calculations as to the position of the Pandora. The least error would throw us off." Using the sextant and other apparatus, some of which Tom had invented himself, the exact position of the submarine was calculated. As the last figure was set down and compared with their previous location, one of the men who had been doing the computing gave an exclamation. "What's the matter?" asked Tom. "Look!" was the answer, and he pointed to the paper. "There's where a mistake was made before. We were at least two miles off our course." "You don't say so!" exclaimed Tom, and, taking the sheet, he went rapidly over the results. CHAPTER XIX THE SERPENT WEED All waited eagerly for Tom Swift to verify the statement of the other mathematician, and the young inventor was not long in doing this, for he had what is commonly known as a "good head for figures." "Yes, I see the mistake," said Tom. "The wrong logarithm was taken, and of course that threw out all the calculations. I should say we were nearer three miles off our supposed location than two miles." "Does that mean," asked Mr. Damon, "that we began a search for the wreck of the Pandora three miles from the place Hardley told us she was." "That's about it," Tom said. "No wonder we couldn't find her." "What are you going to do?" Ned wanted to know. "Get to the right spot as soon as possible and begin the search there," Tom answered. "You see, before we submerged as nearly as possible at the place where we thought the Pandora might be on the ocean bottom. From there we began making circles under the sea, enlarging the diameter each circuit. "That didn't bring us anywhere, as you all know. Now we will start our series of circles with a different point as the center. It will bring us over an entirely different territory of the ocean floor." "Just a moment," said Ned, as the conference was about to break up. "Is it possible, Tom, that in our first circling that we covered any of the ground which we may cover now? I mean will the new circles we propose making coincide at any place with the previous ones?" "They won't exactly coincide," answered the young inventor. "You can't make circles coincide unless you use the same center and the same radius each time. But the two series of circles will intersect at certain places." "I guess intersect is the word I wanted," admitted Ned. "What's the idea?" Tom wanted to know. "I'm thinking of Hardley," answered his chum. "He might assert that we purposely went to the wrong location with him to begin the search, and if we afterward find the wreck and the gold, he may claim a share." "Not much he won't!" cried Tom. "Bless my check book, I should say not!" exclaimed Mr. Damon. "Hardley broke off relations with us of his own volition," said Tom. "He 'breached the contract,' as the lawyers say. It was his own doing. "He has put me to considerable expense and trouble, not to say danger. He was aware of that, and yet he refused to pay his share. He accused me of incompetence. Very well. That presuggested that I must have made an error, and it was on that assumption that he said I did not know my business. Instead of giving me a chance to correct the error, which he declared I had made, he quit--cold. Now he is entitled to no further consideration. "An error was made--there's no question of that. We are going to correct it, and we may find the gold. If we do I shall feel I have a legal and moral right to take all of it I can get. Mr. Hardley, to use a comprehensive, but perhaps not very elegant expression, may go fish for his share." "That's right!" asserted Mr. Damon. "I guess you're right, Tom," declared Ned. "There's only one more thing to be considered." "What's that?" asked the young inventor. "Why, Hardley himself may find out in some way that we were barking up the wrong tree, so to speak. That is, learn we started at the wrong nautical point. He may get up another expedition to come and search for the gold and--" "Well, he has that right and privilege," said Tom coolly. "But I don't believe he will. Anyhow, if he does, we have the same chance, and a better one than he has. We're right here, almost on the ground, you might say, or we shall be in half an hour. Then we'll begin our search. If he beats us to it, that can't be helped, and we'll be as fair to him as he was to us. This treasure, as I understand it, is available to whoever first finds it, now that the real owners, whoever they were, have given it up." "I guess you're right there," said Mr. Damon. "I'm no sea lawyer, but I believe that in this case finding is keeping." "And there isn't one chance in a hundred that Hardley can get another submarine here to start the search," went on Tom. "Of course it's possible, but not very probable." "He might get an ordinary diving outfit and try," Ned suggested. "Not many ordinary divers would take a chance going down in the open sea to the depth the Pandora is supposed to lie," Tom said. "But, with all that, we have the advantage of being on the ground, and I'm going to make use of that advantage right away." He gave orders at once for the M. N. 1 to proceed, and this she did on the surface. It was decided to steam along on the open sea until the exact nautical position desired was reached. This position was the same Mr. Hardley had indicated, but that position was not before attained, owing to an error in the calculations. As all know, to get to a certain point on the surface of the ocean, where there is no land to give location, a navigator has to depend on mathematical calculations. The earth's surface is divided by imaginary lines. The lines drawn from the north to the south poles are called meridians of longitude. They are marked in degrees, and indicate distance east or west of the meridian of, say, Greenwich, England, which is taken as one of the centers. The degrees are further divided into minutes and seconds, each minute being a sixtieth of a degree and each second, naturally, the sixtieth of a minute. Now, if a navigator had to depend only on the meridian lines indicating distance east and west, he might be almost any distance north or south of where he wanted to go. So the earth is further divided into sections by other imaginary lines called parallels of latitude. As all know, these indicate the distance north or south of the middle line, or the equator. The equator goes around the earth at the middle, so to speak, running from east to west, or from west to east, according as it is looked at. The meridian of Greenwich may be regarded as a sort of half equator, running half way around the earth in exactly the opposite direction, or from north to south. The place where any two of these imaginary lines, crossing at right angles, meet may be exactly determined by the science of navigation. It is a complicated and difficult science, but by calculating the distance of the sun above the horizon, sometimes by views of stars, by knowing the speed of the ship, and by having the exact astronomical time at hand, shown on an accurate chronometer, the exact position of a ship at any hour may be determined. By this means, if a navigator wants to get to a place where two certain lines cross, indicating an exact spot in the ocean, he is able to do so. He can tell for instance when he has reached the place where the seventy-second degree of longitude, west from Greenwich, meets and crossed the twentieth parallel of latitude. This spot is just off the northern coast of Haiti. Other positions are likewise determined. It was after about an hour of rather slow progress on the surface of the calm sea, no excess speed being used for fear of over-running the mark, that Tom and his associates gathered on deck again to make another calculation. Long and carefully they worked out their position, and when, at last, the figures had been checked and checked again, to obviate the chance of another error, the young inventor exclaimed: "Well, we're here!" "Really?" cried Ned. "No doubt of it," said his chum. "Bless my doormat!" cried Mr. Damon. "And do you mean to say, Tom Swift, that if we submerge now we'll be exactly where the Pandora lies, a wreck on the floor of the ocean. "I mean to say that we're at exactly the spot where Hardley said she went down," corrected Tom, "and we weren't there before--that is not so that we actually knew it. Now we are, and we're going down. But that doesn't guarantee that we'll find the wreck. She may have shifted, or be covered with sand. All that I said before in reference to the difficulty in locating something under the surface of the sea still holds good." Once more, to make very certain there was no error, the figures were gone over, Then, as one result checked the other, Tom put away the papers, the nautical almanac, and said: "Let's go!" Slowly the tanks of the M. N. 1 began to fill. It was decided to let her sink straight down, instead of descending by means of the vertical rudders. In that way it was hoped to land her as nearly as possible on the exact spot where the Pandora was supposed to be. "How deep will it be, Tom?" asked Ned, as he stood beside his chum in the forward observation cabin and watched the needle of the gauge move higher and higher. "About six hundred feet, I judge, going by the character of the sea bottom around here. Certainly not more than eight hundred I should say." And Tom was right. At seven hundred and eighty-six feet the gauge stopped moving, and a slight jar told all on board that the submarine was again on the ocean floor. "Now to look for the wreck!" exclaimed Tom. "And it will be a real search this time. We know we are starting right." "Are you going to put on diving suits and walk around looking for her?" asked Ned. "No, that would take too long," answered Tom. "We'll just cruise about, beginning with small circles and gradually enlarging them, spiral fashion. We'll have to go up a few feet to get off the bottom." As Tom was about to give this order Ned looked from the glass windows. The powerful searchlight had been switched on and its gleams illuminated the ocean in the immediate vicinity of the craft. As was generally the case, the light attracted hundreds of fish of various shapes, sizes, and, since the waters were tropical, beautiful colors. They swarmed in front of the glass windows, and Ned was glad to note that there were no large sea creatures, like horse mackerel or big sharks. Somehow or other, Ned had a horror of big fish. There were sharks in the warm waters, he well knew, but he hoped they would keep away, even though he did not have to encounter any in the diving suit. Slowly the submarine began to move. And as she was being elevated slightly above the ocean bed, to enable her to proceed, Ned uttered an exclamation and pointed to the windows. "Look, Tom!" he cried. "What is it?" the young inventor asked. "Snakes!" whispered his chum. "Millions of 'em! Out there in the water! Look how they're writhing about!" Tom Swift laughed. "Those aren't snakes!" he said. "That's serpent grass--a form of very long seaweed which grows on certain bottoms. It attains a length of fifty feet sometimes, and the serpent weed looks a good deal like a nest of snakes. That's how it got its name. I didn't know there was any here. But we must have dropped down into a bed of it." "Any danger?" asked Ned. "Not that I know of, only it may make it more difficult for us to see the wreck of the Pandora." As Tom turned to leave the cabin the submarine suddenly ceased moving. And she came to a gradual stop as though she had been "snubbed" by a mooring line. "I wonder what's the matter!" exclaimed Tom. "We can't have come upon the wreck so soon." At that moment a man entered the cabin. "Trouble, Mr. Swift!" he reported. "What kind?" asked Tom. "Our propellers are tangled with a mass of serpent weed," was the answer. "They're both fouled, and we can't budge." "Bless my anchor chain!" ejaculated Mr. Damon. "Stuck again!" CHAPTER XX THE DEVIL FISH It was true. The long sinuous strands of ocean grass, known under the name of "serpent weed," had caught around the whirling propellers and there had been wound and twisted very tightly. Just as sometimes the stern line gets so tightly twisted around a motor boat propeller as to require hours of work with an axe to free it, the seaweed was twisted around the blades of the M. N. 1. Slowly the undersea craft came to a stop, and there she remained, floating freely enough, but a few feet above the bottom of the ocean. There was a look of alarm on the faces of Ned and Mr. Damon, but Tom Swift smiled. "This is annoying, and may cause us delay," he announced, "but there is no danger." "How are we to get free from the weed?" asked Mr. Damon. "We can't move if it's wound around our propellers, can we?" "Not very well," Tom answered. "But all that will have to be done will be for some of us to put on diving suits, go out and chop the strands of weed away. We can do it more easily than could an ordinary vessel, for they would have to go into dry dock for the purpose. I think I'll go out myself. I want to look around a little." "I'll go with you," said Ned. "As long as we haven't seen any sharks I don't mind." "Nor gigantic starfish, either," added Tom with a smile, and Ned nodded in agreement. "We might try reversing the propellers," suggested the man from the engine room, who had come in with the information about the serpent weed. "The chief didn't like to try that. We saw the weed from our observation windows and stopped as soon as we felt we had fouled it." "That was right," commended Tom. "Well, try reversing. It can't do any harm, and it may make it easier for us to free the propellers when we go out." He went to the engine room himself to see that everything was properly attended to. Slowly the motors were reversed, and only a slight current was given them, as, with the resistance of the tightly wound weed, too powerful a force might burn out the insulation. Slowly the starting lever was thrown over. There was a low humming and whining as the current jumped from the batteries, and a slight vibration of the craft. Tom looked at the movable pointer which showed the speed and direction of the propellers. The hand oscillated slightly and then stopped. "Shut off the current!" cried Tom. "It's of no use. The propellers are held as tight as a drum! We've got to go out and cut loose the serpent weed!" The experiment of reversing the propellers had failed. But still Tom did not believe his craft was in danger. He gave orders for the engine room force to stand by and then arranged for himself, Ned, and Koku to go outside in diving dress and cut the weed off the shafts. There were twin propellers on the submarine, each revolving independently by separate motors, and each capable of being sent in forward or reverse direction. "Start the engines as soon as we give the signal," Tom told the machinist. "Two knocks on the hull with an axe will mean go ahead, and three will mean reverse." "I understand," said Weyth, the machinist. "But stand away from the propellers after you give the signal. I'll give you three minutes to move clear." "That will be enough," Tom said. "But better make it half speed in either case. My idea is that if we can partly cut the weed off, starting the propellers, either forward or in reverse, will finish the trick." "It may," agreed Weyth. Armed with axes and sharp steel bars, Tom, Ned, and Koku were soon ready to step outside the submarine. They entered the diving chamber. In the usual manner water was admitted, and, when the pressure was equalized, the outer door was opened and they walked out on the floor of the ocean, the submarine having been allowed to settle down again on the bottom of the Atlantic. The powerful searchlight had been turned so that the beams were diffused toward the stern. In addition to this Tom and his two companions carried, attached to their suits, small, but brilliant, electric torches. Of course they had their air tanks with them, and also the telephones, by means of which they could communicate with one another. As they emerged into the warm waters surrounding the submarine they disturbed thousands of small fish which were feeding all about. Like ocean swallows, the creatures scattered in all directions, some even brushing the divers as they slowly made their way toward the stern of the craft. "Nice place here," said Ned to Tom, as they walked along, Koku coming just behind them. "Yes. If we could take this up above and exhibit it in some city park it would make a hit all right," answered the young inventor. They were walking on the pure, white, sandy floor of the ocean, some seven hundred feet below the surface, protected from the awful pressure of the water by means of the specially constructed suits which Tom had invented. About them, growing as if in a garden, were great masses of coral, some so thin and sinuous that it waved as do palms and ferns in the open air. Other coral was in great rock masses. Then, too, there was the unpleasant serpent weed. It did not grow all over, but in patches here and there, as rank grass springs up in a meadow. And it had been the misfortune of the M. N. 1 that she poked her tail into a mass of this long, tough grass, which was now wound about her propellers. In addition to the many wonderful vegetable forms that grew on the ocean floor, some rivalling in beauty the orchids of the tropics, and almost as delicate, there were the fishes, which darted to and fro, now swiftly swimming beneath some coral arch, and again poising around some mass of waving sea fronds. "Well, let's get busy," called Tom to Ned through the telephone. "We want to free the propellers and find the wreck of the Pandora. She may be a hundred feet from us, or a mile away, and in that case it's going to take longer to locate her." Together they walked to the stern of the disabled craft. One look at the propeller shafts, the examination being made by the diffused glow from the searchlight, as well as from the electric torches carried, showed that the diagnosis of the trouble was correct. Wound around both propellers was a mass of the serpent weed, tightly bound because the machinery had whirled it around and around after the grass had once been caught. It was almost as bad as though manila cable had been thus accidentally fastened. "Well, might as well begin to cut it loose," said Tom to his companions. "Koku, you take the port propeller, and Ned and I will work on the other. You ought to be able to beat us at this game." "Me do," said the giant, as he got his axe ready for work. Blows struck in water lose much of their force. This can easily be proved by filling a bathtub full of water, rolling up the sleeves, and then taking a hammer in the hand, immersing it fully, and trying to strike some object held in the other hand. The water hampers the blows. It was this way with Tom and his friends. Nearly half of Koku's great strength was wasted. But they knew they could take their time, though they did not want to waste many hours. The streamers of weed were like strands of tightly wound rope, and this, under certain circumstances, acquires almost the density of wood. Tom and Ned, working together, had managed to chop a little off their propeller shaft, and Koku had done somewhat better with his task, when Ned became aware of a shadow passing above him. Instinctively he looked up, and as he did so he could not repress a start of horror. Tom, too, as well as Koku, saw the menacing shadow. Ned grasped more tightly his sharp, steel bar and spoke through the telephone to his companions. "Devil fish!" he said. "The devil fish are after us." CHAPTER XXI A WAR REMINDER To a large number of people the name devil fish brings to mind a conception of an octopus, squid, cuttle fish, or a member of that species. This is, however, a mistake. The true devil fish of the tropics is a member of the sting ray family, and the common name it bears is given to it because of two prongs, or horns, which project just in front of its mouth. His Satanic Majesty is popularly supposed to have horns, together with a tail, hoofs and other appendages, and the horns of this sting ray fish are what give it the name it bears. The devil fish, some specimens of which grow to the weight of a ton and measure fifteen feet from wing tip to wing tip, are armed with a long tail, terminating in a tough, horny substance, like many of the ray family members. This horn-tipped tail, lashing about in the water, becomes a terrible weapon of defense. Possibly it is used for offense, as the devil fish feeds on small sea animals, sweeping them into its mouth by movements of the horns mentioned. These horns, swirled about in the water, create a sort of suction current, and on that the food fishes are borne into the maw of the gigantic creature. A whale rushes through a school of small sea animals with open mouth, takes in a great quantity of water, and the fringe of whalebone acts as a strainer, letting out the water and retaining the food. In like manner the devil fish feeds, except that it has no whalebone. Its "horns" help it to get a meal. The "wing tips" of the devil fish have been spoken of. They are not really wings, though when one of these fish breaks water and shoots through the air, it appears to be flying. The wings are merely fins, enormously enlarged, and these give the fish its great size, rather than does the body itself. It is the whipping spike-armed tail of the devil fish that is to be feared, aside from the fact that the rush of a monster might swamp a small boat. It was two or three of these devil fish that were now floating in the water above Tom and his companions, who were grouped about the stern of the disabled submarine. "They won't attack us unless we disturb them," said Tom through his telephone, speaking to Ned and Koku. "Keep still and they'll swim away. I guess they're trying to find out what new kind of fish our boat is." All might have gone well had not Koku acted precipitately. One of the devil fish, the smallest of the trio, measuring about ten feet across, swam down near the giant. It was an uncanny looking creature, with its horns swirling about in the water and its bone-tipped tail lashing to and fro like a venomous serpent. "Look out!" cried Tom. But he was too late. Koku raised his axe and struck with all his force at the sea beast. He hit it a glancing blow, not enough to kill it, but to wound it, and immediately the sea was crimsoned with blood. The devil fish was able to observe under water better than its human enemies, and it was in no doubt as to its assailant. In an instant it attacked the giant, seeking to pierce him with the deadly tail. These tails are not only armed with a tip of horn-like hardness, they are also poisonous, and their penetrating power is great. Fishermen have sometimes caught small sting rays, which are a sort of devil fish. Lashing about in the bottom of a boat a sting ray can send its tail tip through the sole of a heavy boot and inflict a painful wound which may cause serious results. The beast Koku had wounded was trying to sting the giant, and the latter, aware of his peril, was striking out with the axe. "Look out, Tom!" called Ned through his telephone, as he saw one of the two unwounded devil fish swirl down toward the young inventor. Tom looked up, saw the big, horrible shape above him, and jabbed it with the sharp, steel bar. He inflicted a wound which added further to the crimson tinge in the sea, and that fish now attacked Tom Swift. In another instant all three divers were fighting the terrible creatures, that, knowing by instinct they were in danger, were using the weapon with which nature had provided them. They lashed about with their sharp-pointed tails, and more than one blow fell on the suits of the divers. Had there been the least penetration, of course almost instant death would have followed. For the sea, at that depth and pressure, entering the suits would have ended life suddenly. But Tom had seen to it that the suits were well made and strong, with a lining of steel. And however great a thickness of leather the devil fish could send his sting through, it could not overcome steel. There was danger, though, that the slender tip might slip through the steel bars across the windows in the helmets and shatter the glass. And that would be as great a danger as if the suits themselves were penetrated. "We've got to fight 'em!" gasped Tom through his instrument, and, seeing his chance, he gave another jab to the devil fish attacking him. Koku, too, was standing up well under the attack of the monster he had first wounded. Ned, watching his chance, got in several blows, first at one and then at the other of the huge creatures. The third devil fish, which had not been wounded, had disappeared. Finally Koku, with a desperate blow, succeeded in severing the tail from the beast attacking him, and that battle was over. As if realizing that it had lost its power to harm, the devil fish at once swam off, grievously wounded. Then Koku turned his attention to Tom's enemy. Ned, too, lent his aid, and they succeeded in wounding the creature in several places, so that it sank to the bottom of the sea and lay there gasping. Slowly the red waters cleared and the three divers, exhausted by the fight, could view the remaining creature--the one wounded to death. It was the largest of the three, and truly it was a monster. But it was past the power to harm, and in a few minutes an under sea current carried it slowly away. Later it would float, doubtless, or be devoured by sharks or other ocean pirates before reaching the surface. "Thank goodness that's over!" said Ned to Tom. "I don't want to see any more of them." "There may be more about," Tom said. "We'd better keep watch. Ned, you lay off and Koku and I will work on the propellers. Then you can take your turn." This plan was followed. Koku, not being tired, did not need to stop working, and he was the first to free his shaft partially of the entangling weeds. Tom rapped a signal, the blades were slowly revolved and then came free. A little later the second was in like condition. "Now we can move!" said Tom, as they started back toward the diving chamber. "I hope we don't run into another patch of that serpent grass." "Nor see any more devil fish," added Ned. "Same here!" echoed the young inventor. Luck seemed to be with the gold-seekers after that, for as the submarine was sent ahead, no more of the long, entangling grass was encountered. The search for the sunken Pandora was now begun in earnest, since they were positive that they were at the right spot. No immediate sign of her was found. But Tom and his friends hardly expected to be as lucky as that. They were willing to make a search. For, as Tom had said, a current might have shifted the position of the wreck. They followed the plan of moving about in ever-widening circles. Only in this way could they successfully cover the ground. It was the third day after the encounter with the devil fish that Tom, Ned and Mr. Damon were in the forward observation cabin. The eccentric man suddenly pointed to something visible from the starboard window. "There's a wreck, Tom!" he cried. "Maybe it's the Pandora!" Tom and the others hurried to Mr. Damon's side and peered out into the sea, illuminated by the great searchlight. "That isn't the Pandora!" said the young inventor. "But it's a wreck, isn't it?" asked Ned. "Yes, it's a sunken vessel, all right," Tom assented. "But it's a reminder of the Great War. Look! She has been blown up by a torpedo!" CHAPTER XXII STUDYING CURRENTS There was no question about Tom's statement. They had approached close to the side of a small, sunken and wrecked steamer, and in her side was torn a great hole. In the light from the submarine it could be seen that the plates bent inward, indicating that the explosion was from outside. "What are you going to do, Tom?" asked Ned, as he saw his chum move the engine room telegraph signal to the stop position. "Going to investigate," was the answer. "We might as well take the time. We may learn something of value." "Do you think there is any treasure in her?" asked Mr. Damon. "There might be," answered Tom. "We'll put on the diving suits and go outside." "I hope there aren't any devil fish," remarked Ned. "Same here," Tom agreed. "But I don't believe we'll meet with any. Will you take a chance, Ned?" "I surely will! I'd like to find out what sort of ship that is--or rather, was, for there isn't much left of her." He spoke truly, for indeed the torpedo had created fearful havoc. The full extent of it was not observed until Tom, Ned, Koku and two of the crew had put on diving suits and approached the hulk. She lay on her side on the sandy bottom, heeled over somewhat, and when the investigators had walked around her, as they were able to do, they saw a second, and even larger hole in the opposite side. "Two submarines must have attacked her," said Ned, speaking through his telephone to Tom. "Either that, or else one sent a torpedo into her, dived, came up on the other side and sent another." "Well, let's see if she has any treasure aboard," Ned proposed. "Wouldn't it be queer if we should discover two treasure ships?" "More queer than likely," Tom answered. "We've got to be careful going inside her." "Why?" asked Ned. "Do you think we'll set off a hidden mine?" "No, but part of the wreckage might be loosened if we climbed over it, and we might fall and be pinned down. I've read of divers being caught that way. We must be careful." "Do you suppose a German sub did this?" Ned asked. "I think very likely," Tom answered. "Maybe we can tell if we can discover the nationality of this craft." They made their way to a position just outside the gaping hole in the starboard side of the craft. Evidently; it was, or had been, a tramp steamer, and the torpedo hole on her starboard side was about amidships. She must have filled and sunk quickly with two such great holes torn in her. Standing near the wound in the steel skin, Tom and his companions tried to see what was inside. Their portable torches did not give light enough to make out clearly the character of the cargo carried, and it was too risky to venture into the mass of wreckage that must be the result of the explosion of the torpedo. "Let's try the other side," suggested Tom, and they moved around the stern of the craft. When they reached the place where the name was visible Tom raised his electric torch and, in the glow of it, they all read the painted inscription, Blakesly, New York. "That's the vessel that disappeared so mysteriously!" exclaimed Ned, speaking through his instrument. "I remember reading about her. She sailed from New York for Brest, but was never heard of. At last we have solved the mystery!" "Yes," agreed Tom, "but without much avail. We are too late to do any good." "Not one of her crew or passengers was ever heard of," went on Ned. "It was surmised that a German sub attacked her, and that she was either sunk 'without a trace' or else her survivors were taken aboard the submarine and carried to Germany." "Perhaps we may learn something to that end," said Tom, as they got around to the other side. The hole there was not quite so big, and as it seemed safe to enter Tom and Ned prepared to do so, the others remaining outside to give them aid in case of necessity. It was comparatively easy to enter by this wound in the side of the Blakesly, and, proceeding cautiously, Tom and Ned made the attempt. They found they could not penetrate far, however, because of the mass of wreckage scattered about by the explosion. They could see through into the engine room, and there the machinery was in every stage of destruction, while below the boilers were disrupted. "She must have gone down in a hurry," remarked Tom. "Yes, and with part of her crew," added Ned, as he pointed to where a heap of white bones lay--grim reminders of the Great War. The engine room forces had been trapped and carried down to death. "I wonder if, by any chance, she did carry gold," suggested Ned. "It wouldn't be down here if she did," asserted Tom. "And if she was a treasure ship, and the huns knew it, they wouldn't leave any on board." "That's just it," went on his chum. "They may not have known it, and have ripped a couple of torpedoes at her without any warning. It would be just like them." "Granted," assented the young inventor. "Well, we can take another look around outside. Maybe there's a way of getting on deck, and so going below from there. I wouldn't chance it from here." "Me, either," Ned answered. They looked around a little more, a further view showing how dangerous it would be to attempt to enter the shattered engine room, where a misstep or a sudden change of equilibrium might cause disaster. "Nothing there," Tom reported to Koku and the others waiting for him outside. "Rope by up go him stern," said Koku, motioning toward the after part of the wreck. "What does he mean?" Tom asked one of his crew. "Oh, he went walking around outside while you were inside, sir," was the answer, "and he seems to have found a rope ladder or a chain, or something hanging from the stern." "Let's go and see it," proposed Tom. "I've been wondering if we could get on deck." "Are we going to spend much time here?" Ned wanted to know. "Not much longer," Tom replied. "Why?" "Well, I was thinking we'd better keep on looking for the Pandora. I don't want that fellow Hardley to get the bulge on us." "Oh," laughed Tom, "he isn't likely to. But we won't take any chances. As soon as I see if we can learn anything that may be useful from this hulk, we'll go back and start on our way again." The party of divers, led by Koku, who wanted to point out his discovery, walked slowly along on the bottom of the sea, around to the stern of the Blakesly. "See!" said the giant through his telephone, and, as the instruments were interchanging, all heard him. Koku pointed to several ropes and chains that were dangling from the stern of the sunken craft. Evidently they had been used by those who sought to escape from the sinking ship after she had been torpedoed. "Wait a minute!" Tom telephoned, as he saw Koku grasp a chain, evidently with the object of hoisting himself up on deck by the simple method of going up hand over hand. He could easily do this by adjusting the air pressure inside his diving suit to make himself more buoyant. "Koku go up!" said the giant. "Better make sure that chain will hold you," cautioned Tom. The giant proved it by several powerful tugs, and then began to raise himself from the sandy bed of the ocean. "Well, if it will hold him it will hold us," asserted Tom. "Ned, we'll go up. You two stay here," he said to the members of his crew. "We can't take any chances of all getting in the same accident if there should be one." A little later Tom, Ned, and Koku stood on the deck of the sunken craft. Much of what she had carried had been swept off, either in the explosions or by reason of currents generated by storms since the fatality. But what seemed to be the cabin of the captain, or of some of the officers, was in plain view and easy of access from this level. "Let's take a look!" said Tom. Ned followed him to the door. It had been torn off, and inside was a table made fast to the floor. From the appearance of the room it was evidently the compartment where the charts were kept, and where the captain or his officers worked out the reckoning. But it was tenantless now, and if any maps or papers had been out they were dissolved in sea water some time since. "Let's see if we can find the log book," proposed Ned. "Good idea," assented Tom. Using the iron bars they carried, they forced open some of the lockers, but aside from pulp, which might have been charts or almost anything in the way of documents, nothing was come upon that would tell anything. "Unless the log book was kept in a water-tight case the ink would all run, once it was wet," Tom said, when they were about ready to give up their search. "I suppose so," agreed Ned. "But I would like to know whether she carried treasure." However, it was impossible to discover this, and dangerous to look too far into the interior. So Tom and his party were forced to leave without discovering the secret of the Blakesly, if she possessed one. Later, however, when they had returned home, Tom and Ned made a report of what they had seen, and so cleared up the fate of the vessel. They learned that she carried no treasure, and they were glad they had not risked their lives looking for it. What had happened to her crew was never learned. They returned to the submarine and told what they had viewed. And then, with a last look at the wreck, they passed on in their search for the Pandora. Several fruitless days followed, and though a careful search was made in the vicinity of the true location given by Mr. Hardley, nothing was discovered. "How long will you keep at it before you give up?" asked Ned one evening, as they went aloft to replenish the air tanks and charge the batteries. "Oh, another week, anyhow. I have a new theory, Ned." "What's that?" "Ocean currents. I believe there are powerful currents in these waters, and that they may have shifted the position of the Pandora considerably. I'm going to study the currents." "Good idea!" cried his chum. And the next day they began observations which were destined to have surprising results. CHAPTER XXIII AN UNDERSEA COLLISION Under the warm, tropical sun the submarine floated idly on the surface of the calm sea. She had risen from the depths, her hatches had been opened, and now the crew, the owner, and his guests were breathing free air. The men were taking advantage of the period above water to wash out some of their garments, hanging them on improvised lines stretched along the deck. For Tom Swift had said he would remain above the surface all day. Some slight repairs were necessary to the electric motors, and they could be made only when the craft was on the open sea. This, too, would afford a chance to recharge the batteries and repair one of them. For the time being the search under the sea for the treasure ship Pandora had been abandoned. But it was not given up entirely. As Tom had announced to Ned, a new theory would be worked out. So far, cruising about in the place where the fillibuster ship was supposed to have gone down had resulted in nothing. Mr. Damon, who had been below, shaving, came up on deck to see Tom and Ned tossing into the water large pieces of cork taken from spare life preservers. Tom tossed his in from one side of the deck, and Ned from the other. Then, as the eccentric man listened, he heard Tom say: "I think mine is going to beat yours, Ned!" "Then you've got another guess coming," declared the young financial man. "Mine's going twice as fast as yours is now, though yours did start off better." "Bless my beefsteak!" exclaimed Mr. Damon, "what's this, Tom Swift? I thought we came on a treasure-hunting expedition, and here I find you and Ned playing some childish game! I hope you aren't laying any wagers on it!" Mr. Damon did not approve of gambling in any form. "No, we aren't doing that," laughed Tom, as he dropped another bit of cork into the ocean. "We are trying to arrive at some valuable scientific facts, Mr. Damon." "Scientific facts--that childish play?" "It isn't play," said Tom, turning to remark to Ned: "I think we've settled it. The current has a decided twist to the north." "Yes," agreed his chum. "You were right, Tom." "If you don't mind explaining," began Mr. Damon, "I should like to know--" "We're trying to determine the drift of the ocean currents in this locality," Tom said. "So we'll know better where to look for the Pandora," added Ned. "Oh, so you haven't given up the hunt, then?" asked the eccentric man. "By no means!" exclaimed Tom. "It's this way, Mr. Damon. We went down at as nearly the exact spot where the treasure-ship was sunk as we could determine by means of calculations. She wasn't there, nor could we find her by going around in circles. Then it occurred to me, and to some of the others also, including Ned, that the ocean currents might have shifted the position of the craft after she had sunk. There are powerful currents in the ocean, as you know, the Gulf Stream being one and the Japan Current another. Now there may be smaller ones in these waters that would produce a local effect. "So Ned and I have been dropping bits of cork of different shapes into the water and watching which way they drifted. Our conclusion is that the currents here have a decided set toward the north." "And what does that indicate?" asked Mr. Damon. "That we should have begun our search some distance north of the point where we actually did begin," answered Tom. "How far north?" the eccentric man wanted to know. "That's just what we have yet to ascertain," the young inventor replied. "So far our conclusions have been arrived at merely from surface data. Now we've got to go below." "And play with bits of cork there?" asked Mr. Damon. "No, we'll have to use something heavier than cork," Tom said. "We'll probably use weights, and see how far they move along the bottom in a given time. But we have established one thing, and I begin to have hopes now that we may locate the Pandora." The remainder of the day was spent in various ways aboard the submarine, which continued to float idly on the waves. It was toward evening, when the red, setting sun gave promise of a fair day on the morrow that the submarine's deck lookout approached Tom, and, waiting until he had the attention of the young inventor, reported: "There is a smudge of smoke dead astern, sir." "Is there?" exclaimed Tom. "Let me have the glasses." He took them from the lookout and made a long and careful study of the slight, black smudge which was low down on the horizon. "A steamer," decided Tom, "and coming on fast. We'll go below!" he added. "Please make ready," he said to the officer in charge. "What's up, Tom?" asked Ned, as his chum gathered up the papers on which he had been figuring on an improvised table set under an awning on deck. "Some craft is coming, and I'd just as soon she wouldn't sight us," was the answer. "You mean she might interfere with our search for the treasure-ship?" "Not exactly. But she might want to start a search on her own account, and there's no use of giving our presence away, or letting them guess at what might be right conclusions as to the location of the Pandora." "But, Tom, no one knows of the wreck! At least, no one is supposed to but our party and--" "Hardley. Exactly!" exclaimed Tom, as he saw his chum about to utter the name. "And you think he is coming?" "I shouldn't be a bit surprised. Anyhow, it's just as easy for us to submerge and let them do their own guessing. I was going down soon, anyhow, and another hour won't make any difference. Here, take a look, if you like." Ned peered through the glasses, but his eyes not being trained in sea interpretation, as were Tom's, he could make out nothing but a black smudge, now larger and darker. "It might be a cloud for all I can tell," he said, as he handed the binoculars back to Tom. "Well, it's a steamer all right, and she's under forced draft, too, if I'm any judge. We'll go below before she sights us." "Perhaps she has already," suggested Ned, as the crew began clearing the submarine's deck. "No, we lie too low in the water for that. Well, now we can start our underwater observations of current trends." It did not take long, once she started, for the M. N. 1 to go down. Just as the sun sank below the horizon, and while the smudge of smoke was becoming more distinct, the waves closed over the steel deck of the submarine. Half an hour later she was nearly a quarter of a mile below the surface, resting on the bottom of the sea again. On this trip Tom did not go to any such depths as he did on his former voyage in the Advance. Not that the reconstructed submarine was not capable of it, for she was even stronger than when first built. But the wreck they were seeking did not lie in so great a depth of water, and there was no need of running useless risks. "Well," remarked Ned, when they came to a stop, "I don't believe any one will find us here." "Not an ordinary diver, at any rate," Tom agreed. "And after supper I'm going to have another go at the currents." The meal was served as usual, and a very good one it was, considering the fact that not as many supplies could be carried in the rather limited space of a submarine as may be transported in an ocean liner. Then, as it was still early, Tom and Ned, with the help of some of the officers, got ready for a new series of experiments. The big searchlight was set aglow, and, going out on the ocean bed in diving suits, Tom and his friends dropped on the sand various weighted objects. These were made in the shape of the hull of a steamer, and in proportion. Once they were on the sand, an iron rod was thrust into the ocean bed near each object. "Now," remarked Tom, as they all went into the submarine again, "we'll let them drift until morning. Then we'll make new calculations. I think we'll arrive at some results, too." "Just what are you aiming to do?" asked Mr. Damon. "See how far each one of those weighted objects drifts," Tom replied. "We have planted them in different spots on the ocean bed. Some will drift farther than others. Some are large and some are small. By striking an average we may be able to tell about how far from the supposed location of the Pandora we ought to look for her." The night passed without incident and as calmly and peacefully as though they were all in some deep cave beneath a great mountain. In the morning after breakfast Tom and his friends went outside the submarine again and noted the weighted objects. Some had drifted farther than others. Measurements were carefully taken, and then began a series of intricate calculations. The distance each object had drifted from the iron bar marker was considered in reference to its size and shape. Also the elapsed time was computed. The results were then compared, an average struck, and then the size and weight of the Pandora, as nearly as they could be ascertained, were figured. The resultant figures were compared, and Tom announced: "If we are anywhere near right in our conclusions we ought to begin to search for the treasure-ship about four miles from here, in a general northerly direction." "Do you think she has drifted that far?" asked Ned. "Fully that," Tom answered. "That is only our starting point--the center of a new series of circles." A moment later Tom gave the order to rise to the surface. "Going up?" exclaimed Ned. "Yes, I want to make some observations to determine our exact nautical position." "But suppose that other steam--" "We'll have to take a chance. We can submerge quickly if we have to, and I don't believe she's able to do that." An observation was taken through the conning tower, however, before the M. N. 1 went all the way up, and there was not a sail nor a smudge of smoke on the horizon. "So far so good," murmured Tom. "Now we'll 'shoot the sun,' and after we submerge we'll begin our search in earnest. I think we are on the right track now." The observation was made at noon, and then, as nearly as possible, the submarine was moved to a position approximately four miles north of the place where the Pandora was supposed to have foundered. "Down we go!" exclaimed Tom, and down they went. The depth gauge showed more than a thousand feet below the surface when the M. N. 1 came to rest. This was deeper than Tom had thought to find the wreck, but his craft was able to withstand the pressure. A brief wait, to make sure that everything was in readiness, was followed by the beginning of the new search. In gradually widening circles the craft moved about under water. If the voyagers had expected to locate at once the treasure-ship, they would have been disappointed. For the first day gave no signs. But Tom had not promised immediate results, and no one gave up hope. It was shortly after noon on the second day of the search at the new location that, as they were proceeding at rather greater speed than usual, something happened. Ned had just suggested that he and Tom might go out and try the current-setting experiments again, when suddenly they were both thrown off their feet by a terrific jar and concussion. The M. N. 1 seemed to reel back, as if from a great blow. "Bless my safety razor!" cried Mr. Damon, "what's the matter, Tom?" "I think we've had a collision!" was the answer. "I must see how badly we are damaged!" CHAPTER XXIV THE TREASURE-SHIP Sudden and forceful had been the underwater collision in which the M. N. 1 had participated. Either the lookout, aided though he was by the focused rays of the great searchlight, had failed to notice some obstruction in time to signal to avoid it, or there was an error somewhere else. At any rate the submarine had rammed something--what it was remained to be discovered. "Bless my shotgun," cried Mr. Damon, "perhaps it was one of those big whales, Ned!" "It didn't feel like a whale," answered the young financial man. "And it wasn't!" declared Tom, who was hastening to the engine room. "It was too solid for that." Following the collision there had been considerable confusion aboard the vessel. But discipline prevailed, and now it was necessary to determine the extent of the damage. This, Tom and his officers and crew proceeded to do. There were automatic devices in the various control cabins, as well as in the main engine room, which told instantly if a leak had been sprung in any part of the craft. In that serious difficulty automatic pumps, controlled by an electrical device, at once began forcing out the water. Other apparatus rushed a supply of compressed air to the flooded compartment in order to hold out the water if possible. For further security the submarine was divided into different compartments, as are most ships in these days. The puncturing or flooding of one did not necessarily mean the foundering of the craft, or, in the case of a submarine, prevent her rising. But Tom had sensed that the collision was almost a head-on one, and in that case it was likely that the plates might have started in several sections at once. This he wanted to discover, and take means of safety accordingly. "How do you make it, Mr. Nelson?" cried the young inventor to the captain in the engine room. "Only a slight leak in compartment B 2," he answered, as Tom's eyes rapidly scanned the tell-tale gauges. "The pumps and air are taking care of that." "Good!" cried Tom. "It doesn't seem possible that there isn't more than that, though. We struck a terrible blow." "Yes, but a glancing one, I think, sir." "Send for the lookout," ordered Tom. "I can't understand why he didn't see whatever we've hit in time to avoid it." The lookout came in, very much frightened, it must be admitted. Only by a narrow margin had all escaped death. "It was impossible to see it, Mr. Swift," he said. "We had a clear course, not a thing in sight. The bottom was white sand, and I could almost count the fishes. All at once there was a big swirl of water that threw our nose around, and before I could signal to slow down or reverse we were right into her." "Into what?" asked Tom. "Some sort of wreck, I took it to be. I shoved the wheel hard over as quickly as I could, and we struck only a glancing blow." "That's good," murmured Tom. "I thought that must have been the explanation. But what's that about a sudden swirl of water?" "It seemed to me like a change in the current," the lookout answered. "It threw us right over against the wreck." "I can very easily imagine something like that happening," admitted Tom. "Well, as long as we're not badly damaged I think we'll go outside and take a look. If we hit a wreck--" "Bless my looking glass!" cried Mr. Damon, "it may be the Pandora, Tom." "That's too good to be true!" cried Ned. "Anyhow, let's get out and take a look." Tom first made sure that the slight leak was not likely to increase, and then arrangements were made for himself, Ned, Koku, and some of the others to go outside in the diving suits. Mr. Damon wanted to be of the party, but Tom was afraid to permit him in that depth of water. Mr. Damon, in spite of his jollity, was not as young as he had been. Shortly after the collision, which had missed being a disaster by a narrow margin, Tom and his companions were outside the submarine, walking on the white, sandy bottom of the sea. Around them was a myriad of fishes, some of large size, but seemingly harmless, as they scudded rapidly away after a glance at the strange creatures who appeared to have come to dispute with them for possession of Father Neptune's element. Moving more slowly than usual, because of the greater pressure of water at that depth, Tom and the others made their way around the nose of the submarine. And then, in the glow of the big searchlight, they saw the dim outlines of a steamer, partly imbedded in the sand. Her stern was toward the undersea craft that had rammed her, and the name was not so obliterated but what the young inventor could read it. "The Pandora!" exclaimed Tom, speaking into his helmet telephone transmitter, the others all hearing him. "We've found the treasure-ship at last!" And so they had. An accident had brought them to the end of their quest, though it is probable they would have found the Pandora anyhow, since they were making careful circles in her vicinity. "Yes, that's the Pandora," said Ned. "And now the thing to do is to find out if she really has any treasure on board." "That's what I'm going to do," declared Tom. "But first I want to investigate this queer current. We can't feel it here, but we may if we get out beyond the wreck. We don't want to be swept off our feet." "Yes, we had better be careful," said one of the officers. Accordingly they proceeded with caution along the length of the sunken Pandora. And as they neared her bow they all began to feel some powerful force in the current. "This is far enough!" said Tom. "Don't get out beyond the protection of the hull. I see what it is. The steamer has drifted here from where she was originally sunk. And here two currents meet, forming a very strong one. It was that which threw us off our course. As long as we remain behind the wreck we'll be safe. But beyond her we may be in danger. She's firmly held in the sand, or, at best, is drifting only slightly. She'll be a sort of undersea breakwater for us. And now to see if we can get on board!" This proved comparatively easy. Several lengths of chain and one iron ladder were over the stern, evidently having been used when the crew abandoned the ship in the storm that destroyed her. By means of these Tom and his companions gained the main deck near the stern. The Pandora was a typical tramp steamer. She was high in the bows and stern and low amidships, and it was evident that the quarters of the officers and passengers, if any of the latter were carried, were in the stern. Tom was glad to find the vessel thus comparatively easy of access. She lay on an almost even keel, and all he and his companions had to do was to walk along the deck and enter the cabins. As they did not have to look out for life lines or air hose they could enter, and even go below decks, in comparative safety. "Well, here's for it," said Tom to the others. "Let's go in. "Where would the treasure be, if she had any?" asked Ned. "Captain's cabin or the purser's strong room, I imagine," Tom answered. "Hardley didn't actually see it, but he said those two places were constantly guarded. I'm inclined to think the purser would have charge of the gold. But we'll try both places." It was easy to learn which had been the commander's cabin. It had the name "Captain" on a brass plate over the door. Tom and Ned entered. The place was in confusion, and confusion not all caused by the ocean currents. A small safe in the room stood with rusted door open, and the contents of the strong box were gone. Drawers and lockers, too, were opened and empty. "I guess the captain took as much with him as he could when he got into his boat," commented Tom. "And the gold, too," added Ned, pointing to the empty safe. "That wouldn't have held two million dollars in gold," Tom retorted. "I believe the purser's cabin is the place to look." Making sure they were not missing anything in the captain's room, they came out, to find Koku and the others waiting for them on deck. "Nothing there," Tom reported. "Did any of you locate the purser's strong room?" One of the men pointed to an open door to the left. "That's it!" exclaimed Tom. "Yes, and there's a safe here big enough to hold gold for all the revolutions in South America," he added. "I guess we're on the right track at last." It needed but a look to show them that they had at last reached the place of the treasure. The great safe stood open, and piled inside were a number of small boxes, such as are generally used to ship gold in. Ned, from his bank experience, recognized them at once. "There's the gold!" he exclaimed. "We've found the treasure!" "They tried to take some of it with them," said one of the submarine officers, pointing to some opened boxes which were floating near the cabin ceiling. They were caught on some projections which had prevented them from being washed out. "Maybe they looted the whole safe," suggested Tom. "We'd better have a look." He tried to pull out one of the many boxes set in tiers in the safe, but it was beyond his strength. "Me do!" murmured Koku. It was easy for the giant to pry out one of the boxes with his iron bar, and with another blow from his bar he opened the cover. "Gold!" cried Ned, as he saw a gleam of yellow showing in the glow from his torch. "There's the gold!" There was a table in the purser's cabin, made fast to the floor so it had not floated away. At a sign from Tom, the giant turned the box bottom side up on this table. And then a murmur of wonder came from all who saw the result. For aside from the top layer of gold pieces, the box was filled with iron disks cut to the size of twenty-dollar gold pieces. In an instant it was borne to all what this meant. "A fake!" exclaimed Tom Swift. "If all the boxes are like this there isn't enough gold on the treasure ship to pay the expenses of this trip! Somebody has been fooled! Open another box, Koku!" CHAPTER XXV THE STEEL BOX Perhaps the least of all affected by what had taken place was the giant. Gold meant nothing to him. To serve Tom Swift was his whole aim in life. Born in a savage country, he had not acquired an overwhelming desire for wealth. Consequently he was cool enough as he tore another box from the many that were fitted into the safe. The water had swelled the wood, and it was not easy to get them out. A pressure of the giant's iron bar broke the sealed lid. On top was the same layer of gold pieces, but when the box was emptied the same trick was discovered. Iron disks made up the remainder of the contents. "Bilked! That's what I call it! Regularly bilked!" exclaimed one of the divers, an Englishman who had been in Tom's service several years. "Somebody's got the cream of this pudding before we did!" "I'm inclined to agree with you," said Tom. "Unless it transpires that not all the boxes have been thus camouflaged. We must take time to examine." Then began a period of hard work. Laboring in relays of divers, every box that had been locked in the purser's safe was brought out on the submerged cabin table, broken open, and the contents examined. The hoax was even worse than indicated at first. For after the front section of boxes had been taken out none of the others remaining contained any gold at all. There were only iron disks. "Well, Tom, what do you think of it?" asked Ned of his chum, when they had returned to the cabin of the submarine, leaving some members of the crew to complete the examination. For this the diving bell was used, as well as the suits. "I don't think very much," was the answer. "It looks as though we had been sold." "Do you think Hardley knew that the gold had been changed to iron--that is, all but a small part of it?" "No, I don't believe he did," Tom answered. "If he were here I'd warrant he would be as much surprised as we are. He certainly believed the Pandora was a regular treasure-ship." "Just how much did she really have in gold?" asked Mr. Damon, looking at the double eagles on the table of the M. N. 1. "Well, at a rough guess I'd say ten thousand dollars," Tom answered. "We haven't brought it all out yet, and it's possible they may find a full box in the safe. But, unless there is one, I guess ten or fifteen thousand dollars will cover it." "And Hardley said two millions!" exclaimed Ned. "Whew, what a difference!" "Do you think he was in on the change?" asked one of the officers. "No," replied Tom. "I guess it was like a good many of these filibustering plots. Somebody put up good money to be used to gain control of a country--perhaps for the country's good. But somebody else made the substitution, and the patriots were left. I don't believe Hardley knew this." "Well, you'll get a little out of it, Tom," Ned remarked. "Nothing worth while," was the answer. "But I'm not disappointed; that is, very much. Of course I could use the money, but I don't really need it. The trip has been a wonderful experience, and I have learned something I didn't know before. I'm sorry for you, though, Mr. Damon. You invested considerable with Hardley, didn't you?" "About twenty thousand dollars, Tom. It will be hard to lose it, but I guess I can stand it." Tom privately made up his mind to see that his old friend did not suffer financially, for the gold discovered on the Pandora, while it was far from the amount hoped for, would almost reimburse Mr. Damon. But the young inventor did not say anything about that just then. They were looking at the recovered gold and getting ready to store it in some of the boxes that had been brought from the wreck when the divers that had remained on the Pandora to bring the last of the treasure returned through the chamber. Two of them carried a small steel box. "What's that?" asked Tom, when they had their helmets off. "Don't know," was the answer. "It was in the purser's safe. Stuck away in the far corner." "Maybe it has jewels in it!" exclaimed Ned. "If it has--" At that moment the lookout who had maintained his position in the conning tower called for Tom on the telephone. "What is it?" asked the young inventor. "There's some sort of grappling iron, or cable with a hook on it, being lowered from the surface, and it's near the wreck," was the answer. "If it isn't any of your apparatus it may be some other ship having a try for the gold." "It must be Hardley!" cried Tom. "He's come back with another ship, as he half threatened to do, and, instead of diving for the wreck, which he can't get ordinary men to do in this depth, he's trying to grapple for it. Come on, we'll have a look!" Ned and Mr. Damon followed Tom to the conning tower. Looking out through the heavy glass windows, while the searchlight illuminated the waters, the young inventor and his friends saw a great grappling iron swaying this way and that through the sea not far from the wreck, and once, indeed, uncomfortably close to their own craft. "He's struck it uncommonly near," remarked Tom. "I guess it's time for us to be leaving." "Suppose it's Hardley up above there?" suggested Ned. "I don't doubt but it is." "Well, are we going off and leave the wreck--and possibly other gold that may be hidden on her?" "I wouldn't give ten dollars for the chance of searching for any more gold!" Tom exclaimed. "We'll take this steel box--it may contain something of value. The rest we'll leave to Hardley." Preparations for rising to the surface were quickly made. Up and up went the M. N. 1, leaving the ill-starred Pandora to whatever else fate had in store for her. Tom's craft broke water with gentle undulations of the waves. The top of the hatch was thrown back, admitting the bright sunshine on those who had been long in the shadow of the underseas. And, as the young inventor and his friends went out on deck, they saw a small steamer riding on the ocean not far away. One look was enough to tell them it was from this craft that the grappling iron had been let down, and as the submarine drifted nearer the form of Hardley was seen on deck. He was directing operations. Some one must have called his attention to the M. N. 1, for he hurried to the rail of the craft which he had evidently chartered to seek the Pandora, and he exclaimed: "What are you doing here, Swift?" "The same thing you are, I believe," coolly answered Tom. "Cleaning up the treasure ship. You might as well save your money though, for we have all the gold there is!" "Impossible!" cried the now irate man. "You cannot have found the Pandora!" "That's just what we did, though," answered Tom. "And, for your information, I'll say that we took all the gold we found, though it was considerably less than you stated." "How dare you?" stormed the adventurer. "I'll have the law on you for this!" "I guess you forget," replied Tom, "that we parted company at your request and that I told you I was on my own. Finding is keeping. I didn't find what I expected to, and, on the other hand, I got something I didn't look for." "What do you mean?" "The Pandora was rightly named," went on Tom. "If you recall the old story, Pandora had a box of treasures. They all flew out except Hope, which remained in the bottom. Well, most of the gold seems to have flown away, but we found a box on the Pandora. What's in it I don't know yet, as I haven't opened it. Still, if it doesn't contain more than Hope I shall be disappointed." The face of Hardley showed the rage felt. "Give me that box! Give me that box!" he cried, shaking his fist at Tom. "Not today," was the cool answer of the young inventor. "I may let you know what I find in it if you leave your address. Goodbye!" Tom waved his hand, gave orders to close the hatches and submerge the M. N. 1, and a few moments later the sea closed over her, leaving the other vessel to grapple uselessly for the treasure-ship. "What are you going to do, Tom?" asked Ned of his chum, as they were all gathered in the main cabin half an hour later. "Head for home as soon as we can. I've had enough of this, and I want to get at something else I have in mind. But first I'm going to see what's in this box." It required the strength of Koku to open the small steel box, but when it was torn apart, for the combination was impossible to guess at, all that was seen were bundles of papers. The case having been hermetically closed, no water had penetrated it, though it had been submerged a long time. "What are they?" asked Ned of his chum. Tom did not answer for a moment. Then having quickly examined the papers, he cried: "We've struck it!" "What?" they all wanted to know. "The very thing Hardley was after. These are the missing papers in the oil-well deal--the papers that prove Barton Keith has a half share in property worth many millions of dollars. It was these papers that Hardley was after. He may have thought he could get the gold, too, but he wanted most these oil shares. Boys, we've found the fortune anyhow, in spite of the fellows who looted the gold boxes!" There was no doubt about it. There were all the papers--the certificates of shares, the partnership agreement and other documents--to show that Mary's uncle was a rich man. The wreck of the Pandora held a fortune after all. "How do you account for Hardley's acts?" asked Ned of his chum. "Well, there are several explanations. I think we may be certain that he knew these papers were aboard the Pandora, for he must have intrusted them to the purser himself when he made a trip on the ship. When she sank he had not time to get them to take with him." "He either knew then, or found out later, that the vessel carried, or was supposed to carry, a large amount of gold. He may have been honestly mistaken in thinking it was two millions. In any case he was playing safe, for he only promised me half if the treasure was found. He could have claimed this box as his property, and that is probably what he was after from the beginning. He was using me as a cat's paw, so to speak." "Well, you beat him to it," observed Ned. "Bless my necktie, I should say so!" agreed Mr. Damon. "Do you think he really expected to find the gold?" "Either that or the papers," was Tom's answer. "He must have engaged the vessel and the grappling apparatus, and, possibly, a diver, after we set him ashore at St. Thomas. Well, we'll leave him to his own fun." The M. N. 1 made good time back to her home port, nothing except a terrific storm occurring to mark the voyage. And as she submerged when that was on she did not feel it. After greeting his father, Tom lost little time in going to Mary's house with the box of securities and other papers. "I want you to hand these to your uncle with my compliments," he said. "I've got the Air Scout out in the meadow. We'll go over in that. How is Mr. Keith?" "Not very well," Mary answered, after she had got over her surprise at seeing Tom. "But this good news will restore him, I think." And it certainly was a great tonic. Mr. Keith could hardly believe the story that Mary and Tom jointly told him. But at length he grasped the idea that he was a wealthy man again, and he exclaimed: "Tom Swift, I'm going to share half with you!" "Oh, no," retorted the young inventor. "I couldn't think of that. If you want to pay part of the expenses of the trip I shan't object to that, as I intend giving the gold I recovered to Mr. Damon. But as for taking any of the oil shares--" "Then, Mary, you shall take half!" exclaimed Mr. Keith. "I have more money now than I'll ever spend. Mary, half of it is yours, and if you don't let Tom Swift have a say in the spending of it-- Say, Mary, have you thanked him yet?" he asked with a twinkle of his eyes. "Well, Uncle Barton, I--I don't know--" "Then do it now!" cried her uncle. "Tom, if you could have any reward you wanted, what would it be?" Tom took Mary in his arms and--But I refuse to betray any secrets. Anyhow, some time later when Ned asked his chum if he felt entirely satisfied with the result of his undersea search, the young inventor replied: "I certainly do!" Tom admitted to his father that a mistake had been made in not installing the gyroscope rudder. There was no excuse for not taking it. Tom declared, as it was small and took up little room, and it might have saved them from what was a close call at one time. "I'll take it on my next submarine trip," the young inventor promised. Ned wanted to bring suit against Hardley to recover half the expenses of the trip, but Tom would not consent to it. After all, the value of the oil well property was more than the gold the Pandora was reputed to have carried. No attempt was made to take from Tom the comparatively small amount he had salvaged. Perhaps whoever had put it on board did not want to admit the trick that had been played in filling the boxes with iron disks. Dixwell Hardley made no further trouble. He could not, for he was so entirely in the wrong. He sold out his shares in the oil property, and a company took possession which gave fair treatment to Mary's uncle. And this is the end of the story. But the future holds further adventures for Tom Swift which, let it be hoped, he will see fit to order recorded. 
1363	----	TOM SWIFT AMONG THE FIRE FIGHTERS or Battling with Flames from the Air By VICTOR APPLETON CONTENTS CHAPTER I A BAD PLACE FOR A FIRE II NO USE OF LIVING! III TOM'S NEW IDEA IV AN EXPERIMENT V THE EXPLOSION VI TOM IS WORRIED VII A FORCED LANDING VIII STRANGE TALK IX SUSPICIONS X ANOTHER ATTEMPT XI THE BLAZING TREE XII TOM IS LONESOME XIII A SUCCESSFUL TEST XIV OUT OF THE CLOUDS XV COALS OF FIRE XVI VIOLENT THREATS XVII A TOWN BLAZE XVIII FINISHING TOUCHES XIX ON THE TRAIL XX A HEAVY LOAD XXI THE LIGHT IN THE SKY XXII TRAPPED XXIII TO THE RESCUE XXIV A STRANGE DISCOVERY XXV THE LIGHT OF DAY TOM SWIFT AMONG THE FIRE FIGHTERS CHAPTER I A BAD PLACE FOR A FIRE "Impossible, Ned! It can't be as much as that!" "Well, you can prove the additions yourself, Tom, on one of the adding machines. I've been over 'em twice, and get the same result each time. There are the figures. They say figures don't lie, though it doesn't follow that the opposite is true, for those who do not stick closely to the truth do, sometimes, figure. But there you have it; your financial statement for the year," and Ned Newton, business manager for Tom Swift, the talented young inventor, shoved a mass of papers across the table to his friend and chum, as well as employer. "It doesn't seem possible, Ned, that we have made as much as that this past year. And this, as I understand it, doesn't include what was taken from the wreck of the Pandora?" Tom Swift looked questioningly at Ned Newton, who shook his head in answer. "You really didn't get anything to speak of out of your undersea search, Tom," replied the young financial manager, "so I didn't include it. But there's enough without that." "I should say so!" exclaimed Tom. "Whew!" he whistled, "I didn't think I was worth that much." "Well, you've earned it, every cent, with the inventions of yourself and your father." "And I might add that we wouldn't have half we earn if it wasn't for the shrewd way you look after us, Ned," said Tom, with a warm smile at his friend. "I appreciate the way you manage our affairs; for, though I have had some pretty good luck with my searchlight, wizard camera, war tank and other contraptions, I never would have been able to save any of the money they brought in if it hadn't been for you." "Well, that's what I'm here for," remarked Ned modestly. "I appreciate that," began Tom Swift. "And I want to say, Ned--" But Tom did not say what he had started to. He broke off suddenly, and seemed to be listening to some sound outside the room of his home where he and his financial and business manager were going over the year's statement and accounting. Ned, too, in spite of the fact that he had been busy going over figures, adding up long columns, checking statements, and giving the results to Tom, had been aware, in the last five minutes, of an ever-growing tumult in the street. At first it had been no more than the passage along the thoroughfare of an unusual number of pedestrians. Ned had accounted for it at first by the theory that some moving picture theater had finished the first performance and the people were hurrying home. But after he had finished his financial labors and had handed Tom the first of a series of statements to look over, the young financial expert began to realize that there was no moving picture house near Tom's home. Consequently the passing throngs could not be accounted for in that way. Yet the tumult of feet grew in the highway outside. Ned had begun to wonder if there had been an attempted burglary, a fight, or something like that, calling for police action, which had gathered an unusual throng that warm, spring evening. And then had come Tom's interruption of himself when he broke off in the middle of a sentence to listen intently. "What is it?" asked Ned. "I thought I heard Rad or Koku moving around out there," murmured Tom. "It may be that my father is not feeling well and wants to speak to me or that some one may have telephoned. I told them not to disturb me while you and I were going over the accounts. But if it is something of importance--" Again Tom paused, for distinctly now in addition to the ever-increasing sounds in the streets could be heard a shuffling and talking in the hall just outside the door. "G'wan 'way from heah now!" cried the voice of a colored man. "It is Rad!" exclaimed Tom, meaning thereby Eradicate Sampson, an aged but faithful colored servant. And then the voice of Rad, as he was most often called, went on with: "G'wan 'way! I'll tell Massa Tom!" "Me tell! Big thing! Best for big man tell!" broke in another voice; a deep, booming voice that could only proceed from a powerfully built man. "Koku!" exclaimed Tom, with a half comical look at Ned. "He and Rad are at it again!" Koku was a giant, literally, and he had attached himself to Tom when the latter had made one of many perilous trips. So eager were Eradicate and Koku to serve the young inventor that frequently there were more or less good-natured clashes between them to see who would have the honor. The discussion and scuffle in the hall at length grew so insistent that Tom, fearing the aged colored man might accidentally be hurt by the giant Koku, opened the door. There stood the two, each endeavoring to push away the other that the victor might, it appeared, knock on the door. Of course Rad was no match for Koku, but the giant, mindful of his great strength, was not using all of it. "Here! what does this mean?" cried Tom, rather more sternly than he really meant. He had to pretend to be stern at times with his old colored helper and the impulsive and powerful giant. "What are you cutting up for outside my door when I told you I must be quiet with Mr. Newton?" "No can be quiet!" declared the giant. "Too much noise in street--big crowds--much big!" He spoke an English of his own, did Koku. "What are the crowds doing?" asked Ned. "I thought we'd been hearing an ever increasing tumult, Tom," he said to the young inventor. "Big crowds--'um go to see big--" "Heah! Let me tell Massa Tom!" pleaded Rad. Poor Rad! He was getting old and could not perform the services that once he had so readily and efficiently done. Now he was eager to help Tom in such small measure as carrying him a message. So it was with a feeling of sadness that Tom heard the old man say again, pleadingly: "Let me tell him, Koku! I know all 'bout it! Let me tell Massa Tom whut it am, an'--" "Well, go ahead and tell me!" burst out Tom, with a good-natured laugh. "Don't keep me in suspense. If there's anything going on--" He did not finish the sentence. It was evident that something of moment was going on, for the crowds in the street were now running instead of walking, and voices could be heard calling back and forth such exclamations as: "Where is it?" "Must be a big one." "And with this wind it'll be worse!" Tom glanced at Ned and then at the two servants. "Has anything happened?" asked the young inventor. "Dey's a big fire, Massa Tom!" exploded Rad. "Heap big blaze!" added Koku. At the same time, out in the street high and clear, the cry rang out: "Fire! Fire!" "Is it any of our buildings?" exclaimed Tom, in his excitement catching hold of the giant's arm. "No, it's quite a way off, on de odder side of town," answered the colored man. "But we t'ought we'd better come an' tell yo', an'--" "Yes! Yes! I'm glad you did, Rad. It was perfectly right for you to tell me! I wish you'd done it sooner, though! Come on, Ned! Let's go to the blaze! We can finish looking over the figures another time. Is my father all right, Rad?" "Yes, suh, Massa Tom, he's done sleepin' good." "Then don't disturb him. Mr. Newton and I will go to the fire. I'm glad it isn't here," and Tom looked from a side window out on many shops that were not a great distance from the house; shops where he and his father had perfected many inventions. The buildings had grown up around the old Swift homestead, which, now that so much industry surrounded it, was not the most pleasant place to live in. Tom and his father only made this their stopping place in winter. In the summer they dwelt in a quiet cottage far removed from the scenes of their industry. "We'll take the electric runabout, Ned," remarked Tom, as he caught up a hat from the rack, an example followed by his friend. Together the young inventor and the financial manager hurried out to the garage, where Tom soon had in operation a small electric automobile, that, more than once, had proved its claim to being the "speediest car on the road." As they turned out of the driveway into the street they became aware of great crowds making their way toward a glow of sinister red light showing in the eastern sky. "Some blaze!" exclaimed Tom, as he turned on more power. "You said it!" ejaculated Ned. "Must be a general alarm," he added, as they caught the sound from the next street of additional apparatus hurrying to the fire. "Well, I'm glad it isn't on our side of town," remarked Tom, as he looked back at the peaceful gloom surrounding and covering his own home and work buildings. "Where do you reckon it is?" asked Ned, as they sped onward. "Hard to say," remarked the young inventor, as he steered to one side to pass a powerful imported automobile which, however, did not have the speed of the electric runabout. "A fire at night is always deceiving as to direction. But we can locate it when we get to the top of the hill." Shopton, the suburb of the town where Tom lived, was named so because of the many shops that had been erected by the industry of the young inventor and his father. In fact the town was named Shopton though of late there had been an effort to change the name of the strictly residential section, which lay over the hill toward the river. Tom's car shot up the slope with scarcely any slackening of speed, and, as he passed a group of men and boys running onward, Tom shouted: "Where is it?" "The fireworks factory!" was the answer. "Fireworks factory!" cried Ned. "Bad place for a fire!" "I should say so!" exclaimed Tom. The chums had become gradually aware of the gale that was blowing, and, as they reached the summit of the hill and caught sight of the burning factory, they saw the flames being swept far out from it and toward a collection of houses on the other side of a vacant lot that separated the fireworks industrial plant from the dwellings. As Tom Swift glimpsed the fire, noted its proportions and the fierceness of the flames, and saw which way the wind was blowing them, he turned on the power to the utmost. "What are you doing, Tom?" yelled Ned. "I'm going down there!" cried Tom. "That place is likely to explode any minute!" "Then why go closer?" gasped Ned, for his breath was almost taken away by the speed of the car, and he had to hold his hat to keep it from blowing away. "Why don't you play safe?" "Don't you understand?" shouted Tom in his chum's ear. "The wind is blowing the fire right toward those houses! Mary Nestor lives in one of them!" "Oh--Mary Nestor!" exclaimed Ned. Then he understood--Mary and Tom were engaged to be married. "They may be all right," Tom went on. "I can't be sure from this distance. Or they may be in danger. It's a bad fire and--" His voice was blotted out in the roar of an explosion which seemed to hurl back the electric runabout and bring it to a momentary stop. CHAPTER II NO USE OF LIVING! Only momentarily was Tom Swift halted in his progress toward the scene of the blaze in the fireworks factory. To him, and to the chum who sat beside him on the seat of the electric runabout, it appeared that the blast had actually stopped the progress of the car. But perhaps that was more their imagination than anything else, for the machine swept on down the hill, at the foot of which was the conflagration. "That was a bad one, Ned!" gasped Tom, as he turned to one side to pass an engine on its way to the scene of excitement. "I should say so! Must have been somebody hurt in that blow-up!" "I only hope it wasn't Mary or her folks!" murmured Tom. "The wind is sweeping the fire right that way!" "What are you going to do, Tom?" yelled his chum, as the business manager saw the young inventor heading directly for the blaze. "What's the idea?" "To rescue Mary, if she's in danger!" "I'm with you!" was Ned's quick response. "But you can't go any closer. The police are stretching the fire lines!" "I guess they'll let me through!" said Tom grimly. He slowed his car as he approached a place where an officer was driving back the throng that sought to come closer to the blaze. "Git back! Git back, I tell you!" stormed the policeman, pushing against the packed bodies of men and boys. "There'll be another blow-up in a minute or two, and a lot more of you killed!" "Are there any killed?" asked Tom, stopping the car near the officer. "I guess so--yes. And some of the houses are catching. Git back now! You, too, with that car! You'll have to back up!" "I've got to go through!" replied Tom, with tightening lips. "I've got to go through, Cassidy!" He knew the officer, and the latter now seemed, for the first time, to recognize the young inventor. "Oh, it's you, is it, Mr. Swift?" he exclaimed. "Well, go ahead. But be careful. 'Tis dangerous there--very dangerous, an'--" His voice was lost in the roar of another explosion, not as loud or severe as the first, but more plainly felt by Tom and Ned, for they were nearer to it. "Now will you git back!" cried Policeman Cassidy, and the crowd did, without further urging. Tom started the runabout forward again. "We've got to rescue Mary!" he said to Ned, who nodded. In another moment the two young men were lost to sight in a swirl of smoke that swept across the street. And while they are thus temporarily hidden may not this opportunity be taken of telling new readers something of the hero of this story? The young inventor was introduced in the first volume of this series, called "Tom Swift and his Motor Cycle." It was Tom's first venture into the realms of invention, after he had purchased from Mr. Wakefield Damon a speedy machine that tried to climb a tree with that excitable gentleman. Tom, with the help of his father, an inventor of note, rebuilt the motor cycle adding many improvements, and it served Tom in good stead more than once. From then on the career of Tom Swift was steadily onward and upward. One new invention led to another from his second venture, a motor boat, through an airship and other marvels, and eventually to a submarine. In each of these vehicles of motion and travel Tom and his friends, Ned Newton and Mr. Damon, had many adventures, detailed in the respective volumes. His venture in proceeding to save Mary Nestor from possible danger in the blaze of the fireworks factory was not the first time Tom had rendered service to the Nestor family. There was that occasion on which he had sent his wireless message from Earthquake Island, as related in an earlier volume. Space forbids the detailing of all that had happened to the young inventor up to the time of the opening of this story. Sufficient to say that Tom's latest achievement had been the recovery of treasure from the depths of the ocean. Tom Swift's activities in connection with his inventions had become so numerous that the Swift Construction Company, of which Ned Newton was financial manager and Mr. Damon one of the directors, had been formed. And when the rumor came that there was a chance to salvage some of the untold wealth at the bottom of the sea, Tom was interested, as were his friends. It was decided to search for the wreck of the Pandora, sunk in the West Indies, and one of Tom's latest submarine craft was utilized for this purpose. Not to go into all the details, which are given in the last volume of this series, entitled "Tom Swift and His Undersea Search," suffice it to say that the venture was begun. Matters were complicated owing to the fact that Mary Nestor's uncle, Barton Keith, was in trouble over the loss of valuable papers proving his title to some oil lands. Mary mentioned that a person, Dixwell Hardley, was the man who, it was supposed, was trying to defraud her relative. And the complications may be imagined when it is said that this same Hardley was the man who had interested Tom in the undersea search for the riches of the Pandora. Tom had been at home some time now, and it was while going over his accounts with Ned, and, incidentally, planning new activities, that the cry of fire broke in on them. "Whew, Tom, some heat there!" gasped Ned, lowering his arm from his face, an action which had been necessitated by Tom's daring in driving the car close to the blazing fireworks factory. "I should say so!" agreed Tom. "I can almost smell the rubber of my tires burning. But we're out of the worst of it." "Lucky she didn't take the notion to blow up as we were passing," grimly commented Ned. "Where are you aiming for now?" "Mary's house. It's just beyond here. But we can't see it on account of the smoke." A few seconds later they had passed through the black pall that was slashed here and there with red slivers of flame, and, coming to a more open space, Ned and Tom cleared their eyes of smoke. "I guess there's no immediate danger," remarked Tom, as he saw that the home of Mary Nestor and the houses near her residence were, for the time being, out of the path of the flames. The explosion had blown down part of the blazing factory nearest the residential section, and the flames had less to feed on. But the conflagration was still a fierce one. Not half the big factory was yet consumed, and every now and then there would sound dull, booming reports, causing nervous screams from the women who were out in front of their homes, while the men would crouch down as though fearing a shower of fiery embers. "Oh, Tom, I'm so glad you're here!" cried Mary, as the runabout drew up in front of her home. "Do you think it will be much worse?" and she clutched his arm, as he got down to speak to her. "I think the worst is over, as far as you people here are concerned," the young inventor replied. "The wind has shifted a bit." "And there are several engines near us, Tom," said Mr. Nestor, coming forward. "The firemen tell me they will play streams of water on the roofs and outsides of our houses if the flames start this way again." "That ought to do the trick," said Tom, with a show of confidence. "Anybody hurt around here?" he asked. "One of the policeman said he heard several were killed." "They may have been--in the factory," said Mr. Nestor. "Of course if the fire and explosions had taken place in the daytime the loss of life would have been great. But most of the workers had left some time before the blaze was discovered. There are a few men on a night shift, though, and I shouldn't be surprised but what some of them had suffered." "Too bad!" murmured the young inventor. "You're not worried about your home, are you, Mrs. Nestor?" he asked of Mary's mother. "Oh, Tom, I certainly am!" she exclaimed. "I wanted to bring out our things, but Mr. Nestor said it wouldn't be of any use." "Neither it would, if we've got to burn, but I don't believe we have--now," said her husband. "That last explosion and the shift of the wind saved us. I appreciate your coming over, Tom," he went on. "We might have needed your help. It's queer there isn't some better, or more effective, way of fighting a fire than just pouring on a comparatively insignificant bit of water," he added, as, from what was now a safe distance, they watched the firemen using many lines of hose. "They do have chemical extinguishers," said Ned. "Yes, for little baby blazes that have just started," went on Mr. Nestor. "But in all the progress of science there has not been much advance in fighting fires. We still do as they did a hundred years ago--squirt water on it, and mighty little of it compared to the blaze. It would take a week to put this fire out by the water they are using if it were not for the fact that the blaze eats itself up and has nothing more to feed on." "We'll have to get Tom to invent a new way of fighting fire," remarked Ned. The young inventor was about to reply when several firemen, equipped with smoke helmets which they adjusted as they ran, came running down the street. "What's the matter?" asked Tom of one whom he knew. "Some men are trapped in a small shed back of the factory," was the answer. "We just heard of it, and we're going in after them. Oh! Oh--my--my heart!" he gasped, and he sank to the sidewalk. Evidently he was either overcome by the smoke and poisonous gases or by his exertions. Tom grasped the situation instantly. Taking the smoke helmet from the exhausted fire-fighter, the young inventor shouted: "I'll fill your place! See if you can grab a hat, Ned, and come on!" One of the other firemen had two helmets, and he offered Ned one. Pausing only long enough to see that Mr. Nestor and some others were looking after the exhausted "smoke-eater," Ned raced on after Tom. The two young men, following the firemen, made their way around the end of the factory to the smoke-filled yard in the rear. But for the helmets, which were like the gas masks of the Great War, they would not have been able to live. One of the firemen pointed through the luridly-lighted smoke to a small structure near the main building. This was beginning to burn. With quick blows of an axe the door was hewed down, and the rescue party, including Tom and Ned, made its way inside. In the light from the blaze, as it filtered through the windows, it could be seen that a man lay in a huddled heap on the floor. By motions the leader of the rescue squad made it clear that the man was to be carried out, and Tom helped with this while Ned, using an axe, cleared away some debris to enable the door to be opened fully so the men could pass out carrying their burden. The man was taken to the Nestor yard and stretched out on the grass. Word was relayed to one of the ambulance doctors who were on the scene attending to several injured firemen, and in a short time the man, who, it appeared, had been overcome by smoke, was revived. "Well, that was a narrow squeak for you," said one of the firemen, glad to breathe without a mask on. "Yes, it was touch and go," remarked the young doctor, who had used heroic measures to bring the man back from the brink of the grave. "But you'll live now, all right." The revived man looked dully about him. He seemed somewhat bewildered. "Of what use to live?" he murmured. "You might as well have let me die in there. Life isn't worth living now," and he sank into a stupor, while Tom and the others looked wonderingly at one another. CHAPTER III TOM'S NEW IDEA "What's the matter with him, Doctor?" asked Tom in a low voice of the young physician who had been working over the man. "Do you think he is worse hurt than appears? Is he dying, and is his mind wandering?" "I don't believe so," answered the doctor. "At least I don't believe that he is dying, though his mind may be wandering. He isn't injured--at least not outwardly. Just temporarily overcome by smoke is what it looks like to me. But of course I haven't made a thorough examination." "Hadn't we better get him into the house, Doctor?" asked Mr. Nestor, who stood with Tom, Ned and a group of men and boys about the inert form of the man lying on the grass. The rescued one was again seemingly unconscious. "The best medicine he can have is fresh air," the doctor replied. "He's better off out here than in the house. Though if he doesn't revive presently I will send him to the hospital." The man did not appear to be so badly off but what he could hear, and at these words he opened his eyes again. "I don't want to go to the hospital," he murmured. "I'll be all right presently, and can go home, though--Oh, well, what's the use?" he asked wearily, as though he had given up some fight. "I've lost everything." "Well, you've got a deal of life left in you yet; and that's more than you could say of some who have come out of smaller fires than this," said one of the firemen who, with Tom, had carried the man out of the shed. "Come on, we'd better be getting back," he said to his companion. "The worst of it is over, but there'll be plenty to do yet." "You said it!" commented the other grimly. They went out of the Nestor yard, many of the crowd that had gathered during the rescue following. The doctor administered some more stimulant in the shape of aromatic spirits of ammonia to the man, who, after his momentary revival, had again lapsed into a state of stupor. "Who is he?" asked Tom, as the physician knelt down beside the silent form. "I don't know," said Mr. Nestor. "I know quite a number connected with the fireworks factory, but this man is a stranger to me." "I've seen him going into the main offices several times," remarked Mary, who was standing beside Tom. "He seemed to be one of the company officers." "I don't believe so, Mary," stated her father. "I know most of the fireworks company officials, and I'm sure this man is not one of them. Poor fellow! He seems to be in a bad way." "Mentally, as well as physically," put in Ned. "He acted as if sorry that we had saved his life." "Too bad," murmured Mary, and then a policeman, who had just come into the yard to get the facts for his report, looked at the figure lying on the grass, and said: "I know him." "You do?" cried Tom. "Who is he?" "Name's Baxter, Josephus Baxter. He's a chemist, and he works in the fireworks factory here. Not as one of the hands, but in the experiment laboratory. I've seen him there late at night lots of times. That's how I got acquainted with him. He was going in around two o'clock one morning, and I stopped him, thinking he was a thief. He proved his identity, and I've passed the time of day with him many a time since." "Where does he live?" asked Mr. Nestor. "Down on Clay Street," and the officer mentioned the number. "He lives all alone, so he told me. He's some sort of an inventor, I guess. At least I judged so by his talk. Do you want an ambulance, Doctor?" he asked the physician. "No, I think he's coming around all right," was the answer. "If we had an auto we could send him home." "I'll take him in the runabout," eagerly offered Tom. "But if he lives all alone will it be safe to leave him in his house?" "He ought to be looked after, I suppose," the doctor stated. "He'll be all right in a day or so if no complications set in, but he'll be weak for a while and need attention." "Then I'll take him home with me!" announced Tom. "We have plenty of room, and Mrs. Baggert will feel right at home with some one to nurse. Bring the runabout here, will you please, Ned?" As Ned darted off to run up the machine, the man opened his eyes again. For a moment he did not seem to know where he was or what had happened. Then, as he saw the lurid light of the flames which were now dying away and realized his position, he sighed heavily and murmured: "It's all over!" "Oh, no, it isn't!" cheerfully exclaimed the doctor. "You will be all right in a few days." "Myself, yes, maybe," said the man bitterly, and he managed to rise to his feet. "But what of my future? It is all gone! The work of years is lost." "Burned in the fire?" asked Tom, wondering whether the man was a major stockholder in the company. "Didn't you have any insurance? Though I suppose you couldn't get much on a fireworks plant," he added, for he knew something of insurance matters in connection with his own business. "Oh, it isn't the fire--that is directly," said the man, in the same bitter tones. "I've lost everything! The scoundrels stole them! And I--Oh, never mind!" he cried. "What's the use of talking? I'm down and out! I might just as well have died in the fire!" Tom was about to make some remark, but the doctor motioned to him to refrain, and then Ned came up with the runabout. At first Josephus Baxter, which was the name of the man who had been rescued, made some objections to going to Tom's home. But when it was pointed out that he might lapse into a stupor again from the effects of the smoke poisons, in which event he would have no one to minister to him at his lonely home, he consented to go to the residence of the young inventor. "Though if I do lapse into unconsciousness you might as well let me keep on sleeping until the end," said Mr. Baxter bitterly to Tom and Ned, as they drove away from the scene of the fire with him. "Oh, you'll feel better in the morning," cheerfully declared Ned. The man did not answer, and the two chums did not feel much like talking, for they were worn out and weary from their exertions at the fire. The factory had been pretty well consumed, though by strenuous labors the blaze had not extended to adjoining structures. The home of Mary Nestor was saved, and for this Tom Swift was thankful. Mrs. Baggert, the Swift's housekeeper, was indeed glad to have some one to "fuss over," as Tom put it. She prepared a bed for Mr. Baxter, and in this the weary and ill man sank with a sigh of relief. "Can I do anything for you?" asked Tom, as he was about to go out and close the door. "No--thank you," was the halting reply. "I guess nothing can be done. Field and Melling have me where they want me now--down and out." "Do you mean Amos Field and Jason Melling of the fireworks firm?" asked Tom, for the names were familiar to him in a business way. "Yes, the--the scoundrels!" exclaimed Mr. Baxter, and from his voice Tom judged that he was growing stronger. "They pretended to be my friends, giving me a shop in which to work and experiment, and when the time came they took my secret formulae. I believe that is what they started the fire for--to conceal their crime!" "You don't mean that!" cried Tom. "Deliberately to start a fire in a factory where there was powder and other explosives! That would be a terrible crime!" "Field and Melling are capable of just such crimes as that!" said Josephus Baxter, bitterly. "If they took my formulae they wouldn't stop at arson." "Were your formulae for the manufacture of fireworks?" asked Tom. "Not altogether," was the reply. "I had several formulae for valuable chemical combinations. They could be used in fireworks, and that is why I could use the laboratory here. But the main use of my discoveries is in the dye industry. I would have been a millionaire soon, with the rise of the American dye industry following the shutting out of the Germans after the war. But now, with my secret formulae gone, I am no better than a beggar!" "Perhaps it will not be as bad as you think," said Tom, recognizing the fact that Mr. Baxter was in a nervous and excited state. "Matters may look brighter in the morning." "I don't see how they can," was the grim answer. "However, I appreciate all that you have done for me. But I fear my case is hopeless." "I'll see you again in the morning," Tom said, trying to infuse some cheerfulness into his voice. He found Ned waiting for him when he came downstairs. "How is he?" asked the young business manager. "In rather a bad way--mentally, at least," and Tom told of the lost formulae. "Do you know, Ned," he went on, "I have an idea!" "You generally do have--lots of 'em!" Ned rejoined. "But this is a new one," went on Tom. "You saw what trouble they had this evening to get a stream of water to the top stories of that factory, didn't you?" "Yes, the pressure here isn't what it ought to be," Ned agreed. "And some of our engines are old-timers." "Why is it necessary always to fight a fire with water?" Tom continued. "There are plenty of chemicals that will put out a fire much quicker than water." "Of course," Ned answered. "There are plenty of chemical fire extinguishers on the market, too, Tom. If your idea is to invent a new hand grenade, stay off it! A lot of money has been lost that way." "I wasn't thinking of a hand grenade," said Tom, as he drew some sheets of paper across the table to him. "My idea is on a bigger scale. There's no reason, Ned, why a big fire in a tall building, like a sky-scraper, shouldn't be fought from above, as well as from below. Now if I had the right sort of chemicals I could--" Tom paused in a listening attitude. There was the rush of feet and a voice cried: "I'll get them! I'll get the scoundrels!" CHAPTER IV AN EXPERIMENT "That can't be Koku and Rad in one of their periodic squabbles, can it?" asked Ned. "No. It's probably Mr. Baxter," Tom answered. "The doctor said he might get violent once or twice, until the effects of his shock wore off. There is some quieting medicine I can give him. I'll run up." "Guess I'd better go along," remarked Ned. "Sounds as if you'd need help." And it did appear so, for again the frenzied shouts sounded: "I'll get 'em! I'll get the scoundrels who stole my secret formulae that I worked over so many years! Come back now! Don't put the match near the powder!" Tom and Ned hurried to the room where the unfortunate chemist had been put to bed, to find him out in the hall, wrapped in a bedquilt, and with Mrs. Baggert vainly trying to quiet him. Mr. Baxter stared at Tom and Ned without seeing them, for he was in a delirium of fever. "Have you my formulae?" he asked. "I want them back!" "You shall have them in the morning," replied Tom soothingly. "Lie down, and I'll bring them to you in the morning. And drink this," he added, holding out a glass of soothing mixture which the doctor had ordered in case the patient should become violent. Josephus Baxter glared about with wild eyes, but between them Tom and Mrs. Baggert managed to get him to drink the mixture. "Bah! It's as bad as some of my chemicals!" spluttered the chemist, as he handed back the glass. "You are sure you'll have my formulae in the morning?" he asked, as he turned to go back to his room. "I'll do my best," declared Tom cheerfully. "Now please lie down." Which, after some urging, Mr. Baxter consented to do. Eradicate wanted to lie down in the hall outside the excited chemist's door to guard against his emerging again, but Tom decided on Koku. The giant, though not as intelligent as the colored man, was more efficient in an emergency because of his great strength. Eradicate was getting old, and there was a pathetic droop to his figure as he shuffled off when Koku superseded him. "Ah done guess Ah ain't wanted much mo'," muttered Rad sadly. "Oh, yes, you are!" cried Tom, as, the excitement over, he walked downstairs with Ned. "I'm going to start something new, Rad, and I'll need your help." "Will yo', really, Massa Tom?" exclaimed faithful Rad, his face lighting up. "Dat's good! Is yo' goin' off after mo' diamonds, or up to de caves of ice?" "Not quite that," answered the young inventor, recalling the stirring experiences that had fallen to him when on those voyages. "I'm going to work around home, Rad, and I'll need your help." "Anyt'ing yo' wants, Massa Tom! Anyt'ing yo' wants!" offered the now delighted Rad, and he went to bed much happier. "Well, to resume where we left off," began Ned, when he and Tom were once more by themselves, "what's the game?" "Oh, I don't know that it's much of a game," was the answer. "But I just have an idea that a big fire in a towering building can be fought from above with chemicals, as well as from the ground with streams of water. "Well, I guess it could be," Ned agreed. "But how are you going to get your chemicals in at the top? Shoot 'em up through a hose? If you do that you'll need a special kind of hose, for the chemicals will rot anything like rubber or canvas." "I wasn't thinking of a hose," returned Tom. "What then?" asked the young financial manager. "An airship!" Tom exclaimed with such sudden energy that Ned started. "It just came to me!" explained the youthful inventor. "I was wondering how we could get the chemicals in from the top, and an airship is the solution. I can sail over the burning building and drop the chemicals down. That will douse the blaze if my plans go right." Ned was silent a moment, considering Tom's daring plan and project. Then, as it became clearer, the young banker cried: "Blamed if I don't think that's just the thing, Tom! It ought to work, and, if it does, it will save a lot of lives, to say nothing of property! A fire in a sky-scraper ought to be fought from above. Then the extinguisher element, whether chemicals or water, could be dropped where they'd do the most good. As it is now, with water, a lot of it is wasted. Some of it never reaches the heart of the fire, being splashed on the outside of the building. A lot more turns to steam before it hits the flames, and only a small percentage is really effective." "That's my notion," Tom said. "Then go ahead and do it!" urged his friend. "You have my permission!" "Thanks," commented Tom dryly. "But there are several things to be worked out before we can start. I've got to devise some scheme for carrying a sufficient quantity of chemicals, and invent some way of releasing them from an airship over the blaze. But that last part ought to be easy, for I think I can alter my warfare bomb-dropping attachment to serve the purpose. "What I really need, however, is some new chemical combination that will quickly put a really big blaze out of business. There are any number of these chemicals, but most of them depend on the production of carbon dioxide. This is the product of some solution of a carbonate and sulphuric acid, and I suppose, eventually, I'll work out something on that order. But I hope I may get something better." "You haven't delved much into chemistry, have you?" "No. And I wish now that I had. I see my limitations and realize my weakness. But I can brush up a little on my chemistry. As for the mechanical part, that of dropping the extinguisher on the blaze, I'm not worrying over that end." "No," agreed Ned. "You have enough types of airships to be able to select just the best one for the purpose. But, say, Tom!" he suddenly cried, "why not ask him to help you?" "Who?" "Mr. Baxter. He's a chemist. And though he says his formulae are about dyes and fireworks, maybe he can put you in the way of inventing a chemical solution that will be death to fires." "He might," Tom agreed. "But I think he'll be out of business for some time. This shock--being overcome by smoke and his secret formulae having been stolen--seem to have affected his mind. I don't know that I could depend on him." "It's worth trying," declared Ned. "What do you suppose he means, Tom, saying that Field and Melling stole his formulae?" "Haven't the least idea. I only know those fireworks firm members slightly, if at all. I'm not sure I'd recognize them if I met them. But they are reputed to be wealthy, and I hardly think they would stoop to stealing some inventor's formulae. "We inventors are a suspicious lot, Ned, as you probably have found out," he added with a smile. "We imagine the rest of the world is out to cheat us, and I presume Josephus Baxter is no exception. Still, there may be some truth in his story. I'll give him all the help I can. But I'm going into the aerial fire-fighting game. I've been waiting for something new, and this may be it." "You may count on me!" declared Ned. "And now, unless you're going to sit up all night and start studying chemistry, you'd better come to bed." "That's right. Tomorrow is another day. I hope Mr. Baxter gets some rest. Sleep will improve him a lot, the doctor said." "I know one friend of yours who will be glad to know that you are going to start something," remarked Ned, as he and Tom started for their rooms, for the young manager was staying with his friend for the night. "Who?" Tom wanted to know. "Mr. Wakefield Damon," was the answer. "He hasn't been over lately, Tom." "No, he's been off on a little trip, blessing everything from his baggage check to his suspender buttons," laughed the young inventor, as he recalled his eccentric acquaintance. "I shall be glad to see him again." "He'll be right over as soon as he learns what's in the wind," predicted Ned. The hopes that Mr. Baxter would be greatly improved in the morning were doomed to disappointment. He was in no actual danger, the doctor said, but his recovery from the effects of the smoke he had breathed was not as rapid as desired or hoped for. "He's suffering from some shock," said the physician, "and his mental condition is against him. He ought to be kept quiet, and if you can't have him here, Mr. Swift, I can arrange to have him sent to a hospital." "I wouldn't dream of it!" Tom exclaimed. "Let him stay here by all means. We have plenty of room, and Mrs. Baggert has been wishing for some one to nurse. Now she has him." So it was arranged that the chemist should remain at the Swift home, and he gave a languid assent when they spoke to him of the matter. He really was much more ill than seemed at first. But as everything possible had been done, Tom decided to go ahead with the new idea that had come to him--that of inventing an aerial chemical fire-fighting machine. "And if we get a chance, Ned, we'll try to get back those secret formulae Mr. Baxter claims to have lost," Tom declared. "I have heard some stories about that fireworks firm, which make me believe there may be something in Baxter's story." "All right, Tom, I'm with you any time you need me," Ned promised. The young inventor lost little time in beginning his operations. As he had said, the chief need was a fire extinguishing chemical solution or powder. Tom resolved to try the solution first, as it was easier to make. With this end in view he proceeded to delve into old and new chemistry books. He also sought the advice of his father. And one day, when Ned called, Tom electrified his chum with the exclamation: "Well, I'm going to give it a try!" "What?" "My aerial chemical fire-fighting apparatus. Of course I only have the chemical yet. I haven't worked on the carrying apparatus nor decided how I will attach it to an airship. But I'm going up now with some of my new solution and drop it on a blaze from above." "Where are you going to get the fire?" asked Ned. "You can't have a sky-scraper blaze made to order, you know." "No, but as this is only an experiment," Tom said, "a big bonfire will answer the purpose. I'm having Koku and Rad make one now down in our big meadow. As soon as it gets hot enough and fierce enough, I'll sail over it in my small machine, drop the extinguisher on it, and see what happens. Want to come?" "Sure thing!" cried Ned. "And I hope the experiment is a success!" "Thanks," murmured Tom. "I'm about ready to start. All I have to do is to take this tank up with me," and he pointed to one containing his new mixture. "Of course the arrangement for dumping it out of the aircraft is very crude," Tom said. "But I can work on that later." Ned and he were busy putting the can of Tom's new chemical extinguisher in the airship when the door of the hangar was suddenly opened and a very much excited man entered crying: "Fire! Fire! Bless my kitchen sink, your meadow's on fire, Tom Swift! It's blazing high! Fire! Fire!" CHAPTER V THE EXPLOSION Tom and Ned were so startled by the entrance of the excited man with his cry of "Fire!" that the young inventor nearly dropped the tank of liquid extinguisher he was helping to hoist into the aeroplane. Then, as he caught sight of his visitor, Tom exclaimed: "Hello, Mr. Damon! We were wondering whether you'd be along to witness our first experiment." "Experiment, Tom Swift! Experiment! Bless my Latin grammar! but you'd much better be calling out the fire department to play on that blaze down in your meadow. What is it--your barns or one of your new shops?" "Neither one, Mr. Damon," laughed Ned. "It's only a blaze that Koku and Rad started." "And the fire department is here," added Tom. "Where?" inquired the eccentric man. "Here," and Tom pointed to his airship--one of the smaller craft--into which the tank of chemicals had been hoisted. "Oh!" exclaimed Mr. Damon. "Something new, eh, Tom?" His eyes glistened. "Yes. Fighting fires from the air. I got the idea after the fireworks factory went up in smoke. Will you come along? There's plenty of room." "I believe I will," assented Mr. Damon. It was not the first time, by any means, that he had gone aloft with Tom. "I happened to be coming over in my auto," he went on to explain, "when I happened to see the fire down in the meadow. I was afraid you didn't know about it." "Oh, yes," replied Tom. "I had Rad and Koku light a big pile of packing boxes, to represent, as nearly as possible, on a small scale, a burning building. I plan now to sail over it and drop the tins of chemicals. They are arranged to burst as they fall into the blaze, and I hope the carbon dioxide set loose will blanket out the fire." "Sounds interesting," commented Mr. Damon. "I'll go along." The airship was wheeled out of the hangar and was soon ready for the flight. A big cloud of black vapor down in the meadow told Tom and Ned that Koku and Eradicate had done their work well. The giant and the colored man had poured oil over the wood to make a fierce blaze that would give Tom's new chemical combination a severe test. A mechanic turned the propeller of the airship until there was an accumulation of gas in the different cylinders. Then he stepped back while Tom threw on the switch. This was not one of the self-starting types, of which Tom possessed one or two. "Contact!" cried Tom sharply, and the man stepped forward to give the big blades a final turn that would start the motor. There was a muffled roar and then a steady staccato blending of explosions. Tom raced the motor while his men held the machine in place, and then, satisfied that all was well, the young inventor gave the word, and the craft raced over the ground, to soar aloft a little later. Tom, Ned and Mr. Damon could look down to the meadow where the bonfire was blazing. A crowd had collected, but the heat of the blaze kept them at a good distance. Then, as many of the throng caught sight of the airship overhead, there was a new interest for them. Tom had told Ned and Mr. Damon, before the trio had entered the machine, what he wanted them to do. This was to toss the chemicals overboard at the proper time. Of course in his perfected apparatus Tom hoped to have a device by which he could drop the fire extinguishing elements by a mere pressure of his finger or foot, as bombs were released from aircraft during the war. But this would serve for the time being. Nearer and nearer the blaze the airship approached until it was almost above it. Tom had had some experience in bomb-dropping, and knew when to give the signal. At last the signal came. Mr. Damon and Ned heaved over the side the metal containers of the powerful chemicals. Down they went, unerring as an arrow, though on a slant, caused by the impetus given them by the speed of the airship. Tom and his friends leaned over the side of the machine to watch the effect. They could see the chemicals strike the blaze, and it was evident from the manner in which the fire died down that the containers had broken, as Tom intended they should to scatter their contents. "Hurray!" cried Ned, forgetting that he could not be heard, for no head telephones were used on this occasion and the roar of the motor would drown any human voice. "It's working, Tom!" Truly the effect of the chemicals was seemingly to cause the fire to go out, but it was only a momentary dying down. Koku and Rad had made a fierce, yet comparatively small, conflagration, and though for a time the gas generated by Tom's mixture dampened the blaze, in a few seconds--less than half a minute--the flames were shooting higher than ever. Tom made a gesture of disappointment, and swung his craft around in a sharp, banking turn. He had no more chemicals to drop, as he had thought this supply would be sufficient. However, he had guessed badly. The fire burned on, doing no damage, of course, for that had been thought of when it was started in the meadow. "Something wrong!" declared the young inventor, when they were back at the hangar, climbing out of the machine. "What was it?" asked Ned. "Didn't use the right kind of chemicals," Tom answered. "From the way the flames shot up, you'd think I had poured oil on the blaze instead of carbon dioxide." "Bless my insurance policy, Tom!" cried Mr. Damon, "but I'd hate to trust to your apparatus if my house caught." "Don't blame you," Tom assented. "But I'll do the trick yet! This is only a starter!" During the next two weeks the young inventor worked hard in his laboratory, Mr. Swift sometimes helping him, but more often Koku and Eradicate. Mr. Baxter had recovered sufficiently to leave the Swift home. But though the chemist seemed well physically, his mind appeared to be brooding over his loss. "If I could only get my secret formulae back!" he sighed, as he thanked Tom for his kindness. "I'm sure Field and Melling have them. And I believe they got them the night of the fireworks blaze; the scoundrels!" "Well, if I can help you, please let me," begged Tom. And then he dismissed the matter from his mind in his anxiety to hit upon the right chemical mixture for putting out fires from the air. One afternoon, at the end of a week in which he had been busily and steadily engaged on this work, Tom finally moved away from his laboratory table with a sigh of relief, and, turning to Eradicate, who had been helping him, exclaimed: "Well, I think I have it now!" "Good lan' ob massy, I hopes so!" exclaimed the colored man. "It sho' do smell bad enough, Massa Tom, to make any fire go an' run an' drown hisse'f! Whew-up! It's turrible stuff!" "Yes, it isn't very pleasant," Tom agreed, with a smile. "Though I am getting rather used to it. But when it's in a metal tube it won't smell, and I think it will put out any fire that ever started. We'll give it a test now, Rad. Just take that flask of red stuff and pour it into this one of yellow. I'll go out and light the bonfire, and we'll make a small test." Leaving Rad to mix some of the chemicals, a task the colored man had often done before, Tom went out into the yard near his laboratory to start a blaze on which his new mixture could be tested. He had not got far from the laboratory door when he felt a sudden jar and a rush of air, and then followed the dull boom of an explosion. Like an echo came the voice of Eradicate: "Oh, Massa Tom, I'se blowed up! It done sploded right in mah face!" CHAPTER VI TOM IS WORRIED Dropping what he had in his hands, Tom Swift raced back to the laboratory where he had left Eradicate to mix the chemicals. Again the despairing, frightened cry of the colored man rang out. "I hope nothing serious has happened," was the thought that flashed through Tom's mind. "But I'm afraid it has. I should have mixed those new chemicals myself." Koku, the giant, who was at work in another part of the shop yard, heard Rad's cry and came running up. As there was always more or less jealousy between Eradicate and Koku, the latter now thought he had a chance to crow over his rival, not, of course, understanding what had happened. "Ho! Ho!" laughed Koku. "You much better hab me work, Master Tom. I no make blunderstakes like dat black fellow! I never no make him!" "I don't know whether Rad has made a mistake or not," murmured Tom. "Come along, Koku, we may need your help. There has been an explosion." "Yep, dat Rad he don't as know any more as to blow up de whole place!" chuckled Koku. He thought he would have a chance to make fun of Eradicate, but neither he nor Tom realized how serious had been the happening. As the young inventor reached the laboratory, which he had left but a few seconds before, he saw the interior almost in ruins. All about were scattered various pieces of apparatus, test tubes, alembics, retorts, flasks, and an electric furnace. But what gave Tom more concern than anything else was the sight of Eradicate lying in the midst of broken glass on the floor. The colored man was moaning and held his hands over his face, and the young inventor could see that the hands, which had labored so hard and faithfully in his service, were cut and bleeding. "Rad! Rad! what has happened?" cried Tom quickly. "It sploded! It done sploded right in mah face!" moaned Eradicate. "I--I can't see no mo', Massa Tom! I can't see to help yo' nevah no mo'!" "Don't worry about that, Rad!" cried Tom, as cheerfully as possible under the circumstances. "We'll soon have you fixed up! Come in here, Koku, and help me carry Rad out!" Though the fumes from the chemicals that had exploded were choking, causing both Tom and Koku to gasp for breath, they never hesitated. In they rushed and picked up the limp figure of the helpless colored man. "Poor Rad!" murmured the giant Koku tenderly. "Him bad hurt! I carry him, Master Tom! I take him bed, an' I go for doctor! I run like painted pig!" Probably Koku meant "greased pig," but Tom never thought of that. All his concern was for his faithful Eradicate. "Me carry him, Master Tom!" cried Koku, all the petty jealousy of his rival passing away now. "Me take care ob Rad. Him no see, me see for him. Anybody hurt Rad now, got to hurt Koku first!" It was a fine and generous spirit that the giant was showing, though Tom had no time to speculate on it just then. "We must get him into the house, Koku," said the young inventor. "And two of us can carry him better than one. After we get him to a bed you can go for the doctor, though I fancy the telephone can run even quicker than you can, Koku." "Whatever Master Tom say," returned the giant humbly, as he looked with pity at the suffering form of his rival--a rival no longer. It seemed that Rad's working days were over. Tenderly the aged colored man was laid on a lounge in the living room, Mr. Swift and Mrs. Baggert hovering over him. "Where are you worst hurt, Rad?" asked Tom, with a view to getting a line on which physician would be the best one to summon. "It's all in mah face, Massa Tom," moaned the colored man. "It's mah eyes. Dat stuff done sploded right in 'em! I can't see--nevah no mo'!" "Oh, I guess it isn't as bad as that," said Tom. But when he had a glimpse of the seared and wounded face of his faithful servant he could not repress a shudder. A physician was summoned by telephone, and he arrived in his automobile at the same time that Mr. Damon reached Tom's house. "Bless my bottle of arnica, Tom!" exclaimed the eccentric man, with sympathy in his voice. "What's this I hear? One of your men tells me old Eradicate is killed!" "Not as bad as that, yet," replied Tom, as he came out, leaving the doctor to make his first examination. "It was an explosion of my new aerial fire-fighting chemicals that I left Rad to mix for me. If anything serious results to him from this I'll drop the whole business! I'll never forgive myself!" "It wasn't your fault, Tom. Perhaps he did something wrong," said Mr. Damon. "Yes, it was my fault. I should not have let him take the chance with a mixture I had tried only a few times. But we'll hope for the best. How is he, Doctor?" Tom asked a little later when the physician came out on the porch. "He's doing as well as can be expected for the present," was the answer. "I have given him a quieting mixture. His worst injury seems to be to his face. His hands are cut by broken glass, but the hurts are only superficial. I think we shall have to get an eye specialist to look at him in a day or two." "You mean that he--that he may go blind?" gasped Tom. "Well, we'll not decide right away," replied the doctor, as cheerfully as he could. "I should rather have the opinion of an oculist before making that statement. It may be only temporary." "That's bad enough!" muttered Tom. "Poor old Rad!" "Me take care ob him," put in Koku, who had been humbly standing around waiting to hear the news. "Me never be mad at dat black man no more! Him my best friend! I lub him like I did my brudder!" "Thank you, Koku," said Tom, and his mind went back to the time when he had escaped in his airship from the gigantic men, of whom Koku and his brother were two specimens. The brother had gone with a circus, and Koku, for several years, only saw him occasionally. Everything possible was done for Eradicate, and the doctor said that it would be several days, until after the burns from the exploding chemicals had partly healed, before the eye-doctor could make an examination. "Then we can only wait and hope," said Tom. "And hope for the best!" advised Mr. Damon. "I'll try," promised Tom. He went back to the laboratory with his eccentric friend and with Ned, who had come over as soon as he heard the news. Not much of an examination could be made, as the place was in such ruins. But it was surmised that in combining the two chemical mixtures a new one had been created, or at least one that Tom had not counted on. This had exploded, blowing Eradicate down, flaring a sheet of flame up into his face, scattering broken glass about, and generally creating havoc. "I can't understand it," said Tom. "I was trying to make a fire extinguishing liquid, and it turned out to be a fire creator. I don't see what was wrong." "One chemical might have been impure," suggested Ned. "Yes," agreed Tom. "I'll check them over and try to find out where the mistake happened." "This place will have to be rebuilt," observed Ned. "It's in bad shape, Tom." "I don't mind that in the least, if Rad doesn't lose his eyesight," was the answer of the young inventor, and his friends could see that he was much worried, as well he might be. In silence Tom Swift looked about the ruins of what had been a fine chemical laboratory. "It will take a month to get this back in shape," he said ruefully. "I guess I shall have to postpone my experiments." "Why not ask Mr. Baxter to help you?" suggested Ned. "What can he do?" Tom wanted to know. "He hasn't any laboratory." "He has a sort of one," Ned rejoined. "You know you told me to keep track of him and give him any help I could." "Yes," Tom nodded. "Well, the other day he came to me and said he had a chance to set up a small laboratory in a vacant shop near the river. He needed a little capital and I lent it to him, as you told me to." "Glad you did," returned Tom. "But do you suppose his plant is large enough to enable me to work there until mine is in shape again?" "It wouldn't do any harm to take a look," suggested Ned. "I'll do it!" decided Tom, more hopefully than he had spoken since the accident. CHAPTER VII A FORCED LANDING Josephus Baxter seemed to have recovered some of his spirits after his narrow escape from death in the fireworks factory blaze. He greeted Tom and Ned with a smile as they entered the improvised laboratory he had been able to set up in what had once been a factory for the making of wooden ware, an industry that, for some reason, did not flourish in Shopton. "I'm glad to see you, Mr. Swift," said the chemist, who seemed to have aged several years in the few weeks that had intervened since the fire. "I want to thank you for giving me a chance to start over again." "Oh, that's all right," said Tom easily. "We inventors ought to help one another. Are you able to do anything here?" "As much as possible without my secret formulae," was the answer. "If I only had those back from the rascals, Field and Melling, I would be able to go ahead faster. As it is, I am working in the dark. For some of the formulae were given to me by a Frenchman, and I had only one copy. I kept that in the safe of the fireworks concern, and after the fire it could not be found." "Was the safe destroyed?" asked Tom. "No. But the doors were open, and much of what had been inside was in ashes and cinders. Amos Field claimed that the explosion had blown open the safe and burned a lot of their valuable fireworks formulae too." "And you believe they have yours?" asked Ned. "I'm sure of it!" was the fierce answer. "Those men are unprincipled rogues! They had been at me ever since I was foolish enough to tell them about my formulae to get me to sell them a share. But I refused, for I knew the secret mixtures would make my fortune when I could establish a new dye industry. Field and Melling claimed they wanted the formulae for their fireworks, but that was only an excuse. The formulae were not nearly so valuable for pyrotechnics as for dyes. The fireworks business is not so good, either, since so many cities have voted for a 'Sane Fourth of July.'" "I can appreciate that," said Tom. "But what we called for, Mr. Baxter, is to find if you have room enough to let me do a little experimenting here. I am working on a new kind of fire extinguisher, to be dropped on tall buildings from an airship." "Sounds like a good idea," said the chemist, rather dreamily. "Well, I have the airship, and I can see my way clear to perfecting a device to drop the chemicals in metal tanks or bombs," went on Tom. "But what bothers me is the chemical mixture that will put out fires better than the carbon dioxide mixtures now on the market." "I haven't given that much study myself," said Mr. Baxter. "But you are welcome to anything I have, Mr. Swift. The whole place, such as it is, will be at your disposal at any time. I intend to have it in better shape soon, but I have to proceed slowly, as I lost nearly everything I owned in that fire. If I could only get those formulae back!" he sighed. "Perhaps you may recall the combinations," suggested Ned. "Or can't you get them from that Frenchman?" "He is dead," answered the chemist. "Everything seems to be against me!" "Well, it's always darkest just before daylight," said Tom. "So let us hope for the best. We both have had a bit of bad luck. But when I think of Rad, who may lose his eyesight, I can stand my losses smiling." "Yes," agreed Mr. Baxter, "you have big assets when you have your health and eyesight." Three days later the eye specialist looked at Rad. Tom stood by anxiously and waited for the verdict. The doctor motioned to the young inventor to follow him out of the room, while Mrs. Baggert replaced the bandages on the colored man's eyes and Koku stood near him, sympathetically patting Rad on the back. "Well?" asked Tom nervously, as he faced the physician. "I am sorry, Mr. Swift, that I can not hold out much hope that your man will ever regain his sight," was the answer. Tom could not repress a gasp of pity. "I do not say that the case is altogether hopeless," the doctor went on; "but it would be wrong to encourage you to hope for much. I may be able to save partly the sight of one eye." "Poor Rad!" murmured Tom. "This will break his heart." "There is no need for telling him at once," Dr. Henderson said. "It will only make his recovery so much the slower. It will be weeks before I am able to operate, and, meanwhile, he should be kept as comfortable and cheerful as possible." "We'll see to that," declared Tom. "Is he otherwise injured?" "No, it is merely his eyesight that we have to fear for. And, as I said, that is not altogether hopeless, though it would not be honest to let you look for much success. I shall see him from time to time until his eyes are ready to operate on." Tom and his friends were forced to take such comfort as they could from this verdict, but no hint of their downcast feelings were made manifest to Eradicate. "Whut de doctor man done say, Massa Tom?" asked Eradicate when the young inventor went back into the sick room. "Oh, he talked a lot of big Latin words, Rad--bigger words than you used to use on your mule Boomerang," and Tom forced a laugh. "All he meant was that you'd have to stay in bed a while and let Koku wait on you." "Huh! Am dat--dat big--dat big nice man heah now?" asked Rad, feeling around with his bandaged hand; and a smile showed beneath the cloth over his eyes. "I here right upsidedown by you, Rad," said Koku, and his big hand clasped the smaller one of the black man. "Koku--yo'--yo' am mighty good to me," murmured Eradicate. "I reckon I been cross to yo' sometimes, but I didn't mean nuffin' by it!" "Huh! me an' you good friends now," said the giant. "Anybody what hurt my Rad, I--I--bust 'im! Dat I do!" cried the big fellow. "Come on," whispered Tom to Ned. "They'll get along all right together now." But Eradicate caught the sound of his young employer's footsteps and called: "Yo' goin', Massa Tom?" "Yes, Rad. Is there anything you want?" "No, Massa Tom. I jest wanted to ast if yo' done 'membered de time mah mule Boomerang got stuck in de road, an' yo' couldn't git past in yo' auto? Does yo' 'member dat?" "Indeed I do!" laughed Tom, and Eradicate also chuckled at the recollection. "That laugh will do him more good than medicine," declared the doctor, as he took his leave. "I'll come again, when I can make a more thorough examination," he added. For Tom the following days, that lengthened into weeks, were anxious ones. There was a constant worry over Eradicate. Then, too, he was having trouble with his latest invention--his aerial fire-fighting apparatus. It was not that Tom was financially dependent on this invention. He was wealthy enough for his needs from other patented inventions he and his father owned. But Tom Swift was a lad not easily satisfied. Once embarked on an enterprise, whether it was the creation of a gigantic searchlight, an electric rifle, a photo telephone or a war tank, he never rested until he had brought it to a successful consummation. But there was something about this chemical fire extinguishing mixture that defied the young inventor's best efforts. Mixture after mixture was tried and discarded. Tom wanted something better than the usual carbonate and sulphuric combination, and he was not going to rest until he found it. "I think you've struck a blind lead, Tom," said Ned, more than once. "Well, I'm not going to give up," was the firm answer. "Bless my shoe laces!" cried Mr. Damon, when he had called on Tom once at the Baxter laboratory and had been driven out, holding his breath, because of the chemical fumes, "I should think you couldn't even start a fire with that around, Tom, much less need to put one out." "Well, it doesn't seem to work," said the young inventor ruefully. "Everything I do lately goes wrong." "It is that way sometimes," said Mr. Baxter. "Suppose you let me study over your formulae a bit, Mr. Swift. I haven't given much thought to fire extinguishers, but I may be able, for that very reason, to approach the subject from a new angle. I'll lay aside my attempt to get back the lost formulae and help you." "I wish you would!" exclaimed Tom eagerly. "My head is woozie from thinking! Suppose I leave you to yourself for a time, Mr. Baxter? I'll go for an airship ride." "Yes, do," urged the chemist. "Sometimes a change of scene is of benefit. I'll see what I can do for you." "Will you come along, Ned--Mr. Damon?" asked Tom, as he prepared to leave the improvised laboratory, the repairs on his own not yet having been finished. "Thank you, no," answered Ned. "I have some collections to make." "And I promised my wife I'd take her riding, Tom," said the jolly, eccentric man. "Bless my umbrella! she'd never forgive me if I went off with you. But I'll run you to your first stopping place, Ned, and you to your hangar, Tom." His invitation was accepted, and, in due season, Tom was soaring aloft in one of his speedy cloud craft. "Guess I'll drop down and get Mary Nestor," he decided, after riding about alone for a while and finding that the motor was running sweetly and smoothly. "She hasn't been out lately." Tom made a landing in a field not far from the home of the girl he hoped to marry some day, and walked over to her house. "Go for a ride? I just guess. I will!" cried Mary, with sparkling eyes. "Just wait until I get on my togs." She had a leather suit, as had Tom, and they were soon in the machine, which, being equipped with a self-starter, did not need the services of a mechanician to whirl the propellers. "Oh, isn't it glorious!" said Mary, as she sat at Tom's side. They were in a little enclosed cabin of the craft--which carried just two--and, thus enclosed, they could speak by raising their voices somewhat, for the noise of the motor was much muffled, due to one of Tom's inventions. Other rides on other days followed this one, for Tom found more rest and better refreshment after his hours of toil and study in these rides with Mary than in any other way. "I do love these rides, Tom!" the girl cried one day when the two were soaring aloft. "And this one I really believe is better than any of the rest. Though I always think that," she added, with a slight laugh. "Glad you like it," Tom answered, and there was something in his voice that caused Mary to look curiously at him. "What's the matter, Tom?" she asked. "Has anything happened? Is Rad's case hopeless?" "Oh, no, not yet. Of course it isn't yet sure that he will ever see again, but, on the other hand, it isn't decided that he can't. It's a fifty-fifty proposition." "But what makes you so serious?" "Was I?" "I should say so! You haven't told me one funny thing that Mr. Damon has said lately." "Oh, haven't I? Well, let me see now," and he sent the machine up a little. "Well, the other day he--" Tom suddenly stopped speaking and began rapidly turning several valve wheels and levers. "What--what's the matter?" gasped Mary, but she did not clutch his arm. She knew better than that. "The motor has stopped," Tom answered, and the girl became aware of a cessation of the subdued hum. "Is it--does it mean danger?" she asked. "Not necessarily so," Tom replied. "It means we have to make a forced landing, that's all. Sit tight! We're going down rather faster than usual, Mary, but we'll come out of it all right!"' CHAPTER VIII STRANGE TALK There was a rapid and sudden drop. Mary, sitting beside Tom Swift in the speedy aeroplane, watched with fascinated eyes as he quickly juggled with levers and tried different valve wheels. The girl, through her goggles, had a vision of a landscape shooting past with the speed of light. She glimpsed a brook, and, almost instantly, they had skimmed over it. A jar, a nerve-racking tilt to one side, the creaking of wood and the rattle of metal, a careening, and then the machine came to a stop, not exactly on a level keel, but at least right side up, in the midst of a wide field. Tom shut off the gas, cut his spark, and, raising his goggles, looked down at Mary at his side. "Scared?" he asked, smiling. "I was," she frankly admitted. "Is anything broken, Tom?" "I hope not," answered the young inventor. "At least if it is, the damage is on the under part. Nothing visible up here. But let me help you out. Looks as if we'd have to run for it." "Run?" repeated Mary, while proving that she did not exactly need help, for she was getting out of her seat unaided. "Why? Is it going to catch fire?" "No. But it's going to rain soon--and hard, too, if I'm any judge," Tom said. "I don't believe I'll take a chance trying to get the machine going again. We'll make for that farmhouse and stay there until after the storm. Looks as if we could get shelter there, and perhaps a bit to eat. I'm beginning to feel hungry." "It is going to rain!" decided Mary, as Tom helped her down over the side of the fusilage. "It's good we are so near shelter." Tom did not answer. He was making a hasty but accurate observation of the state of his aeroplane. The landing wheels had stood the shock well, and nothing appeared to be broken. "We came down rather harder than I wanted to," remarked Tom, as he crawled out after his inspection of the machine. "Though I've made worse forced landings than that." "What caused it?" asked Mary, glancing up at the clouds, which were getting blacker and blacker, and from which, now and then, vivid flashes of lightning came while low mutterings of thunder rolled nearer and nearer. "Something seemed to be wrong with the carburetor," Tom answered. "I won't try to monkey with it now. Let's hike for that farmhouse. We'll be lucky if we don't get drenched. Are you sure you're all right, Mary?" "Certainly, Tom. I can stand a worse shaking up than that. And you needn't think I can't run, either!" She proved this by hastening along at Tom's side. And there was need of haste, for soon after they left the stranded aeroplane the big drops began to pelt down, and they reached the house just as the deluge came. "I don't know this place, do you, Tom?" asked Mary, as they ran in through a gateway in a fence that surrounded the property. A path seemed to lead all around the old, rambling house, and there was a porch with a side entrance door. This, being nearer, had been picked out by the young inventor and his friend. "No, I don't remember being here before," Tom answered. "But I've passed the place often enough with Ned and Mr. Damon. I guess they won't refuse to let us sit on the porch, and they may be induced to give us a glass of milk and some sandwiches--that is, sell them to us." He and Mary, a little breathless from their run, hastened up on the porch, slightly wet from the sudden outburst of rain. As Tom knocked on the door there came a clap of thunder, following a burst of lightning, that caused Mary to put her hands over her ears. "Guess they didn't hear that," observed Tom, as the echoes of the blast died away. "I mean my knock. The thunder drowned it. I'll try again." He took advantage of a lull in the thundering reverberations, and tapped smartly. The door was almost at once opened by an aged woman, who stared in some amazement at the young people. Then she said: "Guests must go to the front door." "Guests!" exclaimed Tom. "We aren't exactly guests. Of course we'd like to be considered in that light. But we've had an accident--my aeroplane stopped and we'd like to stay here out of the storm, and perhaps get something to eat." "That can be arranged--yes," said the old woman, who spoke with a foreign accent. "But you must go to the front door. This is the servant's entrance." Mary was just thinking that they used considerable formality for casual wayfarers, when the situation dawned on Tom Swift. "Is this a restaurant--an inn?" he asked. "Yes," answered the old woman. "It is Meadow Inn. Please go to the front door." "All right," Tom agreed good-naturedly. "I'm glad we struck the place, anyhow." The porch extended around three sides of the old, rambling house. Proceeding along the sheltered piazza, Tom and Mary soon found themselves at the front door. There the nature of the place was at once made plain, for on a board was lettered the words "Meadow Inn." "I see what has happened," Tom remarked, as he opened the old-fashioned ground glass door and ushered Mary in. "Some one has taken the old farmhouse and made it into a roadhouse--a wayside inn. I shouldn't think such a place would pay out here; but I'm mighty glad we struck it." "Yes, indeed," agreed Mary. The old farmhouse, one of the best of its day, had been transformed into a roadhouse of the better class. On either side of the entrance hall were dining rooms, in which were set small tables, spread with snowy cloths. "In here, sir, if you please," said a white-aproned waiter, gliding forward to take Tom's leather coat and Mary's jacket of like material. The waiter ushered them into a room, in which at first there seemed to be no other diners. Then, from behind a screen which was pulled around a table in one corner, came the murmur of voices and the clatter of cutlery on china, which told of some one at a meal there. "Somebody is fond of seclusion," thought Tom, as he and Mary took their places. And as he glanced over the bill of fare his ears caught the murmur of the voices of two men coming from behind the screen. One voice was low and rumbling, the other high-pitched and querulous. "Talking business, probably," mused Tom. "What do you feel like eating?" he asked Mary. "I wasn't very hungry until I came in," she answered, with a smile. "But it is so cozy and quaint here, and so clean and neat, that it really gives one an appetite. Isn't it a delightful place, Tom? Did you know it was here?" "It is very nice. And as this is the first I have been here for a long while I didn't know, any more than you, that it had been made into a roadhouse. But what shall I order for you?" "I should think you would have had enough experience by this time," laughed Mary, for it was not the first occasion that she and Tom had dined out. Thereupon he gave her order and his own, too, and they were soon eating heartily of food that was in keeping with the appearance of the place. "I must bring Ned and Mr. Damon here," said Tom. "They'll appreciate the quaintness of this inn," for many of the quaint appointments of the old farmhouse had been retained, making it a charming resort for a meal. "Mr. Damon will like it," said Mary. "Especially the big fireplace," and she pointed to one on which burned a blaze of hickory wood. "He'll bless everything he sees." "And cause the waiter to look at me as though I had brought in an escaped inmate from some sanitarium," laughed Tom. "No use talking, Mr. Damon is delightfully queer! Now what do you want for dessert?" "Let me see the card," begged Mary. "I fancy some French pastry, if they have it." Tom gazed idly but approvingly about as she scanned the list. The sound of the rumbling and the higher-pitched voices had gone on throughout the entire meal, and now, as comparative silence filled the room, the clatter of knives and forks having ceased, Tom heard more clearly what was being said behind the screen. "Well, I tell you what it is," said the man whom Tom mentally dubbed Mr. High. "We got out of that blaze mighty luckily!" "Yes," agreed he of the rumbly voice, whom Tom thought of as Mr. Low, "it was a close shave. If it hadn't been for his chemicals, though, there would have been a cleaner sweep." "Indeed there would! I never knew that any of them could act as fire extinguishers." Tom seemed to stiffen at this, and his hearing became more acute. "They aren't really fire extinguishers in the real sense of the word," went on the other man behind the screen. "It must have been some accidental combination of them. But in spite of that we put it all over Josephus Baxter in that fire!" "What's this? What's this?" thought Tom, shooting a glance at Mary and noting that apparently she had not heard what was said. "What strange talk is this?" CHAPTER IX SUSPICIONS "What's that?" exclaimed Mary Nestor, giving such a start as she sat opposite Tom at the restaurant table that she dropped the bill of fare she had been looking over. A crash had resounded through the room, but it spoke well for the state of Tom's nerves that he gave no indication that he had heard the noise. It was caused by a waiter when he dropped a plate, which was smashed into pieces on the floor. The noise was startling enough to excuse Mary for jumping in her chair, and it seemed to put an end to the strange talk of "Mr. High" and "Mr. Low" back of the screen, for after the crash of china only indistinct murmurs came from there. But Tom Swift did not cease to wonder at the import of the talk about chemicals, fire, and the mention of the name of Josephus Baxter. "I think I'll try some of those Murolloas, as they call them, Tom," announced Mary, having made her selection of the pastry. "And may I have another cup of tea?" "Two if you like," answered the young inventor. "They say tea is good for the nerves, and you seem to need something, judging by the way you jumped when that plate fell." "Oh, Tom, that isn't fair! After the way we had to come down in your 'plane!" objected Mary. "That's right!" he conceded. "I forgot about that. My fault, entirely!" Mary smiled, and seemed to have regained her composure. Tom glanced at her anxiously, not because of what he thought might be the state of her nerves, but to see if she had sensed anything the two men behind the screen had said. But the girl gave no indication that her mind had been occupied with anything more than the selection of her dessert. "I wonder who they are, and what they meant by that talk," mused Tom, as the waiter served the Murolloas to him and Mary. "Poor Baxter! It looks as if he might have more enemies than the fireworks men he accuses of having taken his valuable formulae. I must see him soon, and have a talk with him. Yes, I must make a special point to see Josephus Baxter. But first I'd like to have a glimpse of these men." Tom's wish in this respect was soon gratified, for before he and Mary had finished their pastry and tea there was a scraping of chairs back of the sheltering screen, and the two men, "Mr. Low" and "Mr. High," who had finished their meal, came forth. Tom's judgment as to the statures of the men, based on the quality of their voices, was not exactly borne out. For it was the big man who had the high pitched, squeaky voice, and the little man who had the deep, rumbling tones. They passed out, without more than a glance at Tom and his companion, but the young inventor peered at them sharply. As far as he could tell he had seen neither of them before, though he had an idea of their identity. Tom took the chance to make certain this conjecture when Mary left her seat, announcing that she was going to the ladies' parlor to arrange her hair, which the run to escape from the rain had disarranged. "Some storm," Tom observed to the waiter, who came up when the young inventor indicated that he wanted his check. "Yes, sir, it came suddenly. Hope you didn't have to change a tire in it, sir." "No, my machine isn't that kind," replied Tom, as he handed out a generous tip. "If I need a new tire I generally need a whole new outfit." "Oh, then--" Obviously the man was puzzled. "We came in an aeroplane," Tom explained. "But we had to make a forced landing. Is there a garage near here? I may need some help getting started." "We accommodate a few cars in what was once the barn, and we have a good mechanic, sir. If you'd like to see him--" "I would," interrupted Tom. "Tell the young lady to wait here for me. I'll see if I can get the Scud to work. If not, I'll have to telephone to town for a taxi. Did those men who just left come in a car?" and he nodded in the direction taken by the two who had dined behind the screen. "Yes, sir. And they had engine trouble, I believe. Our man fixed up their machine." "Then he's the chap I want to see," thought Tom. "I'll have a talk with him." He reasoned that he could get more about the identity of the two mysterious men from the mechanic than from the waiter. Nor was he wrong in this surmise. "Oh, them two fellers!" exclaimed the mechanician, after he had agreed to go with Tom to where the airship Scud was stalled. "They come from over Shopton way. They own a fireworks factory--or they did, before it burned." "Are they Field and Melling?" asked Tom, trying not to let any excitement betray itself in his voice. "That's the names they gave me," said the man. "Little man's Field. He gave me his card. I'm going to get a job overhauling his car. There isn't enough work here to keep a man busy, and I told 'em I could do a little on the outside. This place just started, and not many folks know about it yet." "So I judge," Tom said. "Well, I'll be glad to have you give me a hand. I fancy the carburetor is out of order." And this, when the young inventor and the mechanician from Meadow Inn reached the stranded Scud, was found to be the case. The storm had passed, and Mary told Tom she would not mind waiting at the Inn until he found whether or not he could get his air craft in working order. "There you are! That's the trouble!" exclaimed the mechanician, as he took something out of the carburetor. "A bit of rubber washer choked the needle valve." "Glad you found it," said Tom heartily. "Now I guess we can ride back." While preparations were being made to test the Scud after the carburetor had been reassembled, Tom's mind was busy with many thoughts, and chief among them were suspicions concerning Field and Melling. "If their talk meant anything at all," reasoned the young inventor, "it meant that there was some deal in which Josephus Baxter got the worst of it. 'Putting it over on him in the fire,' could only mean that. Of course it isn't any of my business, in a way, but I don't think it is right to stand by and see a fellow inventor defrauded. "Of course," mused Tom, while his helper put the finishing touches to the carburetor, "it may have been a business deal in which one took as many chances as the other. There are always two sides to every story. Baxter says they took his formulae, but he may have taken something from them to make it even. The only thing is that I'd trust Baxter sooner than I would those two fellows, and he certainly had a narrow squeak at the fire. "But I have my own troubles, I guess, trying to perfect that fire-fighting chemical, and I haven't much time to bother with Field and Melling, unless they come my way." "There, I reckon she'll work," said the mechanician, as he fastened the last valve in the carburetor. "It was an easier job than I expected. Wasn't as much trouble as I had over their car those two fellers you were speaking of--Field and Melling. They're rich guys!" "Yes?" replied Tom, questioningly. "Sure! They've started a big dye company." "A dye company?" repeated the young inventor, all his suspicions coming back as he recalled that Baxter had said his formulae were more valuable for dyes than for fireworks. "Yes, they're trying to get the business that used to go to the Germans before the war," went on the man. "Yes, the Germans used to have a monopoly of the dye industry," said Tom, hoping the man would talk on. He need not have worried. He was of the talkative type. "Well, if these fellers have their way they'll make a million in dyes," proceeded the mechanician, as he stepped down out of the airship. "They've built a big plant, and they have offices in the Landmark Building." "Where's that?" asked Tom. "Over in Newmarket," the man went on, naming the nearest large city to Shopton. "The Landmark Building is a regular New York skyscraper. Haven't you seen it?" "No," Tom answered, "I haven't. Been too busy, I guess. So Field and Melling have their offices there?" "Yes, and a big plant on the outskirts for making dyes. They half offered me a job at the factory, but I thought I'd try this out first; I like it here." "It is a nice place," agreed Tom. "Well, now let's see if she'll work," and he nodded at the Scud. It needed but a short test to demonstrate this and soon Tom went back to the Inn for Mary. "Are you sure we shall not have to make another forced landing?" she asked with a smile, a she took her place in the cockpit. "You can't guarantee anything about an aeroplane," said Tom. "But everything is in our favor, and if we do have to come down I have a better landing field than this." He glanced over the meadow near the wayside inn. "I suppose I'll have to take a chance," said Mary. However, neither of them need have worried, for the Scud tried, evidently, to redeem herself, and flew back to Shopton without a hitch. After making sure that his engine was running smoothly, Tom found his mind more at ease, and again he caught himself casting about to find some basis for his suspicious thoughts regarding the two men who had talked behind the screen. "What is their game?" Tom found himself asking himself over and over again. "What did they 'put over' on poor Baxter?" Tom had a chance to find out more about this, or at least start on the trail sooner than he expected. For when he landed he saw Koku, the giant, coming toward him with an appearance of excitement. "Is Rad worse? Is there more trouble with his eyes?" asked the young inventor. "No, him not much too bad," answered Koku. "I keep him good as I can. He sleep now, so I come out to swallow some fresh air. But man come to see you--much mad man." "Mad?" queried Tom. "Well, what you say--angry," went on Koku. "Man what was in Roman Skycracker blaze." "Oh, you mean Mr. Baxter, who was in the fireworks blaze," translated Tom. "Where is he, and what's the matter?" CHAPTER X ANOTHER ATTEMPT Koku managed to make Tom understand that the dye inventor was in the main office of the Swift plant talking to Tom's father. The young inventor sent Mary home in his electric runabout in company with Ned Newton, who, fortunately, happened along just then, and hurried to his office. "Oh, Tom, I'm glad you have arrived," said his father. "You remember Mr. Baxter, of course." "I should hope so," Tom answered, extending his hand. He noticed that the man whom he had helped save from the fireworks blaze was under the stress of some excitement. "I hope he hasn't been getting on dad's nerves," thought Tom, as he took a seat. The elder Mr. Swift had been quite ill, and it was thought for a time that he would have to give up helping Tom. But there had been a turn for the better, and the aged inventor had again taken his place in the laboratory, though he was frail. "What's the trouble now?" asked Tom. "At least I assume there has been some trouble," he went on. "If I am wrong--" "No, you are right, unfortunately," said Mr. Baxter gloomily. "The trouble is that everything I do is a failure. Up to a little while ago I thought I might succeed, in spite of Field and Melling's theft of the formulae from me. I made a purple dye the other day, and tested it today. It was a miserable failure, and it got on my nerves. I came to see if you could help me." "In what way?" asked Tom, wondering whether or not he had best tell Mr. Baxter what he had overheard at the Inn. "Well, I need better laboratory facilities," the man went on. "I know you have been very kind to me, Mr. Swift, and it seems like an imposition to ask for more. But I need a different lot of chemicals, and they cost money. I also need some different apparatus. You have it in your big laboratory. That wouldn't cost you anything. But of course to go out and buy what I need--" "Oh I guess we can stand that, can't we, Dad?" asked Tom, with a genial smile. "You may have free access to our big laboratory, Mr. Baxter, and I'll see that you get what chemicals you need." "Oh, thank you!" exclaimed the inventor. "Now I believe I shall succeed in spite of those rascals. Just think, Mr. Swift! They have started a big new dye factory." "So I have heard," replied Tom. "And I'm almost sure they're using the secret formulae they stole from me!" exclaimed Mr. Baxter. "But I'll get the best of them yet! I'll invent a better dye than they ever can, even if they use the secrets the old Frenchman gave me. All I need is a better place to work and all the chemicals at my disposal." "Then we'll try to help you," offered Tom. "And if I can do anything let me know," put in Mr. Swift. "I shall be glad to get in the harness again, Tom!" he added. "Well, if you're so anxious to work, Dad, why not give me a hand with my fire extinguisher chemical?" asked Tom. "I haven't been able to hit on the solution, somehow or other." "Perhaps I may be able to give you a hint or two after I get settled down," suggested Mr. Baxter. "I shall be glad of any assistance you can give," replied Tom Swift. "And now I'm going to start right in. Dad, you can make the arrangements for Mr. Baxter to use our big laboratory. And let him have credit for any chemicals he needs. Have them put on my bill, for I am buying a lot myself." "I'll never forget this," said Mr. Baxter, and there were tears in his eyes as he shook hands with Tom, who tried to make light of his generous act. Tom, after the wrecking of his laboratory, in which accident poor Eradicate was injured, had built himself another--two others, in fact, after having shared Mr. Baxter's temporary one for a time. Tom put up the most completely equipped laboratory that could be devised, and he also erected a smaller one for his own personal use, the main one being at the disposal of his father and the various heads of the different departments of the Shopton plant. The little conference broke up, and Tom was on his way to his own special private laboratory when there came the sound of some excitement in the corridor outside and Mr. Damon burst in. "Bless my accident policy, Tom! what's this I hear?" he asked, all in a fluster. "I'm sure I don't know," answered the young inventor, with a smile. "What about?" "About you and Mary Nestor being killed!" burst out Mr. Damon. "I heard you fell in the aeroplane and were both dashed to pieces!" "If you can believe the evidence of your own eyes, I'm far from being in that state," laughed Tom. "And as for Mary, she just left here with Ned Newton." "Thank goodness!" sighed Mr. Damon, sinking into a chair. "Bless my elevator! I rushed over as soon as I heard the news, and I was almost afraid to come in. I'm so glad it didn't happen!" "No gladder than I," said Tom. "We had to make a forced landing, that was all," and he made as light of the incident as possible when he saw the look of terror in his father's eyes. "Some people in Waterford saw you going down," went on Mr. Damon, "and they told me." "It was a false alarm," replied Tom. "And now, Mr. Damon, if you want to smell some perfumes come with me." "Are you going into that line, Tom?" asked the eccentric man. "Bless my handkerchief, my wife will be glad of that!" "I mean I'm going to experiment some more with fire-extinguishing chemicals," laughed the young inventor. "If you want to--" "Bless my gas mask, I should say not!" cried Mr. Damon. "I don't see how you stand those odors, Tom Swift." "Guess I'm used to 'em," was the answer. And then, leaving his father to entertain Mr. Damon and to make arrangements for Mr. Baxter's use of the main laboratory, he betook himself to his own private quarters. The next week or so was a busy time for Tom; so busy, in fact, that he had little chance to see Mr. Baxter. All he knew was that the unfortunate man was also laboring in his own line, and Tom wished him success. He knew that if the man made any discoveries that would help with the fire-extinguishing fluid he would report, as he had promised. "Well, Tom, how goes it?" asked Ned one day when he came over to call on his chum. "Are you ready to accept contracts for putting out skyscraper blazes in all big cities?" "Not yet," was the answer. "But I'm going to make another attempt, Ned." "You mean another experiment?" "Yes, I have evolved a new combination of chemicals, using something of the carbonate idea as a basis. I found that I couldn't get away from that, much as I wanted to. But my application is entirely new, at least I hope it will prove so." "When are you going to try it?" asked Ned. "Right away. All I have to do is to put the chemicals in the metal tank." "Then I'd better get my leather suit on," remarked Ned, starting to take off his street coat. Tom kept for his chum a full outfit of flying garments, one suit being electrically heated. "Oh, we aren't going up in any airship," Tom said. "Why, I thought you were going to test your aerial fire fighting dingus!" exclaimed Ned. "So I am. But I want to stay on the ground and watch the effect on the blaze as the tank bursts and scatters the chemical fluid." "Then you want me, and perhaps Mr. Damon to take the stuff up in the machine? Excuse me. I don't believe I care to run an airship myself." "No," went on Tom, "there isn't any question of an airship this time. No one is going up. Come on out into the yard and I'll show you." Ned Newton followed his chum out into the big yard near one of the shops. Erected in it, and evidently a new structure, was a large wooden scaffold in square tower shape with a long overhanging arm and a platform on the extremity. Beneath it was a pit dug in the earth, and in this pit, which was directly under the outstanding arm of the tower, was a pile of wood and shavings, oil-soaked. "Oh, I see the game," remarked Ned. "You're going to drop the stuff from this height instead of doing it from an airship." "Yes," Tom answered. "There will be time enough to go on with the airship end of it after I get the right combination of chemicals. And by having a metal container with the stuff in dropped from this frame work, I can station myself as near the burning pit as I can get and watch what happens." "It's a good idea," decided Ned. "I wonder you didn't try that before." "Mr. Baxter suggested it," replied Tom. "That helpful idea more than pays me for what I have done for him. So now, if you're ready, I'd like to have you watch with me and make some notes, one of us on one side of the pit, and one on the other. There are always two sides to a fire, the leeward and the windward, and I want to see how my chemicals act in both positions." "I'm with you," said Ned. "Who's going to drop the stuff--Koku?" "No, he is a bit too heavy for the framework, which I had put up in a hurry. I'd have Rad do it, but he's out of the game." "Poor old Rad!" murmured Ned. "Do you think he'll ever get better, Tom?" "I don't know," sighed the young inventor. "All I can do is to hope. He is very patient, and Koku is devoted to him. All their little bickerings and squabbles seem to have been forgotten." Tom called some of his workmen, some of them to start the blaze of inflammable material in the pit, while one climbed up to the top of the tower of scantlings and made his way out on the extended arm, where there was a little platform for him to stand until it was time to drop the chemicals. "Light her up!" cried Tom Swift, and a match was thrown in among the oiled wood. In an instant a fierce blaze shot up, as hot, in proportion, as would come from any burning building. For the second time Tom was about to make a test on a fairly large scale of his experimental extinguisher mixture. "All ready up there?" he called to his helper perched high in the air. "All ready!" came back the answer above the roar and crackle of the flames that made Tom and Ned step back. Would success or failure attend the young inventor's project? CHAPTER XI THE BLAZING TREE Tom Swift hesitated a moment before giving the final word that would send the metal container of powerful chemicals down into the midst of the crackling flames. He wanted to make sure, in his own mind, that he had done everything possible to insure the success of his undertaking. The young inventor never attempted the solution of any problem without going into it with his whole energy. So he wanted this experiment to succeed. He quickly reviewed, mentally, the composition of the chemical compound. He had made it as strong as possible, and he had spared no pains to insure a hot fire, so that the test would not be too simple. "What's the matter, Tom?" asked Ned, as his chum appeared to hesitate about giving the word that would send the chemicals hurtling down into the fire. "Nothing. I was just making sure I hadn't forgotten anything," Tom answered. "I guess I haven't." He paused a moment, looked up at his assistant on the overhanging arm of the tower, glanced down at the flames, now at their height, and then suddenly cried: "Let her go!" "Right!" came back the man's voice, and then a dark object, like a bomb, was seen descending from the skeleton framework above the flames. There was a scattering of the fire in the pit as the extinguisher bomb fell among the blazing embers. Then followed a slight explosion when the bomb broke, as it was intended it should. Tom and Ned leaned forward to peer through the pall of smoke which swirled this way and that. Here was to come the real test of the device. Would the fumes of the liberated chemicals choke the fire, or would it burn on in spite of them? That was the question to be settled for Tom Swift. Almost immediately he had his answer. For after a fierce burst of the tongues of fire following the fall of the bomb, there was a distinct dying down of the conflagration in the pit. Great clouds of smoke arose, but the fire was quenched in a great measure, and as the fire-blanketing gas continued to be generated from the chemicals liberated from the bomb, there was a further dying down of the crackling fire. "Tom, you've struck it!" yelled Ned in delight. "You have the right combination this time!" Tom did not answer. He leaned forward and looked eagerly down into the pit. He was about to join with Ned in agreeing that he had, indeed, solved the problem, when, to his surprise, the flames started up again. "What's this?" asked the young financial manager. "Are you going to have a second test, Tom?" "Not that I know of," was the puzzled answer. "I don't exactly understand this myself, Ned. By all calculations this fire ought to have died a natural death, but now it is breaking out again. I think what must have happened is that a quantity of the oil they poured on collected in a pool and didn't get all the effects of the chemicals from the bomb. Then the oil started to blaze." "What can you do about it?" Ned wanted to know. "Oh, I've got another bomb up there," and Tom pointed to his helper who was still perched on the overhanging arm. "I was prepared for some such emergency as this. Drop the other one!" Tom yelled, and again a dark object fell, bursting in the pit and again liberating the gas that was supposed to choke any fire. The flames that had started up for the second time instantly died down, and Ned, leaning over the edge of the pit, cried: "Hurray, Tom! That does the business!" But the young inventor shook his head. "I'm not quite satisfied," he remarked. "It didn't work quickly enough. What I want is a chemical combination that will choke the fire off first shot." "Well, you pretty nearly have it," observed Ned. "Yes. But 'good enough' isn't what I want," Tom said. "I've got to work on that chemical compound again. I think I know where I can improve it." "Well, if I were a fire, and I had this happen to me," remarked Ned, laughing and pointing to the heap of blackened embers in the pit, "I should feel very much discouraged." "But not enough," declared Tom. "I want the fire to be out more quickly than this one was. I think I can improve that chemical compound, and I'm going to do it." "All right! Come on down!" he called to his helper, who was still perched on the overhanging arm. "We won't do any more today." "What is your next move?" asked Ned, as Tom started for his small, private laboratory. "Oh, I'm going to fiddle around among those sweet-smelling chemicals," answered the young inventor. "Bless my vest buttons! then I'm not coming in, exclaimed a voice which could proceed from none other than Mr. Damon. And he it proved to be. He had driven over from Waterford in his automobile and had arrived just as the fire test was concluded. "Oh, come on in!" called Tom. "You can visit with dad, and Eradicate will be glad to see you." "Poor Rad! How is he?" asked Mr. Damon, walking along with Tom and Ned. "No change," was the sad answer of the young inventor, for he felt responsible for the mishap to the colored man. "They can't operate on his eyes yet." "And when they do will he be able to see?" asked Mr. Damon. "That is what we are all hoping," answered Tom with a sigh. "But do go in to see him, Mr. Damon. It will cheer him up." "I will," promised the eccentric man. "At any rate I'll not venture near your perfume shop, Tom Swift!" "And I don't see that I can be of any service," added Ned, "so I'm off to my work." "All right," assented Tom. "I've got several new schemes to try. Some of them ought to work." Tom Swift was very busy for the next few days--so busy, in fact, that even Mary saw little of him. He was closeted with Mr. Baxter more than once, and that individual seemed to lose some of his bitter feelings over the loss of his formulae as he found he could be of service to the young inventor. For he was of service in suggesting new ways of combining fire-fighting chemicals, gained by his association with the fireworks concern. "And that's about all the benefit I derived from being with those scoundrels, Field and Melling," said Mr. Baxter gloomily. "You still think they took your dye formulae?" asked Tom. "I'm positive of it, but I can't prove anything. They threatened to get the best of me when I would not sell them, for a ridiculously low sum, an interest in the secrets. And I believe they did get the best of me during that fire." "I believe the same!" exclaimed Tom. "How is that? What do you know? Can you help me prove anything against them?" eagerly asked the chemist. "Well, I don't know," answered Tom slowly. "I'll tell you what I heard." Thereupon he related the conversation he had overheard while with Mary at the wayside inn. The eyes of Josephus Baxter gleamed as he listened to this recital. "So that was their game!" he cried, as he smote the table with his fist, thereby nearly upsetting a test tube of acid, which Tom caught just in time. "I knew something crooked was going on, and they thought I'd be so badly overcome in the fire that I wouldn't know, or wouldn't remember, what happened." "What did happen?" asked Tom. "All I know is that you were overcome in the laboratory room." "It's too long a story to tell in detail now," said Mr. Baxter. "But the main facts are that through misrepresentations I was induced to associate myself with Field and Melling. They had a good factory for the making of fireworks, and some of the chemicals used in that industry also enter into the manufacture of the kind of dyes I have in mind to make. So I associated myself with them, they agreeing to let me use their laboratory. "One night they came to see me as I was working there over my formulae. They pretended to have discovered something in an expired patent that nullified what I had. I did not believe this to be so, and I brought out my formulae to compare with theirs--or what they said they had. The next thing I remember was that the fire broke out and my formulae disappeared. Then I was overcome, and I did not care what happened to me, for, having lost the valuable dye formulae, I did not think life worth living. "Perhaps I was foolish," said Mr. Baxter, "but I had tried so many things and failed, and I counted so much on these formulae that it seemed as if the bottom dropped out of everything when I lost them." "I know," said Tom sympathetically. "I've been in the same boat myself. But are you sure they took the papers which meant so much to you?" "I don't see who else could," answered the chemist. "The papers were in a tin box on the table in the room where I was overcome by fire gases, or where, perhaps, they drugged me. I am not clear on this point. And afterward the tin box could not be found. There wasn't enough fire in that room to have melted it." "No," agreed Tom, "it was mostly smoke in there, and smoke won't melt tin. Nor did I see any box on the table when we carried you out." "Then the only other surmise is that Field and Melling got away with my formulae during the excitement and when I was half unconscious," Went on Mr. Baxter bitterly. "But you can see how foolish I would be to accuse them in court. I haven't a bit of proof." "Not much, for a fact," agreed Tom. "Well, with what I heard and what you tell me, perhaps we can work up a case against them later. I'll go over it with Ned. He has a better head for business than I." "Yes, we inventors need some business brains; or at least the time to give to business problems," agreed the chemist. "But enough of my troubles. Let's get at this chemical compound of yours." Tom and Mr. Baxter spent many days and nights perfecting the fire-extinguisher chemical, and, after repeated tests, Tom felt that he was nearer his goal. One afternoon Ned called, and Tom invited him to go for a ride in a small but speedy aeroplane. "Anything special on?" asked the young manager. "In a way, yes," Tom answered. "I'm having a firm in Newmarket make me some different containers, and they have promised me samples today. I thought I'd take a fly over and get them. I have the chemical compound all but perfected now, and I want to give it another test." "All right, I'm with you," assented Ned. "Newmarket," he added musingly. "Isn't that where Field and Melling are now?" "Yes. They have a factory on the outskirts of the place, and their offices are in the Landmark Building. But we aren't going to see them, though we may call on them later, when you have that case better worked up." For Ned's services had been enlisted to aid Mr. Baxter. "I shall need a little more time," remarked Ned. "But I think we can at least bluff them into playing into our hands. I have a report to hear from a private detective I have hired." "I hope we can do something to aid Baxter," remarked Tom. "He has done me good service in this chemical fire extinguisher matter." A little later Tom and Ned were speeding through the air on their way to Newmarket. The rapid flier was making good time at not a great height when Ned, leaning forward, appeared to be gazing at something in the near distance. "What's the matter?" asked Tom, for he had his silencer on this craft and it was possible for the occupants to converse. "Do you hear one of the cylinders missing, Ned?" "No. But what's that smoke down there?" and Ned pointed. "It looks like a fire!" "It is a fire!" exclaimed Tom, as he took an observation. "Not a big one, but a fire, just the same. If only--" He did not finish what he started to say, but changed the direction of his air craft and headed directly toward a pall of smoke about a mile away. In a few seconds they were near enough to make out the character of the blaze. "Look, Tom!" cried Ned. "It's an immense tree on fire!" "A tree!" exclaimed Tom, half incredulously, for he was leaning forward to look at one of the aeroplane gages and did not have a clear view of what Ned was looking at. "Yes, as sure as Mr. Damon would bless something if he were here! It's a tree on fire up near the top!" "That's strange!" murmured Tom. "But it may give me just the chance I've been looking for." Ned wondered at this remark on the part of his chum as the airship drew nearer the blazing monarch in the patch of woods over which they were then hovering. CHAPTER XII TOM IS LONESOME "This is certainly the strangest sight I ever saw," remarked Ned, as he and his chum flew nearer and nearer to the smoking and blazing tree. "Is the world turning upside down, Tom, when fires start in this fashion?" "I fancy it can easily be explained," answered the young inventor. "We'll go into that later. Here, Ned, grab hold of that tin can on the floor and take out the screw plug." "What's the idea?" "I want you to drop it as nearly as you can right into the midst of the tree that's on fire." "Oh, I get your drift! Well, you can count on me." Ned picked up from the floor of their aeroplane a metal can similar to those Tom used to hold oil or perhaps spare gasoline when he was experimenting on airship speed. The opening was closed with a screw plug, with wings to afford an easier grip. As Ned unscrewed this his nostrils were greeted by an odor that made him gasp. "Don't mind a little thing like that," cried Tom. "Drop it down, Ned! Drop it down! We're going to be right over the tree in another second or two!" Ned leaned over the side of the craft and had a good view of the strange sight. The tree that was on fire was a dead oak of great size, dwarfing the other trees in the grove in which it stood. In common with other oaks this one still retained many of its dried leaves, though it was devoid, or almost devoid, of life. Ned noticed in the branches many irregularly shaped objects, and it appeared to be these that were on fire, blazing fiercely. "It looks as though some one had tied bundles of sticks in the tree and set them on fire," Ned thought as he poised the opened tin of the evil-smelling compound on the edge of the aeroplane's cockpit. "Let her go, Ned!" cried Tom. "You'll be too late in another second!" Ned raised himself in his seat and threw, rather than let fall, the can straight for the blazing tree. Like a bomb it shot toward earth, and Ned and Tom, looking down, could see it strike a limb and break open, the rupture of the can letting loose the liquid contained in it. And then, before the eyes of Tom and Ned, the fire seemed to die out as a picture melts away on a moving picture screen. The smoke rolled away in a ball-like cloud, and the flames ceased to crackle and roar. "Well, for the love of molasses! what happened, Tom?" cried Ned, as the young inventor guided his craft about in a big circle to come back again over the tree. He wanted to make sure that the fire was out. It was! "What sent that blaze to the happy hunting grounds?" asked Ned. "My new aerial extinguisher," answered Tom, with justifiable pride in his voice. "This fire happened in the nick of time for me, Ned. I had a tin of my new combination in the car, not with any intention of using it, though. I intended to pour it in the new containers I am having made in Newmarket to see if it would corrode them, a thing I wish to avoid. "But when I saw that tree on fire I couldn't resist the temptation to use my very latest combination of chemicals. It is so recent that I haven't actually tried it on a blaze yet, though I had figured out in theory that it ought to work. And it did, Ned! It worked!" "Well, I should say so!" agreed his chum. "That blaze was doused for fair. The test could not have been better. But what in the name of a volunteer fire department set that tree to blazing, Tom?" "I'll tell you in a moment. I want to make some notes before I forget. That combination seems to be just of the right strength. It did the trick. Here, take the wheel and hold her steady while I jot down some memoranda before they get away from me." Ned was capable of managing an airship, especially under Tom's watchful eye, and as this craft was one with dual controls there was no difficulty in shifting from one steersman to the other. So while Ned guided, now and then gazing down at the tree from which some smoke still arose, though the fire was all out, Tom made the necessary scientific notes for future amplification. "And now," observed Ned, as his chum resumed the wheel, "suppose you enlighten me on how that tree came to be on fire--if you didn't set it yourself." "No, I didn't do that," Tom said, with a laugh. "And I only have a theory as to the cause of the blaze. But suppose we go down and take a look. There's a good field around this grove, and we can get a fine take off. I'll have to go back to Shopton anyhow, to get some more of the chemical." So the aeroplane made a landing, and then the mystery was explained. The dead oak, to which some of its last year's foliage still clung, was the abiding place of thousands of crows that had built their nests in it. There were hundreds of the big nests, made of dried sticks, mostly, and these made an ideal fuel for the fire. "But where are the crows, and what started the fire?" asked Ned. "I fancy the birds flew away as soon as they saw their homes on fire," said Tom. "Or they may not have been at home. Flocks of crows often go to some distant feeding ground for the day, returning at night. I fancy that is what happened here. "As for the cause of the blaze, I believe it was set by some mischievous boys, who saw a good chance to have some fun without thought of doing any real damage. For the dead tree was of no value, and I imagine the farmers would be glad to see the flock of crows dispersed. Some boys probably climbed up and set fire to one of the nests, and then, when they saw the whole lot going, they became frightened and ran away." And Tom's theory was, eventually, proved to be true. Some lads, wandering afield, had set fire to the crows' nests and then, frightened as they saw a bigger blaze than they intended, ran away. Tom and Ned did not remain to see what the returning crows might think about the destruction of their homes, provided they saw fit to return, but, starting the aeroplane, were again on their way. Tom had lingered long enough to make sure that his latest combination of chemicals had been just what was needed. He felt sure that by using a larger quantity, no fire, however fierce, could continue to blaze. "But I want to give it a good trial, Ned, as we did from the tower," said Tom. "Though I don't believe there'll be a fizzle this time." It did not take long for Tom to secure another supply of the new chemical. He then went with it to the firm in Newmarket that was making his containers, or "bombs" as he called them. On his return he consulted with Mr. Baxter as to the ingredients of the fluid that had put out the blaze in the tree. "I believe you have at last hit on the right combination," said the chemist. "You are on the road to success, Tom. I wish I could say the same of myself." "Perhaps your formulae may come back to you as suddenly as they disappeared, or as quickly as I discovered that I had the right thing to put out the fire," said Tom hopefully. Busy days followed for the young inventor. Now that he was convinced he had at last evolved the right mixture of chemicals, he prepared to make a test on a larger scale than merely a blazing tree. "I'll try it with a fire in the pit," he said to his chum. Preparations were made, and the day before Tom was to carry out his plans he received a letter. "What's the matter? Bad news?" asked Ned, as he saw his friend's face change after reading the epistle. "Nothing much. Only Mary is going away, and I had expected her to be at the test," Tom answered. "Going away?" echoed Ned. "For long?" "Oh, no, only for a couple of weeks. She is going to visit an uncle and aunt in Newmarket, or just outside of that city. Another uncle, Barton Keith, has offices in the Landmark Building, I believe." "Landmark Building," murmured Ned. "Isn't that where Field and Melling hang out?" "Yes. But don't mention Mary's uncle in connection with them," laughed Tom. "He wouldn't like it." "I should say not!" Ned well remembered Mary's uncle, who had been associated with Tom in recovering the treasure in the undersea search. "Well, if she can't be here, she can't," said Tom, as philosophically as possible. "I'd better run over and bid her goodbye." This Tom did, though Ned noticed that his chum acted as though lonesome on his return. "But when he gets to work testing his new chemical he'll be all right," decided Ned. CHAPTER XIII A SUCCESSFUL TEST "It took you long enough," Ned remarked as Tom entered the main office of the plant, having been to see Mary off on her trip to Newmarket. This was following his call of the night before to learn more particulars of her unexpected visit. "Yes, I didn't plan to be gone so long," apologized Tom. "But I thought while I was there I might as well go all the way with her." "And did you?" "Yes. In the electric runabout. I wanted to come back and get the airship, but she said she wanted to look nice when she met her relatives, and as yet airship travel is a bit mussy. Though when I get my cabined cruiser of the clouds I'll guarantee not to ruffle a curl of the daintiest girl!" "Getting poetical in your old age!" laughed Ned. "Well, here is that statement you said you wanted me to get ready. Want to go over it now?" "No, I guess not, as long as you know it's all right. I'm going to start right in and get ready for a bang-up test." "Of what--your new aerial fire fighting apparatus?" "Yes. Mr. Baxter and I are going to make up a lot of the chemical compound that--we discovered through using it on the blazing tree--will best do the trick. Then I'm going to try it on a pit fire, and after that on a big blaze with an airship." "Let me know when you do," begged Ned. "I want to see you do it." "I'll send you word," promised the young inventor. Then he began several days and nights of hard work. And he was glad to have the chance to occupy himself, for, though Tom professed not to be much affected by the departure of Mary Nestor, he really was very lonesome. "How is her uncle, Barton Keith, by the way?" asked Ned, when he called on his chum one day, to find him reading a letter which needed but half an eye to tell was from Mary. "About as usual," was the answer. "He sends word by Mary that he'll be glad to see us any time we want to call. He has some nice offices in the Landmark Building." "Those papers proving his right to the oil land, which you recovered from the sunken ship for him, must have made his fortune." "Well, yes--that and other things," agreed Tom. "Say, we had some exciting times on that undersea search, didn't we?" "Did you call on Mr. Keith when you went to Newmarket with Mary?" Ned wanted to know, for he and Tom had taken quite a liking to Miss Nestor's uncle. "No, I didn't get a chance. Besides, I wanted to keep away from the Landmark Building." "Why?" "Oh, I might run into Field and Melling, and I don't want to see them until I can accuse them, and prove it, of having taken Mr. Baxter's dye formulae." "Oh, yes, they're in the same building with Mr. Keith, aren't they? Why do they call it the Landmark? Though I suppose the answer is obvious." "Yes," assented Tom. "It's a big building--the tallest ever erected in that city, and a fine structure. Though while they were about it I don't see why they didn't make it fireproof." "Didn't they?" asked Ned, in surprise. "Then the insurance rates must be unusually high, for the companies are beginning to realize how fire departments, even in big cities, are hampered in fighting blazes above the tenth or twelfth stories." "Yes, it was a mistake not to have the Landmark Building fireproof," admitted Tom. "And Mr. Keith says the owners are beginning to realize that now. It is what is called the 'slow burning' construction." "Insurance companies don't go much on that," declared Ned, who was in a position to know. "Well, let us hope it never catches fire." These were busy days for the young inventor. He laid aside all his other activities in order to perfect the plans for manufacturing his new chemical fire extinguisher on a large scale. For Tom realized that while a small quantity of chemicals in a compound might act in a certain way on one occasion, if the bulk should happen to be increased the experimenter could not always count on invariably the same results. There appeared to be at times a change engendered when a large quantity of chemicals were mixed which was not manifest in a small and experimental batch. So Tom wanted to mix up a big tank of his new chemical compound and see if it would work in large quantities as well as it did with the small amount Ned had dropped on the blazing tree. To this end Tom worked at night, as well as by day, and finally he announced to Ned and Mr. Damon, who called one evening, that he believed he had everything in readiness for an exhaustive test the next day. "There's the stuff!" exclaimed Tom, not a little proudly, as he waved his hand toward an immense carboy in the main shop. "That's what I hope will do the trick. Just take a--" "Hold on! Stop! That's enough! Bless my hair brush!" cried Mr. Damon, holding up a protesting hand. "If you take that cork out, Tom Swift, you and I will cease to be friends!" "I wasn't going to open it," laughed the young inventor. "It has a worse odor and seems to choke you more in a big quantity than when there's only a little. I was just going to shake the carboy to let you realize how full it was." "We'll take your word for it!" laughed Ned. "Now about your test. How are you going to work it?" "There are to be two tests," answered Tom. "The first, and the smaller, will be in the pit, as before, only this time we shall have what, I believe, will be the successful combination of chemicals to drop on it. "The second test will be the main one. In that I plan to have an old barn which I have bought set ablaze. Then Ned and I will sail over it in the airship and drop chemicals on it. The barn will be filled with empty boxes and barrels, to make as hot a fire as possible. You are invited to accompany us, Mr. Damon." "Will there be any smell?" asked the eccentric man, who seemed to have a dislike for anything that was not as agreeable as perfume. "No, the chemicals will be sealed in containers, which will be dropped from my airship as bombs were dropped in the war," said Tom. "On those conditions I'll go along," agreed Mr. Damon. "But bless my wedding certificate, Tom! don't tell my wife. She thinks I'm crazy enough now, associating with you and flying occasionally. If she thought I would help you battle with flames from the air she'd likely never speak to me again." "I'll not tell," promised Tom, laughing. Preparations for the test went on rapidly. In the morning a fire was to be started in the same pit where the experiment had partly failed before. From the platform over the blazing hole some of the new combination of chemicals was to be dropped. If it acted with success, as Tom believed it would, he proposed to go on with the more important test in the afternoon. To this end he had purchased from a farmer the right to set on fire an old ramshackle barn, standing in the midst of a field about three miles outside of Shopton. The barn was on an untilled farm, the house having been destroyed some years before, and it was not near any other structures, so that, even in a high wind, no damage would result. Tom had filled the barn with inflammable material, and was going to spare no effort to have the test as exhaustive as possible. The time came for the preliminary trial, and there were a few anxious moments after the oil-soaked boards and boxes in the pit were set ablaze. "Let her go!" cried Tom to his man on the elevated platform, and down fell the container of chemicals. It had no sooner struck and burst, letting loose a mass of flame-choking vapor, than the fire died out. "You've struck it, Tom! You've struck it!" cried Ned. "It begins to look so," agreed the young inventor. "But I'll not call myself out of the woods until this afternoon. Though we can consider it a success so far." Quite a throng was on hand when the old barn was set ablaze. Tom and Ned and Mr. Damon were there with the airship which had been especially fitted to carry the bombs filled with the extinguisher. In order to insure a quick, hot blaze the barn was fired on all four sides at once by Tom's men. When it was seen to be a veritable raging furnace of fire, Tom and his two friends took their places in the airship and rapidly mounted upward. Necessarily they had to circle off away from the blaze to get to the necessary height, but Tom soon brought the airship around again and headed for the black pall of smoke which marked the place of the blazing barn. "We'll all three send down bombs at the same time," Tom told his friends, as they darted forward. "When I give the word press the levers, and the chemical containers will drop. Then we'll hope for the best." Higher mounted the flames, and more fiercely raged the fire. The heat of it penetrated even aloft, where Tom and his friends were scudding along in the airship. "Now!" cried Tom, as his craft hovered for an instant in a favorable position for dropping the bombs. The young inventor, Mr. Damon, and Ned Newton pressed the levers. Looking over the sides of the craft, they saw three dark objects dropping into the midst of the burning barn. CHAPTER XIV OUT OF THE CLOUDS Almost as though some giant hand had dropped an immense cloak over the fire in the barn, so did the blaze die down instantly after Tom Swift's extinguishing liquid had been dropped into the seething caldron of flame. For a moment there was even no smoke, but as the embers remained hot and glowing for a time, though the flames themselves were quenched, a rolling vapor cloud began to ascend shortly after the first cessation of the fire. But this only lasted a little while. "You've turned the trick, Tom!" cried Ned, leaning far over to look at what was left of the barn and its contents. "Bless my insurance policy, I should say so!" exclaimed Mr. Damon. "It was certainly neat work, Tom!" "It does look as if I'd struck the right combination," admitted Tom, and he felt justifiable pride in his achievement. "Look so! Why, hang it all, man, it is so!" declared Ned. "That fire went out as if sent for by a special delivery telegram to give a hurry-up performance in another locality. Look, there's hardly any smoke even!" This was so, as the three occupants of the rapidly moving airship could see when Tom circled back to pass again over the almost destroyed structure. He had waited until it was almost consumed before dropping his chemicals, as he wished to make the test hard and conclusive. Now the fire was out except for a few small spots spouting up here and there, away from the center of the blaze. "Yes, I guess she doesn't need a second dose," observed Tom, when he saw how effective had been his treatment of the fire. "I had an additional batch of chemicals on hand, in case they were needed," he added, and he tapped some unused bombs at his feet. "I call this a pretty satisfactory test," declared Ned. "If you want to form a stock company, Tom, and put your aerial fire-fighting apparatus on the market, I'll guarantee to underwrite the securities." "Hardly that yet," said Tom, with a laugh. "Now that I have my chemical combination perfected, or practically so, I've got to rig up an airship that will be especially adapted for fighting fires in sky-scrapers." "What more do you want than this?" asked Ned, as his chum prepared to descend in the speedy machine. "I want a little better bomb-releasing device, for one thing. This worked all right. But I want one that is more nearly automatic. Then I am going to put on a searchlight, so I can see where I am heading at night." "Not your great big one!" cried Ned, recalling the immense electric lantern that had so aided in capturing the Canadian smugglers. "No. But one patterned after that." Tom answered. "Bless my candlestick!" exclaimed Mr. Damon, "what do you want with a searchlight at a fire, Tom? Isn't there light enough at a blaze, anyhow?" "No," answered the young inventor, as he made his usual skillful landing. "You know all the big city fire departments have searchlights now for night work and where there is thick smoke. It may be that some day, in fighting a sky-scraper blaze from the clouds at night, I'll have need of more illumination than comes from the flames themselves." "Well, you ought to know. You've made a study of it," said Mr. Damon, as he and Ned alighted with Tom, the latter receiving congratulations from a number of his friends, including members of the Shopton fire department who were present to witness the test. "Mighty clever piece of work, Tom Swift!" declared a deputy chief. "Of course we won't have much use for any such apparatus here in Shopton, as we haven't any big buildings. But in New York, Chicago, Pittsburgh and other cities--why, it will be just what they need, to my way of thinking." "And he needn't go so far from home," said Mr. Damon. "There is one tall building over in Newmarket--the Landmark. I happen to own a little stock in the corporation that put that up, along with other buildings, and I'm going to have them adopt Tom Swift's aerial fire-fighting apparatus." "Thank you. But you don't need to go to that trouble," asserted Tom. "My idea isn't to have every sky-scraper equipped with an airship extinguisher." "No? What then?" asked Mr. Damon. "Well, I think there ought to be one, or perhaps two, in a big city like New York," Tom answered. "Perhaps one outfit would be enough, for it isn't likely that there would be two big fires in the tall building section at the same time, and an airship could easily cover the distance between two widely separated blazes. But if I can perfect this machine so it will be available for fires out of the reach of apparatus on the ground, I'll be satisfied." "You'll do it, Tom, don't worry about that!" declared the deputy chief. "I never saw a slicker piece of work than this!" And that was the verdict of all who had witnessed the performance. With the successful completion of this exacting test and the knowledge that he had perfected the major part of his aerial fire-extinguisher--the chemical combination--Tom Swift was now able to devote his attention to the "frills" as Ned called them. That is, he could work out a scheme for attaching a searchlight to his airship and make better arrangements for a one-man control in releasing the chemical containers into the heart of a big blaze. Tom Swift owned several airships, and he finally selected one of not too great size, but very powerful, that would hold three and, if necessary, four persons. This was rebuilt to enable a considerable quantity of the fire-extinguishing liquid to be stored in the under part of the somewhat limited cockpit. This much done, and while his men were making up a quantity of the extinguisher, using the secret formula, and storing it in suitable containers, Tom began attaching a searchlight to his "cloud fire-engine," as Koku called it. The giant was aching to be with Tom and help in the new work, but Koku was faithful to the blinded Eradicate, and remained almost constantly with the old colored man. It was touching to see the two together, the giant trying, in his kind, but imperfect way, to anticipate the wishes of the other, with whom he had so often disputed and quarreled in days past. Now all that was forgotten, and Koku gave up being with Tom to wait on Eradicate. While the colored man was, in fact, unable to see, following the accident when Tom was experimenting with the fire extinguisher, it was hoped that sight might be restored to one eye after an operation. This operation had to be postponed until the eyes and wounds in the face were sufficiently healed. Meanwhile Rad suffered as patiently as possible, and Koku shared his loneliness in the sick room. Tom came to see Rad as often as he could, and did everything possible to make his aged servant's lot happier. But Rad wanted to be up and about, and it was pathetic to hear him ask about the little tasks he had been wont to perform in the past. Rad was delighted to hear of Tom's success with the new apparatus, after having been told how quickly the barn fire was put out. "Yo'--yo' jest wait twell I gits up, Massa Tom," said Rad. "Den Ah'll help make all de contraptions on de airship." "All right, Rad, there'll be plenty for you to do when the time comes," said the inventor. And he could not help a feeling of sadness as he left the colored man's room. "I wonder if he is doomed to be blind the rest of his life," thought Tom. "I hope not, for if he does it will be my fault for letting him try to mix those chemicals." But, hoping for the best, Tom plunged into the work ahead of him. He did not want to offer his aerial fire extinguisher to any large city until he had perfected it, and he was now laboring to that end. One day, in midsummer, after weary days of toil, Tom took Ned out for a ride in the machine which had been fitted up to carry a large supply of the chemical mixture, a small but powerful searchlight, and other new "wrinkles" as Tom called them, not going into details. "Any special object in view?" asked Ned, as Tom headed across country. "Are you going to put out any more tree fires?" "No, I haven't that in mind," was the answer. "Though of course if we come across a blaze, except a brush fire, I may put it out. I have the bombs here," and Tom indicated the releasing lever. "What I want to try now is the stability of this with all I have on board," he resumed. "If she is able to travel along, and behave as well as she did before I made the changes, I'll know she is going to be all right. I don't expect to put out any fires this trip." In testing the ship of the air Tom sent her up to a good height, heading out over the open country and toward a lake on the shores of which were a number of summer resorts. It was now the middle of the season, and many campers, cottagers and hotel folk were scattered about the wooded shore of the pretty and attractive body of water. Tom and Ned had a glimpse of the lake, dotted with many motor boats and other craft, as the airship ascended until it was above the clouds. Then, for a time, nothing could be seen by the occupants but masses of feathery vapor. "She's working all right," decided Tom, when he found that he could perform his usual aerial feats with his craft, laden as she was with apparatus, as well as he had been able to do before she was so burdened. "Guess we might as well go down, Ned. There isn't much more to do, as far as I can see." Down out of the heights they swept at a rapid pace. A few moments later they had burst through the film of clouds and once more the lake was below them in clear view. Suddenly Ned pointed to something on the water and cried: "Look, Tom! Look! A motor boat in some kind of trouble! She's sinking!" CHAPTER XV COALS OF FIRE Tom Swift saw the craft almost as soon as did his chum. It was rather a large-sized motor boat, quite some distance out from shore, and there was no other craft near it at this time. From the quick, first view Tom and Ned had of it, they decided that a party of excursionists were on a pleasure trip. But that an accident had happened, and that trouble, if not, indeed, danger, was imminent, was at once apparent to the young inventor and the other occupant of the swiftly moving airship. For as Tom shut off his motor, to volplane down, thus reducing all noise on his craft, they could dimly hear the shouts and calls for help, coming from the water craft below them. "Help! Help!" came the impassioned appeals, floating up to Tom and Ned. "We're coming!" Tom answered, though it is doubtful if his voice was heard. Sound does not seem to carry downward as well as upward, and though Tom's craft was making scarcely any noise, save that caused by the rush of wind through the struts and wires, there was so much confusion on the motor boat, to say nothing of the engine which was going, that Tom's encouraging call must have been unheard. "What are you going to do, Tom?" asked Ned, "You can't land on the water!" "I know it; worse luck! If I only had the hydroplane, now, we could make a thrilling rescue--land right beside the other boat and take 'em all off. But, as it is, I'll have to land as near as I can and then we will look for a boat to go out to them in." Ned saw, now, what Tom's object was. On one shore of the lake was a large, level field, suitable for a landing place for the craft of the air. At least it looked to be a suitable place, but Tom would be obliged to take a chance on that. This field sloped down to the beach of the lake, and as Ned and his chum came nearer to earth they could see several boats on shore, though no persons were near them. Had there been, probably they would have gone to the rescue. Tom cast a rapid look across the sheet of water, to make sure his services were really needed. The motor boat was lower in the lake now, and was, undoubtedly, sinking. And no other craft was near enough to render help. Though distant whistles, seeming to come from approaching craft, told of help on the way. "Hold fast, Ned!" cried Tom, as they neared the earth. "We may bump!" But Tom Swift was too skillful a pilot to cause his craft to sustain much of a crash. He made an almost perfect "three point landing," and there would have been no unusual shaking, except for the fact that the field was a bit bumpy, and the craft more heavily laden than usual. "Good work, Tom!" cried Ned, as the Lucifer slackened her speed, the young inventor having sent her around in a half circle so that she now faced the lake. Then Tom and Ned climbed from the cockpit, throwing off goggles and helmets as they ran to the shore where there were several rowboats moored. "And a little old-fashioned naphtha launch! By all that's lucky!" cried Tom. "I didn't think they made these any more. If she only works now!" There was a little dock at this point on the lake, and the boats appeared to be held at it for hire. But no one was in charge, and Tom and Ned made free with what they found. They considered they had this right in the emergency. The naphtha launch was chained and padlocked to the dock, but using an oar Tom burst the chain. "Get one of the rowboats and fasten it to the back of the launch!" Tom directed Ned. "I don't believe this craft will hold them all," and he nodded toward those aboard the sinking boat--for it was only too plainly sinking now. "All right!" voiced Ned. "I'm with you. Can you get that engine to work?" "She's humming now," announced Tom, as he turned on the naphtha, and threw in a blazing match to ignite it, this act saving his hand. Naphtha engines are a trifle treacherous. A few moments later, though not as quickly as a gasoline craft could have been gotten under way, Tom was steering the small launch out and away from the dock, and toward the craft whence came the faint calls for help. Behind them Tom and Ned towed a large rowboat. Tom speeded the naphtha craft to its limit, and, fortunately for those in danger, it was a fast boat. In less time than they had thought possible, the young inventor and his chum were near the boat that was now low in the water--so low, in fact, that her rail was all but awash. "Oh, take us out! Save us!" screamed some of the girls. "Take it easy now," advised Tom, approaching with care. "We've got room for you all. Ned, get back in the rowboat and bring that alongside--on the other side. We'll take you all in," he added. "Girls first!" called Ned sternly, as he saw one young fellow about to scramble into the naphtha boat. "Sure, girls first!" agreed the skipper of the disabled craft. "Hit a submerged log," he explained to Tom, as the work of rescue proceeded. "Stove a hole in the bow, but we stuffed coats and things in, and made it a slow leak. Kept the engine going as long as we could, but I thought no one would ever come! Lucky you happened to see us from up there!" "Yes," assented Tom shortly. He and Ned were too busy to talk much, as they were aiding in getting some hysterical girls and young women into the two sound craft. And when the last of the picnic party had been taken off, the boat with a hole in it gave a sudden lurch, there was a gurgling, bubbling sound, and she sank quickly. Tom and Ned had anticipated this, however, and had their craft well out of the way of the suction. "You'll all have to sit quiet," Tom warned his passengers as he took Ned's boat, with her load, in tow. "I've got about all the law allows me to carry," he added grimly. "Oh, what ever would we have done without you?" half sobbed one girl. "I guess you could have managed to swim ashore," Tom answered, not wanting to make too much of his effort. Then more rescue boats came up, but those in the naphtha craft, and Ned's smaller one, refused to be transferred, and remained with our friends until safely landed at the dock. Receiving the half-hysterical thanks of the party, and leaving them to explain matters to the owner of the borrowed boats, Ned and Tom went back to the Lucifer, and were soon aloft again. "Pretty slick act, Tom," remarked Ned. "Oh, it's all in the day's work," was the answer. He had all but perfected his big fire-extinguishing aeroplane, and was contemplating means by which he could give a demonstration to the fire department of some big city, when Mr. Baxter asked to see Tom one day. There was a look on the face of the chemist that caused Tom to exclaim with a good deal of concern: "What's the matter?" "Only the same old trouble," was the discouraged answer. "I can't get on the track of my lost secret formulae. If I had Field and Melling here now I--I'd--" He did not finish his threat, but the look on his face was enough to show his righteous anger. "I wish we could do something to those fellows!" exclaimed Tom energetically. "If we only had some direct evidence against them!" "I've got evidence enough--in my own mind!" declared Mr. Baxter. "Unfortunately that doesn't do in law," returned Tom. "But now that I have this airship firefighter craft so nearly finished, I can devote more time to your troubles, Mr. Baxter." "Oh, I don't want you bothered over my troubles," said the chemist. "You have enough of your own. But I'm at my wit's end what to do next." "If it is money matters," began Tom. "It's partly that, yes," said the other, in a low voice. "If I had those dye formulae, I'd be a rich man." "Well, let me help you temporarily," begged Tom. And the upshot of the talk was that he engaged Mr. Baxter to do certain research work in the Swift laboratories until such time as the chemist could perfect certain other inventions on which he was working. In return for his kindness to a fellow laborer, Tom received from Mr. Baxter some valuable hints about fire-extinguishing chemicals, one hint, alone, serving to bring about a curious situation. It was several days after the accident to the motor boat from which the young inventor and Ned Newton had rescued the party of pleasure seekers that Tom was visited by Mr. Damon, who drove over in his car. "Have you anything special to do, Tom?" asked the eccentric man. "If you haven't I wish you'd take a ride with me. Not for mere pleasure! Bless my excursion ticket, don't think that, Tom!" cried his friend quickly. "I know better than to ask you out for a pleasure jaunt. But I have become interested in a certain candy-making machine that a man over in Newmarket is anxious to sell me a share in, and I'd like to get your opinion. Can you run over?" "Yes," Tom answered. "As it happens I am going to Newmarket myself." "Oh, I forgot about Mary Nestor being there!" laughed Mr. Damon. "Sly dog, Tom! Sly dog!" and he nudged the youth in the ribs. "It isn't altogether Mary. Though I am going to see her," Tom admitted. "It has to do with a little apparatus I am getting up. I can capture several birds in the same auto, so I'll go along." This pleased Mr. Damon, and he and Tom were soon speeding over the road. It was just outside Newmarket that they saw an automobile stalled at the foot of a hill which they topped. It needed but a glance to show that there was serious trouble. As Mr. Damon's car went down the slope two men could be seen leaping from the other machine. And, as they did so, flames burst out of the rear of the stalled machine. "Fire! Fire!" cried Mr. Damon, rather needlessly it would seem, as any one could see the blaze. "Another chance!" exclaimed Tom, reaching down between his feet for a wrapped object he had placed in Mr. Damon's car. "It's Field and Melling!" he cried. "The two men who boasted of having put it over on Mr. Baxter. Their car is blazing. Here's where I get a chance to heap coals of fire on their heads!" CHAPTER XVI VIOLENT THREATS Tom Swift's companion in the automobile was sufficiently acquainted with this old expression to understand readily what it meant. And as he directed his car as close as was safe to the blazing car, Mr. Damon asked: "Are you going to put out that fire for them, Tom?" "I'm going to try," was the grim answer. The young inventor was rapidly taking out of wrapping paper a metal cylinder with a short nozzle on one end and a handle on the other. It was, obviously, a hand fire extinguisher of a type familiar to all. "Wait Tom, I'll slow up a little more," said Mr. Damon, as he applied the brakes with more force. "Bless my court plaster! don't jump and injure yourself." But Tom Swift was sufficiently agile to leap from the automobile when it was still making good speed. He did not want Mr. Damon to approach too close to the burning car, for there might be an explosion. At the same time, he rather discounted the risk to himself, for he ran right in, while the two men, who had leaped from the blazing machine, hurried to a safe distance. Tom held in readiness a small hand extinguisher. It was one he had constructed from an old one found in the shop, but it contained some of his own chemicals, the original solution having been used at some time or other. It was the intention of the young inventor to put on the market a house-size extinguisher after he had disposed of his big airship invention. "Look out there! The gasoline tank may go up!" cried Field, the small man with the big voice. Tom did not answer, but ran in as close as was necessary and began to play a small stream from his hand extinguisher on the blazing car. He was thus able to direct the white, frothy chemical better than when he had shot it from the airship, and in a few seconds only some wisps of curling smoke remained to tell of the presence of the fire. The automobile was badly charred, but the damage was not past redemption. "Bless my check book! you did the trick, Tom," cried Mr. Damon, as he alighted and came up to congratulate his companion. "Yes. But this wasn't much," Tom said. "I didn't use half the charge. Short circuit?" he asked Field and Melling who were now returning, having seen that the danger was passed. "I--I guess so," replied Melling, in his squeaky voice. "We--we are much obliged to you." "No thanks necessary," said Tom, a bit shortly, as he turned to go back with Mr. Damon to their car. "It's what any one would do under like circumstances." "Only you did it very effectively," observed Field. Tom was wondering if they knew who he was and of his association with Josephus Baxter. He did not believe the men recognized him as the person who had been at the Meadow Inn one day with Mary. They had hardly glanced at him then, he thought. "That's a mighty powerful extinguisher you have there, young man," said Melling. "May I ask the make of it? We ought to carry one like it on our car," he told his companion. "It is the Swift Aerial Fire Extinguisher," said Tom gravely, with a glance at Mr. Damon. "The Swift--Tom Swift?" exclaimed Melling. "Do you mean--" "I am Tom Swift," put in the young inventor quickly. "And this is one of my inventions. I might add," he said slowly, looking first Melling and then Field full in the face, "that I was aided in perfecting the chemical extinguisher by Josephus Baxter." The effect on the two men, whom Tom believed were scoundrels, was marked. "Baxter!" cried Field. "Is he associated with you?" demanded Melling. "Not officially," Tom answered, delighted at the chance to "rub it in," as he expressed it later. "I have been helping him, and he has been helping me since he lost his dye formulae in--in your fire!" "Does he say he lost them in the fire of our factory?" demanded Field aggressively. "He believes he did," asserted Tom. "I helped carry him out of the laboratory of your place when he was almost dead from suffocation. He remembers that he had the formulae then, but since has been unable to find them." "He'd better be careful how he accuses us!" blustered Field, in his big voice. "We could have the law on him for that!" squeaked the bigger Melling. "He hasn't accused you," said Tom easily. "He only says the formulae disappeared during the fire in your place, and he is just wondering, that is all--just wondering!" "Well, he--we, I--that is, we haven't anything from Baxter that we didn't pay for," declared Field. "And if he goes about saying such things he'd better be careful. I am going--" But he suddenly became silent as his companion's elbow nudged him. And then Melling took up the talk, saying: "We're much obliged to you, Mr. Swift, for putting out the fire in our car. But for you it would have been destroyed. And if you ever want to sell the extinguisher process of yours, you'll find us in the market. We are going into the dye business on a large scale, and we can always use new chemical combinations." "My extinguisher is not for sale," said Tom dryly. "Come on, Mr. Damon. We can take you into town, I suppose," Tom went on, looking at his eccentric friend for confirmation, and finding it in a nod. "But I doubt if we could tow you, as we are in a hurry, and--" "Oh, thank you, we'll look over our machine before we leave it," said Melling. "It may be that we can get it to go." Tom doubted this, after a look at the charred section, but he easily understood the dislike of the men, upon whose heads he had heaped coals of fire, to ride with him and Mr. Damon. So Field and Melling were left standing in the road near their stranded car, which, but for Tom Swift's prompt action, would have been only a heap of ruins. Tom first visited the man who had a candy machine, in which the owner wanted to interest Mr. Damon. After seeing a demonstration and giving his opinion, he attended to his own affairs, in which his hand extinguisher played a part. Then he called on Mary Nestor at her relative's home. "Oh, but it's good to see you again, Tom!" cried Mary, after the first greeting. "What have you been doing, and what's all that white stuff on your coat?" "Fire extinguisher chemical," Tom answered, and he related what had happened. "What's the matter with your aunt, Mary? She seems worried about something," he said, after the aunt with whom Mary was staying had come in, greeted Tom briefly, and gone out again. "Oh, she and Uncle Jasper are worried over money matters, I believe," Mary said. "Uncle Jasper invested heavily in the Landmark Building here, and now, I understand, it is discovered that it was put up in violation of the building laws--something about not being fire-proof. Uncle Jasper is likely to lose considerable money. "It isn't that it will make him so very poor," Mary went on. "But Uncle Barton Keith--you remember you went on the undersea search with him--Uncle Barton warned Uncle Jasper not to go into the Landmark Building scheme." "And Uncle Jasper did, I take it," said Tom. "Yes. And now he's sorry, for not only may he lose money, but Uncle Barton will laugh at him, and Uncle Jasper hates that worse than losing a lot. But tell me about yourself, Tom. What have you been doing? And is Eradicate going to get better?" "I hope so," Tom said. "As for me--" But he was interrupted by loud voices in the hall. He recognized the tones of Mary's Uncle Jasper saying: "They're scoundrels, that's what they are! Just plain scoundrels! When I accuse them of swindling me and others in that Landmark Building deal they have the nerve to ask me to invest money in some secret dye formulae they claim will revolutionize the industry! Bah! They're scoundrels, that's what they are--Field and Melling are scoundrels, and I'm going to have them arrested!" CHAPTER XVII A TOWN BLAZE Mary's uncle, Jasper Blake, always an impetuous man, opened the door so quickly that Tom, who was standing near it talking to Mary, barely had time to move aside. "Oh, Tom, excuse me! Didn't see you!" bruskly went on Mr. Blake. "But this thing has gotten on my nerves and I guess I'm a bit wrought up. "There isn't any guessing about it, Uncle Jasper," said Mary, with a laugh and a look at Tom to warn him not to tell her relative that he had just befriended Field and Melling. "For," as Mary said to Tom later, "he would positively rave at you." Tom was wise enough to realize this, and so, after some laughing reference to the effect that he would have to wear protective armor if he stood near doors when Mary's uncle opened them so suddenly, the conversation became general. "I hope you never get roped in as I have been," said Mr. Blake, as he sat down. "Those scoundrels, Field and Melling, would rob a baby of his first tooth if they had the chance!" "No, I am not likely to have anything to do with them; though I have met them," and Tom gave Mary a glance. "But did I hear you say they are embarking on a dye enterprise?" he asked. "I couldn't help overhearing what you said in the hall," he explained. "That's the story they tell," said Uncle Jasper. "I was foolish enough to invest in the Landmark Building, and now I'm likely to lose it all in a lawsuit." "I mentioned it," said Mary. "And that isn't the worst," went on Mr. Blake. "But Barton--that's your friend of the submarine--will give me the laugh, for he was asked to invest in the same building, and didn't." "Oh, maybe it will all turn out right," said Tom consolingly. "My friend Mr. Damon has a little stock in the same structure." "Nothing those two scoundrels have anything to do with will turn out right," declared Mary's uncle. "And to think of their nerve when they ask me to go in with them on a dye scheme!" "That's what interests me," said Tom. "Well, take my advice and don't become interested to the extent of investing any money," warned Mr. Blake. "I'm not going to." "I didn't mean that way," said Tom. "But I happen to be acquainted with an expert dye maker who lost some secret formulae during a fire in Field and Melling's factory." "You don't say so!" cried Mr. Blake. "Tom Swift, there's something wrong here! Let you and me talk this over. I begin to see how I may be able to take a peep through the hole in the grindstone," a colloquial expression which was as well understood by Tom as were some of Mr. Damon's blessing remarks. "If you're going to talk business I think I'll excuse myself," said Mary. "Don't go," urged Tom, but she said to him that she would see him before he left, and then she went out, leaving her uncle and the young inventor busily engaged in talking. But though Mr. Blake had certain suspicions regarding Field and Melling, and though Tom Swift, too, believed they had something to do with the disappearance of Baxter's secret formulae, it was another matter to prove anything. Impetuous as he often was, Mr. Blake was for calling in the police at once, and having the two men arrested. But Tom counseled delay. "Wait until we get more evidence against them," he urged. "But they may skip out!" objected Mary's uncle. "They won't with that Landmark Building on their hands," said the young inventor. "Their hands! Huh! They'll take precious good care that the trouble and responsibility of it are on other people's hands before they go," declared Mr. Blake. "However, I suppose you're right. Barton Keith sets a deal by your opinion since that undersea search, and while I don't always agree with him, I do in this case. Especially since he is likely to have the laugh on me." "Oh, I wouldn't count everything lost in that building deal," said Tom. "A way may be found out of the trouble yet. But I must be getting back. Dr. Henderson was to give a report today on the condition of Eradicate's eyes, and I want to be there." "Mary was saying something about your faithful old retainer being in trouble," said Mr. Blake. "I'm sorry to hear about it." "We are all sorry for poor Rad," replied Tom slowly. "I only hope he gets his sight back. His last days will be very sad if he doesn't." Tom found Mary waiting for him after he had left her uncle, and, after a short talk with her, he made ready to ride back with Mr. Damon, who, after having attended to several other matters, was now outside in his car. "When are you coming home, Mary?" Tom asked. "In a week or two," she answered. "I'll send word when I'm ready and you can come and get me." "Delighted!" declared Tom. "Don't forget!" During the ride home the young inventor was unusually silent, so much so that Mr. Damon finally exclaimed: "Bless my phonograph, Tom Swift! but what is the matter? Has Mary broken the engagement?" "Oh, no, nothing like that," was the answer. "Only I'm wondering about Eradicate, and--other matters." Other matters had to do with what Mary's uncle had told Tom about the interest manifested by Field and Melling in some dye industry. Tom's forebodings regarding his colored helper were nearly borne out, for Dr. Henderson gloomily shook his head when asked for the verdict. "It's too early to say for a certainty," replied the medical man, "but I am not as hopeful as I was, Tom, I'm sorry to say." "I'm sorry to hear it," returned Tom. "Is there anything we can do--any hospital to which we can send him for special treatment?" "No, he is doing as well as he can be expected to right here. Besides, he has his friends around him, and the companionship of that giant of yours, absurd as it may seem, is really a tonic to Eradicate. I never saw such devotion on the part of any one." "Koku has certainly changed," said Tom. "He and Rad used always to be quarreling. But I guess that is all over," and Tom sighed. "Oh, I wouldn't say that," declared the medical man. "I haven't given up, though there are some symptoms I do not like. However, I am going to wait a week and then make another test." Tom knew that the week would be an anxious one for him, but, as it developed, he had so much to do in the next few days that, for the time being, he rather forgot about Eradicate. Field and Melling, he heard incidentally, had their machine towed to a garage for repairs, but beyond that no word came from the two men. Josephus Baxter remained at work over his dye formulae in one of Tom's laboratories, but the young inventor did not see much of the discouraged old man. Tom did not tell of the encounter with Field and Melling and of extinguishing the fire in their car, for he knew it would only excite Mr. Baxter, and do no good. It was within a few days of the time when Tom was to call in a committee of fire insurance experts to give them a demonstration of the efficiency of his aerial fire-fighting machine. He was putting the finishing touches to his craft and its extinguishing-dropping devices when he received a call from Mr. Baxter. "Well, how goes it?" asked Tom, trying to infuse some cheer into his voice. "Not very well," was the answer. "I've tried, in every way I know, to get on the track of the missing methods perfected by that Frenchman, but I can't. I'd be a millionaire now, if I had that dye information." "Do you really think they have them--actually have the formulae?" asked Tom. "I certainly do. And the reason I believe so is that I was over at a chemical supply factory the other day when an order came in for a quantity of a very rare chemical." "What has that to do with it?" asked Tom. "This chemical is an ingredient called for by one of the dye formulae that were stolen from me. I never heard of its being used for anything else. I at once became suspicious. I learned that this chemical had been ordered sent to Field and Melling in their new offices in the Landmark Building." "Maybe they intend to use it in making a new kind of fireworks," suggested Tom. Mr. Baxter shook his head. "That chemical never would work in a skyrocket or Roman candle," he said. "I'm sure they're trying to cheat me out of my dye formulae. If I could only prove it!" "That's the trouble," agreed Tom. "But I'll give you all the help I can. And, come to think of it, I believe you might interest Mr. Blake. He has no love for Field and Melling, and he has several keen lawyers on his staff. I believe it would be a good thing for you to talk to Mr. Blake." "Please give me a letter of introduction to him," begged Mr. Baxter. "What I need is legal talent and capital to fight these scoundrels. Mr. Blake may supply both." "He may," agreed Tom. "I'll fix it so you can meet him. But what do you think of this combination, Mr. Baxter? It is my very latest solution for putting out fires. I'm loading an airship up with some of the bomb containers now, and--" Tom's further remarks were interrupted by the noise of shouting and tumult in the street, and a moment later yells could be heard of: "Fire! Fire! Fire!" "Another blaze!" exclaimed Mr. Baxter, raising the shades which had been drawn, since night had fallen. "And not far away," said Tom, as he caught the reflection of a red gleam in the sky. There was a ring at the front doorbell, and almost at once Ned Newton's voice called: "Tom! Tom Swift! There's quite a fire in town! Don't you want to try your new apparatus on it?" "The very chance!" exclaimed the young inventor. "Come on, Mr. Baxter. There's room in the airship for you and Ned. I want you to see how my chemical works!" Without waiting for a reply from the chemist, Tom caught him by the hand and led him toward the side door that gave egress to the yard where one of the airships was housed. Tom caught sight of Ned, who was hastening toward him. "Big fire, Tom!" said the young manager again. "Fierce one!" "I'm going to try to put it out!" Tom answered. "Want to come?" "Sure thing!" answered Ned. CHAPTER XVIII FINISHING TOUCHES Tom Swift and Ned Newton were so accustomed to acting quickly and in emergencies that it did not take them long to run out the airship, which Tom had in readiness, not especially for this emergency, but to demonstrate his new apparatus to a committee of fire underwriters whom he had invited to call in a few days. "Take this, if you will, Mr. Baxter!" cried Tom, giving the chemist a metal container. "It's a little different combination from the extinguisher I already have in the machine. Maybe I'll get a chance to try it." "You're going to have all the chance you want, Tom, by the looks of that blaze," commented Ned Newton. "It does look like quite a fire," observed Tom, as he gazed up at the sky, where the reflection was turning to a brighter red. Outside in the streets near the Swift house and shops could be heard the rattle of fire apparatus, the patter of running feet, and many shouts from excited men and boys. "Any idea what it is, Ned?" asked Tom, as he motioned to Mr. Baxter to climb into the aircraft. "Some one said it was the new Normal School. But that's farther to the north," was Ned's answer. "By the way the blaze has increased since I first saw it, I'd take it to be the lumberyard." "That would make a monster blaze!" observed Tom. "I don't believe I'll have chemicals enough for that," and he looked at the rather small supply in his craft. "However, I haven't time to get any more. Besides, they'll have the regular department on the job, and this isn't a skyscraper, anyhow." "No, we'll have to go to New York or Newmarket for one of those," observed Ned. "All ready, Tom?" "All ready," said the young inventor, as Ned took his place beside Mr. Baxter. "What's the matter, Tom?" asked the voice of Mr. Swift, as he came out into the yard, having been attracted by the flashing lights and the noise of the aircraft motor, as Tom gave it a preliminary test. "There's a fire in town," Tom answered. "I'm going to see if they need my services." "Guess there isn't any question about that," said his business manager. Tom's father, who was suffering the infirmities of age, was in the habit of retiring early, and he had dozed off in his chair directly after supper, to be awakened by the shouting and confusion about the place. "Take care of yourself, my boy!" he advised, as there came a moment of silence before the throttle of the aircraft was opened to send it on its upward journey. "Don't take too many risks." "I won't," Tom promised. "We'll be back soon." Then came the roar of the motor as Tom cut out the muffler to gain speed and, a moment later, he and his two friends were sailing aloft with a load of fire-extinguishing chemicals. Up and up rose the aircraft. It was not the first time Mr. Baxter had enjoyed the sensation, but he was not enough of a veteran to be immune to the thrills nor to be altogether void of fear. And it was his first night trip. Still he gave few evidences of nervousness. "These she is!" cried Ned, for when the exhaust from the motor was sent through the new muffler Tom had attached it was possible to talk aboard the Lucifer. The young manager pointed down toward the earth, over which the craft was then skimming, though at no great height. "It is the lumberyard!" exclaimed Mr. Baxter presently. "It sure is," assented Tom. "I know I haven't enough stuff to cover as big a blaze as that, but I'll do my best. Fortunately there is no wind to speak of," he added, as he guided the craft in the direction of the fire. "What has that to do with it--I mean as far as the working of your chemical extinguisher is concerned?" asked Mr. Baxter. "Can't you drop the bomb containers accurately in a wind?" "Well, the wind has to be allowed for in dropping anything from an aeroplane," Tom answered. "And, naturally, it does spoil your aim to an extent. But the reason I'm glad there is no wind to speak of is that the chemical blanket I hope to spread over the fire won't be so quickly blown away." "Oh, I see," said Mr. Baxter. "Well, I'm glad that you will be able to have a successful test of your invention." "The regular land apparatus is on hand," observed Ned, for they were now so near the fire that they could look down and, in the reflection from the blaze, could see engines, hose-wagons and hook and ladder trucks arriving and deploying to different places of advantage, from which to fight the lumberyard fire that was now a roaring furnace of flames. "No skyscraper work needed here," observed Tom. "But it will give me a chance to use the latest combination I worked out. I'll try that first. Are you ready with it, Mr. Baxter?" "Yes," was the answer. The young inventor, not heeding the cries of wonder that arose from below and paying no attention to the uplifted hands and arms pointing to him, steered his craft to a corner of the yard where there was a small isolated fire in a pile of boards. It was Tom's idea to try his new chemical first on this spot to watch the effect. Then he would turn loose all his other containers of the chemical mixture that had proved so effective in other tests. Attention of those who had gathered to look at the fire was about evenly divided between the efforts of the regular department and the pending action by Tom Swift. The latter was not long in turning loose his latest sensation. "Let it go!" he cried to Mr. Baxter, and down into the seething caldron of flame dropped a thin sheet-iron container of powerful chemicals. Leaning over the cockpit of the aircraft, the occupants watched the effect. There was a slight explosion heard, even above the roar of the flames, and the tongues of fire in the section where Tom's extinguisher had fallen died down. "Good work!" cried Ned. "No!" answered Tom, shaking his head. "I was a little afraid of this. Not enough carbon dioxide in this mixture. I'll stick to the one I found most effective." For the flames, after momentarily dying down, burst out again in the spot where he had dropped the bomb. Tom wheeled the airship in a sharp, banking turn, and headed for the heart of the fire in the lumberyard. It was clearly getting beyond the control of the regular department. "How about you, Ned?" called Tom, for he had given his chum charge of dropping the regular bombs containing a large quantity of the extinguisher Tom had practically adopted. "All ready," was the answer. "Let 'em go!" came the command, and down shot the dark, spherical objects. They burst as they hit the ground or the piles of blazing lumber, and at once the powerful gases generated by the mixture of several different chemicals were released. Again the three in the airship leaned eagerly over the side of the cockpit to watch the effect. It was almost magical in its action. The bombs had been dropped into the very fiercest heart of the fire, and it was only an instant before their action was made manifest. "This will do the trick!" cried Ned. "I'm certain it will." "I didn't have much fear that it wouldn't," said Tom. "But I hoped the other would be better, for it is a much cheaper mixture to make, and that will count when you come to sell it to big cities." "But the fire is certainly dying down," declared Mr. Baxter. And this was true. As container after container of the bomb type fell in different parts of the burning lumberyard, while Tom coursed above it, the flames began to be smothered in various sections. And from the watching crowds, as well as from the hard-working members of the Shopton fire department, came cheers of delight and encouragement as they saw the work of Tom Swift's aerial fire-fighting machine. For he had, most completely, subdued what threatened to be a great fire, and when the last of his bombs had been dropped, so effective was the blanket of fire-dampening gases spread around that the flames just naturally expired, as it were. As Tom had said, the absence of wind was in his favor, for the generated gases remained just where they were wanted, directly over the fire like an extinguishing blanket, and were not blown aside as would otherwise have been the case. And, by the peculiar manner in which his chemicals were mixed, Tom had made them practically harmless for human beings to breathe. Though the fire-killing gases were unpleasant, there was no danger to life in them, and while several of the firemen made wry faces, and one or two were slightly ill from being too close to the chemicals, no one was seriously inconvenienced. "Well, I guess that's all," said Tom, when the final bomb had been dropped. "That was the last of them, wasn't it, Ned?" "Yes, but you don't need any more. The fire's out--or what isn't can be easily handled by the hose lines." "Good!" cried Tom. "But, all the same, I wish I had been able to make the first mixture work." "Perhaps I can help you with that," suggested Mr. Baxter. And the following day, after Tom had received the thanks of the town officials and of the fire department for his work in subduing the lumberyard blaze, the young inventor called Josephus Baxter in consultation. "I feel that I need your help," said the young inventor. "You have been at this chemical study longer than I, and I am willing to pay you well for your work. Of course I can't make up to you the loss of your dye formulae. But while you are waiting for something to turn up in regard to them, you may be glad to assist me." "I will, and without pay," said the chemist. But Tom would not hear of that, and together he and Mr. Baxter set about putting the finishing touches to Tom's latest invention. CHAPTER XIX ON THE TRAIL "There, Tom Swift, it ought to work now!" Josephus Baxter held up a large laboratory test tube, in which seethed and bubbled some strange mixture, turning from green to purple, then to red, and next to a white, milky mixture. "Do you think you've hit on the right combination?" asked the young inventor, whose latest idea, the plan of fighting fires in skyscrapers from an airship as a vantage point, was taking up all his spare moments. "I'm positive of it," said Mr. Baxter. "I've dabbled in chemicals long enough to be certain of this, even if I can't get on the track of the missing dye formulae." "That certainly is too bad," declared Tom. "I wish I could help you as much as you have helped me." "Oh, you have helped me a lot," said the chemist. "You have given me a place to work, much better than the laboratory I had in the old fireworks factory of Field and Melling. And you have paid me, more than liberally, for what little I have done for you." "You've done a lot for me," declared Tom. "If it had not been for your help this chemical compound would not be nearly as satisfactory as it is, nor as cheap to manufacture, which is a big item." "Oh, you were on the right track," said Mr. Baxter. "You would have stumbled on it yourself in a short time, I believe. But I will say, Tom Swift, that, between us, we have made a compound that is absolutely fatal to fires. Even a small quantity of it, dropped in the heart of a large blaze, will stop combustion." "And that's what I want," declared Tom. "I think I shall go ahead now, and proceed with the manufacture of the stuff on a large scale." "And what do you propose doing with it?" asked Mr. Baxter. "I'm going to sell the patent and the idea that goes with it to as many large cities as I can," Tom answered. "I'll even manufacture the airships that are needed to carry the stuff over the tops of blazing skyscrapers, dropping it down. I'll supply complete aerial fire-fighting plants." "And I think you'll do a good business," said the chemist. It was the conclusion of the final tests of an improved chemical mixture, and the reaction that had taken place in the test tube was the end of the experiment. Success was now again on the side of Tom Swift. But when that has been said there remains the fact that it was just the other way with the unfortunate Mr. Baxter. Try as he had, he could not succeed in getting the right chemical combination to perfect the dye process imparted to him by his late French friend. With the disappearance of the secret formulae went the good luck of Josephus Baxter. He had worked hard, taking advantage of Tom's generosity, to bring back to his memory the proper manner of mixing certain ingredients, so that permanent dyes of wondrous beauty in coloring would be evolved. But it was all in vain. "I know who have those formulae," declared the chemist again and again. "It is those scoundrels, Field and Melling. And they are planning to build up their own dye business with what is mine by right!" And though Tom, also, believed this, there was no way of proving it. As the young inventor had said, he was now ready to put his own latest invention on the market. After many tests, aided in some by Mr. Baxter, a form of liquid fire extinguisher had been made that was superior to any known, and much cheaper to manufacture. Veteran members of fire departments in and about Shopton told Tom so. All that remained was to demonstrate that it would be as effective on a large scale as it was on a small one, and big cities, it was agreed, must, of necessity, add it to their equipment. "Well, I think I'll give orders to start the works going," said Tom, at the conclusion of the final test. "I have all the ingredients on hand now, and all that remains is to combine them. My airship is all ready, with the bomb-dropping device." "And I wish you all sorts of luck," said Mr. Baxter. "Now I am going to have another go at my troubles. I have just thought of a possible new way of combining two of the chemicals I need to use. It may be I shall have success." "I hope so," murmured Tom. He was about to leave the room when Koku, the giant, entered, with a letter in his hand. The big man showed some signs of agitation, and Tom was at once apprehensive about Eradicate. "Is Rad--has anything happened--shall I get the doctor?" "Oh, Rad, him all right," answered Koku. "That is him not see yet, but mebby soon. Only I have to chase boy, an' he make faces at me--boy bring this," and the giant held out the envelope. "Oh!" exclaimed Tom, and he understood now. Messenger boys frequently came to Tom's house or to the shops, and they took delight in poking fun at Koku on account of his size, which made him slow in getting about. The boys delighted to have him chase them, and something like this had evidently just taken place, accounting for Koku's agitation. "This is for you, Mr. Baxter, not for me," said Tom, as he read the name on the envelope. "For me!" exclaimed the chemist. "Who could be writing to me? It's a big firm of dye manufacturers," he went on, as he caught a glimpse of the superscription in the upper left hand corner. Quickly he read the contents of the epistle, and a moment later he gave a joyful cry. "I'm on the trail! On the trail of those scoundrels at last!" exclaimed Josephus Baxter. "This gives me just the evidence I needed! Now I'll have them where I want them!" CHAPTER XX A HEAVY LOAD Josephus Baxter was so excited by the receipt of the letter which Koku delivered to him that for some seconds Tom Swift could get nothing out of him except the statement: "I'm on their trail! Now I'm on their trail!" "What do you mean?" Tom insisted. "Whose trail? What's it all about?" "It's about Field and Melling! That's who it's about!" exclaimed Mr. Baxter, with a smothered exclamation. "Look, Tom Swift, this letter is addressed to me from one of the biggest dye firms in the world--a firm that is always looking for something new!" "But if you haven't anything new to give them, of what use is it?" Tom asked, for he knew that the chemist had said his process, stolen, as he claimed, by Field and Melling, was his only new project. "But I will have something new when I get those secret formulae away from those scoundrels!" declared Mr. Baxter. "Yes, but how are you going to do it, when you can't even prove that they have them?" asked Tom. "Ah, that's the point! Now I think I can prove it," declared Mr. Baxter. "Look, Tom Swift! This letter is addressed to me in care of Field and Melling at the office I used to have in their fireworks factory." "The office from which you were rescued nearly dead," Tom added. "Exactly. The place where you saved me from a terrible death. Well, if you will notice, this letter was written only two days ago. And it is the first mail I have received as having been forwarded from that address since the fire. I know other mail must have come for me, though." "What became of it?" asked Tom. "Those scoundrels confiscated it!" declared the chemist. "But, in some manner, perhaps through the error of a new clerk, this letter was remailed to me here, and now I have it. It is of the utmost importance!" "In what way?" asked Tom. "Why, it is directed to me, outside and in, and it makes an inquiry about the very dyes of the lost secret formulae, one dye in particular." "I don't quite understand yet," said Tom. "Well, it's this way," went on Mr. Baxter. "I had, in the office of Field and Melling, all the papers telling exactly how to make the dyes. After the fire, in which I was rendered unconscious, those papers disappeared. "The only way in which any one could make the dyes in question was by following the formulae given in those papers. And now here is a letter, addressed to me from a big firm, asking my prices on a certain dye, which can only be made by the process bequeathed to me by the Frenchman." "Which means what?" asked Tom. "It means that Field and Melling must have been writing to this firm on their own hook, offering to sell them some of this dye. But, in some way, my name must have appeared on the letter or papers sent on by the scoundrels, and this big firm replies to me direct, instead of to Field and Melling! Even then I would not have benefited if they had confiscated this letter as I am sure, they have done in the case of others. But, by some slip, I get this. "And it proves, Tom Swift, that Field and Melling are in possession of my dye formulae, and that they have tried to dispose of some of the dye to this firm. Not knowing anything of this, the firm replies to me. So now I have direct evidence--just what I wanted--and I can get on the trail of the scoundrels who have cheated me of my rights." Tom looked at the letter which, it appeared, had been left with Koku by a special delivery boy from the post office. It was an inquiry about certain dyes, and was addressed to Mr. Baxter in care of Field and Melling, the former fireworks firm, which now had started a big dye plant, with offices in the Landmark Building in Newmarket. "It does look as though you might get at them through this," Tom said, as he handed back the letter. "But I'm afraid you'll have to get further evidence before you could convict them in a court of law--you'll have to show that they actually have possession of your formulae." "That's what I wish I could do," said the chemist, somewhat wistfully. His first enthusiasm had been lessened. "I'll help you all I can," offered Tom. And events were soon to transpire by which the young inventor was to render help to the chemist in a most sensational manner. "Just now," Tom went on, "I must arrange about getting a large supply of these chemicals made, and then plan for a test in some big city." "Yes, you have done enough for me," said Mr. Baxter. "But I think now, with this letter as evidence, we'll be able to make a start." "I agree with you," Tom said. "Why don't you go over to see Mr. Damon? He's a good business man, and perhaps he can advise you. You might also call on that lawyer who does work for Mr. Keith and Mr. Blake. And that reminds me I must call Mary Nestor up and find out when she is coming home. I promised to fetch her in one of the airships." "I will go and see Mr. Damon," decided Mr. Baxter. "He always gives good advice." "Even if he does bless everything he sees!" laughed Tom. "But if you're going to see him I'll run you over. I'm going to Waterfield." "Thanks, I'll be glad to go with you," said the chemist. Mr. Damon was glad to see his friends, and, when he had listened to the latest developments, he exclaimed with unusual emphasis: "Bless my law books, Mr. Baxter! but I do believe you're on the right trail at last. Come in, and we'll talk this over." So Tom left them, traveling on to a distant city where he arranged for a large supply of the chemicals he would need in his extinguisher. For several days Tom was so busy that he had little time to devote to Mr. Baxter, or even to see him. He learned, however, that the chemist and Mr. Damon were in frequent consultation, and the young inventor hoped something would come of it. Tom's own plans were going well. He had let several large cities know that he had something new in the way of a fire-fighting machine, and he received several offers to demonstrate it. He closed with one of these, some distance off, and agreed to fly over in his aircraft and extinguish a fire which was to be started in an old building which had been condemned, and was to be destroyed. This was in a city some four hundred miles away and when Ned Newton called on him one afternoon he found Tom busily engaged in loading his sky-craft with a heavy cargo of the newest liquid extinguisher. "You aren't taking any chances, are you, Tom?" asked Ned. "What do you mean?" "I mean you seem to have enough of the liquid 'fire-discourager' to douse any blaze that was ever started." "No use sending a boy on a man's errand," said Tom. "I'm counting on you to go with me, Ned--you and Mr. Baxter. We leave this afternoon for Denton." "I'll be with you. Couldn't pass up a chance like that. But here comes Koku, and it looks as if he had something on his mind." The giant did, indeed, seem to be laboring under the stress of some emotion. "Oh, Master Tom!" the big man exclaimed when he had got the attention of the young inventor. "Rad--he--he--" "Has anything happened?" asked Tom, quickly. "No, not yet. But dat pill man--he say by tomorrow he know if Rad ever will see sunshine more!" "Oh, the doctor says he'll be able to decide about Rad's eyesight tomorrow, does he?" "Yes. What so pill man say," repeated Koku. "Um," mused Tom, "I wish I were going to be here, but I don't see how I can. I must give this test." But it was with a sinking heart as he thought of poor Eradicate that the young inventor proceeded to pile into his airship the largest and heaviest load of chemicals it had ever carried. CHAPTER XXI THE LIGHT IN THE SKY "Well, what do you say, Tom?" asked Ned, in a low voice. "She's all right as far as I can see, though she may stagger a bit at the take off." "It's a pretty heavy load," agreed the young manager, as he and Tom Swift walked about the big fire-fighting airship Lucifer, which had been rolled outside the hangar. "But still I think she'll take it, especially since you've tuned up the motor so it's at least twenty per cent. more powerful than it was." "Perhaps you'd better leave me out," suggested Mr. Baxter, who had been helping the boys. "I'm not a feather weight, you know." "I need you with us," said Tom. "I want your expert opinion on the effect the new chemicals have on the flames." "Well, I'd like to come," admitted the chemist, "for it will be a valuable experience for me. But I don't want an accident up in the air." "Trust Tom Swift for that!" cried Ned. "If he says his aircraft will do the trick, it positively will." "How about leaving me out?" asked Mr. Damon. "I'm not an expert in anything, as far as I know." "You are in keeping us cheerful. And we may need you to bless things if there's a slip-up anywhere," laughed Tom, for Mr. Damon had been invited to be one of the party. "I don't so much mind a slip-up," said Mr. Damon, "as I do a slip down. That's where it hurts! However, I'll take a chance with you, Tom Swift. It won't be the first one--and I guess it won't be the last." The work of getting the big airship ready for what was to be a conclusive test of her fire-fighting abilities from the clouds proceeded rapidly. As has been related, Tom had perfected, with the help of Mr. Baxter, a combination of chemicals which was effective in putting out a fire when dropped into the blaze from above. Quantities of this combination had been stored in metal containers which Tom had at first styled "bombs," but which he now called "aerial grenades." The manner of dropping the grenades was, on the whole, similar to the manner in which bombs were dropped from airships during the Great War, but Tom had made several improvements in this plan. These improvements had to do with the releasing of the bombs, or, in this case, grenades. It is not easy to drop or throw something from a swiftly moving airship so that it will hit an object on the ground. During the war aviators had to train for some time before becoming even approximately accurate. Tom Swift decided that to leave this matter to chance or to the eye of the occupant of an airship was too indefinite. Accordingly he invented a machine, something like a range-finder for big guns. With this it was a comparatively easy matter to drop a grenade at almost any designated place. To accomplish this it was necessary to take into consideration the speed of the airship, its height above the ground, the velocity of the wind, the weight of the grenades, and other things of this sort. But by an intricate mathematical process Tom solved the problem, so that it was only necessary to set certain pointers and levers along a slide rule in the cockpit of the craft. Then when the releasing catch was pressed, the grenades would drop down just about where they were most needed. "I think everything is ready," said Tom, when he had taken a last look over his craft, making sure that all the chemical grenades were in place. "If you will be ready, gentlemen, we will take our places and start in about half an hour," he added. "I want to say goodbye to my father, and cheer up Rad--if I can." "The doctor will know tomorrow, will he?" asked Mr. Damon. "Yes. And I'm sorry I will not be here to listen to the report," said Tom. "Though I am almost afraid to receive it," he added in a low voice. "I shall blame myself if Rad is to go through the remainder of his life blind." "It couldn't be helped," said Ned. "We'll hope for the best." "Yes," agreed Tom, "that's all we can do--hope for the best. By the way," he went on, turning to Mr. Baxter, "are you any nearer fastening the guilt on those two rascals, Field and Melling?" "Bless my prosecuting attorney, no!" exclaimed Mr. Damon. "Those are the slickest scoundrels I ever tackled! They're like a flea. Once you think you have them where you want them, and they're on the other side of the table, skipping around." "I've about given up," said Mr. Baxter, in discouraged tones. "I guess my dye formulae are gone forever." "Don't say that!" exclaimed Tom. "Once I get this fire matter off my hands, I'm going to tackle the problem myself. We'll either make those fellows sorry they ever meddled in this matter, or we'll get up a new combination of dyes that will put them out of business!" "Bless my Easter eggs, I'm glad to hear you talk that way!" cried Mr. Damon. "Well, Rad, I'll expect to see you up and around when I get back," said Tom to his old servant, as he stepped into the sick room to say goodbye. "Oh, is yo' goin', Massa Tom?" asked the colored man, turning his bandaged head in the direction of the beloved voice. "Yes. I'm going to try out a new scheme of mine--the fire extinguisher, you know." "De same one whut fizzed up, an'--an' busted me in de eyes, Massa Tom?" "Yes, Rad, I'm sorry to say, it's the same one." "Oh, shucks now, Massa Tom! whut's use worryin'?" laughed Rad. "I suah will be all right when yo' gits back. De doctor man--de 'pill man' dat giant calls him--says I'll suah be better." "Of course you will," declared Tom, but his heart sank when he saw Mrs. Baggert remove the bandages and he caught sight of Rad's burned face and the eyes that had to be kept closed if ever they were again to look on the sunshine and flowers. "And when I come back, Rad, I'll stage a little fire for your benefit, and show you how quickly I can put it out." "Ha! dat's whut I wants to see, Massa Tom, I suah does like to see fires!" chuckled Eradicate. "Mah ole mule, Boomerang--does yo' 'member him, Massa Tom?" "Of course, Rad!" "Well, Boomerang he liked fires, too. Liked 'em so much I jest couldn't git him past 'em lots ob times I But run 'long, Massa Tom. Yo' ain't got no time to waste on an ole culled man whut's seen his best days. Yas-sir, I reckon I'se seen mah best days," and the smile died from the honest, black face. "Oh, don't talk like that!" cried Tom, as cheerfully as he could. "You've got a lot of work in you yet, Rad. Hasn't he, Koku?" and the young inventor appealed to the giant, who seldom left the side of his former enemy. "Rad good man--him an' me do lots work--next week mebby," said Koku, smiling very broadly. "That's the way to talk!" exclaimed Tom, and he laughed a little though his heart was far from light. And then, having seen to the final details, he took his place in the big airship with Ned, Mr. Damon and Josephus Baxter. The craft carried the largest possible load of fire extinguishing chemicals. As Tom had feared, the Lucifer staggered a bit in "taking off" late that afternoon when the start was made for the distant city of Denton, where the first real test was to be made under the supervision and criticism of the fire department. But once the craft was aloft she rode on a level keel. "I guess we're all right," Tom said. But to make certain he circled several times over his own landing field, that a good place to come down might be assured if something unforeseen developed. However, all went well, and then the course was straightened for the distant city. "We'll go right over Newmarket, sha'n't we, Tom?" asked Ned, as the speed of the Lucifer increased. "Yes. And I wish I had time to stop and see Mary, but I haven't. It's getting dark fast, and we ought to arrive at our destination early in the morning. The test has been set by the committee for ten o'clock." They settled themselves comfortably in the big craft for a long night trip, and Mr. Damon was just going to bless something or other when he pointed off into the distance. "Look, Tom!" cried the eccentric man. "See that light in the sky!" "Seems to be a fire," observed Ned. "It is a fire!" shouted Mr. Baxter. "And it's in Newmarket, if I'm any judge." Tom Swift did not answer, but he shoved forward the gasolene lever of his controls, and the Lucifer shot ahead through the air while the red, angry glow deepened in the evening sky. CHAPTER XXII TRAPPED While Tom Swift was loading the Lucifer for her trip and the fire extinguishing test to occur the next morning, quite a different scene was taking place in the home of Jasper Blake, the uncle of Mary Nestor, where she had gone to spend a few weeks. "Well, are you all ready, Mary?" asked her aunt, and it was about the same time that Ned Newton asked that same question of Tom Swift. Only Tom was in Shopton, and Mary was in Newmarket, and Tom was setting off on an air voyage, while Mary was only preparing to take a car downtown to do some shopping. "Yes, Aunt, I'm all ready," Mary answered. "But I may be a bit late getting home." "Why?" asked Mrs. Blake. "I promised Uncle Barton I'd stop and call on him at his office," Mary replied. "He has something he wants me to take home to mother when I go tomorrow." "I shall be sorry to see you go back," said Mrs. Blake. "But I imagine there will be those in Shopton who will be glad to see you return, Mary." "Yes, mother wrote that she and dad were getting a bit lonesome," the girl casually replied, as she adjusted her veil. "Yes, and some one else. Ah, Mary, you are a very lucky girl!" laughed her aunt, while Mary turned aside so she would not see her own blushes in the mirror. "I thought Tom was going to call and take you home in his airship, Mary," went on her relative. "So he is, I believe, on his way back from a city where he is going to be tomorrow making a big fire test. I am to wait for him until tomorrow afternoon. But now I really must go shopping, or all the bargains will be taken. Is there any word you want to send to Uncle Barton?" "No," answered Mrs. Blake. "Though you might tell him to stop poking fun at your Uncle Jasper for having invested money in the Landmark Building. It's getting on your Uncle Jasper's nerves," she added. "Uncle Barton never can give up a joke, once he thinks he has one," said Mary. "But I'll tell him to stop pestering Uncle Jasper." "Please do," urged Mary's aunt, and then the girl left. Mary's uncle, Barton Keith, with whom Tom Swift had been associated during the undersea search, had offices in the Landmark Building, but his home was in an adjoining suburb. The girl was pleased with the results of her shopping, and at the close of the afternoon she stopped at the Landmark Building and was soon being shot up in the elevator to the floor where Barton Keith had his offices. Though Mr. Keith had refrained from investing in the Landmark Building and though he laughed at Mary's Uncle Jasper for having done so, this did not prevent him from having a suite of offices in the big structure which, as we already know, was owned in large part by Field and Melling. "Ah, Mary! Come in!" exclaimed Mr. Keith, welcoming Tom Swift's sweetheart. "It is so late I was afraid you weren't coming, and I was about to close the office and go home." "You must blame the bargain sales for my delay," laughed Mary. "I hope I haven't kept you waiting." "No, I still had a few things to do. One was to write a letter to your Uncle Jasper, telling him I had heard of another fire trap that was open to investors." "Oh, and that reminds me I must tell you not to push Uncle Jasper too far!" warned Mary. "Ha! Ha!" laughed Uncle Barton. "He made fun of me for going on the undersea search with Tom Swift. But I made good on that, and that's more than he can say about his Landmark Building deal!" "But don't exasperate him too much!" begged Mary. "By the way, what are they doing to this building? I see the stairways and some of the elevator shafts all littered with building material." "They are trying to make it fireproof," answered her uncle. "It's rather late to try that now, but they've got either to do it or stand a big increase in insurance rates. I'm glad I'm out of it. But now, Mary, take an easy chair until I finish some work, and then I'll walk out with you." Mary took a seat near one of the front windows, whence she could look down into the now fast-darkening streets. She could see the supper crowds hurrying home, and out in the corridor of the big skyscraper could be heard the banging of elevator doors as the office tenants, one after another, left for the day. Suddenly there was more commotion than usual, followed by the sound of broken glass. Then came a cry of: "Fire! Fire!" Mary sprang to her feet with a gasp of alarm, and her uncle rushed past her to the door leading into the hall outside his offices. As he opened the door a cloud of smoke rushed toward him and Mary, causing them to choke and gasp. Mr. Keith closed the door a moment, and when he opened it again the smoke in the hall seemed less dense. "It probably is only a slight blaze among some of the material the workmen are using," he said. "Come, Mary, we'll get out." Pausing only to swing shut the door of his heavy safe and to stuff some valuable papers into his pocket, Mr. Keith advanced and, taking Mary by the arm, led her into the hall. The smoke was increasing again, and distant shouts and cries could be heard, mingled with the breaking of glass. Mr. Keith rang the elevator buzzer several times, but when no car came up the shaft in response to his summons he turned to his niece and said: "We'll try the stairs. It's only ten stories down, and going down isn't anything like coming up." "Oh, indeed I can walk!" said Mary. "Let's hurry out!" They turned toward the stairway, which wound around the elevator shafts, but such a cloud of hot, stifling smoke rolled up that it sent them back, choking and gasping for breath. And then, as they stood there, up the elevator shafts, which were veritable chimneys, came more hot smoke, mingled with sparks of fire. "Trapped!" gasped Mr. Keith, and he pulled Mary back toward his offices to get away from the choking, stifling smoke. "We're trapped!" CHAPTER XXIII TO THE RESCUE "Uncle! Uncle Barton!" faltered Mary, as she clung to Mr. Keith. "Can't we get down the stairs?" "I'm afraid not, Mary," he answered, and he closed the door of his office to keep out the smoke that was ever increasing. "And won't the elevators come for us?" "They don't seem able to get up," was his reply. "Probably the fire started in the bottom of the shafts, and they act just like flues, drawing up the flames and smoke." "Then we must try the fire escapes!" exclaimed Mary, and she started toward the front window, pulling her uncle across the room after her. "Mary, there aren't--aren't any fire escapes!" he said hoarsely. "No fire escapes!" The girl turned paler than before. "No, not an escape as far as I know. You see, this was thought to be a fireproof building at first and small attention was given to escapes. Then the law stepped in and the owners were ordered to put up regular escapes. They have started the work, but just now the old escapes have been torn down and the new ones are not yet in place." "Oh, but Uncle Barton! can't we do something?" cried Mary. "There must be some way out! Let's try the elevators again, or the stairs!" Before Mr. Keith could stop her Mary had opened the door into the hall. To the agreeable surprise of her uncle there seemed to be less smoke now. "We may have a chance!" he cried, and he rushed out. "Hurry!" Frantically he pushed the button that summoned the elevators. Down below, in the elevator shafts, could be heard the roar and crackle of flames. "Let's try the stairs!" suggested Mary. "They seem to be free now." She started down the staircase which went in square turns about the battery of elevators, and her uncle followed. But they had not more than reached the first landing when a roll of black, choking smoke, mingled with sparks of fire, surged into their faces. "Back, Mary! Back!" cried Mr. Keith, and he dragged the impetuous girl with him to their own corridor, and back into his offices which, for the time being, were comparatively free from the choking vapor. "We must try the windows, Uncle Barton! We must!" cried Mary. "Surely there is some way down--maybe by dropping from ledge to ledge!" Her uncle shook his head. Then he opened the window and looked out. As he did so there arose from the streets below the cries of many voices, mingled with the various sounds of fire apparatus--the whistles of engines, the clang of gongs, and the puffing of steamers. "The firemen are here! They'll save us!" cried Mary, as she heard the noises in the street below. "We can leap into the life nets." "There isn't a life net made, nor men who could retain it, to hold up a person jumping from the tenth story," said her uncle. "Our only chance is to wait for them to subdue the fire." "Isn't there a back way down, Uncle Barton?" "No, Mary!" He closed the window for, open as it was, the draft created served to suck smoke into the office, and Mary was coughing. Uncle and niece faced each other. Trapped indeed they were, unless the fire, which was now raging all through the building, with the stairs and elevator shafts as a center, could be subdued. That the city fire department was doing its best was not to be doubted. "We can only wait--and hope," said Mr. Keith solemnly. Mary gave a gasp. Her uncle thought she was going to burst into tears, but she bravely conquered herself and faced him with what was meant to be a smile. But it is difficult to smile with quivering lips, and Mary soon gave up the attempt. Mr. Keith went over to the water cooler--one of those inverted large glass bottles--and looked to see how much water it contained. "It's nearly full," he said. "What good will it do?" asked Mary. "This fire is beyond a little water like that." "Yes, but it will serve to keep our handkerchiefs wet so we can breathe through them if the smoke gets too thick," was his reply. "It begins to look as if we'd need to try that soon," said Mary, and she pointed to thick smoke curling in under the door. "Yes," agreed her uncle. "It's getting worse." Hardly had he spoken when there came a rush of feet in the corridor outside his office door. Then a voice exclaimed: "We're trapped! We can't get down either the stairs or the elevators!" "It can't be possible!" said another voice. "Something must be done! Help! Help! Take us out of here!" "Foolish cowards!" murmured Mr. Keith, and then the door of his office was violently opened and two men rushed in. They were strangers to Mary and her uncle. "Isn't there any way out of this fire trap?" cried one of the men. "Are there any fire escapes at your windows?" "None," said Mr. Keith. "This is all your fault, Melling!" cried the smaller of the two men, whose voice, in loudness and depth of pitch, was out of all proportion to his size. "All your fault! I told you we should have those new fire escapes!" "And you were the one, Field, who objected to the cost of fire escapes when you found what the charge would be," retorted the other. "You said we didn't need to waste that money, if the building was fire-proof." "But it isn't, Melling! It isn't!" yelled the other. "We're finding that out too late!" came the retort. "But I'm not going to die here like a rat in a trap!" And he raised the window and leaned out and yelled, "Help! Help! Help!" "Don't do that," said Mr. Keith, coming over to close the casement. "They can't hear you down below, and opening the window will only fill this place with smoke. Are you Field and Melling?" "Yes, of the Consolidated Dye Company," was the answer from the big man. "We are also part owners of this building, but I wish we weren't." "It is a pretty poor specimen of a modern building," said Mr. Keith. "You have offices here, haven't you?" he went on. "I remember to have seen your names on the directory." "We're on the floor above," was the answer from Field. "We were in a rear room, going over some accounts, and we didn't know anything was wrong until we smelled smoke. We tried to get down, and managed to come, by way of the stairs, as far as this floor," he explained quickly. "You can't go any farther," said Mr. Keith. "All there is to do is to wait for the firemen." "Suppose they never come?" whined Melling. "Oh, they'll come!" asserted Mary's uncle, but he spoke more to quiet her alarm than because he really believed it, for the Landmark Building was a seething furnace of flame centering in and about the elevator shafts and stairs. Meanwhile Tom and his companions in the airship had seen the red glow in the evening sky, and in another minute the young inventor had turned his craft more directly toward it. "It surely is in Newmarket," said Mr. Damon. "Right in the center of the city, too. There's one big building there--the Landmark." "Looks as if that was afire," said Ned quickly. "Hasn't some relative of Mary's an office there, Tom?" "Yes. Mr. Keith. And her other uncle, Jasper Blake, is also interested in the building. It's the Landmark all right!" cried Tom, as his craft rose higher and advanced nearer the blaze. "What are you going to do?" yelled Mr. Damon, as he saw the young inventor head directly toward a spouting mushroom of flame, which showed that the fire had broken through the roof. "What are you going to do?" "Go to the rescue!" answered Tom Swift. "I couldn't ask a better opportunity to try my new extinguisher! Sit tight, every one!" CHAPTER XXIV A STRANGE DISCOVERY Once it became evident to the occupants of the airship what Tom Swift's plans were, they all prepared to help him. Previous to the trip certain duties had been assigned to each one, duties which were to be exercised when Tom gave the exhibition of his new aerial fire-fighting apparatus at the set fire before the fire department of Denton. This preparation now stood the young inventor in good stead, for there was no confusion aboard the Lucifer when she winged her way toward the burning Landmark Building, where the flames were continually spouting higher and higher as they rushed through the roof, directly above the stairway well and elevator shafts. So far the flames had confined themselves to this central part of the big structure, but it was only a question of time when they would spread out on all sides, licking up the remainder of the pile. And, for the most part, the firemen on the ground were at a great disadvantage. They had run in lines as near as they could get to the center of the blaze, and had also attached hose to the standpipes inside the building. But this last effort was wasted, as developed later, for there was no one in the building to direct the nozzle ends of the hose attached to the standpipes on the different floors. Also the fierce heat fairly melted the pipes themselves in the vicinity of the elevator shafts, and there was no automatic sprinkling system in the building. This was the situation, then, when Tom in his airship loaded with fire-extinguishing chemicals headed for the blaze. And this, also, was the desperate situation that confronted Mary Nestor and her uncle, Barton Keith, as well as Amos Field and Jason Melling. Those unscrupulous and cowardly men were in a veritable panic of fear, which contrasted strangely with the calm, resigned attitude of Mary and her uncle. "We must get out! Some one must save us!" yelled Field. "Jump from the window!" cried Melling. "No, I can't permit that!" declared Mr. Keith, standing in their path. "It would be sure death! As it is, there may be a chance." "A chance? How?" asked Field. "Listen to that!" Through the closed door of Mr. Keith's office could be heard the roar and crackle of flames, while the very air was now stifling and hot, filled with acrid smoke. "We can only wait," said Mr. Keith, and he wet Mary's handkerchief in the water and handed it to her to bind over her face. "Is everything all right, Ned?" called Tom, as he turned on a little more power, so that the Lucifer lunged ahead toward the great pillar of fire that now reddened the sky for miles around. "All ready," was the answer. "You only have to give the word when you want us to let go." "Let go!" cried Mr. Damon. "Bless my umbrella, Tom! We don't have to jump out, do we?" "He means to let go the extinguisher grenades," said Mr. Baxter. "Shall we let them all go at once, Tom?" asked the chemist. "No, drop half when I shoot over the first time. We'll see what effect they have, and then come back with the rest." "That's the idea!" cried Ned. "Well, give us the word when you're ready, Tom." "I will," was the answer of the young inventor, and with keen eyes he began to set the automatic gages so those in charge of the grenades would be able to drop them most effectively. The flames were mounting higher and higher above the ill-fated Landmark Building. It was a "land-mark" now, for miles around--a fearsome mark, indeed. "I hope every one is out of the place," said Ned, as the airship approached nearer and the fierceness of the fire was more manifest. "Bless my thermometer, you're right!" exclaimed Mr. Damon. "I don't see how any one could live in that furnace." Seen from above it appeared that the fire was engulfing the whole building, while, as a matter of fact, only the central portion was yet blazing. But it was only a question of time when the remainder would ignite. And it was to this fact--that the fire was rushing up the stairway and elevator shafts as up a chimney--that Mary and her uncle, as well as Field and Melling, owed their temporary safety. Had Tom known that the girl he loved was in such direful danger, it is doubtful if his hand would have been as steady as it was on throttle and steering wheel. But not a muscle or nerve quivered. To Tom it was but carrying out a prearranged task. He was going to extinguish a great blaze, or attempt to do so, by means of his aerial fire-fighting apparatus. And his previous tests had given him confidence in his device. His one regret was that the fire department of the city that was contemplating the purchase of certain rights in his invention could not witness what he was about to do. "But they'll hear of it," declared Ned, when Tom voiced this idea to his chum. Nearer and nearer to the up-spouting column of flames the airship winged her way. Tense and alert, Tom sat at the wheel guiding his craft with her load of fire-defying chemicals. Behind him were Ned, Mr. Damon and Mr. Baxter, ready to drop the grenades at the word. "Getting close, Tom!" called Ned, as they could all feel the heat of the conflagration in the Landmark Building, which now seemed doomed. "You'll not dare cross it too low down, will you?" "No, I'll have to keep pretty well up," was the answer. "There's a current of air over that fire which might turn us turtle." Heat creates a draft, sucking in colder air from below, and making an upward-rushing column which, in the case of a big blaze, is very powerful. Tom knew he had to avoid this. It was now almost time to act. In another few seconds they would be sailing directly into the path of the up-spouting flames. Realizing that to do this at too low an elevation would result in disaster, Tom sent his craft upward at a sharp angle. Then he turned to call to his companions. "Be ready when I give the word!" "All set and ready!" answered Ned, and the others signified their attention to the command that soon was to be given. Having attained what he considered a sufficient elevation, Tom headed the Lucifer straight toward the up-spouting column of fire and smoke. If ever his craft of the air was to justify her name it was now! Straight and true as an arrow she headed for the fiery pillar! Hotter and hotter grew the air! The darkness of the night was lighted by the awful fire, which rendered objects in the street clear and distinct. But Tom and his friends had little time for such observation. "Get ready!" cried the young inventor, as he felt a rush of heat across his face, partly protected, as it was, by great goggles. "All ready!" shouted Ned. "Let go!" cried Tom, and with a click of springs the fire extinguishers dropped from the bottom of the Lucifer into the very heart of the flames in the Landmark Building. There was a blast as from a furnace seventy times heated, a choking and gasping for breath on the part of the occupants of the airship, a shriveling, as it seemed, of the naked flesh, and then, when it appeared that all of them must be engulfed in the great heat, the airship passed out of the zone of fire. A rush of cool air followed, reviving them all, and then, when out of the swirls of smoke, Ned, looking back, cried: "Good work, Tom! Good work!" "Did we hit it?" cried the young inventor. "She's half gone!" declared Mr. Baxter. "Can you give her the rest of the load?" "I'm going to try!" declared Tom. "Bless my bank balance!" shouted Mr. Damon, "are we going through that awful furnace again?" "It will not be so bad this time," observed Ned. "The fire is half out now. Tom's stuff did the trick!" Indeed it was evident, as Tom sent the Lucifer around in a sharp turn, that the fire had been largely smothered by the gas that now lay over it like a wet blanket. But there was still some fire spouting up. "Give her all we have!" yelled Tom, as, once more, he prepared to cross the zone of fire. "Right," sang out Ned. Once more the Lucifer swept over the burning building. Down shot the remaining grenades, falling into the mass of flames and bursting, though the reports could not be heard because of the tumult in the streets below. For the firemen and spectators had seen the sudden dying down of the fire, they had caught sight of a shadowy shape in the night, hovering over the blazing building, and they wondered what it all meant. "How is it?" asked Tom, as he guided the craft back to get a view of his work. "That settles it!" answered Ned. "There isn't fire enough now to broil a beefsteak!" This was not exactly true, for the blaze was not entirely subdued. But the flames had all been killed off in the higher parts of the Landmark Building, and what remained could easily be dealt with by the firemen on the ground. They proceeded to make short work of the remainder of the conflagration, the while wondering who had so effectively aided them from the clouds. "Well," observed Tom, as he saw how effectively he had smothered the great fire, "it's of no use to go on now. I haven't an ounce of chemical left on board. I can't give the demonstration that I planned for tomorrow." "You've given a better demonstration here than you ever could have in the other city," declared Mr. Baxter. "I fancy this will be all the test needed, Tom Swift!" "Perhaps. I hope so. But we may as well land and see from the ground the effect of our work. I'd also like to inquire if any one was hurt. Let's go down." It was rather ticklish work, making a landing in the midst of a populous city, and at night. But as it happened, there had been a number of buildings razed in the vicinity of the Landmark structure, and there was a large, vacant level space. Also several of the city's fire department searchlights were focused around the burning structure, and when it became evident that an airship was going to land--though as yet none guessed whose it was--the searchlights were turned on the vacant spot and Tom was able to make a good landing, his own powerful searchlight giving effective aid. "What did you do that put out the fire?" demanded the chief of the Newmarket department, as he rushed up with a crowd of others when Tom and his friends alighted. "I dropped a few grenades down that chimney," modestly answered the young inventor. "A few grenades! Say, you must have turned a whole river of them loose!" cried the delighted chief. "It doused the fire quicker than I ever saw one put out in all my life!" "I'm glad I was successful," said Tom. "But was any one in the building?" "Yes, a few," answered a policeman, who was trying to keep the crowd back from the airship. "They're bringing them out now." "Killed?" gasped Tom. "No. But some of them are badly hurt," the officer answered. "There was one young lady and a man named Barton Keith--" "Barton Keith!" shouted Tom, springing forward. "Was he--Who was the young lady? I--I--" But at that moment there was a stir in the crowd about the building, in which only a little fire flow remained, and through the throng came a disheveled and smoke-blackened young lady and a man whose clothing was also greatly disarrayed. "Mary!" cried the young inventor. "Tom!" gasped Mary Nestor. "How did you get here?" "I came to put out the fire," was the answer, and Tom cooled down now that he saw Mary was unharmed. "How did you happen to be in the building?" "I was in Uncle Barton's office when the fire broke out," answered Mary, "and we were trapped. We had to stay there, with two men from the floor above." "Yes, and if they had stayed with us they wouldn't have been hurt," said Mr. Keith. "But, as it was, they rushed out and tried to get down the stairs. They were caught in the draft and badly burned, I believe. They are bringing them out now." Two stretchers, on which lay inert forms, were borne through the now silent crowd by firemen and police officers, and taken to waiting ambulances. "That's Field and Melling," said Mr. Keith to Tom. "They had offices just above me, and they were trapped, as were Mary and I. They acted like big cowards, too, though I hope they're not badly hurt. We stayed inside my office, and we were just giving up the hope of rescue when the fire seemed suddenly to die down." "I should say it was sudden!" cried the enthusiastic local chief. "It was the chemicals from this young man's airship that did the trick!" "Oh, Tom, was it your new machine?" asked Mary. "Yes," was the answer. "I was on my way to give a test tomorrow in Denton when I saw this fire. I didn't know you were in it, though, Mary." "Oh, but I'm glad you came," she said. "It was just--awful!" and she clung to Tom's arm, trembling. When Field and Melling, whose rash conduct had caused them to be severely but not fatally burned, had been taken to a hospital and the fire was declared to be practically out, Tom made arrangements to leave his airship in the city field all night. "And you and your friends can come to Uncle Jasper's house," said Mary. "Of course!" said Uncle Jasper himself, who had arrived on the scene, attracted to the fire by the news that his niece and Mr. Keith were in danger. "Lots of room! Come along! We'll celebrate your rescue." So the crew of the fire-fighting Lucifer went with Mary, while the firemen, after again thanking Tom most enthusiastically, kept on playing, as a precaution, their streams of water on the still hot building. Only the central portion of the structure, the stairs and elevator shafts, were burned away. The strong upward draft had kept the fire from spreading much to either side. "It certainly was a fierce blaze, and I'm glad my chemicals took such prompt effect," said Tom. "I shall not fear any test after this." It was the day following the night of excitement, and Tom and his friends, at the invitation of the fire department of Newmarket, were inspecting what was left of the Landmark Building--and there was considerable left--though access to the upper floors was to be had only by ladders, down which Mary and her uncle, Barton Keith, had been carried. "Here are my offices," said Mr. Keith, who accompanied Tom, Ned, Mr. Damon and Mr. Baxter, as he ushered them into his suite of rooms. "Bless my fountain pen! nothing is burned here," cried the eccentric man. "No, the flames just shot upward," explained the fire chief, who was leading the party. "But I think those chemicals of yours would have been just as effective, Mr. Swift, if the fire had mushroomed out more." "It was hot enough as it was," answered Tom, with a grim laugh. "Bless my thermometer, too hot--too hot by far!" exclaimed Tom Swift's eccentric friend, and to this Ned nodded an amused agreement. An exclamation from Mr. Baxter attracted the attention of all in Mr. Keith's office. The chemist picked up from the floor a bundle of papers. "Here is a bundle of documents that some one has dropped, Mr. Keith," he said. "I guess you forgot to put it in your safe. Why--why--no--they aren't yours! They're mine. Here are my missing dye formulae! The secret papers I've been searching for so long! The ones I thought Field and Melling had!" cried Mr. Baxter. "How--how did they get here?" and, wonderingly, he looked at the bundle of papers he had discovered in such a strange manner. CHAPTER XXV THE LIGHT OF DAY "What's that? Your dye formulae here in my office?" cried Mr. Keith, for he had heard something of the chemist's loss, though he did not directly associate Field and Melling with it. "That's what this is! The very papers, containing all the rare secrets, for which I have been so at a loss!" cried the delighted old man. "Now I can give to the world the dyes for which it has long been waiting! Oh, Tom Swift, you did more than you knew when you put out this fire!" and he hugged the bundle of smoke-smelling papers to his breast. "But how did they get here?" asked the young inventor. "I know that Field and Melling had offices in this building. They were starting a new dye concern, and, though Mr. Baxter and I suspected them of having stolen his secret, we couldn't prove it." "But we can now!" cried Mr. Baxter. "Though I don't know that I'll bother even to accuse them, as long as I have back my previous papers. I see how it happened. They had the formulae in their office. They rushed out with the documents, and, when they found they couldn't get past this floor, they went into Mr. Keith's office. There, in their excitement, they dropped the papers, and you put the fire out just in time, Tom, or they'd have been burned beyond hope of saving. You have given me back something almost as valuable as life, Tom Swift!" "I'm glad I could render you that service," said the young inventor. "And I had no idea, when I dropped the chemicals, that I was saving someone even more valuable than your secret formulae," and they all knew he referred to Mary Nestor. An examination of the papers found on Mr. Keith's office floor showed that not one of the dye secrets was missing. Thus Mr. Baxter came into possession of his own again, and when Field and Melling were sufficiently recovered they were charged with the theft of the papers. The charge was proved, and, in addition, other accusations were brought against them which insured their remainder in jail for a considerable period. As Mr. Baxter had suspected, Field and Melling had, indeed, robbed him of his dye formulae papers. They learned that he possessed them, and they invited him to a night conference with the purpose of robbing him. The fire in their factory was an accident, of which they took advantage to make it appear that the chemist lost his papers in the blaze. But they had taken them, and though they did not mean to leave poor Baxter to his fate, that would have been the result of their selfish action had not Tom and Ned come to the rescue. And it was of this "putting over" that Field and Melling had boasted, the time Tom overheard their talk at Meadow Inn. As Mr. Baxter guessed, the letter delivered to him at Tom's place was one that the two scoundrels would have retained, as they had others like it, if they had seen it. But a new clerk forwarded it, and the evidence it contained helped to convict Field and Melling. As for the Landmark Building, while badly damaged, it would have been worse burned but for Tom's prompt action. And though he was more than glad that he had been on hand, he rather regretted that he could not give the test for which he had set out. Eventually the building was made more nearly fire-proof and the fire-escapes were rebuilt, and Mr. Blake did not lose his money, as he had feared, though Barton Keith said it was more owing to Tom Swift's good luck than to Mr. Blake's management. But, as it developed, nothing could have been more opportune than Tom's action, for word of his quenching a bigger blaze than he would have had to encounter in the official test reached the Denton fire department. As a result there was a conference, and, after only a nominal showing of his apparatus, it was adopted by a unanimous vote. But this occurred some time afterward, for, following his rescue of Mary Nestor and her uncle and the saving of the lives of Field and Melling, as well as others in the building, by his prompt smothering of the fire, Tom returned to Shopton. He and his companions went in the Lucifer, minus, now, the big load of chemicals, and on landing near the hangar Tom was surprised to see Koku the giant running toward him. The big man showed every symptom of great excitement as he cried: "Oh, Master Tom! He see the light ob day! he see the light ob day now! Oh, so glad! So glad!" "Who sees the light of day?" asked the young inventor. "Black Rad! Eradicate! Him eyes all better now! Pill man take off cloth. Rad--he see light ob day!" "Oh, I'm so glad! So thankful!" cried Tom. "How I've wished for this! Is it really true, Koku?" "Sure true! Pill man say Rad see K O now." The giant, doubtless, meant "O K," but Tom understood. And it was true, as he learned more directly a little later. When Tom entered the room where Rad had been kept in the dark ever since the explosion, the colored man looked at his master with seeing eyes, though the apartment was still but dimly lighted. "I's all right ag'in now, Massa Tom!" cried Rad. "See fine! I's all ready to make more smellin' stuff to put out fires!" "You won't have to, Rad!" cried Tom joyfully. "My chemical extinguisher is completed, and you did your share in making it a success. But I never would have felt like claiming credit for it if you had been--had been left in the dark." "No mo' dark, Massa Tom!" said Eradicate. "I kin see now as good as eber, an' yo'-all won't hab to 'pend on dat lazy good-fo'-nuffin cocoanut!" and he chuckled as he looked at the giant. "Huh! Lazy!" retorted the big man. "I show you--black coon!" "By golly!" laughed Rad. "Him an' me good friends now, Massa Tom. Neber I fuss wif Koku any mo'! He suah was good to me when I had to stay in de dark!" Of course it would be too much to hope that Koku and Eradicate never again quarreled, but for a long time their warm friendship was a thing at which to marvel, considering the past. "Well, I guess this settles it," said Tom to Ned one day, after going over the day's mail. "Settles what, Tom?" "My aerial fire-fighting apparatus. Here's word from the National Fire Underwriters Association that they have adopted it, and there will be a big reduction of rates in all cities where it is a part of the fire department equipment. It's been as great a success as Mr. Baxter's new dye." "Yes, and he has had wonderful success with that. But what are you going to do now, Tom? What new line of endeavor are you going to aim at?" Tom arose and reached for his hat. "I am now going," he said, with a grin, "to see somebody on private business." "You are going to see Mary Nestor!" broke out Ned. "I am," said Tom. And he did. THE TOM SWIFT SERIES By VICTOR APPLETON Uniform Style of Binding. Individual Colored Wrappers. Every Volume Complete in Itself. Every boy possesses some form of inventive genius. Tom Swift is a bright, ingenious boy and his inventions and adventures make the most interesting kind of reading. TOM SWIFT AND HIS MOTOR CYCLE TOM SWIFT AND HIS MOTOR BOAT TOM SWIFT AND HIS AIRSHIP TOM SWIFT AND HIS SUBMARINE BOAT TOM SWIFT AND HIS ELECTRIC RUNABOUT TOM SWIFT AND HIS WIRELESS MESSAGE TOM SWIFT AMONG THE DIAMOND MAKERS TOM SWIFT IN THE CAVES OF ICE TOM SWIFT AND HIS SKY RACER TOM SWIFT AND HIS ELECTRIC RIFLE TOM SWIFT IN THE CITY OF GOLD TOM SWIFT AND HIS AIR GLIDER TOM SWIFT IN CAPTIVITY TOM SWIFT AND HIS WIZARD CAMERA TOM SWIFT AND HIS GREAT SEARCHLIGHT TOM SWIFT AND HIS GIANT CANNON TOM SWIFT AND HIS PHOTO TELEPHONE TOM SWIFT AND HIS AERIAL WARSHIP TOM SWIFT AND HIS BIG TUNNEL TOM SWIFT IN THE LAND OF WONDERS TOM SWIFT AND HIS WAR TANK TOM SWIFT AND HIS AIR SCOUT TOM SWIFT AND HIS UNDERSEA SEARCH TOM SWIFT AMONG THE FIRE FIGHTERS TOM SWIFT AND HIS ELECTRIC LOCOMOTIVE TOM SWIFT AND HIS FLYING BOAT TOM SWIFT AND HIS GREAT OIL GUSHER TOM SWIFT AND HIS CHEST OF SECRETS TOM SWIFT AND HIS AIRLINE EXPRESS THE DON STURDY SERIES By VICTOR APPLETON Individual Colored Wrappers and Text Illustrations by WALTER S. ROGERS Every Volume Complete in Itself. In company with his uncles, one a mighty hunter and the other a noted scientist, Don Sturdy travels far and wide, gaining much useful knowledge and meeting many thrilling adventures. DON STURDY ON THE DESERT OF MYSTERY; An engrossing tale of the Sahara Desert, of encounters with wild animals and crafty Arabs. DON STURDY WITH THE BIG SNAKE HUNTERS; Don's uncle, the hunter, took an order for some of the biggest snakes to be found in South America--to be delivered alive! DON STURDY IN THE TOMBS OF GOLD; A fascinating tale of exploration and adventure in the Valley of Kings in Egypt. DON STURDY ACROSS THE NORTH POLE; A great polar blizzard nearly wrecks the airship of the explorers. DON STURDY IN THE LAND OF VOLCANOES; An absorbing tale of adventures among the volcanoes of Alaska. DON STURDY IN THE PORT OF LOST SHIPS; This story is just full of exciting and fearful experiences on the sea. DON STURDY AMONG THE GORILLAS; A thrilling story of adventure in darkest Africa. Don is carried over a mighty waterfall into the heart of gorilla land. THE RADIO BOYS SERIES (Trademark Registered) By ALLEN CHAPMAN Author of the "Railroad Series," Etc. Individual Colored Wrappers. Illustrated. Every Volume Complete in itself. A new series for boys giving full details of radio work, both in sending and receiving--telling how small and large amateur sets can be made and operated, and how some boys got a lot of fun and adventure out of what they did. Each volume from first to last is so thoroughly fascinating, so strictly up-to-date and accurate, we feel sure all lads will peruse them with great delight. Each volume has a Foreword by Jack Binns, the well-known radio expert. THE RADIO BOYS' FIRST WIRELESS THE RADIO BOYS AT OCEAN POINT THE RADIO BOYS AT THE SENDING STATION THE RADIO BOYS AT MOUNTAIN PASS THE RADIO BOYS TRAILING A VOICE THE RADIO BOYS WITH THE FOREST RANGERS THE RADIO BOYS WITH THE ICEBERG PATROL THE RADIO BOYS WITH THE FLOOD FIGHTERS THE RADIO BOYS ON SIGNAL ISLAND THE RADIO BOYS IN GOLD VALLEY THE RAILROAD SERIES By ALLEN CHAPMAN Author of the "Radio Boys," Etc. Uniform Style of Binding, illustrated. Every Volume Complete in Itself. In this line of books there is revealed the whole workings of a great American railroad system. There are adventures in abundance--railroad wrecks, dashes through forest fires, the pursuit of a "wildcat" locomotive, the disappearance of a pay car with a large sum of money on board--but there is much more than this--the intense rivalry among railroads and railroad men, the working out of running schedules, the getting through "on time" in spite of all obstacles, and the manipulation of railroad securities by evil men who wish to rule or ruin. RALPH OF THE ROUND HOUSE; Or, Bound to Become a Railroad Man. RALPH IN THE SWITCH TOWER; Or, Clearing the Track. RALPH ON THE ENGINE; Or, The Young Fireman of the Limited Mail. RALPH ON THE OVERLAND EXPRESS; Or, The Trials and Triumphs of a Young Engineer. RALPH, THE TRAIN DISPATCHER; Or, the Mystery of the Pay Car. RALPH ON THE ARMY TRAIN; Or, The Young Railroader's Most Daring Exploit. RALPH ON THE MIDNIGHT FLYER; Or, The Wreck at Shadow Valley. RALPH AND THE MISSING MAIL POUCH; Or, The Stolen Government Bonds. THE RIDDLE CLUB BOOKS By ALICE DALE HARDY Individual Colored Wrappers. Attractively Illustrated. Every Volume Complete in Itself. Here is as ingenious a series of books for little folks as has ever appeared since "Alice in Wonderland." The idea of the Riddle books is a little group of children--three girls and three boys decide to form a riddle club. Each book is full of the adventures and doings of these six youngsters, but as an added attraction each book is filled with a lot of the best riddles you ever heard. THE RIDDLE CLUB AT HOME An absorbing tale that all boys and girls will enjoy reading. How the members of the club fixed up a clubroom in the Larue barn, and how they, later on, helped solve a most mysterious happening, and how one of the members won a valuable prize, is told in a manner to please every young reader. THE RIDDLE CLUB IN CAMP The club members went into camp on the edge of a beautiful lake. Here they had rousing good times swimming, boating and around the campfire. They fell in with a mysterious old man known as The Hermit of Triangle Island. Nobody knew his real name or where he came from until the propounding of a riddle solved these perplexing questions. THE RIDDLE CLUB THROUGH THE HOLIDAYS This volume takes in a great number of winter sports, including skating and sledding and the building of a huge snowman. It also gives the particulars of how the club treasurer lost the dues entrusted to his care and what the melting of the great snowman revealed. THE RIDDLE CLUB AT SUNRISE BEACH This volume tells how the club journeyed to the seashore and how they not only kept up their riddles but likewise had good times on the sand and on the water. Once they got lost in a fog and are marooned on an island. Here they made a discovery that greatly pleased the folks at home. 
19258	----	[Illustration] TOM SWIFT AND THE ELECTRONIC HYDROLUNG [Illustration: _The grenade went streaking straight toward Tom!_] THE NEW TOM SWIFT JR. ADVENTURES TOM SWIFT AND THE ELECTRONIC HYDROLUNG BY VICTOR APPLETON II ILLUSTRATED BY CHARLES BREY NEW YORK GROSSET & DUNLAP PUBLISHERS Copyright BY GROSSET & DUNLAP, INC., 1961 [Transcriber's note: Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the copyright on this publication was renewed.] ALL RIGHTS RESERVED PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA CONTENTS CHAPTER PAGE 1 PIRATE MISSILE 11 2 UNDERSEA SURVEY 20 3 INVISIBLE SUB 31 4 AERIAL ATTACK 39 5 A HUNCH PAYS OFF 50 6 THE CAISSON CLUE 56 7 PORPOISE TAG 64 8 DATE TROUBLE 72 9 A MAGNETIC KIDNAPING 81 10 TELEPHONE CODE 90 11 SQUARE-DANCE HOAX 100 12 DETECTION TEST 109 13 ENEMY FROGMEN 119 14 A PROPAGANDA BLITZ 130 15 MOUNTAIN HIKE 140 16 THE GUNMAN'S SURPRISE 148 17 A MISSING AMULET 156 18 SMILEY THE SEA COW 166 19 FLASH FROM THE DEPTHS 176 20 A LUCKY BLAST 183 CHAPTER I PIRATE MISSILE Tense, excited men gazed spaceward from the ships and planes of the South Atlantic task force. Other watchers waited breathlessly in the control room of the ship _Recoverer_. Among these was Tom Swift Jr. "How close to earth is our Jupiter probe missile?" Bud Barclay asked Tom excitedly. The lanky blond youth beside him, in T shirt and slacks, shot a glance at the dials of the tracking equipment. "Eight thousand miles from this spot, Bud. It should land here in fifteen minutes!" Tom Jr., his father, Bud, and a host of scientists, Navy officers, and newsmen were crowded aboard a U.S. Navy missile launching ship. "Just think!" Bud exulted. "You'll have data from the planet Jupiter that no one on earth has yet been able to get!" "_If_ we recover the missile safely," Mr. Swift spoke up hopefully. The elder scientist's voice was quiet but taut with the strain of waiting. The two Swifts resembled each other closely--each had deep-set blue eyes and clean-cut features--although Tom was somewhat taller and rangier. "You're right, Dad," Tom agreed. "If we don't snare the missile, our whole project will be a total loss to America's space program!" At Tom's words, the watchers and crewmen who were crowded into the _Recoverer_'s control room stirred restlessly. Its bulkheads were banked with radar and telemetering devices. Tension had been mounting throughout the morning aboard the ships and observation planes of the task force as everyone awaited the return of the planet-circling missile--scientists' deepest penetration into space so far. "What do you mean, a total loss?" Bud argued. "Even if the recovery operation's a flop, the shot will still pay off in valuable information, won't it?" Tom shook his head grimly. "The purpose of this unmanned, exploratory flight around Jupiter was to take and record all kinds of data. But none of the info is being radioed back to us." "How come?" "If we had put in radio gear strong enough to relay signals back, it would have cut down the amount of information-gathering equipment aboard," Tom explained. "We had to make every ounce count." Outwardly calm, Tom was seething with inner excitement. Although only eighteen--the same age as his husky, dark-haired pal and copilot, Bud Barclay--Tom had been given the job of directing the recovery phase of the United States government's Project Jupiter survey. The Swifts and their rocket research staff had built the missile and engineered the space probe for the government. "Whew!" Bud gave a nervous whistle. "I see what you mean, pal. With all our eggs in one basket, we sure can't afford to get butter-fingered with the Jupiter prober." Admiral Walter, a tall, distinguished man, graying at the temples, smiled. "It's what we call in warfare a calculated risk, Bud," he said. "But with Tom in charge, I believe we have nothing to worry about." Mr. Swift's eyes shone with fatherly pride at the admiral's remark. Tom Jr.'s pioneering rocket flights and inventions had won the youth a top rank in American space research. "Guess you're right, sir," Bud agreed. "I'll back genius boy here any day!" Tom winced as Bud whacked him heartily on the shoulder. "Better save your orchids and keep your fingers crossed, fly boy," the young inventor advised. "That rocket's not home yet." Radio telescopes, both on land and aboard the ships of the task force, were following the missile's progress as it drew closer to earth. All were feeding a steady stream of information to the ships' computers. "How soon will you fire the retro-rockets, Tom?" Admiral Walter inquired presently. "In about ten seconds, sir," Tom replied, eying the sweep second hand of the clock. Moments later, a red light flashed on the master control panel. Tom's finger stabbed a button. Far out in space, the retarding rockets in the missile's nose were triggered for a brief burst, slowing its high speed. Without this, the missile would hurtle to flaming destruction in the atmosphere. "We've picked it up!" shouted a radarman. Bud gave a whoop of excitement and everyone crowded around the radarscope. Tom's steel-blue eyes checked the blip. Then he threw a switch which started an automatic plotting machine that had been prepared with the landing plan, and noted that the missile was slightly off the correct path. A new flow of information now began pulsing in as other ships' tracking radars recorded its course. The data was being fed automatically to the "capture" computer. This would analyze the correct flight path for the recovery missile, which would magnetically seize the returning traveler from Jupiter and bring it safely home. Tom quickly read off the results from the computer's dials, then busied himself again with the retarding-rocket controls. "Everything going okay, skipper?" Bud asked. Tom nodded. "I've readjusted the retarding rockets. They'll fire at the proper intervals to slow down the missile still further and bring it back on beam." The excited buzz of voices in the compartment gradually quieted as the clock ticked steadily toward the next step in the recovery operation. "Stand by for missile firing!" Tom snapped. A seaman relayed the order over the ship's intercom. Tense silence fell as Tom's eyes followed the sweep of the second hand. "All clear for blast-off!" came the talker's report. Tom pressed the firing button. A split second later the listeners' eardrums throbbed to a muffled roar from topside as the slender recovery missile shot skyward. The ship rocked convulsively from the shock of blast-off. Then it steadied again as the gyros damped out the vibrations. "Wow!" Bud heaved a sigh of relieved tension. Then he dashed from the compartment and up the nearest ladder for a quick look at the rocket as it disappeared into the blue. Tom watched the recovery missile intently on the radarscope. "Nice going, son," said Mr. Swift quietly. In response to his father's reassuring grip on his arm, Tom flashed him a hasty smile. For the first time, the young inventor realized he was beaded with perspiration and that his pulse was hammering. "It's a case of wait and hope," Tom murmured. [Illustration] On every ship and plane in the task force, eyes were glued to the radar screens. Two small blips were visible--one the Jupiter probe missile, the other the recovery missile--moving on courses that would soon intersect. Just as Bud returned to the compartment, several of the watchers gave startled gasps. "Another blip--coming in from nine o'clock!" Admiral Walter exclaimed. "What's that?" Tom stared at the new blip. It was moving steadily toward the meeting point of the first two missiles! "It's a thief missile!" Tom cried out. "Some enemy's trying to steal our probe data!" "Good night!" Bud gulped. "Who'd dare try that?" "I don't know," Tom muttered tensely. "But if those three missiles meet, our whole project will be wrecked!" "Better tape all readings!" Mr. Swift advised. "Right, Dad!" Admiral Walter had paled slightly under his deep tan. In stunned silence, the Navy officers and scientists watched as Tom's lean hands manipulated two controls. "What are those for?" Bud asked. "One's to speed up our recovery missile," Tom explained. "Looks like a slim hope, though, from the way that third blip is homing on target. This other control has just caused every instrument on this ship, and all the others in the task force, to make permanent records on magnetic tape of all their readings. "If a collision occurs and the probe missile falls into the sea," Tom went on, "there's only one hope of recovery--to plot the exact geographical position and then get to the spot before the enemy does!" "Roger!" Bud agreed. It was obvious that Tom's fears about the missiles colliding were well founded. The mystery blip had veered as the recovery missile speeded up. Within seconds, the three blips met on the screen and fused into a single spot of light. "The probe missile's no longer responding to control!" one of the telemetering scientists called out. Admiral Walter, grim-faced, flashed a questioning look at Tom. "Then recovery has failed?" "I'm afraid so, sir." The fused blip was still visible on screen as the radar dishes tracked it, moving in a way that indicated a steep downward plunge. For a moment Tom felt numb with despair. But he set his jaw firmly and turned to the admiral. "Sir, I'd like helicopters readied for take-off immediately," Tom said. "As soon as the tracking instruments lose contact, have the recording tapes picked up from every ship in the task force and brought here to the _Recoverer_." Admiral Walter nodded tersely. "Very well. Then what?" "I'll get to work right now," Tom replied, "and lay out a computer program to process the readings." The data--consisting of millions of information "bits" from the shipboard instrument tapes--would be fed to an electronic brain. The brain would then calculate the probable location in latitude and longitude of the sunken missile. As the admiral snapped out orders, Tom exchanged a brief worried glance with his father. Each was pondering the same thought. _Could Tom find the lost Jupiter probe missile? Or would their enemy locate it first?_ CHAPTER II UNDERSEA SURVEY With an effort, Tom forced all thoughts of failure out of his mind and concentrated on the job at hand. In an hour he had the computer program blocked out. Mr. Swift and several of the other scientists checked his work. Each nodded approval. By this time, the fused blip had long since disappeared from the radarscopes, indicating that the Jupiter probe missile--or what was left of it--had plunged to the ocean bottom. "What's your next move, Tom?" Admiral Walter asked. "No point in wasting time waiting for the computer results," Tom decided. "Suppose Bud and I fly back to Swift Enterprises and organize a search party." "Good idea." As Admiral Walter extended a hand, his weather-beaten face softened. "And don't feel downhearted, son. You rate a Navy 'E' for the way you handled this operation. It would have succeeded if it hadn't been for that confounded enemy missile!" "Thank you, sir." Tom managed a grateful grin, in spite of his discouragement. Minutes later, the two boys embarked in a motor launch that took them to an aircraft carrier standing by in the vicinity. From the flattop they took off in a Navy jet for Shopton. Meanwhile, Mr. Swift remained aboard the _Recoverer_ to supervise the data processing. Tom, looking back from the soaring jet, could see one of the helicopters on its way to the missile ship to deliver the first batch of tapes. It was late afternoon when the Navy jet touched down on the Enterprises airfield. The Swifts' sprawling experimental station was a walled, four-mile-square enclosure with landing strips, work-shops, and laboratories, near the town of Shopton. Here Tom Jr. and his father developed their amazing inventions. Tom and Bud hopped into a jeep at the hangar and sped to the Administration Building, where Tom shared a double office with his father. Bud sank down into one of the deep-cushioned leather chairs, while Tom adjusted the Venetian blinds to let in the afternoon sunshine. The spacious office was furnished with twin modern desks, conference table, and drawing boards which swung out from wall slots at the press of a button. At one end of the room were the video screen and control board of the Swifts' private TV network. Here and there stood scale models of their inventions, a huge relief globe of the earth, and a replica of the planet Mars. "What are your plans for our search expedition, skipper?" Bud asked. Tom ran his fingers through his crew cut. "Let's see. We'd better take the _Sky Queen_, I think, and also--" Tom broke off as the desk intercom buzzed. Miss Trent, the Swifts' secretary, was on the wire. "Your father's calling over the radio, Tom." "Swell!" Tom flicked a switch to cut in the signal of his private telephone. "Hi, Dad! We just got back. Any news?" "Yes, son. We have the computer results," Mr. Swift replied. "Got a pencil handy?" Tom copied down the latitude and longitude figures as his father dictated. "According to the latest hydrographic maps, based on IGY findings," Mr. Swift went on, "this area is a high plateau of the Atlantic Ridge--it's near the St. Paul Rocks." "What about the depth?" "It averages between a hundred and three hundred feet," said the elder scientist. Tom gave a whistle. "Lucky break, eh?" "Maybe and maybe not," Mr. Swift said cautiously. "The bottom there is heavily silted." "Oh--oh." Tom made a wry face. "In that case, we may have some digging to do." "I'm afraid so. However, no use borrowing trouble." After a short discussion, the elder scientist added, "I'll probably fly home tomorrow, son. Give my love to Mother and Sandy." "Right, Dad. So long!" Tom hung up and reported the news to Bud. "What kind of underwater gear will we use?" Bud inquired. "I'm not sure myself," Tom admitted. "Guess we'll have to take along a variety of equipment and play it by ear." Before proceeding with his search plans, Tom phoned home to inform his mother of his arrival. Mrs. Swift was sympathetic when she heard of the failure to recover the probe missile. "I'm sure you'll locate it," she said encouragingly. "Some of your cooking will sure help brighten the picture," Tom replied with a grin. As he put down the receiver a moment later, he told Bud, "You're having dinner with us tonight, pal. Fried chicken and biscuits." Bud licked his lips. "Lead me to it!" Chuckling, Tom began drawing up a list of supplies for the expedition. Bud helped with the details, after which Tom phoned the underground hangar and the Swifts' rocket base at Fearing Island to give the orders for the next day. Crewmen were also detailed for the trip. It was six o'clock when the two boys finally piled into Tom's low-slung sports car and drove to the Swifts' big, pleasant house on the outskirts of Shopton. Sandra, Tom's blond, vivacious sister, greeted them at the door. "About time!" she teased. "We were beginning to think you two had taken off somewhere." "Think I'd leave town while you and that fried chicken are in Shopton?" Bud grinned. "What a line!" Sandy's blue eyes twinkled. "I know it's the fried chicken you're really interested in." "Where's the rest of that 'we' you were referring to?" Tom inquired. "I'm sorry, Tom," Sandy said in a mournful voice. "Phyl couldn't make it." As Tom's face fell, she burst out giggling and a second later Phyllis Newton emerged from the kitchen. Brown-eyed, with long dark hair, Phyl was the daughter of Tom Sr.'s old comrade-in-arms and lifelong chum "Uncle Ned" Newton. Like Sandy, she was seventeen. "You didn't think I'd miss this rare evening, did you, Tom?" she said, laughing. "After all, it isn't often we see you two." Sandy and Phyl liked to needle the boys about their infrequent dates, due to Tom's and Bud's busy schedules. Mrs. Swift, slender and sweet-faced, gave Tom a hug and greeted Bud warmly. Over the delicious dinner, the conversation turned to the mysterious thief missile. "Who on earth could have fired it?" Sandy asked. Tom shrugged. "No telling--yet. There's more than one unfriendly country which would give a lot for the data picked up on our Jupiter shot." "You aren't expecting more trouble, are you?" Phyl put in uneasily. Tom passed the question off lightly in order not to alarm his mother and the two girls. But inwardly he was none too sure of what his survey expedition might encounter in trying to locate the lost probe missile. Ever since his first adventure in his Flying Lab, the youthful inventor had been involved in many daring exploits and thrilling situations. Time and again, Tom had had to combat enemy spies and vicious plotters bent on stealing the Swifts' scientific secrets. His research projects had taken him far into outer space and into the depths of the ocean. With his atomic earth blaster, Tom had probed under the earth's crust at the South Pole, and in other adventures he had faced danger in the jungles of Africa, New Guinea, and Yucatan. His latest achievement, receiving the visitor from Planet X, had been to construct a robot body for this mysterious brain energy from another world. Now, Tom realized, he was on the brink of another adventure which might hold unexpected dangers. Early the next morning the majestic _Sky Queen_ was hoisted from its underground hangar berth and hauled by tractor to its special runway. This mammoth, atomic-powered airplane had been Tom's first major invention. A three-deck craft, it was equipped with complete laboratory facilities for research in any corner of the globe. Jet lifters in the belly of the fuselage enabled the craft to take off vertically and also to hover. As Tom supervised the loading of the equipment, a foghorn voice boomed, "'Mornin', buckaroos!" The chunky figure of Chow Winkler came into view. Formerly a chuck-wagon cook in Texas, Chow was now head chef on Tom's expeditions. As usual, a ten-gallon hat was perched on his balding head and he was stomping along in high-heeled boots. "Wow! A shirt to end all shirts!" Tom chuckled. "Real high style, eh?" Chow twirled about to display his latest Western creation. The shirt seemed to be made of silvery fishlike scales, which glistened like a rainbow. "I figured as how this was just the thing fer an ocean jaunt," Chow added with a grin. "How soon do we take off, boss?" "As soon as we get the rest of this gear stowed," Tom replied. Twenty minutes later the _Sky Queen_ soared toward the ocean. Soon they came in sight of Fearing Island rocket base, a few miles off the coast. Once a barren stretch of sand dunes and scrub-grass, the island was now the Swifts' top-secret rocket laboratory, guarded by drone planes and radar. It served as the supply base for Tom's space station and as the launching area for all space flights. Seacopters and jetmarines were also berthed here. A radio call from Tom brought a sleek, strange-looking craft zooming up to join them. It was the _Sea Hound_, latest and largest model of Tom's amazing diving seacopter. It had an enclosed central rotor, powered by atomic turbines, with reversible-pitch blades for air lift or undersea diving. Superheated steam jets provided forward propulsion in either element. As the _Sea Hound_ streaked alongside the Flying Lab, two figures in the seacopter's flight compartment waved to Tom and Bud. One was Hank Sterling, the blond, square-jawed chief pattern-making engineer of Enterprises. The other was husky Arv Hanson, a talented craftsman who transformed the blueprints of Tom's inventions into working models. "All set," Hank radioed. "Lead the way." "Roger!" Tom replied. Flying at supersonic speed, they reached the area of the lost missile in the South Atlantic soon after lunch. Already on hand were ships of the Navy task force assigned by Admiral Walter to participate in the missile search. The _Sea Hound_ settled down on the surface of the water, while the _Sky Queen_ hovered at low altitude nearby. Tom contacted the government craft and learned that as yet no sign of the lost Jupiter prober had been detected. Then he made ready to begin his own search. "Let's try the Fat Man suits first," Tom told Bud. Turning to Slim Davis, a Swift test pilot who was in the crew, the young inventor added, "Take over, will you, Slim?" "Righto." Slim eased into the pilot's seat. "Got a job for me, skipper?" asked Doc Simpson, Swift Enterprises' young medic. "Yes. Help the boys, if you like, rig the undersea elevator, and then assemble a tractorized air dome," Tom suggested. "Will do," Doc promised. A ladder was dropped. Tom and Bud excitedly descended to the _Sea Hound_. The search for the lost missile was about to begin! Once the boys were aboard, the seacopter submerged and dived quickly to the ocean floor. Tom and Bud each climbed into a Fat Man suit and went out through the air lock. The suits, shaped like huge steel eggs with a quartz-glass view plate for the operator seated within, had mechanical arms and legs. The boys waddled about, the built-in searchlights of their suits piercing the murky gloom. They saw nothing but the deep accumulation of silt on the ocean bottom, which made the going difficult. "This is too slow," Tom called over his sonarphone. "Let's try the air dome." The dome was a huge underwater bubble of air, created by a repelatron device which actually pushed the ocean water away. The air supply inside was kept pure by one of Tom's osmotic air conditioners which made use of the oxygen dissolved in the water. The air bubble, however, even with its jet-propelled platform, also proved inadequate for the research job. Its caterpillar treads repeatedly bogged down in the silt. "Maybe the seacopter itself is our best bet," Bud suggested. "Worth a try," Tom urged. But the _Sea Hound_, too, had a serious drawback. Even with its powerful search beam sweeping the ocean floor as it prowled along, the explorers found their vision too limited. Finally Tom said, "Bud, we could skin-dive at this depth." "Let's give it a whirl," Bud urged. The seacopter surfaced again, while the boys donned flippers, masks, and air lungs. Then they dropped over the side and made their way slowly downward into the gray-green depths, accustoming themselves gradually to the increased pressure. "A lot more freedom of action," Tom thought. "If only we didn't have to communicate by signals!" There was a sudden _swoosh_ somewhere on his right. A projectile, Tom realized! Turning, his eyes widened in horror as he saw an uprush of bubbles. Bud's air tank had been hit! CHAPTER III INVISIBLE SUB Without wasting a moment, Tom lunged through the water toward his stricken friend. Bud was floundering and thrashing about weakly. He seemed dazed by the sudden shock of his plight. "Or maybe the impact of the projectile stunned him!" Tom surmised. Bud began groping his way upward just as Tom came alongside of him. Tom grabbed him as best he could, hooking onto his belt. At the same time, the young inventor inhaled deeply, yanked out Bud's useless mouthpiece, and inserted his own in its place. Bud's eyes glowed with gratitude. "We'll have to get topside fast," Tom thought, "even though it means risking the bends." He stroked upward and they shot toward the surface. Bud assisted to some extent, partly revived by the gulp of air. As they rose, fathom by fathom, their progress seemed to grow maddeningly slower. Tom had to let air bubbles escape constantly from his mouth. As the pressure decreased, due to the lessening depth of the water, the air in his lungs expanded and he was forced to breathe out. Tom noticed with dismay that Bud was not responding very well, his feeble strokes were jerky and uncoordinated. "Must've lost pressure too fast when his tank was hit," Tom realized. The water was growing greener and brighter now as they neared the sunshine. The _Sea Hound_'s shadowy outline loomed just above. With a last desperate burst of strength, Tom lunged upward and they broke water. "H-h-help!" Tom gasped. There was no need for the cry. Hank and his crew, on the seacopter's forward deck, had already grasped the situation. Strong arms reached out and hauled the two boys aboard. Both of them were shivering and writhing in pain, only half conscious. "They have the bends!" Arv Hanson cried in alarm. "Signal the _Sky Queen_ to drop a sling!" The boys' masks were ripped off. Within moments, Bud had been tightly secured to the sling, which was reeled back up into the plane. Tom followed in a few minutes. Doc Simpson took charge of the patients immediately. After a quick examination, he had the boys placed in a small decompression chamber in the _Sky Queen_'s sick bay. "How are they?" Hank asked anxiously as he peered through the window of the chamber. The medic had given Bud a sedative and he was already fast asleep. Tom remained awake. "Aside from the pain, not in too bad shape," Doc Simpson replied. It turned out that Tom's case was not so serious, but Bud had to stay in bed. With Tom, it was only a matter of decompression and he soon was up and about. Chow, in a chef's cap, with an apron around his paunchy stomach, had come stomping in hastily from the galley. "Pore lil ole boys," he fussed. "Brand my snorkel, I never should've let you young'uns go pokin' around down below there without me around to keep an eye on things!" Tom slapped the loyal old Texan on the back. "If you want a dive, come along." "You're goin' back down?" Chow asked. "In the seacopter," Tom replied. "To find out, if possible, who fired that projectile at us." "Then count me in!" Chow declared, stripping off his apron. "I just hope I get my hands on them sneakin' polecats!" Slim Davis would pilot the _Sky Queen_ back to Shopton at once, because of Bud. Tom and Chow, meanwhile, would join Hank and his crew aboard the _Sea Hound_. Ten minutes later the sleek seacopter, its searchlight off to avoid detection, was plummeting downward through water that changed before their eyes from greenish blue to a deep-gray gloom. Iridescent fish darted past the cabin window. "Think the enemy sub was searching for our Jupiter prober?" Hank asked. "It must have been," Tom reasoned. Hank frowned. "Which means they must have figured out the missile's position as fast as our side did." "And they'll play rough to stop us from finding it," Arv added forebodingly. Within moments, the group clustered in the pilot's cabin felt a gentle bump as the _Sea Hound_ settled on the submerged plateau. Tom relaxed at the controls but kept the rotors going so the craft would remain submerged. Meanwhile, the sonarman was probing the surrounding waters. "Any pings?" Tom asked. The man shook his head without taking his eyes from the sonarscope. "Nothing yet." Hank Sterling donned a hydrophone headset and listened intently. The silence deepened in the _Sea Hound_'s cabin. Suddenly Hank stiffened and the sonarman cried out: "A blip, skipper! At two o'clock!" It was moving rapidly on the scope--something streaking toward their starboard beam! "Good night! It's another missile!" Tom gasped. He darted back to the controls and gunned the reverse jets just in time! The missile flashed across their bow. "Great bellowin' longhorns!" Chow gasped weakly. His leathery face had gone pale under its tan. "The yellow-livered drygulchers!" "I don't get it," Arv Hanson spoke up. "If they're in firing range, we should have detected them, shouldn't we?" Tom nodded grimly. "Whoever our enemies are, they must have perfected a way to make themselves invisible to underwater detection. "_And we'll have to do the same!_" he vowed inwardly. Aloud, Tom said, "I hate to run from those sneaks, but if we stick around, we'll be asking for trouble." Slowing the rotors to permit the craft to rise, Tom guided the _Sea Hound_ back to the surface. Then he reversed blade pitch for air flight and gunned the atomic turbines. The seacopter rose steeply above the billowing South Atlantic. Tom radioed a terse report of their experience to the task-force commander and in turn was told that none of the naval craft had either sighted or picked up any sign of a strange sub. As they streaked homeward, Chow was still fuming. "Why don't we post a dummy sub there to scare off the varmints?" "I'll pass the idea along to the Navy," Tom said with a grin. Night had fallen when the searchers arrived back at Fearing Island. Tom cleared with the tower and landed, then went by jeep to base headquarters. He called Enterprises and learned that Bud's condition was improved, and that Mr. Swift had returned that afternoon. He spoke to him about the mystery sub. "This is bad news indeed, son," Mr. Swift said, after hearing how the attacker had defied detection. "You'd better inform Admiral Walter. He had to fly back to Washington." "I'll call him right away," Tom promised. The admiral was equally disturbed when Tom succeeded in reaching him. "We must find that missile as soon as possible--at any cost," he said. "Tom, you Swifts have had considerable experience in undersea dredging. Could you send a team of engineers to assist us in the work?" "Yes, sir," the young inventor replied. "I'll assign men to the job first thing tomorrow." After hanging up, Tom hopped back to the mainland with Chow in a Pigeon Special. This sleek little commercial plane was manufactured by the Swift Construction Company in charge of Ned Newton. Early the next morning Tom and his father drove to Enterprises, and the young inventor plunged into the job of organizing an engineering crew for the missile hunt. Art Wiltessa, a crack underwater specialist as well as engineer, was placed in charge. By noon the group had taken off for the South Atlantic in a Swift cargo jet. A small portable model of Tom's atomic earth blaster was included in their equipment. A jetmarine and a diving seacopter were also dispatched from Fearing to assist in the operations. "It's apt to be a long-drawn-out job--and dangerous," commented Mr. Swift as he lunched with Tom in their office. "Yes. Digging in that silt could be almost as bad as working in quicksand." Mr. Swift's deep-set blue eyes took on a thoughtful gleam. "Speaking of silt, son, I've found the ideal spot for my secret deep-sea farm." "You mean for growing those plants you use in making Tomasite?" Tom asked. The elder scientist nodded. Tomasite, a revolutionary plastic which Mr. Swift had developed, possessed amazing insulating properties against both heat and radiation. One of its secret ingredients came from certain plants found only in Far Eastern waters. Mr. Swift hoped to transplant them locally. "The site is near Fearing Island--about fifty feet in depth," he added. "You may have a tough time finding gardeners, Dad," Tom pointed out. "Men can't work that far down for very long at one time." "It'll be a problem," Mr. Swift conceded. He finished his coffee, then looked up with a twinkle in his eyes. "How about figuring out a solution for me, Tom?" "A new kind of air lung?" Tom was intrigued! CHAPTER IV AERIAL ATTACK "Yes, son," Mr. Swift went on. "What's needed is a new type of breathing device--one that will eliminate bulky air tanks and permit a skin diver to stay down for long periods." "Quite an order, Dad." Grabbing a pencil, the young inventor began sketching. In both his Fat Man suits and his osmotic air conditioner, Tom had already perfected ways of drawing oxygen from sea water. "But a small gadget for skin divers," he said, "will take a fantastic job of electronic miniaturization." After a pause he added, "It could really speed up recovery of the Jupiter prober, though." Lunch over, Tom hopped a jet scooter and sped off to his private laboratory. The modernistic glass-walled structure--designed by Tom himself--had every tool of modern scientific research, from electronic microscope to helium cryostat. As always, whenever he was absorbed in a new idea, Tom was eager to get to work. "Let's see what I'm shooting for. A small container, slung around the diver's neck?... No, too dangerous. Better hook it to his weight belt, with a tube to his face mask." Using a plastic foam "breadboard," Tom began experimenting with various circuit designs. He worked through the afternoon and returned to the problem early the next morning. He was interrupted by a message from Art Wiltessa, reporting no luck so far in finding the missile. Later, shortly before lunch, Tom received another call, this time from Admiral Walter. "Just wanted to keep you posted, Tom. Our task force reports no success on their part in finding the buried missile. No sign of the enemy, either." "They'd probably hesitate to attack any official U.S. Navy units," Tom said. "Or it might mean they've already found the missile themselves." "That's what I fear," Admiral Walter confessed gloomily. "However, we'll continue searching." Tom promised to fly down to the site at the first opportunity, saying he was developing a new device that might assist in the search. After snatching a hasty lunch, Tom returned to work. Arv Hanson machined several parts and molded the plastic face mask to Tom's specifications. By evening the new device was completed. "Now for a test," the young inventor said to himself. Sandy Swift and Phyl Newton were eager to watch the test, so the next morning they drove to the plant in Phyl's white convertible. Tom, clad in swim trunks, was waiting for them with Chow near the edge of a mammoth concrete tank. Set in bedrock, at one end of the Enterprises grounds, the tank was used for submarine testing. When Sandy saw the power unit strapped to Tom's weight belt, she exclaimed, "_That_ little gadget will supply all the air you need? Why, it's no bigger than a pocket transistor radio!" Tom grinned. "I hope it will. That's what I intend to find out." "How does it work?" Phyl asked, fascinated. Tom explained, "Actually its function is to replace the carbon dioxide that I exhale with fresh oxygen drawn from the water. Otherwise, although the carbon dioxide I'd breathe out would be a very small amount at a time, it soon would make the air unfit. The nitrogen, which makes up much of the air we breathe, is chemically inert and can be used again and again." He pointed to a round screen on one side of the unit. "This is the water intake," Tom went on, "and this other screen is where the water comes out after we've removed its oxygen." Near the forward end of the unit, a semirigid plastic tube was connected, leading up to the face mask. At the rear was a power port for inserting a small solar battery. "What about this little tuning knob?" Sandy asked. "That's the rate control for adjusting the output frequency to the wearer's breathing rate." Tom added, "I've decided to call the whole apparatus an 'electronic hydrolung.'" Chow pushed back his ten-gallon hat and scratched his head dubiously. "Wal, I'm keepin' a net handy to drag you out, boss, just in case." Tom chuckled and fitted the mask over his face, then made a clean dive into the tank. For the next ten minutes the girls and Chow watched wide-eyed as he swam, walked around, and went through vigorous exercises at the bottom of the tank without once coming up for air. "Whee!" Sandy exclaimed when Tom finally climbed out. "Make me one, so I can take up skin diving!" "It's wonderful!" Phyl added admiringly. Tom took off his mask. "I'm pretty pleased with it myself," he admitted, grinning. The girls stayed at Enterprises for lunch. Then the group, accompanied by Doc Simpson, flew to Fearing Island so Tom could test his invention in deep water. Boarding a small motor launch, with Doc at the helm, they cruised out to a suitable depth and dropped anchor. "Don't become too confident, Tom," Doc warned. "I'll drop a signal line over the side in case of emergency." Tom buckled on his equipment belt and adjusted the face mask. Then he held up crossed fingers and back-flipped over the gunwale into the water. Chow, Doc, and the girls watched his plummeting figure fade from view. Tom, an expert skin diver, had never before felt such a sense of ease and freedom under water. He was moving, light and self-contained, in a green, magical world. With no air tanks chafing his back, he felt akin to the fishes themselves. "Wish I'd brought a hook and line along." He chuckled, as a school of mackerel darted past. Now came the real test. Deeper and deeper, Tom cleaved his way downward. Reaching bottom, he prowled about the ocean bed for a while, then started up again. Suddenly a stab of pain shot through his chest--a warning of nitrogen bubbles forming in his blood! Tom swam toward the signal cord, dangling dimly in the distance. By the time he reached it, his muscles were knotting with cramps. "It's the bends again, all right!" Tom realized. Gritting his teeth, he yanked hard on the line, then summoned his strength to hang on. Doc and Chow hauled up frantically. Tom's face was contorted with pain when they finally got him aboard and stripped off his mask. "Oh! How awful!" Phyl gasped. Sandy cradled Tom's head in her lap, and Phyl held his hand sympathetically, while Doc Simpson injected a hypodermic to ease the pain. Chow steered the launch back to shore, and Tom was rushed to the base infirmary in an ambulance. Here he was placed in a decompression chamber for several hours and later transferred to a hospital bed. Bud Barclay came to visit him. "We're a fine couple of fish," he said. Tom chuckled wryly. "_Live_ fish, anyhow." "In my case, thanks to you," Bud said. "Forget it, pal. The score's about even, I should think," Tom said, recalling the many life-or-death adventures they had shared. Bud was thrilled to hear of Tom's electronic hydrolung. The young inventor spent the evening sketching out an improved design to eliminate future accidents. "I'll install a special device to remove the nitrogen as the wearer exhales," Tom explained. "Then a valve will feed in helium to replace it. Since helium doesn't dissolve in the blood like nitrogen does, it will not bubble out when the pressure is reduced. Should have thought of that before!" "But you'll need a tank for the helium, won't you?" Bud objected. Tom shook his head. "Enough can be compressed into a small capsule to supply the wearer's needs. Remember, it can be used over and over again." "Pretty neat," Bud commented. By morning Tom felt thoroughly recovered. He insisted upon flying back to Enterprises to make the necessary changes in his hydrolung. Bud accompanied him, eager to get back on the job. In a few hours Tom had added a small fitting to his power unit to provide for helium substitution. Then the two boys hopped back to Fearing for a second deep-water test. This time, Tom was delighted to find that he could operate comfortably at great depths, as well as rise or descend suddenly without ill effect. Bud was aglow with enthusiasm. "Boy, we can really explore now!" After the boys had returned to Enterprises, Tom phoned Arv Hanson and asked that a duplicate of the hydrolung be turned out in the shop as soon as possible. It was ready the following Monday morning, so Tom suggested to his father that the two visit the proposed underwater site and make some sample plantings. "Great idea, son," Mr. Swift agreed. "I want to try out your new diving apparatus myself. If it's successful, we'll be able to tackle two problems at once--recover the Jupiter prober and start the 'sea farm.'" They flew to Fearing, then went by boat to the farm site, about half a mile offshore. Each carried several of the valuable Far Eastern plants. [Illustration] The silt beds which Mr. Swift had selected were just deep enough to keep the plants from being discovered, yet enable them to receive sufficient sunlight. Tom and his father started their planting. But no sooner had the first plants been embedded than fish darted in to nibble them. Even the roots disappeared into their greedy maws. [Illustration] "Looks as though we'll have to build some sort of net enclosure around and over our farm," Mr. Swift said, after they had climbed back into the boat. "But at least your hydrolung device is a great success, son!" Tom was thoughtful. "Dad, I wonder if the fish would eat those plants from space which you've been growing under salt water?" Tom was referring to certain strange plants rocketed to earth by unknown space friends with whom the Swifts had been in communication. "I have a hunch," Tom went on, "that the fish might be repelled by the unusual scent of those space plants. If so, we could scatter them among the earth plants to keep the fish away." Mr. Swift was impressed by Tom's idea. As soon as they had returned to Enterprises, he proposed that the experiment get under way. Tom volunteered to undertake the job at once with Bud. While the young inventor phoned his copilot, Mr. Swift went to his own laboratory to prepare the plants for shipment. Twenty minutes later the boys took off in a jet. The plants had been parceled in transparent plastic film. Glistening with a red metallic sheen, they looked somewhat like tulips with honeycombed centers. "Scarecrow plants to drive off fishes," Bud joked. "What will scientists think of next!" Tom laughed, then abruptly frowned. "Hey! What's that character up to?" he said. "Trying to buzz us?" A sleek gray jet without markings was arrowing in on them from three o'clock. Bud flicked on the radio and barked a warning. The plane made no response. As it kept coming, Tom increased speed--then rolled, dived, and changed course, but failed to shake off their pursuer. Bud, meanwhile, was frantically calling Enterprises and a nearby airport, but getting no response. Yet their radio was working, for a voice suddenly crackled: "_Follow the mystery plane for a landing and you won't be harmed!_" CHAPTER V A HUNCH PAYS OFF Dismayed, Tom and Bud stared at each other. Apparently the enemy ship had blanked out their radio communication to all points except the mystery plane. "Who are you and what do you want?" Tom said into his microphone. The voice replied crisply, "_You'll find out when the time comes!_" Tom flicked off his mike and exchanged another worried glance with Bud. "We seem to be in a spot, pal!" "And how! Especially if that crate's armed!" Bud muttered. "But what are they after?" Tom shrugged. "The space plants maybe--or possibly our jet." "Might even be _us_ they want," Bud said. "Got any tricks under your magician's hat?" Tom's brain was already racing to figure a way out. Suddenly he snapped his fingers. "Hey! I almost forgot!" he exclaimed. "Look in the locker, Bud, and see if we have the radio set that neutralizes all interference!" Bud's face brightened. "Now you're talking!" The set had been perfected during Tom's _Cosmic Astronauts_ adventure, in defense against an Oriental enemy's jamming-wave generator. Bud found it in the locker, dragged it out joyfully, and plugged it into the power supply. Meanwhile, the mystery jet had banked in a wide circle and headed west. As Tom stalled for time, it swooped back again and the same voice came snarling over the speaker. "_I warned you to follow us! Or would you prefer to be shot down?_" As if to back up the threat, a burst of tracer fire grazed Tom's plane. He hastily switched on his mike. "Okay, hold your fire! I guess we have no choice!" The jet turned back on its westerly course, and Tom followed obediently. Meanwhile, Bud had warmed up the other radio and contacted Enterprises. Tom switched mikes long enough to report their position, course, and speed, adding: "Tell Security to alert Vignall Air Force Base pronto!" "Roger Wilco!" the Enterprises operator responded. Even if the enemy ship detected the call, Tom knew the automatic scrambling device would prevent the message from being understood. Minute after minute, the flight continued. "Where are they taking us?" Bud muttered. "Some out-of-the-way landing spot probably," Tom conjectured. "I wonder how soon those fighter boys will--" Bud suddenly grabbed Tom's arm and pointed to starboard. "There they come, skipper!" Three gleaming specks had just burst through a cloud bank to the north. Closing in rapidly, they were soon visible as Air Force fighter jets, flying in V formation. "Fighter One to unmarked jet!" came the sharp command over the radio. "Can you read me?... You'd _better_ read me, pal! I order you to proceed to Vignall Air Base under our escort or take the consequences!" The mystery pilot, evidently bewildered by the sudden onslaught, made a frantic effort to escape. But the fighters, with almost contemptuous ease, quickly surrounded the plane and forced him to comply with orders. Bud whooped with laughter. "Just a sheep in wolf's clothing, eh, buster?" Minutes later, all the planes, including Tom's, landed at the airfield. Four sullen-faced men, their hands up, emerged from the mystery jet. Military police with drawn automatics herded them to the commandant's office. Tom and Bud followed. "Attempted aerial piracy, eh?" the commandant said when he heard the boys' story. Turning to the prisoners, he snapped, "Who are you, and what's the meaning of all this?" The crew captain, a hard-looking, stockily built man of about forty-five, rasped back, "We have nothing to say." The commandant wasted no words. "Search them," he told the MP's. Their wallets and various other items revealed little. The crew captain was carrying a private pilot's license on which he was identified as "Jack Smith." The names of the others, as shown on identification papers of one kind or another, sounded equally false. "Probably all forged," the commandant muttered, "but we'll check them out." He tried again to glean something from the prisoners, but they replied with sneering evasions. The commandant reddened with anger at their stubbornness. "All right. Take them to the guardhouse," he ordered. As the MP's marched the hijackers off, Tom asked how their case would be handled. "The crime is a federal offense," the commandant explained. "Air Force Intelligence will co-operate on the case, but the prisoners will be turned over to a federal marshal." Tom briefed him on the background of the situation, including the Jupiter-probing missile mystery, then asked, "Could those men be transferred to the Shopton jail for the time being so our own security setup can take a hand in the investigation?" The commandant nodded. "I'll arrange it." As the boys flew back to Enterprises, Bud threw Tom a quizzical glance. "How come you mentioned the Jupiter prober, skipper? Do you think those hijackers were after information?" Tom shrugged. "I'm wondering myself, Bud. If they were, it could mean our enemy hasn't found it yet!" When they arrived at the experimental station, Tom made a full report to Harlan Ames, the slim, dark-haired security chief. Ames listened thoughtfully but was as baffled as Tom. "Are the men Americans?" he asked. "I doubt it," Tom said. "They speak English well enough, but with a faint accent. Somehow, I have a hunch they're Brungarians." Ames whistled. "That could spell trouble, skipper." More than once, Brungarian rebel agents had engaged in brazen plots against America and the Swifts. "Let's hope I'm wrong," Tom said wryly. "Art Wiltessa--and the Navy--called again," Ames added. "Still no luck on the missile search." The gloomy news did nothing to lift Tom's spirits. The next day, hoping to verify or disprove his suspicion, he drove to Shopton Police Headquarters with Harlan Ames. The two talked briefly with Chief Slater, an old friend. Then a turnkey took them to the cell block. The four prisoners had been confined in a single large cell. They seemed tense and angry--as if they had been quarreling among themselves. "Ready to talk yet?" Ames asked. Getting no reply, he repeated the question in Brungarian. Ames's ruse failed. "What language is that?" asked "Captain Smith" mockingly. "Pig Latin?" As his cellmates grinned, Tom's eyes roved over their faces. One man--wavy-haired with penetrating dark eyes--seemed oddly familiar. Why? Suddenly the answer hit Tom like a flash. He resembled Streffan Mirov, the brilliant Brungarian rocket scientist who had tried to oust Tom's expedition from the phantom satellite Nestria. Playing a hunch, Tom said to him, "You know what your government does to rebels and bunglers, Mirov." The man stiffened and paled. "We have not b-b-bungled!" he stuttered angrily. "Shut up, you fool!" their leader shouted. CHAPTER VI THE CAISSON CLUE "Captain Smith" had leaped to his feet, quivering with anger. But it was too late. His cellmate, by answering to the name of "Mirov," had given away their nationality! Tom and Ames exchanged grins of triumph. "No doubt you recall what happened to Streffan Mirov," Tom went on, pressing his advantage. "Or should I say the _late_ Streffan Mirov? Our last report was that he had been tried and condemned by your own government. Perhaps you can give us news of his fate?" The wavy-haired prisoner's eyes blazed with hate. "Grin while you can, Tom Swift! Because of you, my brother Streffan is now serving a long prison sentence! But I, Dimitri Mirov, will get revenge!" "You blame Tom Swift because your brother botched his job of claiming the satellite Nestria by force and fraud?" Ames taunted. "Our space friends moved that asteroid into orbit around the earth," Tom added. "We claimed it by right of first landing. Even your own leaders couldn't agree to Streffan's crazy scheme to destroy everything." Dimitri Mirov lost all control and burst into a volley of guttural Brungarian abuse. "I warn you, Swift!" he choked. "Jailing us will not make you safe--or your projects, either!" A blow to the head from "Captain Smith" sent Mirov reeling back against the wall. "Fool! Maybe that will quiet you!" the pilot snapped viciously. "You have said too much already!" "Let's go, Tom," said Ames. "We've learned the information we came for." The prisoners could only glare in baffled rage through the cell bars as Tom and the security chief turned their backs and walked away. "Nice going, Tom," Ames murmured. "Your hunch certainly paid off." Chief Slater added his congratulations when he heard how Tom had trapped Mirov into disclosing his identity. Both Tom and Ames were grave as they drove back to the plant. Neither took Mirov's threats lightly. Tom pondered another angle. Were the Brungarian rebels perhaps responsible for the attempted theft of the Jupiter-circling missile? Ames was inclined to think so. "Moreover," he forecast, "it's a cinch they haven't thrown their last punch. I'll pass the word to the FBI and Central Intelligence." After lunch Tom flew to Fearing Island with Bud, eager to tackle their interrupted job of rooting the space plants into the undersea silt beds. Zimby Cox, a sandy-haired, freckle-faced jetmariner, volunteered to pilot a motor launch for them. They sped across the water, then dropped anchor at the farm site. Tom and Bud donned their hydrolung gear and went over the side, each clutching containers of the space plants. Reaching bottom, they glided about in the shadowy green water, embedding the plants at far-spaced intervals. The Tomasite-producing plants had been almost completely devoured. A few fish were darting about, but they swam off quickly at the boys' approach. To Tom's delight, they showed no sign of returning. "Looks as if our keep-off signs are working," Tom said with a pleased chuckle when the boys finally surfaced and climbed back aboard the boat. Bud nodded. "Smart idea, all right." Then he scowled thoughtfully. "But if you ask me, skipper, fishes aren't the only thieves you'll have to guard against." "Meaning?" "Mirov's pals," Bud replied. "If it's the space plants they were after when they pulled that aerial hijack attempt, they could take them easily from these silt beds." Tom sobered. "You have a point there. I'd better have an audio screen set up around this whole area. That'll act as a burglar alarm--and help discourage the fish, too." Twenty minutes later the boys were winging back to the mainland. When Tom reached his office, he called in Gib Brownell, an Enterprises engineer. "Got a job for me, skipper?" Tom handed him a hastily scribbled diagram of the audio-screen setup. "One of those hurry-up deals, Gib," he said with an apologetic grin. Tom explained his plan. "We'll use transmitter buoys, monitored by an alarm system at base headquarters on Fearing." Brownell studied the diagram and nodded. "Right. We can have it set up in twenty-four hours." As Brownell left the office, the telephone jangled. Tom reached for it. "Admiral Walter calling." His voice was tense. "Important news, Tom. One of our subs has picked up a clue that someone has been operating in the missile search area." "What sort of clue, sir?" Tom asked. "A compressed-air caisson for underwater work. It had been driven into the silt and then abandoned." Admiral Walter added that photographs and a section of the caisson were being flown to the Naval Research Laboratory for careful study. "I'll have a full report transmitted to you by video as soon as it reaches my desk." Tom thanked the admiral and hung up, feeling more uneasy than ever. The report came through the following morning. Tom absorbed the contents, then gave a low whistle. "Trouble?" asked Bud, who had just dropped into the office with some flight-test data on a new Swift superjet. "Our old enemies again." Tom shoved the papers across his desk. The report stated that both the design and manufacturing techniques used in making the caisson indicated that it was of Brungarian origin. A spectrographic analysis of the steels confirmed the theory. Their metallurgical content agreed with known Brungarian steel formulas. "The sneaky rats!" Bud cried out. "Well, at least we know now who sabotaged our missile recovery." As Tom paced about the office, Bud added, "What do you suppose they were using the caisson for?" "Probably as a base for some heavy, rotating search equipment," the young inventor surmised. "But why ditch it?" Tom shrugged. "An optimistic guess is that they spotted our Navy search force and pulled out quickly, fearing a surprise attack." "What's a pessimistic explanation?" Bud asked. "Mission completed," Tom said grimly. "No need for them to stick around if they'd already snagged the missile." Bud scowled at the thought. "Oh, no! That mustn't be true!" Tom plopped down at his desk, frowning. "Bud, I've been itching to get to work on a non-detectable sub, like the one that attacked us. But maybe it would be smarter to get a line on Mirov's pals first." "You mean down in the South Atlantic?" Tom nodded. "I'd sure like to know if they found that missile." "You and I both, pal!" Bud agreed. "Hey! We could use the electronic hydrolungs for scouting around!" he added eagerly. "I intend to," Tom said. "But we'll need speed to cover the area. So first I want to add an ion drive to our equipment." "Ion drive? For underwater?" Bud, who was familiar with ion propulsion for spaceships, wrinkled his brow in a puzzled frown. "A goofy idea just occurred to me, but I think it may work out," Tom replied. He seized a pencil and began explaining what he had in mind. The drive unit would take water into itself, separate the ionized molecules, and expose them to an electric field. Thus a stream of water would be forced out. This procedure, in turn, would set up a siphoning action through a central tube--in effect, creating a small but powerful water-jet motor. "We'll be human submarines!" Bud exclaimed. By the time Bud left the laboratory half an hour later, Tom had already plunged into work on his newest invention. The idea was simple enough in itself, Tom felt. The main problem would be the design job--laying out a compact, lightweight unit which a swimmer could easily carry on his back. Fascinated, the young inventor worked late into the evening, stopping only in response to a telephone plea from Mrs. Swift. By midmorning the next day, Tom had assembled a pilot model of his ion-drive jet. In appearance, it was a slender metal cylinder, two feet long, with an inner concentric tube projecting at each end. Tom had ordered a tank set up in his laboratory to test the unit. The tank was filled chest-deep with water, and the ion drive was mounted on a unitrack running the length of it. Tom set up his control board alongside, with the main power switch within easy reach. The drive unit was connected to the board by a suspended cable. "Boy, this'll be like playing with a speedboat in a bathtub!" Tom thought with a chuckle as he changed into swim trunks. He climbed into the tank and slid the drive unit to one end of its track. Then Tom metered out power slowly. With a gentle _whoosh_, the ion-drive unit whizzed along the unitrack to the other end of the tank. "Not bad," Tom muttered, a pleased grin on his face. "Now I'll rev it up a little." He slid the drive unit back to starting position, then opened the switch wider. He had just started across the tank himself when suddenly he became powerless to move. Tom was pinned helplessly against the wall of the tank by the powerful water-jet exhaust! And the control switch was beyond his reach! CHAPTER VII PORPOISE TAG "Good grief! I'm trapped!" Tom squirmed desperately in a vain attempt to free himself. The ion-drive unit had hurtled to the far end of the tank at the first flick of power. But its exhaust tube was still jetting out a current of water with stunning force. Tom could feel the near-crushing pressure against his chest, even the full length of the tank away! "H-h-help!" Tom gasped. Moments dragged by with agonizing slowness. Tom felt as if his last ounce of breath were being squeezed out by the viselike pressure. Suddenly a gravelly Western voice reached him, singing "Home on the Range." It drew closer, swelling into a foghorn drone as the lab door swung open. "Good old Chow!" Tom thought. "Thank heavens!" The grizzled, bowlegged cook ambled cheerfully into the laboratory, pushing a lunch cart. But, to Tom's dismay, he cast only a passing glance at the figure in the tank. [Illustration: _Tom squirmed desperately to free himself_] "Soup's on, son!" Chow announced loudly. He began to ladle out a bowl of oyster stew from a steaming pot. Evidently he had not realized the young inventor's dilemma! "Extra good today too, if I do say so myself!" the old Texan went on, setting out the rest of the lunch. "Well, come on, buckaroo! Break away from them chores an' dive in! Brand my cactus salad, if there's one thing that riles a cook--" Summoning all his strength, Tom croaked out weakly, "Chow!... Get help!" At the strange sound of Tom's voice, Chow jerked around. His eyes bugged out at the look on the young inventor's face. Then he dashed to the public-address outlet on the wall and switched on the mike. "Help! Help!" Chow yelled. "Tom Jr.'s trapped in his lab!" The roly-poly chef was quivering in panic. He dashed across the room and paced helplessly about the tank. Within moments, excited men were crowding into the laboratory. Mr. Swift, among the first to arrive, took in the situation at a glance. He dashed to the control board and slammed shut the main switch, thus cutting off power to the ion-drive jet. "Whew! Th-thanks, Dad!" Tom's chest was heaving as he gulped in air to relieve his tortured lungs. Tom Sr. helped him climb out of the tank. "B-b-brand my rhubarb rockets," Chow stuttered. "What in tarnation happened?" "Guess I gunned my new skin-diving jet a bit too hard," Tom said sheepishly. "It was almost a K.O. for me!" Mr. Swift asked Tom about the invention. After explaining how it worked, Tom added with a grin, "Maybe you'd better hang around, Dad, until I install some sort of density-control gadget for my hydrolung. Then I can go up or down, or stay at any level easily." Such a device, Tom felt, might prove to be a lifesaver if he should ever become trapped under water--perhaps far from help. The elder scientist chuckled and threw an arm around Tom's shoulders. "I'd say you could design something like that with your eyes shut, son!" Warmed by his father's appreciation, Tom set to work improving his diving apparatus. An hour later Bud came bursting into the laboratory. "Hey! What's this I hear about your getting hammerlocked by a water jet?" the husky young pilot asked. He had been on a test flight and just returned. Tom laughed good-naturedly. "Nothing serious. In fact, I felt pretty silly," he told his chum. "I souped up our ion-drive gizmo a bit too much." Bud picked up the slender metal cylindrical assembly from the workbench. "This it?" he asked, his curiosity immediately aroused. Tom nodded and demonstrated the device in the test tank. Bud whistled with glee. "Boy! With this rig, we can scoot around like a pair of barracudas!" he exclaimed. "What about that other thing you're working on?" Bud pointed to a small electronic chassis on the workbench, studded with a tangle of transistors, diodes, and condensers. "It's a density-control device," Tom explained. "A substitute for ballast tanks, you might say. It'll enable us to rise or sink to any depth at will, simply by varying our underwater density." Tom said the device would be carried in a small case, hooked to the diver's belt, with a single tuning-knob control. The "throttle" or speed control for the ion drive would be housed in the same unit. "I can't wait to try out the new diving gear," Bud said excitedly. By four o'clock Tom had the apparatus perfected, and turned it over to Arv Hanson for fast duplication. "We'll give it a shakedown tomorrow morning," he told Bud. The duplicates of the ion drive and density control were ready and waiting when the boys arrived at the plant next day. They immediately flew to Fearing Island and embarked in a motor launch, with Zimby Cox again at the helm. This time they cruised out to deeper water. Tom and Bud donned flippers and belt, and helped each other strap on his ion-drive jet. "_Down_ we go, into the wilds of sharks!" Bud chortled lustily. "Watch your step, Tom." "Just make sure you come up again in one piece," Zimby said with a grin. "Also, don't get carried away with that ion squirt gun and take off on a round-the-world underwater cruise." "Who knows?" Tom joked. Adjusting his face mask, he plunged over the side. Bud followed. Down they glided into the sea-green wilderness. Leveling off in sight of the ocean floor, they tried their drive jets. The effect was thrilling! _Zip ... Whoosh!_ They darted to and fro like human torpedoes. Then Tom twirled the control knob of his density unit. Immediately he bobbed upward like a cork. A reverse twirl sent him plummeting toward the bottom again. Bud, watching with wide-eyed excitement, began experimenting on his own. Soon the boys were engaging in all sorts of underwater acrobatics. Presently Bud felt a nudge in the back that sent him hurtling a dozen yards through the water. "Snuck up on me, eh, pal?" he thought with a chuckle. "Okay, Tom old boy, here's where the undersea terror strikes back!" Swooping around to return the compliment, Bud gulped in surprise. Instead of his chum, he found himself face to face with a bottle-nosed dolphin! "Good night!" Bud thought. "A porpoise! So you're the joker who nudged me!" With a playful toss of its comical-looking snout, the porpoise swam off, as if inviting Bud to join in the fun and games. A whole school of the creatures cavorted into view. "Okay! If you want to play!" Chuckling, Bud darted in pursuit, whacked the porpoise that had nudged him, and jetted off again. The porpoise gave chase, whistling and grunting audibly. Tom joined in the fun, and soon a rollicking game of underwater tag was in full swing. The dolphins seemed as playful and mischievous as small children. Twenty minutes later the boys surfaced and hauled themselves aboard. Both tore off their masks and flopped into the boat, shaking with laughter, surfacing and diving. "What was so funny down there?" Zimby asked. When Tom told him about the dolphins, he too burst into laughter. The porpoises rose into view and convoyed the launch all the way back to the island. The boys were so jubilant over the performance of the new hydrolung gear that Tom decided to press his search for the Brungarian sea-prowlers immediately. Soon after lunch they took off in the _Sea Hound_ and headed for the South Atlantic. Hank Sterling, Chow Winkler, and two crewmen accompanied the boys. Dazzling afternoon sunshine sparkled over the sea when they reached the missile search area. Tom immediately contacted Art Wiltessa and the task-force ships. They had no new developments to report. The young inventor gave orders to submerge. As soon as the seacopter touched bottom, Tom and Bud swam out through the air lock with their hydrolungs. They probed about for half an hour, ranging farther and farther from the _Sea Hound_. Then Tom felt a touch on his arm. He turned and saw Bud pointing off excitedly to the right. A strange submarine was moving slowly toward them! CHAPTER VIII DATE TROUBLE The boys exchanged looks of fear through their face masks as the knifelike hull and conning tower of the submarine loomed gray and ghostly. Was the sub Brungarian? And what was it up to? Were the two young skin divers about to be run down or kidnaped? _Or was its crew friendly?_ "Better not chance it," Tom decided fast. He caught Bud's eye again and motioned upward with a jerk of his thumb. "Topside, pal!" "Roger!" Bud's lips shaped the word silently behind his face mask. In a twinkling both boys flicked their density controls and zoomed upward. The sub at once seemed to betray a hostile intent. It blew its tanks and planed upward in pursuit. But Tom and Bud easily pulled away. Their density units worked like magic, shooting them straight toward the surface. "Wow!" Bud shoved back his face mask as they broke water. "That baby was after us and no mistake!" Tom nodded, treading water. "Let's not stick around here, either! We'll soon have company again if we do!" Bud did not argue. "Where to, skipper?" In the fresh salt air, with the sunshine sparkling on the waves, it was hard to believe that an enemy submarine was hot on their trail. But both youths realized their peril was growing by the moment. "Back toward the _Sea Hound_," Tom said, pointing north-northwest. "Submerge as we go!" Bud circled his thumb and forefinger, then adjusted his mask, and the two boys plunged back in. On a sloping downward course, they sped along like undersea rockets, their ion jets functioning perfectly. Minutes later, they sighted the seacopter. Hank waved to them through the cabin window as they glided past. The air lock opened speedily and the two boys entered. Both heaved sighs of relief when they were safely inside. "Somethin' wrong?" Chow asked, sniffing trouble. "A strange submarine," Tom reported. "Brungarian more than likely. It may be heading this way if they've tracked us." "A sub?" Hank was startled. "We've picked up nothing on sonar!" "Check again," Tom ordered. The sonarman bent to his scope and Hank listened intently over the hydrophones. Neither could detect any sign of another craft. "Probably the same one that fired on us the last time," Tom said grimly. "We'd better clear out before they take another pot shot at us." Hank sent the _Sea Hound_ zooming toward the surface while the boys changed quickly into slacks and T shirts. Then Tom took over the controls for the flight home. "Brand my vitamin vittles! Are we just goin' to turn tail an' run every time them varmints come skulkin' around?" Chow fumed as the seacopter arrowed northward. "Not if I can help it," Tom vowed. "But first I must figure out a way to make our own craft invisible, so to speak. It's the only way to protect our American crews, Chow, if we hope to do any secret digging for that lost missile." "Want another suggestion, skipper?" Bud put in. "This one is about the hydrolung." "Sure. Speak up." "How about putting some sort of communications system into our hydrolung gear? If I hadn't been close enough to grab you when I spotted that sub, it might have been curtains, pal!" "You're right," Tom agreed. "I'll get to work on it." It was sunset when Fearing Island came into sight. The boys flew a Pigeon Special back to Enterprises, where Tom phoned a full report on the mystery sub to the Navy Department. Then the two chums drove to the Swift home for a late supper. Phyl Newton was visiting Sandy that evening, but the girls displayed a marked coolness toward Tom and Bud. Instead of engaging in conversation, they retired to Sandy's room upstairs to play records, while Mrs. Swift served the boys a warmed-up but tasty meal of roast beef and mince pie. "What's wrong? Are we repulsive or something?" Bud asked as they ate. Tom shrugged, concentrating on a mouthful of roast beef. "Search me. We sure don't seem very popular with the girls tonight." Mrs. Swift, overhearing their remarks in the kitchen, smiled but maintained a diplomatic silence. Suddenly Bud slapped his forehead. "Good night! No wonder!" Tom looked up with a grin of interest. "Well, what have we done?" "It's what we _haven't_ done, pal!" Bud retorted. "We had a date this afternoon, remember? That beach party and dance put on by Sandy and Phyl's school sorority!" Tom gulped. "Oops! Boy, we really did pull a boner this time! I completely forgot!" As they finished supper, the boys discussed various ways to make amends. Boxes of chocolates? Flowers? None of their ideas seemed to have the proper spark. "We'll have to come up with something super," Bud said. "Right!" Tom agreed. "Let's sleep on it and see if we can't dream up something by tomorrow morning that'll really wow them." The next morning Tom had a flash of inspiration as he drove to the plant in his sports car. He hailed Bud at the first opportunity. "I have it, pal! What say we stage an old-fashioned square dance Tuesday night at the yacht club on Lake Carlopa?" Bud's eyes lighted up. "Hey, that's a great idea! We'll invite a whole gang, get Chow to handle the refreshments, and make it a real shindig!" The boys shook hands enthusiastically. Eager to patch matters up as soon as possible, they invited Sandy and Phyl out to lunch that day. Over dessert, the boys announced their plans for a square dance. "We--uh--realize we goofed yesterday on that beach party," Tom said sheepishly. "But we're hoping you'll give us another chance." The girls looked at each other, their eyes twinkling, then burst into giggles. "You're forgiven completely!" Phyl declared. "Then it's a date?" Bud put in. "You bet it's a date, and don't you forget it!" Sandy warned. "Phyl and I are going right over to Dorman's Department Store and pick out some cute outfits for the dance!" Tom and Bud chuckled over the success of their scheme as they drove back to Enterprises. Later that afternoon a telephone call interrupted Tom as he worked in his lab on a sonic-communications system for the hydrolung apparatus. "This is Lester Morris," said the voice at the other end of the line. The name did not register with Tom at first until his caller added, "I hear you're planning a square dance Tuesday night at the yacht club." Suddenly Tom remembered. Lester Morris was a popular dance orchestra leader in and around Shopton. He was also much in demand as a square-dance caller and fiddler. "That's right," Tom said with a chuckle. "News must travel fast. We just phoned invitations to our friends." Morris asked if musicians had been hired for the evening. When Tom said No, his caller volunteered for the job, offering to provide a small combo of country-style players. His asking price sounded like a bargain rate, and Tom, knowing Morris's reputation, was only too glad to engage him. "Lucky break, his calling," the young inventor thought as he hung up. Bud was delighted to hear of the arrangement when he came into the laboratory a while later. The boys talked over their dance plans for a few moments, then Bud asked: "How's our underwater talkie system coming?" Tom scratched his jaw thoughtfully. "A bit tricky but not too difficult," he replied. "It's mostly a job of adapting the sonarphone arrangement from our Fat Man suits--in miniature." A tiny mike, Tom explained, would be installed on the inside of each face mask, with its output feeding to a sonar transducer on the exterior. The receiving transducers would feed from amplifiers to earphones. The hookup would be powered by the solar battery in the hydrolung power unit, by connecting wires through the breathing tube. "That's neat, Tom," Bud said. "Need any help?" "You can mold us a pair of new face masks--big enough to cover the earphones," Tom suggested. He handed Bud a penciled sketch from the workbench, adding, "Then drill the holes for the mikes and earphones--the dimensions are there on the drawing. But watch it so you don't crack the plastic." [Illustration: _Chow was wild-eyed with panic!_] While Bud complied, Tom began assembling the tiny electronic parts. In two hours the gear was ready for testing. Tom wiped his perspiring forehead and gave Bud a grin of satisfaction. "Go get your swim trunks, fly boy. Let's give it a tryout in the tank." "Swell idea! Be back in a jiff!" After a quick change, the boys strapped on the new hydrolung equipment. Before adjusting his face mask, Tom mentioned that he had inserted scrambling circuits into the communicators to foil any enemy eavesdroppers. "If they do pick up anything, it'll sound like chop suey," Tom ended with a chuckle. The boys submerged in the test tank and proceeded to give the new underwater communication system a thorough check-out. It worked perfectly. Ten minutes later Tom and Bud clambered out again, dripping wet but well satisfied. They had just peeled off their masks when Chow came charging into the lab, with a crowd of workmen and technicians at his heels. The cook was wild-eyed with panic. "What's wrong, Chow?" Tom asked in alarm. CHAPTER IX A MAGNETIC KIDNAPING "The space people or some enemy's invadin' us!" Chow shouted. "Take a squint through your telescope, boss! Brand my bazooka, they may be landin' any second!" More people came streaming in, attracted by the chef's cries and gesticulations. Some were bewildered, a few frightened. Others were laughing, thinking the whole thing a joke. The scene was rapidly taking on the proportions of a riot! "Whoa! Slow down, Chow!" Tom ordered, trying to make himself heard above the din. "It--it's the truth, boss!" Chow stammered, mopping his brow with a huge red bandanna. "Why, sufferin' rattlesnakes, didn't I hear 'em spoutin' their space lingo with my own ears?" "You heard _what_?" Bud said. "Spoutin' space talk!" the cook repeated. "It come right over the loud-speaker in the galley! They was chitter-chatterin' plottin' to blow us all to smithereens!" "That's a fact! We heard it, too!" one of the workmen chimed in. Tom and Bud looked at each other blankly. Then suddenly Tom's eyes kindled with a dawning suspicion. Whirling around, he rushed over to inspect the public-address outlet on the wall. Meanwhile, Mr. Swift had just driven in through the main gate of Enterprises. "What's going on?" he asked the guard at the gate, noting the excited hubbub around Tom's laboratory. "Don't rightly know, sir," the guard replied. "I was wondering myself. I know it sounds crazy, but I thought I heard someone yelling there was going to be a space attack." Mr. Swift's eyebrows lifted in amazement. Without further discussion, he stepped on the accelerator and sped off along the paved drive. Seconds later, his car braked to a stop near Tom Jr.'s private laboratory. The scientist jumped out and made his way through the milling crowd. "What's going on?" Mr. Swift stared in astonishment at Tom and Bud, who were both doubled up with laughter. "A scrambled radio alert, Dad," Tom gasped between chuckles. "Chow thought some Martian monsters were invading us, and sort of pushed the panic button." The Texan blushed as Tom explained what had happened. Realizing Chow's embarrassment, Tom tried to make his mistake sound understandable. Apparently the power line to the ion-drive control board had somehow picked up the boys' scrambled conversation underwater. The signal had been transferred by inductance in the wall wiring and amplified over the public-address system. "Our wall mike was on," Tom added, "and it probably picked up some of the sound waves from the tank. Anyhow," he concluded, slapping the cook affectionately on the back, "I'm sure glad we have a wide-awake hombre like Chow in the outfit. It wouldn't be the first time he's saved our necks!" Chow perked up, and the employees, reassured, returned to their jobs. "I have some news of my own," Mr. Swift announced with a smile as the room cleared. "But I'm afraid it'll sound pretty tame compared to a space attack." "Let's hear it, Dad," Tom said eagerly. "I've been conducting some experiments with those space plants," the elder scientist said. "It looks as though they may prove to be a valuable nutritional source." The plants, Mr. Swift went on, showed promise of producing enormous amounts of protein quickly and cheaply--enough to increase the world's food supply by a sizable margin. Moreover, he had isolated a vitamin in this protein not found in any of man's present foods. "Doc Simpson has been working with me," Mr. Swift concluded. "He has been doing some experiments of his own with a vitamin extract from the space plants. He thinks it may prove highly beneficial to human beings." Tom was thrilled, and even Bud realized that Mr. Swift's cautious report could well turn out to be of history-making importance. "I'd say your news makes a phony space attack look pretty tame, Dad," Tom said, his eyes flashing enthusiastically. "With the earth's population increasing, this could be the answer to the food problem." "Don't tell Chow," Bud added, "or we may find spaceburgers on the next menu!" The Swifts chuckled. Chow's hobby of concocting weird dishes was a standing joke at Enterprises, and already had led to such dubious triumphs as armadillo stew and rattlesnake soup. Monday morning Tom buckled down seriously to the job of designing an undetectable sub. His drawing board was littered with sketches and diagrams when the phone rang, breaking in on his thoughts. Tom answered it with a scowl of impatience. The caller was Lester Morris. "Could you meet me at the yacht club to talk over the dance program?" Morris asked. Tom hesitated. For Sandy's and Phyl's sakes he was eager to do everything possible to make the square dance a success. But on the other hand.... "I'm pretty busy today," Tom said. "But my sister and my friend Bud Barclay can tell you what we want--probably better than I can. Suppose I ask them to meet you there after lunch?" There was a slight pause. "Very well," Morris agreed, although he sounded a bit annoyed. After hanging up, Tom phoned Bud and asked him to keep the appointment. Bud was only too happy to oblige, jumping at the chance to take Sandy out to lunch beforehand. At one o'clock the husky young pilot and his date strolled into the yacht club lounge. Lester Morris was nowhere in sight, so they sat down to wait. Twenty minutes later the musician still had not appeared. "I hope he hasn't forgotten," Sandy said, glancing at her wrist watch. "If he's a square-dance caller, his memory ought to be extra good," Bud joked. "Fine thing if he can't even remember the time of day!" After waiting a while longer, Bud decided to telephone Morris's home. But at that moment a thin, seedy-looking man came into the lounge. His close-set eyes and loudly striped suit combined to give him a somewhat disreputable appearance. "Good grief! Len Unger!" Sandy whispered. "What does he want with us?" Unger was walking straight toward them. Both Bud and Sandy had met him occasionally around town and found him obnoxious. "Sorry, but Morris got tied up," Unger informed them. "He sent me to talk to you." Sandy's blue eyes met Bud's in a flicker of distaste, but she tried to conceal her feelings. "Please sit down," she invited Unger politely. "What square-dance numbers does Mr. Morris do?" Len Unger shrugged. "You name 'em." "But, my goodness," Sandy said, puzzled, "how do we know he'll have the squares I name?" Unger stared at her as if he did not quite understand. "You mean, can he call off the dances you want? If he can't, I'll let you know." "Does he do patter calls or singing calls?" Bud put in. Again Unger hesitated, then said, "Both." "Wonderful!" Sandy exclaimed gleefully. "I thought he only did singing calls." After a moment's thought, she went on, "Well, let's see. What about 'Birdie in the Cage'?... And 'The Gal from Arkansas' ... 'Uptown and Downtown'...." Unger jotted the names on the back of an envelope. Pausing a moment, he remarked, "Guess your brother was too busy to make it today, eh, Miss Swift? What kind of ex-spearmints is he working on now?" "I really couldn't say," Sandy replied coldly. She always made it a point not to discuss Tom Jr.'s or her father's research work with outsiders. Unger persisted chattily, "I read where he handled that Jupiter probe shoot for the Navy." "Let's get back to square dancing," snapped Bud. As he and Sandy finished planning the program, Len Unger continued to drop remarks and questions about "The Great Tom Swift" and his inventions. All prying queries were side-stepped. As soon as possible Sandy and Bud cut short the conversation and left the yacht club. Unger's face wore an angry sneer as they walked out. "What a creep!" Bud said, when he and Sandy were driving back in his red convertible. Meanwhile, in his private laboratory at Enterprises, Tom was somewhat discouraged. He had tried several different experimental attacks on the problem of an undetectable submarine. None had worked out successfully. "I thought that idea of a sonar-wave baffle might lead somewhere," he murmured, "but it looks as though I'm wrong." Flopping down on a stool at his workbench, Tom cupped his chin in his hands. He was frowning, deep in thought, as the pudgy figure of Chow Winkler came into the laboratory. "'Smatter, boss?" the cook inquired cheerfully. "Ain't your ole think box workin' today?" "Doesn't seem to be," Tom confessed. "Give it time, son. Tomorrow's another day," Chow said philosophically. "What you need is a haircut for the square dance." Tom laughed in spite of himself. "Maybe you're right, Chow. Might help me think better." Tom got off the stool and stretched out the kinks in his legs. He strolled outside with Chow, then scootered to the parking lot and hopped into his sleek, silver sports car. A moment later he was whizzing off in the direction of Shopton. Nearing town, Tom turned off on a side-road short cut. He noticed in his mirror that a truck behind him also turned off. "Really barreling along!" Tom thought. "If you're in such a hurry, the road's yours, pal." He pulled over sharply, motioning the truck to pass. Instead, to Tom's surprise, it closed in straight behind him. The next moment, Tom saw a port open below the truck's hood and a strange-looking device pop out on a springlike steel cable. It clamped magnetically to Tom's rear bumper! His car was caught like a fish on a line! Tom stepped on the accelerator, trying to pull free. The truck at once swerved off the road, steering around a utility pole. As the cable tautened, there was a sickening screech of metal and the sports car was brought to a crashing halt! Tom's head slammed against the side window. With a groan, the young inventor blacked out. CHAPTER X TELEPHONE CODE As he regained consciousness, Tom's eyes fluttered open. Sparks of pain shot through his head. A groan escaped his lips. "Oo-o! What hit me?" Tom wondered. He was lying on a sofa in a strange room. Someone was seated nearby, watching him. Tom tried to move his limbs and sit up. Then he discovered that his wrists and ankles were tied with sash cord. "Better lie still, sonny boy," a gruff voice advised. "You ain't goin' nowhere." The man who had spoken got up from his chair and came over to the sofa. He was of medium height, very muscular looking, with cold, glittering eyes. Rolled-up shirt sleeves revealed his powerful, hairy arms. "Where am I?" Tom asked, suddenly remembering the events on the road before he blacked out. "And what's this all about?" The man said with a mirthless grin, "You're a prisoner. And you're goin' to stay here until the cops let Dimitri Mirov go. It's up to you how fast they spring him." The huge man lifted a telephone from an end table adjoining the sofa and set it on the floor alongside Tom. "Here's a phone. Go ahead and use it, but don't try any funny stuff." In spite of his headache, Tom's brain was racing. What to do now? He shut his eyes and screwed up his face in an expression of pain, pretending to be still groggy while he stalled for time to figure out his next move. "How can _I_ get Mirov out of jail?" Tom faltered. "You figure it out!" the man snarled. "And you'd better get results if you want to stay healthy!" Through half-slitted eyes, Tom noted the telephone number printed on the dial. Evidently his captor had not thought to remove it from the instrument. A lucky break! If only, Tom thought, he could devise some way to transmit the number to Ames without arousing his captor's suspicion--the phone's location could then be traced! What about some sort of double-talk code? For instance, Tom told himself, keep slipping numbers into the conversation in order to transmit the digits of the telephone number. Would Ames catch on? The number shown was BArwick 3-7156. BA on the dial would be the same as "2, 2." "Come on! Quit stalling!" the man said threateningly. "How can I dial with my hands tied?" Tom objected. "I'll do the dialing, wise guy!" He lifted the phone from its cradle and extended it to his prisoner. Tom told him the Enterprises number, then asked for Ames's extension as the switchboard operator answered. A moment later the security chief's voice came over the line. "Ames speaking." "This is Tom Jr., Harlan." His captor bent close to the receiver as Tom replied, in order to overhear what was being said. "I've been thinking," the young inventor went on, "that it might be smart to have Mirov released." "_Released!_" Ames gasped in surprise. "But why, skipper?" "Well ... er ... as a good-will gesture," Tom said. "I think it might prevent future trouble with the Brungarians, don't you?" "I do not!" Ames exploded. "The idea sounds crazy!" "I don't think it's _too_ crazy or _too_ risky," Tom argued. By emphasizing the words, he hoped to impress them on Ames's mind. [Illustration: _"Come on! Quit stalling," the man threatened_] Tom's tone of voice and the farfetched nature of what he was saying had already triggered the security chief's suspicions. "Where are you calling from?" Ames asked after a tense pause. "Shopton," Tom replied. "I just drove in for a haircut." With a chuckle, he added, "Haven't had one in _three_ months. That's a whole _week_ longer than I usually go!" Would Ames understand that by "week" he meant _seven_ days?... "_It's the best I can do_," Tom thought. "Look, skipper, are you sure you want Mirov let out?" Ames said slowly. "I still think it's unwise." "Consider it an order!" Tom snapped. "This is _one_ thing I insist upon, Harlan. Shouldn't take more than _five_ or _six_ hours, should it, even if he has to wire the Brungarian Embassy to put up bail?" "It can probably be handled faster than that--if he has any friends around town," Ames said. Tom took the cue. "Could be," he replied meaningfully. Tom's captor snatched the phone away and slammed it back on the hook. "All right, smart boy! That's enough!" he growled, glaring at Tom. Back at Enterprises, Ames hung up thoughtfully. Tom's reply to his last question about Mirov having "friends around town" had convinced Ames that the young inventor was a prisoner, speaking under duress. Moreover, it had seemed as if someone else's breathing was faintly audible in the background, close to the phone. _But what message had Tom tried to convey?_ As a routine security-department precaution, Ames's phone was connected to a recorder which automatically taped all calls. Now, while he pondered the problem, Ames pressed a foot-treadle switch to play back the conversation. Meanwhile, Tom and his captor waited tensely. From time to time the latter glanced at his watch. "Better hope that call does the trick, Swift," he muttered. "It's the only hope you got of leavin' here alive!" "How will you know if they've turned Mirov loose?" Tom asked. He was wondering if he might persuade his captor to let him make a second call. "Don't worry. Mirov knows how to contact me." Half an hour dragged by--then forty minutes. Suddenly the door buzzer rang sharply. The man jerked to attention, obviously startled. He glanced at Tom, then toward the direction of the sound, moistening his lips nervously. "He must have been expecting just a phone call," Tom decided. The buzzer shrilled again. This time the man got up from his chair, gagged Tom hastily with a handkerchief, and went to the door. "Who's there?" he asked loudly. "Mirov! Let me in, Duffy!" replied an accented voice from outside. With a look of relief, Duffy started to open the door--then froze as he saw not only Mirov, but two police officers and Ames accompanying him. "Are you the one who's going to put up bail?" one of the officers demanded. Duffy floundered, scenting danger but unable to pick up any clue from Mirov's face. "Why--uh--yeah, maybe. How much is it?" "Ten million! Can you raise it?" Ames snapped sarcastically. As Duffy gaped in confusion, the officers suddenly flung their weight forward. The door flew open and Duffy was thrown back, almost losing his balance. Beyond, through the small vestibule, Ames caught a glimpse of Tom on the sofa. "There he is!" Ames shouted. Moments later, Tom was untied. Mirov and Duffy were handcuffed together. The young inventor shook hands joyfully with his rescuers. "Nice going, Harlan! Boy, I was sweating icicles here, wondering if you'd be able to decipher all my double talk!" "You made the numbers clear enough," the security chief said with a grin, "but it took a while to guess what they stood for. And then, of course, we had to trace the address through the telephone company." Eying the ugly bruise on Tom's forehead, Ames added, "Sure you're all right?" "Right now I feel swell!" Tom declared, chuckling. He told of his kidnaping, while one of the officers took down the details. The prisoners were taken off to jail in the police squad car. Tom and Ames, meanwhile, in the security chief's high-powered sedan, drove to the scene of Tom's capture. They found his sports car badly damaged. The right side was wedged against the utility pole, which was leaning at a crazy angle. Ames whistled and shook his head. "Boy! You're lucky you got off with just a bruise, Tom!" "You're telling me," the young inventor agreed ruefully. After calling a repair garage to send out a wrecker, they drove to the Swifts' home. Mrs. Swift and Sandy, previously unaware of Tom's plight, were horrified to hear what had happened. The sight of Tom's bruise also upset them. Tom did his best to allay their concern, but finally allowed himself to be hustled up to bed. Dr. Emerson, the Swifts' family physician, was immediately summoned to the house. He pronounced the bruise not serious, but advised that Tom remain quiet, at least for the rest of the day. Bud came to visit the young inventor that evening, just as Sandy was bringing up a tray. On it was a sizzling T-bone steak. "Wow! Wish I could have that kind of service," Bud said jokingly. Then he became serious. "I'd sure like to meet that creep who snagged you, Tom. What a fiendish trick! You realize you might have been killed?" "I realize it, all right," Tom said wryly. The next morning Tom felt no ill effects from his grim adventure and insisted upon driving to Enterprises. He phoned Admiral Walter, whose report was bleak--the searchers had still gleaned no trace of the buried missile. Refusing to be discouraged by the news, or lack of news, Tom went to his private laboratory and applied himself once again to the problem of building an "invisible" submarine. But again success eluded him. At last Tom shook his head in disgust. "May as well get that haircut I started out for yesterday," he decided. Before leaving, Tom phoned Phyl Newton to thank her for the gift of fruit and nuts she had brought over the previous evening after learning of his dangerous experience. They chatted for a while and wound up by making a date for lunch. Tom drove back to town in the family car and got a haircut. Then he picked up Phyl at her home and took her to the yacht club. Here they lunched on the terrace overlooking the sparkling blue waters of Lake Carlopa. The young inventor's spirits were high when he finally returned to his laboratory and buckled down to work. "I'll lick this problem yet," he muttered. "Those enemies of ours are clever, but if they can produce an undetectable sub, there's no reason why I can't do the same." Deep in thought, Tom idly fingered a microphone on his workbench. "In fact," the young inventor mused, "why not go them one better? I'll invent a submarine that's not only invisible to sonar, but equipped to _see them_!" CHAPTER XI SQUARE-DANCE HOAX Random hunches and circuit diagrams flashed through Tom's brain. "The job will boil down to blotting out sonar waves and piercing the enemy's own 'wave-trap defense,'" the young scientist concluded. As Tom struggled with the problem, he lost all track of time. A door swung open and high-heeled boots clumped on the floor tiles. Tom looked up and saw the portly, aproned figure of Chow Winkler entering. "Hi, boss! Can I borrow a radio?" Chow asked. "Kinda like a lil music while I wrassle them pots an' pans in the galley." "Sure, pardner." Tom pointed toward a portable radio on a shelf nearby. Chow's leathery face broke into a grin as he picked it up. "One o' them slick lil transistor doodads, eh?" The cook flicked on the dial knob and the twangy strains of Hawaiian guitar music came throbbing out. A split second later the volume swelled as the same music echoed back to them from the two-room apartment adjoining the lab, where Tom ate and slept when engaged in some round-the-clock experiment. Chow was startled by the blare. "You got a stereo hookup here, boss?" he inquired. "Not exactly." Tom explained that the music had merely been picked up by the mike on his workbench, then fed into the adjoining apartment and amplified over a speaker there. Chow grinned, snapping his fingers to the catchy melody. "Comes out even louder'n it does from the radio!" "Yes, but the sound quality's not so good," Tom said. "You'd notice the difference with real stereo." Chow walked out with the portable, crooning contentedly to the music. Tom frowned, trying to get his train of thought to focus once more on the submarine problem. But for some reason the business with the microphone and the speaker in the next room kept lingering in his mind. Suddenly Tom exclaimed aloud, "Say! I wonder if that's how the enemy sub blinds our sonar?" The idea certainly seemed feasible. Suppose the submarine used a great many "microphones"--or receiving transducers--to pick up the sonar pulses beamed out by another craft trying to detect it? These impulses could then be passed on and sent out by speakers on the opposite side of the sub, and relayed along on their underwater path of travel. Thus the sonar waves would appear to be striking no obstacle--and no echo would return to the sonarscopes on the search craft! "Jumping jets!" Tom thumped his fist on the workbench in his excitement. "I'll bet that's the answer, all right!" He grinned. "Brand my boot heels, it's partly due to good old Chow!" He grabbed a pencil and began sketching his idea on paper. It would be necessary to spot the receivers and transmitters all over the hull of the submarine. Diagrams and pages of scribbled computations followed the rough sketches. An invisible sub--one that sonar pulses would seem to pass right through, as if nothing were there! "Seems so simple now that I have the key!" Tom said to himself elatedly. Hours ticked by while he analyzed the wave action mathematically, then worked out a typical hookup for one of his jetmarines in a set of precise schematic drawings. Finally the young inventor dropped his pencil, picked up the telephone, and dialed Bud Barclay. "Hop over here, fly boy," Tom told his chum. "Something hot on the griddle!" Bud arrived in a few moments. Tom showed him the drawings and explained his plan for dodging underwater detection. He also related how Chow's remarks about the radio music had sparked the idea. His chum slapped him on the back. "Good going, Tom!" "Let's fly right over to Fearing and see how it works on a jetmarine!" Tom proposed enthusiastically. Bud grinned but made no move. He stood looking at Tom, arms folded and feet wide apart. "Well, let's go, pal!" Tom urged impatiently, puzzled by Bud's lack of response. "What about the square dance?" Tom stopped short, feeling like a punctured balloon. He stared in dismay at his smiling, dark-haired copilot. "Good night! I forgot again!" With a sigh, Tom added, "You're right, of course. We sure can't let the girls down twice. But at least let's get together all the gear we'll need when we _do_ go to Fearing." "I guess we'll have time for _that_," Bud conceded with a sympathetic grin. Tom assembled a mass of electronic equipment and phoned various Enterprises' departments for other items. Bud helped to collect them, and the boys trucked the paraphernalia out to a hangar to be loaded aboard a Whirling Duck. Then they scootered back to the lab for a quick shower and change. Twenty minutes later, in sport jackets, checked shirts, and slacks, the two chums hopped into Bud's red convertible. They picked up Sandy and Phyl and drove a little way into the country for dinner at a huge old farmhouse restaurant. "Well, the evening's off to a good start," Sandy said with a happy laugh as they headed back along the lakeshore road to the yacht club. "Hope I didn't put away too much fried chicken to sashay properly at the square dance," Bud remarked. Tom chuckled. "Don't worry, pal. You always untangle those feet of yours when the fiddle strikes up!" The blazing lights of the yacht club were reflected in the blue-black mirror of the boat basin. Bud parked and they went inside. "Welcome, buckaroos!" Chow Winkler greeted them with an enthusiastic bellow as they entered the dance room. The old cowpoke was splendidly dressed in a maroon satin shirt and white whipcord breeches tucked into shiny new boots. But instead of his usual sombrero, a chef's cap was perched on his head. "Chow! You look marvelous!" Sandy said. The cook blushed with pleasure. "You gals look purty enough to charm a hoot owl right off'n his perch!" he shot back. Both Phyl and Sandy were wearing gay calico dresses that had full swirling skirts. The room was decked out with colored bunting and twisted crepe-paper streamers. And at one end of the dance room, Chow had rigged up a model of a Western chuck wagon. "Real atmosphere!" Tom said admiringly. "Chow, you've done us proud!" "Thanks, boss." The cook, who had asked especially to take charge of the decorations, glowed at the praise. Then he became serious. "But what's keepin' that dad-blamed fiddler?" The guests soon began to stream in, but half an hour went by, and Lester Morris and his fellow musicians had not arrived. "I'd better phone his house," Tom decided worriedly. Mrs. Morris answered. She seemed surprised at Tom's call. "Why, my husband's playing at a party over in Carterton this evening," she said. "Are you sure you engaged him for tonight?" "I'm positive," Tom replied. "Just a moment, please. I'll look in his date book to see if there's been a mistake." A minute later her voice came over the line again. "I'm terribly sorry, Mr. Swift, but your name isn't listed anywhere on Lester's schedule." The others saw from Tom's face as he hung up that something was wrong. "What gives?" Bud asked anxiously. "No music for one thing." Tom reported what Mrs. Morris had told him. "But you hired the guy!" Bud protested. "And Sandy and I talked to his agent!" Tom was already piecing together the mystery. He shook his head thoughtfully. "I'm sure now the whole deal was a hoax, Bud," he declared. "Both the first call that supposedly came from Lester Morris, and the second one asking me to come here and talk things over." By not responding to the second call in person, Tom went on, he had probably saved himself from being waylaid or kidnaped by his enemies. "Thank goodness!" Sandy exclaimed. "Still, that creepy Len Unger was trying to get information from us." "But how did your enemy know about the dance, Tom?" Phyl Newton put in. Sandy snapped her fingers. "I know! I'll bet it was when we went shopping for our dresses, Phyl, right after the boys invited us! The department store was full of people--almost anyone might have heard us discussing the dance!" "Especially if he was already trailing you to pick up bits of useful information," Tom agreed. Bud whipped out a handkerchief and mopped his face nervously. "The question is what do we do now, chums? A roomful of guests and no music!" "Relax, pardners!" Chow broke in cheerfully. "Just keep things goin' for a spell, an' I'll fix things up pronto!" Doffing his chef's cap, Chow hustled out to his parked jeep and took off with a roar. Mystified but hopeful, Tom, Bud, and Phyl did their best to entertain the guests. Sandy had rushed to the telephone. In twenty minutes Chow came rushing back. "Hey! He has a fiddle!" Bud exclaimed. Mounting the platform, the stout cowpoke raised his hands and shouted for attention. "Ladies an' gents, we'll start off with that good old dance known as the Texas Star!" As everyone took his place, Chow tuned up hastily. Then he tucked the fiddle under his chin, stomped out the rhythm, and launched into a lively rendition of "Turkey in the Straw" while he called out the accompaniment: "_Gals to the middle, then back so far! Gents step up for a clockwise star! Now shift hands and twirl t'other way, We'll keep on dancin' till the break o' day...._" The dance number finally ended to thunderous applause. Chow, puffing and red-faced but wreathed in smiles, was soon ready for another. Half an hour later, a dance band of high school boys, hastily summoned by Sandy, arrived to spell the Texan. The irrepressible chef, however, continued to call out most of the numbers and proved to be the hero of the evening. He gained even more acclaim for his delicious French fried potatoes and "steerburgers" served during the pause for refreshments. "Oh, Chow! What would we ever do without you?" Sandy said, and the cook beamed. Suddenly, in the midst of the lively chatter and laughter, the dance floor was plunged into total darkness! Phyl clung fearfully to her escort. "Tom!" she gasped. "This is another trick of your enemy's to harm you!" CHAPTER XII DETECTION TEST "Don't worry, Phyl. It may be only a blown fuse," Tom tried to assure the fearful girl. But Tom was worried himself. Not only might he be in danger, but it could involve his friends! Nevertheless, he raised his voice above the excited babble. "Please be calm, everyone! We'll have the lights on again in a jiffy!" Taking Phyl by the hand, Tom groped his way toward the main door. "Let's check the switch," he murmured, and ran his hand over the wall near the door. He located the metal plate and flipped the switch. The lights went on! Good-natured cheers arose. Bud, grinning but puzzled, left Sandy's side long enough to come over and speak to Tom. "What happened?" "I guess some practical joker clicked off the switch." Bud suddenly caught sight of a stout youth in a plaid shirt and blue jeans, who was standing in a nearby corner. He was shaking all over with half-stifled merriment. "There's the wise guy! Rock Harriman!" Rock, an all-star tackle on the Shopton High football team, was well known for his pranks and practical jokes. Bud rushed over. "Okay! Confess!" the husky young flier roared in a jokingly ferocious tone. "Don't get sore!" Rock gasped between chuckles. "I couldn't resist. Boy, did you hear everyone squeal when the lights went out?" Tom grinned in relief. "How about another dance, Phyl?" As the music struck up again, he squeezed Phyl's hand. "I sure appreciate your concern, even if I didn't rate it." Phyl blushed as she returned the squeeze. "You rate with me," she confided shyly. The festivities finally ended after a thoroughly enjoyable evening. Both Sandy and Phyl declared to their dates that it more than made up for the forgotten beach party. "But let's not wait too long for the next date," Sandy warned playfully. "Okay, that's a deal," Bud promised. The next morning at the plant Tom called on Harlan Ames. He told of the sinister hoax by the caller who had passed himself off as Lester Morris. The security chief promised to investigate. "I'll tip off the police about Len Unger," Ames added. "If they can find him, we may be able to crack this case wide open." Tom telephoned Bud, Hank Sterling, and Arv Hanson to meet him at the helijet hangar. The four took off in one of the Swifts' Whirling Ducks, which was standing by loaded and ready. Soon they landed on Fearing Island, where Tom would try out his antidetection invention. "What'll we use for a test sub, skipper?" Hank asked as they drove toward the docks. "A jetmarine," Tom replied. A truck with engineers and technicians was following the jeep. It carried the equipment which Tom and Bud had assembled the previous day. When they arrived at the docks, Tom gathered the men in a loading shed. He showed them his drawings and explained how his "sonar-blinding" setup would operate. "Don't let the diagrams fool you. The basic idea is very simple. We absorb all sonar impulses that hit the ship and transmit them out the opposite side of the hull, instead of letting a ping bounce back and show up on the sonarscope of any hostile sub on the lookout for us." Most of the job, he went on, would be tedious detail work. It would consist of attaching hundreds of mikes and speakers all over the hull to pick up and transmit the sonar pulses. The mikes would be receiving transducers and the speakers would be transmitting transducers. "The leads from them," Tom ended, "will be centralized in a single electronic control unit inside the ship. I'll handle that part of it." "Great idea, Tom!" Arv Hanson said admiringly. "But what a job it'll be rigging those transducers," put in one of the technicians. Tom nodded wryly. "You're right, Danny. If this experiment works out, though, I think I can lick that problem on future installations." The young inventor explained that he hoped to find a way to mold the transducers into a continuous plastic sheet. This could be applied to the hull of a submarine in a single operation. "But this time we'll have to do it the hard way," Tom added with an apologetic grin. A jetmarine was hoisted into drydock and the work crew swarmed over it, rigging the transducers. Would his experiment succeed? Tom wondered. Hopefully, he set to work assembling the electronic control unit. Bud helped the men on the hull for a while, then descended through the hatch to see how Tom was progressing. [Illustration: _Would his experiment succeed? Tom wondered_] "I'd go gaga trying to keep track of those circuits," Bud said, as he watched Tom installing the delicate transistors and other components with an electric soldering gun. The young inventor grinned. "It'll be simple enough when the control unit's all put together," he replied. "Just a single on-off switch and one test circuit." By noon, after working at a frenzied pace, the job was done. Tom thanked each one of the men personally. Then everyone went to eat lunch. After the meal, Hank Sterling asked, "How about a detection test to see how she works?" "Coming right up," Tom said. "Want to skipper the jetmarine, Bud?" "Sure do!" "Okay. Pick out a couple of men for a crew and take her down." Tom produced a hydrographic chart of the waters around Fearing and marked out a test area. "Cruise around there for an hour and we'll try to spot you in the _Sea Hound_." "Hide and seek, eh?" Bud grinned and snapped a salute, then left to supervise the relaunching of the jetmarine. For his crew, Bud chose Mel Flagler and another man. Mel was an experienced jetmariner who had gone on the Swift expedition to Aurum City, the underwater ruins of a lost civilization. Here Tom had used his spectromarine selector to restore the ancient buildings. Tom, Hank, and Arv went back to the airfield and soon took off in the diving seacopter. Landing on the water, they submerged and began the undersea detection test. Tom manned the sonarscope personally, eager to conduct as careful a search as possible. "Getting any blips, skipper?" Hank called out from his post at the _Sea Hound_'s controls. "Not a ping, Hank. The system seems to be working out even better than I'd hoped." Tom felt a glow of satisfaction. He explained, however, that the jetmarine's transparent nose pane--which had to be left unprotected for the pilot's visibility--offered one vulnerable spot to sonar detection. "But a little smart maneuvering can cover up that angle," Tom added. "Try the hydrophones, Arv, and see if you can hear 'em." The chief modelmaker slipped on the earphones and listened intently. For another ten or fifteen minutes they probed about with no sound trace of the "invisible" jetmarine. But presently Arv snapped his fingers to catch Tom's attention. "Got her, skipper!" Tom took over the hydrophones. Sure enough, his ears could make out the faint hum of the jetmarine's atomic turbines. Tom directed Hank toward the sound, then ordered him to switch on the _Sea Hound_'s powerful search beam. The light cut a path of radiance through the murky dark-green waters. Dead ahead, the jetmarine could be seen gliding across their field of view. "Your system blinded our sonar okay, skipper," Hank commented, "but this proves she could still be spotted by enemy listening devices." Tom refused to be discouraged. He ordered Hank to return to base and wait for Bud. Meanwhile, the young inventor applied himself to the problem of how to mask the sub's noise. "How about it, pal?" Bud asked, when he reported aboard the seacopter a while later. Tom explained the results of the test and the need for an added safeguard against hydrophone detection. "Think I see a simple way out, though," he added with a pleased chuckle. "Natch! With a brain like yours, it's a cinch," Bud quipped. "Explain, professor." "Well, we can never do away with the noise of a sub's propulsion machinery," Tom began. "That goes without saying. So we'll have to camouflage it--lose it in the underwater jungle noises, so to speak." Bud scratched his head. "How do we do that?" "By amplifying the natural undersea sounds all about it," Tom explained. "Fish and all forms of underwater life make a background noise over the hydrophones, you know." As Bud nodded, Tom went on, "So we simply step up the volume till the sub's own noise gets drowned out or 'wasted' in all the racket." This could be done, he concluded, with fairly simple amplifying equipment. Bud, Hank, and Arv were jubilant at the idea. "Nice going," Bud said. "How soon can we give it a try?" "Soon as I can rig up the amplifier," Tom promised. In less than two hours they were ready to submerge again. Zimby Cox joined the crew. Bud suggested taking along hydrolungs in case of any need for tinkering with the transducers or amplifying equipment. This time, the jetmarine scored perfectly on the test, successfully eluding all the _Sea Hound_'s efforts to detect it. Tom returned happily to base, feeling that the antidetection problem was now solved. The jetmarine, however, failed to appear. "That's funny. The test was over at four-fifteen," Tom murmured. "Maybe Bud surfaced out at sea somewhere," Arv Hanson suggested. Repeated radio calls brought no response. Tom, now seriously worried, took the seacopter down again for another search, hoping that Bud would have switched off the antidetection gear by this time. But neither sonarscope nor listening devices revealed the slightest clue. Tom, Hank, and Arv exchanged fearful glances. Had the jetmarine foundered on the ocean bottom--perhaps fouled somehow by Tom's new invention? Or had Bud and his crew fallen victim to the enemy? CHAPTER XIII ENEMY FROGMEN At the end of the test period, Bud had prepared to bring the jetmarine to the surface. But just as he was about to blow the ballast tanks, Mel Flagler sang out a warning from the sonarscope. "Whoa! Hold it, skipper! I think we have company on the starboard beam!" Bud jerked his head around in surprise. "You mean the _Sea Hound_?" "No, she surfaced," Mel reported. "Can't make this out yet, but it could be another sub." Bud turned the controls over to Zimby Cox. Then he rushed to the scope and examined the blip. "Seems to be moving away from us on a westerly course. It's about two miles from here." He donned the hydrophone earset and listened. "It's no seacopter, nor a jetmarine either," he announced presently. "A Navy sub, maybe?" suggested Zimby. Bud shrugged. "Let's find out." He ordered a change of course, hard to the right, and gunned the jets to bring the jetmarine directly on the mystery object's trail. "It's a sub, all right," he said a short time later, listening again over the hydrophones. "Pretty close to Fearing Island, isn't it?" put in Mel Flagler. "That's a government-restricted area." Bud nodded grimly. "But staying just out of sonar range from the base." The jetmarine closed steadily on its quarry. In a few minutes they were able to make it out dimly through the cabin window, dead ahead. "That's sure no U.S. Navy sub that I know of," Bud said. "Probably an enemy snooper." "What if they spot us?" Zimby asked. Bud chuckled. "That's the beauty of it, pal! Don't forget. With this new antidetection gear we're invisible to them. At least as long as they don't run into us or we into them," he added. "Or unless they have superdetection equipment we don't know about," cautioned Mel Flagler. As they talked, the unidentified submarine was bearing steadily toward the mainland. Fathometer soundings showed it was on a steep upward slope of the continental shelf. Presently a foaming gush of bubbles showed that the sub ahead was blowing its tanks. The jetmarine followed as it surfaced and Bud hastily manned the periscope. "What're they up to?" Mel asked tensely. "Don't know yet, but the hatch is opening," Bud reported. Suddenly he gave an excited gasp. "Jumpin' jets! They're sending out a couple of frogmen!" Bud's companions were electrified by the news. "Spies!" Zimby exclaimed. "What do we do now?" piped up Mack Avery, the third man in Bud's crew. "Hadn't we better radio the Coast Guard and the FBI?" Bud wrenched away from the eyepiece. "I have another idea! Any of you fellows game to go with me and capture those spies?" All three of his companions volunteered eagerly. Bud chose Mel Flagler, then took another sight through the periscope. "The sub's submerging again," he reported. "That'll give us a clear field. Zimby, you and Mack keep an eye on that baby while we're gone, and be plenty careful she doesn't spot you!" "Roger! And take this roll of wire to tie up your prisoners." Hastily Bud and Mel changed into swimming trunks and donned hydrolungs. They went out through the air lock, plunged into the bracing salt water, and switched on their ion-drive units. "Can you see 'em?" Mel asked over his mike. "Not yet. Let's speed up before we lose 'em completely!" Both pushed their ion drives to capacity, scanning the water ahead in all directions. "There they are!" Bud exclaimed presently. He pointed to two tiny figures, barely visible in the distance. "Wow! They're sure not wasting any time!" Mel muttered. "Let's step on it, Bud! They'll be ashore in a minute!" A darting school of sea bass screened the figures briefly from view. As the fish flickered past, Mel and Bud saw the frogmen breast-stroke up toward the surface and break water. Bud and Mel followed. Ahead lay a barren stretch of beach, humped with sand dunes. It was skirted beyond by a thick fringe of trees. "They certainly picked a perfect spot for a sneak landing!" Bud thought. The beach seemed totally deserted, with no sign of human habitation. By this time, the frogmen were scrambling ashore. Within moments, Bud and Mel were on their heels. The raiders whirled in dismay as they caught the sound of footsteps rushing up behind them through the sand. Bud and Mel hurled themselves forward, each dropping a man with a flying tackle. All four went down in a struggling, kicking tangle of arms and legs. The battle was rough but short. Bud and Mel had the advantage of surprise, and soon pommeled and grappled their foes into submission. Bud, astride his opponent's chest with knees pinning the man's arms, unlooped from his belt the wire he had brought. "Here! Take some of this and wire your man's wrists together!" Bud told Mel. When the frogmen were safely bound, Bud and Mel allowed them to stand up. Neither captive tried to escape. "Now, my sneaky friends, talk!" Bud snapped. "What kind of a sightseeing trip did you plan?" The frogmen's jaws remained tightly clamped. Both looked flushed and sullen as they faced their captors. "Got their lips zipped, I guess," Mel said disgustedly. Bud decided to try another tack. "Doesn't matter," he said carelessly. "We know they're pals of the Mirovs." Both men started as if they had been stung. Bud followed up quickly, hoping to prod them into some unguarded remark. "Just as we thought!" he snarled. "A couple of low-down Brungarian rebels! And up to their usual amateurish spy stunts!" The raiders' eyes blazed, but they maintained silence. Both, however, kept darting looks of keen interest at the Americans' hydrolung gear. Just as Bud was wondering how he could get the prisoners to the nearest police headquarters, a jeep came bouncing into view across the sand. "Hey! Police!" Mel exclaimed with a happy grin. "We're in luck," Bud said. "They can take these creeps off our hands." The jeep braked to a halt a few yards away, and two uniformed officers hopped out. "What's going on here?" said one, who was wearing a sergeant's stripes. The jeep had the words BEACH PATROL stenciled on it in white paint. "We just nailed these two Brungarian frogmen," Bud explained. "A sub put them ashore--probably as spies or saboteurs. They won't talk to us, but maybe you can pump them at headquarters." The startled sergeant turned a cold eye on the two prisoners. "Got anything to say for yourselves?" When neither answered, he unholstered his revolver and covered them. "Better take off those wires and put bracelets on them, Mike," he told his fellow officer. The frogmen were handcuffed with cool efficiency and bundled into the jeep. Meanwhile, the sergeant turned back to Bud and Mel. "You fellows come along too," he ordered. "But we haven't got time," Bud protested. "Our own sub's waiting right offshore and we want to tail the sub that brought those guys here! We're from the Swift rocket base." "Any identification?" the sergeant asked. "How _could_ we have in this getup?" Mel retorted. "That's what I thought. So get moving," the sergeant barked. Reluctantly, Bud and Mel hopped onto the running board and clung to the bouncing jeep as it sped to the nearby town of Sandbank. At headquarters they were questioned by the local police chief. "If you'll call Swift Enterprises at Shopton, sir, Mr. Swift--or Harlan Ames of the plant security department--will vouch for us," Bud said. The chief picked up the telephone and soon had Mr. Swift on the line. After speaking to him briefly, he passed the phone to Bud so the scientist could identify his voice. "That's Bud Barclay, all right. He's one of our most trusted employees," Mr. Swift told the chief after hearing Bud's story. The officer promised to release Mel and Bud at once. Before doing so, however, he took them into the adjoining office where the two frogmen were being questioned. "Any luck?" the chief asked the sergeant. Sergeant Gryce shook his head in disgust. "Not much. They did admit they came in a sub, but they claim it didn't wait to pick them up." The police chief shot a few questions of his own at the men, but they answered either in curt monosyllables or not at all. "Look, sir," Bud put in, "if they're telling the truth about their sub not waiting, our jetmarine may have chased it. That means Mel and I are stranded here. Could you have your men wait for us on the beach till we find out?" "Gladly," the chief replied. "You two have done a fine day's work." After the prisoners had been locked up to be handed over to the FBI, the two Beach Patrol officers drove Bud and Mel back to the area where they had landed. Just as the jeep turned down the dirt road leading to the shore, Bud's keen eyes spotted a lurking figure in the distance. "Stop, please!" Bud said, tapping the driver on the shoulder. As the jeep halted, Bud pointed toward the beach. A man was crouching behind a sand dune, with a large fish basket beside him. The sergeant, puzzled, took out a pair of binoculars to study the situation. Fortunately, the jeep was still screened by trees, and the crouching man evidently did not realize he had been seen. "What's in the basket?" Bud asked. "Could it be clothes?" "Sure looks like it," the sergeant said, passing over the binoculars. After a brief look, Bud explained the hunch that had occurred to him. "I'll bet that guy's waiting with clothes for the frogmen. He probably got here late and doesn't realize they've been nabbed!" "Well, he'll soon find out," the police driver said grimly. He was about to start up the jeep when Bud stopped him again. "Wait! You have no proof that's what he's here for," Bud pointed out. The pilot suggested that the police keep out of sight while he and Mel approached the man in their swimming gear. "If that stranger takes the bait, we'll really have the goods on him!" Bud concluded. "Smart idea, son," the sergeant said with a dry chuckle. "Go to it!" Bud and Mel circled widely through the trees, took a quick dip in the water, then approached along the beach as if they had just landed and were searching for someone. To their delight, the man rose from behind the sand dune and hailed them. Bud and Mel hurried over to him. "You have clothes for us?" Bud asked. "We just came ashore from the sub!" "Yeah, right here," the man said in English with no trace of an accent. "Thought I'd missed you." "Thanks, pal--that's all we want to know!" The man gaped in comic dismay as Bud pounced on him and pinned him to the ground. Moments later, the two police officers rushed up and handcuffed him. [Illustration] "Hey! What's the big idea?" the man stammered. "I ain't done nothing. Just got a phone call this morning, offering me fifty bucks to bring two sets of clothes down to the beach at five o'clock for a couple of divers." "Tell that to the FBI!" snapped the sergeant. When the officers had departed with their new prisoner, Bud and Mel, both grinning, dived into the surf and headed out to sea. In a few minutes they were sure they were at the right spot to meet the jetmarine. But it was gone! CHAPTER XIV A PROPAGANDA BLITZ As the _Sea Hound_ returned to Fearing Island from its search for Bud's jetmarine, Tom was beside himself with worry. Had his experiment cost the lives of his best friend and the other crewmen aboard? "I'll never forgive myself if anything's happened to them!" Tom muttered bleakly. Hank Sterling squeezed the young inventor's arm. "You know Bud's high spirits, skipper," he said. "He may have taken off on some crazy lark." "Sure! A whale hunt, maybe!" Arv Hanson wisecracked, trying to lighten the gloom. Tom forced a grin, but he remained heavy-hearted as they neared the base. His only hope now was that a radio message from the jetmarine might have been picked up while they were gone. As soon as the seacopter was moored, Tom leaped ashore. The crewmen on the docks had no news to report, so Tom piled into a jeep with Arv and sped off to the Fearing communications center. Hank remained aboard the _Sea Hound_ to secure all gear. Churning along the graveled road, Tom and Arv passed the launching area. Huge, needle-nosed cargo rockets and the mighty spaceship _Titan_ loomed against the sky. Tom's moon-voyaging _Challenger_ and his more recent space craft the _Cosmic Sailer_ were also based there. "Going to alert the Navy for a search?" Arv inquired as they reached the communications building. Tom nodded and braked the jeep to a screeching halt. "Coast Guard too. They can pass the word to commercial shipping to be on the lookout." A telephone rang as he hurried into the office. "For you," the clerk said, looking up at Tom. "Nice timing!" Tom grabbed the phone. His face widened into a grin. "Bud! You seagoing jet stream! What happened?" Arv grinned, too, in relief. "Your antidetection gear worked so well we vanished right out of the ocean!" Bud replied with a chuckle. Turning serious, he reported how his jetmarine had trailed the mysterious intruder and how he and Mel had captured the two Brungarian frogmen and their shore contact. "Nice going, pal!" Tom exclaimed. "But here's the catch," Bud went on. "When we took off again in our hydrolungs to go back aboard ship, the jetmarine was gone!" "Maybe she's trailing the enemy sub," Tom conjectured. "That's what I'm hoping," Bud said uneasily. "Trouble is, our subs aren't armed, and who knows about that Brungarian job? The way they sling missiles around, anything could happen if she spots the jetmarine." Tom frowned. "I'll organize a search right away. Where are you calling from?" "Police headquarters at Sandbank." "Okay. Take it easy, and I'll send a whirlybird to pick you up," Tom promised. "And don't forget some clothes," Bud added with a chuckle. "Mel and I are getting chilly." "Right!" Tom hung up and gave Arv Hanson a quick briefing. Then he phoned the base airfield to dispatch a helicopter. He also contacted the nearest Coast Guard station and put through a long-distance call to Navy Headquarters in Washington to request help in searching for the jetmarine. Finally he and Arv headed back to the submarine docks in the jeep. A flurry of activity followed as Tom detailed ships for the search and rounded up crews. He was interrupted by a phone call in the loading shed. It was the control-tower operator. "One of our drone planes has spotted a sub approaching, skipper," the operator reported. "What bearing?" Tom demanded excitedly. "One-seven-six." Tom was about to hang up and grab a pair of binoculars when the operator added hastily, "Wait! It's responding to our radio challenge!... That's ours, all right!" Tom dashed out of the shed and scanned the sea to the southward. Sure enough, a jetmarine had surfaced and was speeding toward the sub docks. Minutes later, Tom was shaking hands warmly with Zimby Cox and Mack Avery. "Is Bud okay?" was Zimby's first question. "Right! I just heard from him," Tom replied. "He and Mel captured those enemy frogmen and a copter's on the way to pick them up. What happened to you fellows?" Zimby confirmed Bud's guess that they had taken off in pursuit of the enemy craft. "We figured Bud and Mel could make out on their own," Zimby explained. "And we thought the sub's course or actions might tip us off to its nationality. Also, if it tried any sabotage or mine-planting, we could radio the Navy." Instead, Cox went on, the mysterious craft had proceeded to a point about ten miles offshore where it rendezvoused with another submarine. "And get this, skipper!" Mack Avery put in. "The other sub was undetectable! We were close enough to get a peek at it, but we couldn't ping it on the sonarscope." "That figures," Tom said grimly. "Those frogmen were apparently Brungarians." Zimby Cox related that a man had transferred from the undetectable submarine to the one they had been following. The first sub had then headed out to sea, as if to cross the ocean back to its home base. The other had departed on a course toward the South Atlantic. "Probably back to the lost missile area. At least that's the way we figured it," Zimby added. "And neither sub spotted you?" Tom questioned. Zimby grinned wryly. "We might not be here if they _had_ detected us. But I'm pretty sure they didn't. Anyhow, they gave no sign." Tom was doubly elated at the news. His antidetection gear had evidently worked perfectly in a showdown test with the enemy, even at close range. Moreover, if the second sub was returning to the South Atlantic, it seemed likely that the enemy, too, had not yet located the precious missile with its data from Jupiter. "You guys rate Navy medals," Tom told Zimby and Mack jubilantly. "Come on back to Shopton with me and I'll buy you the juiciest steaks in town!" Before leaving the base, Tom called the Coast Guard and the Navy to cancel his search request. He also telephoned a full report on the enemy submarines to Admiral Walter. After hanging up, Tom decided on another move. "Our antidetection gear seems to have panned out pretty well," he told Hank. "I think we should make use of it right away. By sending that jetmarine to the South Atlantic, we might get a line on enemy activities down there." Hank was in favor of the idea. He volunteered to prepare the jetmarine for a cruise and take off from Fearing that very night. "Thanks," Tom said with a parting handshake. "Keep us posted if you learn anything." Meanwhile, Bud and Mel Flagler had arrived at the base by helicopter. They and their two shipmates flew back to the mainland with Tom and Arv for a celebration dinner in town. The next morning found the young inventor hard at work in his private laboratory. He was tapping his head with his slide rule and frowning at a blackboard scrawled with equations when Bud dropped in for a visit. "What now, inventor boy?" his copilot asked. "Don't you ever give that brain of yours a rest?" "Oh, hi, Bud!" Tom looked around absent-mindedly. "I'm just trying to figure out a way to crack the Brungarians' antisonar system." "Good night!" Bud sank down on a lab stool. "You've come up with a way to make our own subs undetectable. Isn't that enough?" Tom shook his head. "Not if we want to keep track of those sneaks. And I think I see a way to do it." "How?" "So far, I have been thinking about refining our own search sonar." Tom explained that the new system he had in mind would send out a _complex_ pulse--that is, an underwater sound wave with many harmonics instead of a single tone, sharp-peaked sound impulse. "This will make it less likely that their antidetection gear will absorb all of it," Tom went on. "What's not absorbed will return as an echo. I'm also going to modify our receivers. But I've still not worked that out." Bud nodded, his forehead puckered in a look of concentration. "So--?" "So our sonar picks up all that hash, and by means of a computer setup filters out the sub's real echo from the shadow reflections." "Hey! Sounds pretty cute," Bud said. Tom broke into a dry chuckle. "Right--_if_ I can do it." After that job, Tom added, he hoped to adapt his own antidetection methods to make hydrolung wearers safe from underwater detection. "And if the Jupiter prober hasn't been found by that time, Bud, I'm going to request the Navy to let us take over the search alone." Bud gave a whistle of excitement at the possibility of new undersea adventures ahead. "Count me in, pal!" The two boys broke off their conversation a short time later and went back to the Administration Building for lunch with Tom's father. Mr. Swift greeted them with a smile as they entered the big double office. "Glad you could join me, boys! Chow's laid out quite a feast for us today." Three places had been set at the conference table, and an appetizing repast of sizzling ham and sweet potatoes waited in covered dishes on a lunch cart nearby. "Mmm!" Bud inhaled the aroma. "Good chow from good old Chow!" Tom switched on the videophone screen to a private channel to catch the noon news while they ate. The newscaster wore a look of excitement as he spoke without pausing for the usual commercial. "The Brungarian government has just scored a propaganda bombshell!" he reported. "In a news announcement released less than half an hour ago, they stated that their Navy has perfected an _undetectable submarine_!" The Swifts and Bud froze, openmouthed, at the newscaster's words. "No need to tell you what this could mean to American security," he went on. "If enemy subs slipped through our continental defenses, their missiles could devastate the United States with scarcely an instant's warning! The whole country's been rocked by the announcement. An official comment by our Defense Department is expected at any moment." "Sufferin' satellites!" Bud gulped. Mr. Swift nodded. "It's a great propaganda stroke. But I wonder why they've chosen to reveal their secret at this time." Tom said thoughtfully, "Dad, do you suppose they've realized the fact that we _know_ about their antisonar gear?" "Could be, son. They may figure that since the secret is out already, they may as well play it up for all it's worth." The elder scientist paused and frowned. "Or it might be intended to force our hand." "You mean in hopes of getting us to reveal whether or not we have an antidetection system ourselves?" As his father nodded, Tom scowled. "If so, that sub yesterday may have been observing our tests." The telephone rang and Tom leaped to answer it. The caller was Dan Perkins of the _Shopton Evening Bulletin_. "You can guess why I'm calling, Tom," the editor said. "How about a statement from you Swifts on this Brungarian sub story?" "We found it very interesting," Tom said politely but noncommittally. Parrying further questions, he hung up as soon as possible. Mr. Swift approved Tom's policy of silence. Almost immediately the phone began ringing again with a succession of calls from other newspapers and wire services. Tom dashed off a brief, general statement and instructed Miss Trent to give it to all further callers. "Maybe this is a good time to make a private announcement to you fellows," Mr. Swift said to the two boys, his eyes twinkling. "Do you recall my telling you that Doc Simpson had isolated an unknown vitamin from the space plants? Well, we've now discovered that this vitamin can condition the human body to stay under water indefinitely. Doc is putting some up in capsule form." Both Tom and Bud gave whoops of glee at this news. "Dad, you've helped overcome one of the big problems in our search for the lost missile!" Tom exclaimed. CHAPTER XV MOUNTAIN HIKE "After adequate doses of your space vitamin, Dad, a skin diver could tackle almost any undersea job in my hydrolung!" Tom exclaimed. "He wouldn't be subjected to any antiosmosis troubles with his body tissues." His father nodded. "For the first time, man might become a _truly marine creature_!" "Wow! Think of it!" Bud gasped excitedly. "With Tom's hydrolung and a knife to hunt his own food, he could practically live in the sea!" "That's no farfetched dream, Bud." Tom's steel-blue eyes flashed at the thought of new fields of scientific conquest. "This discovery of Dad's and Doc Simpson's opens up some really amazing possibilities." Most important at the moment, the vitamin would be a great boon in carrying out search and digging operations for the Jupiter prober. With fresh enthusiasm, Tom returned to his laboratory to work on the new sonar gear. In his own mind, he had already named it a "quality analyzer sonar," since that exactly described the way it would function. "Hmm, let's see," Tom mused as he settled down at his workbench, pencil in hand. "Besides a regular sonarscope, I'll need at least three units for the gear." First, he would need an oscillator to produce the complex pulse. Next, of course, an oscilloscope to check the pulse as it was beamed out. Last--but highly important--a correlation calculator. This latter unit would compare the original pulse with the returning echoes. If an echo had a high enough "standard of acceptance"--that is, if its quality was very near the original pulse, it would show up on the screen in the normal way. If the echo came back blurred, or if "shadow echoes" showed up, these would be separated and appear on the screen colored red. "Whew!" Tom sighed as he realized the complicated job of circuit design that lay ahead. "This sure is going to burn some midnight oil!" The young inventor worked all afternoon at a furious pace, breaking off toward dinnertime to telephone his mother that he would be staying overnight at the lab. After a hasty meal, he resumed his layout job at the drawing board and by midnight had finished designing his quality analyzer sonar. Whipping off his eyeshade, Tom went into the apartment next door and stretched out to snatch a few hours' sleep. But as usual when in the midst of an exciting new project, he was too keyed up to rest for long. Before daylight, Tom was back at his workbench ready to begin assembling the units of his new sonar gear. Later he phoned Chow but scarcely paused to eat when the cook arrived with his order. "Brand my solar stovepipe!" Chow scolded. "Take time to eat your vittles properly, boss!" "Hmm?... Oh, sure." Tom looked up and grinned. The stout old Texan stomped out, shaking his head. As the morning wore on, the pace at which Tom had been working began to tell on the young inventor. His head nodded again and again. Gradually he fell forward into an exhausted doze. The next thing Tom knew, he was sailing through the air, high above Swift Enterprises. Lake Carlopa was a tiny blue puddle below, and the town of Shopton a mere cluster of toy buildings in the distance. "Good grief!" Tom exclaimed with a gulp. "What's keeping me up?" He was floating freely, without the support of any aircraft--or even one of his amazing force-ray repelatrons! The discovery triggered off disaster. Like a character in a movie cartoon, now that he knew he had nothing to support him, Tom instantly went plunging downward--down, down, straight into the lake! _Splash!_ Tom gasped and shuddered and shook his head like a drenched terrier. _Another splash!_ As Tom brought his eyes into focus, he realized he was back at his workbench in the laboratory. Chow was standing in front of him, holding a half-empty pail of water, ready to splash him again! "Hey! Cut it out!" Tom cried out, jerking bolt upright. Then, as he saw the disturbed look on Chow's face, Tom burst out laughing. "Okay. Relax, old-timer! Guess I was dreaming." "Brand my snake oil!" Chow said. "You looked so pale an' pasty, you had me plumb scared, Tom! I couldn't wake you nohow!" Worriedly the cook added, "What you need is a good beefsteak and some sunshine. You been under water too long." "In more ways than one!" Tom chuckled as he grabbed a towel and dried himself off. The beefsteak, with crisp golden-brown French fried potatoes, was already at hand on Chow's lunch cart. Tom ate with a hearty appetite and the stout chef went off, secretly plotting to arrange the second half of his prescription. When he reached the galley, Chow plucked the wall phone off its hook and called Bud at an airfield hangar. After a brisk conversation, he hung up, grinning contentedly. At one o'clock Bud came bursting into Tom's laboratory. "Snap to, skipper!" he announced. "You have company!" Tom looked up from his work in surprise. "_Ta-daaa!_" Bud sang out, imitating a trumpet flourish. Sandy and Phyl Newton marched in, smiling. "Boy, this _is_ a surprise!" Tom got up to greet them. "A mighty pleasant one. But what's the occasion?" "The occasion is that you're coming on a mountain hike with us, out in the nice fresh air and sunshine!" Sandy informed him. "And please don't argue," Phyl said with a giggle. "It's for your own good--not to mention ours." "I suppose Chow Winkler put you up to this." Tom grinned. "Never mind that," Sandy said sternly. "Just come along quietly. It's a beautiful day." Tom glanced at his workbench cluttered with drawings and electronic gear. "Well, okay, since you're twisting my arm," he agreed. "I guess it might clear my brain at that." "Now you're talking." Bud clapped Tom on the back and propelled him toward the two girls, who promptly seized his arms before he might change his mind. On their way to the door, however, the telephone rang. Tom insisted upon answering it, in spite of the girls' scolding. "Tom Swift Jr. talking." "This is Chief Slater, Tom," said the voice at the other end of the line. "Dimitri Mirov wants to see you. I don't know what's up, but he might be ready to tell something worth while. Could you drop by?" "Sure thing, Chief. Right away!" Tom hung up, excited by the thought that the Brungarian might be about to reveal an important secret. "Mind stopping by police headquarters first?" he asked his friends. Minutes later, Bud's red convertible pulled up in front of the gray stone building. Tom jumped out and dashed up the granite steps. "I've had Mirov transferred to a cell by himself," Chief Slater said as he took Tom back to see him. "Figured he might talk more freely away from his pals." The prisoner, however, showed no eagerness to do so at Tom's arrival. He remained slouched on his bunk as the young inventor pulled a chair up to the cell bars. His only response was a slight curl of the lips. "Have you heard about my country's new submarine?" Mirov inquired after Chief Slater left. Tom nodded curtly. "When are _you_ going to build one?" Mirov prodded slyly. "Look!" Tom snapped. "You asked to see me. Here I am. What is it you want?" Mirov shrugged with a look of amusement. "To make a bargain with you," he replied casually. "I know the secret of that sub. Get me and my friends released and I'll give it to you." Tom had no intention of doing so, but he parried the offer, hoping to draw Mirov out further. The prisoner, however, would say nothing more. At last Tom gave up and rose to leave. "I'll think over your proposition," he said. He heard Mirov chuckle as he walked away. Somewhat puzzled, Tom reported the conversation to Chief Slater and also telephoned the plant to inform Ames. Then he hurried back to the car. Bud frowned upon hearing Tom's story. "Do you think he's on the level?" Tom shrugged as they headed out into the countryside. "I may be wrong, but the whole thing sounded fishy." "Now look!" Sandy said severely. "If we're going to enjoy this hike, we're _not_ going to talk about Brungarians or inventions or that lost missile. From now on, it will cost anyone five cents every time he breaks the rule!" The boys chuckled and agreed. But agreeing proved easier than keeping the rule. Again and again, either Tom or Bud would inadvertently drop a remark about their submarine experiments or the search in the South Atlantic. By the time they had parked in the hills and started climbing, Sandy's and Phyl's pockets were jingling with coins. "What are you going to do with it all?" Bud asked jokingly. "_Give it to us!_" snapped a strange voice. As the four young people turned with a start, they saw two men burst from the shrubbery just behind them. Both were holding guns! CHAPTER XVI THE GUNMAN'S SURPRISE Sandy and Phyl were terrified by the sudden appearance of the rough-looking pair with their drawn revolvers. Tom and Bud remained cool, eying the men warily. "What's the big idea?" Tom asked. "Shut up and hoist your mitts!" the bigger of the men snarled. As the boys obeyed, he muttered to his partner, "Keep these two punks covered, Mugs, while I take their cash!" "Right, Packy! I'll watch 'em!" Sandy and Phyl emptied their pockets. Then Packy took the boys' wallets and change. "Now turn around and march!" Packy snapped. Bud took the lead, followed by the two girls, with Tom bringing up the rear. They plodded up the brushy slope in silence for several minutes. Presently a weather-beaten cabin in a grove of trees came into view. "You intend to hold us there?" Tom asked. "You'll find out soon enough!" Packy answered. "We'll teach you to interfere with the Mirovs!" _The Mirovs!_ Like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle, the whole picture suddenly fell into place. It was clear to Tom now how the capture had been arranged. The call to the jail from Dimitri Mirov had been a hoax. Its purpose had really been to get Tom away from Enterprises--thus giving the two thugs a starting point from which to follow him. The mountain hike, organized by Bud and the girls, had played right into their hands! As Tom sized up the situation, seeking a way out, the group reached the cabin. "What are your terms for letting us go?" Tom asked their captors, stalling for time. The man named Packy gave an ugly chuckle. "None yet," he said. "We may just decide to set the cabin on fire." Sandy uttered a gasp as his words sank home. Phyl Newton had turned deathly pale. Packy now told his partner to unlock the cabin. Mugs stepped to the door. At that moment Tom caught Bud's eye. _It was now or never!_ Tom whirled and smashed a stiff handblow to Packy's wrist, knocking the gun from his hand. Bud hurled himself on Mugs. Taken off guard, the shorter thug staggered and went down under a hail of punches. Bud grabbed his wrist and twisted it mercilessly while he pinned him to the ground. Mugs screeched with pain. "C-c-cut it out!" "Then drop your gun!" Bud snapped. Tom, meanwhile, had followed up his first advantage with a stunning blow to the solar plexus. Packy grunted for breath, then came back viciously with several well-aimed punches that staggered Tom. As the young inventor stumbled backward, Packy dived for his gun. Though still groggy, Tom managed to kick the weapon out of reach. Before Packy could straighten up, Tom followed with a sweeping uppercut that caught him squarely on the chin. Packy went down like a felled tree! Tom picked up the gun before his groaning victim could recover. By this time, Bud had pounded his own opponent into submission. Within a few moments, both thugs were lined up against the wall of the cabin. Their wrists were tightly strapped behind them with their own belts. "Oh ... thank goodness!" Sandy gasped. Tom gave the girls a reassuring grin. "Are you two all right?" "I g-guess so." Phyl gave a nervous smile. Now that the tables were turned, it was the thugs' turn to "march." The boys herded them warily back down the hillside toward the road, where Bud had parked his red convertible. Sandy and Phyl followed close behind. [Illustration: _Tom and Bud hurled themselves at the thugs_] Like all cars belonging to the Swifts' key personnel, Bud's was equipped with a two-way shortwave radio. Tom switched it on and radioed Shopton Police Headquarters. Chief Slater promised to send a squad car at once. Minutes later, they heard it approaching. Two husky police officers leaped out as the car braked to a halt, and took charge of the prisoners. Scowling and sullen, they were driven off to jail. "Well," said Bud jokingly, "what about that relaxing hike we were starting?" Phyl sighed. "I'm afraid you two boys just can't get away from _in_ventions and _ad_ventures." Sandy added, "I suggest we go home for a nice safe dinner." Later, at the Swifts' house, Tom received a telephone call from Chief Slater. He reported that the two prisoners were known hoodlums from a nearby city. "They claim they were hired for this job last night by a stranger who spoke with an accent," Slater went on. "According to their story, they never even got a look at his face, and they had no idea he was an enemy agent." "Sounds reasonable," Tom agreed. "It's not likely Mirov's Brungarian henchmen would endanger their whole setup by taking any cheap gunmen into their confidence." Chief Slater also reported that Len Unger was still at large. "But the FBI will probably pick him up soon," he added. "I sure hope so," Tom said. A ten-hour sleep that night proved a fine tonic. Tom awoke the next morning feeling entirely refreshed, and after a hearty breakfast, hurried off to the plant. Here he plunged into work on his quality analyzer sonar. Much of the circuitry was assigned to the electronics department. The finished boards and sub-assemblies were fed back to Tom in his private laboratory. He himself assembled the major units. At lunchtime, over a bowl of chili and crackers, Tom recalled another problem. "We'll need an undetectable sub to test my analyzer," he mused. "That means a repeat job of rigging all those transducers. Whew! I'd better get busy on that plastic sheathing." As soon as he had eaten, Tom phoned Arv Hanson, who arrived at the lab in a few moments. "You remember that idea I mentioned to Danny about molding all the transducers into a single continuous plastic sheet?" As Arv nodded, Tom went on, "Let's try it, using Tomasite as the plastic." Tom picked up a pencil and quickly sketched out the production steps. By machine-spacing the transmitting and the receiving transducers as closely together as possible, with minimum clearance, the plastic coating could do an even better job of absorbing sonar pings than the hand-rigged model. "And the leads from all the transducers can be combined into a single flat tape," Tom ended. "That'll make it simple to hook up with the electronic control unit inside." "Got it, skipper," Arv said tersely. "It'll take overtime to set up the job in the plastics department. But we ought to be rolling out the sheeting Tuesday." "That's swell, Arv! Thanks!" By midmorning Tuesday, Tom had his quality analyzer sonar completed and was showing Bud how the units worked. "Boy, it looks simple enough the way you explain it, prof!" Bud said admiringly. "How soon can we try it?" "Depends on Arv," Tom replied. He picked up the phone and called the plastics department. To his delight, the sheathing was already being rolled out in quantity. Arv promised that by noon he would have enough of it available to coat a jetmarine. "Nice going!" Tom said. "Shoot it out to the cargo-jet hangar as soon as it's ready!" Soon after lunch, Tom, Bud, and Arv took off for Fearing Island. When they arrived at the base, the plastic coating with its myriad tiny "mikes" and "speakers" was speedily applied to a jetmarine under Arv's supervision. Tom, meanwhile, wired the control unit and also installed the analyzer sonar in the _Sea Hound_. "Want to be 'It' for another underwater game of hide-and-seek?" Tom asked Bud with a grin. "Sure, but don't tag me with a torpedo!" Minutes later, the jetmarine slipped off into the depths with Bud and two other crewmen aboard. Tom and Arv followed in the seacopter. The quality analyzer sonar worked even better than Tom had hoped. He not only tracked the jetmarine on its outward course, but located it three different times after shutting off the analyzer long enough for Bud to seek a new location. "How'd you like to relieve Hank in the South Atlantic?" Tom asked Bud upon their return. Bud gave a whoop of excitement. "Roger!" Tom slapped him on the back. "You can take off as soon as your ship's provisioned. I'll join you later--but first," Tom added mysteriously, "I have another job to attend to." CHAPTER XVII A MISSING AMULET Bud's curiosity was instantly aroused. "Don't tell me you have a new trick up your nautical sleeve to fox the Brungarians?" Tom grinned. "That's the general idea. I hope to give hydrolung divers the same protection that your jetmarine has." "You mean make them invisible to sonar?" "Yes," Tom replied, "and also give them personal spy gear to probe the waters around them and spot an 'undetectable' enemy." Bud whistled. "Do that, and I'll say you're _really_ a magician, skipper!" Tom himself transferred the analyzer from the _Sea Hound_ to Bud's jetmarine. On a chance that it might become necessary to operate at greater depths--either in searching for the lost missile or in shadowing the enemy--Tom also assigned Arv Hanson the job of rigging the _Sea Hound_ and another seacopter with his new inventions. Four crewmen volunteered for the cruise. When the jetmarine was ready, Tom and Bud exchanged tight handshakes. "Good luck!" "Thanks, Tom." The young inventor waved as Bud disappeared down the hatch. As soon as the craft had submerged, Tom went back to Shopton. That evening the Swifts were enjoying a quiet dinner at home when a loud, growling buzz shattered their mealtime conversation. "Oh!" Sandy gasped. "The burglar alarm!" The Swifts' house and grounds were protected by a secret magnetic field. Any intruder breaking the barrier touched off the automatic alarm system. To avoid the buzzing, the family and their close friends wore wrist watches containing tiny neutralizer coils. "I'll see who it is," Tom said, and hurried to the door, feeling a twinge of apprehension. _Was this a new attempt by Brungarian agents?_ He switched on the porch light and peered out cautiously through the one-way glass pane in the door. A slim, hatless figure in a dark suit was just coming up the steps. Tom gave a smile of relief. It was Harlan Ames! "Hi, Harlan!" Tom opened the door before Ames had a chance to ring the doorbell. "We heard you coming!" The security chief was startled when he realized he had activated the alarm system. "That's strange," he said uneasily. "Tom, I wonder if--" He broke off to dart a quick glance at his wrist. Then his face relaxed into a look of chagrin. "Great! I forgot my wrist watch!" he murmured. "Haven't visited your house in so long I neglected to wear it." The other Swifts smiled in amused relief, and Mrs. Swift invited him to join them for dessert. Ames, however, declined politely. "Thank you, but I just finished dinner myself," he explained. "I dropped by to--" Once again Ames's voice trailed off in midsentence, as he reached into the side pocket of his coat. "My amulet!" he gasped. "It's gone!" "Are you sure?" Tom said with quick concern. Ames nodded as he frantically tried all his other pockets. The electronic amulet to which he referred had been issued to all Enterprises personnel and family visitors who used the private gate. The amulets were contained in slender bracelets and were designed to trap radar impulses. This prevented them from showing up as blips on the giant detector radarscope mounted on the main building. The purpose of the scope was to reveal unauthorized visitors or spies. "My bracelet broke this afternoon," Ames said. "I slipped it into my pocket to have it repaired. But it's not there now!" Tom grabbed a flashlight and dashed outside for a hasty check of the walk. Ames followed, to look inside his black sedan. But the amulet did not come to light. "Did you go home after you left the plant today?" Tom asked. Ames shook his head worriedly. "No, I stopped at a restaurant. Mind if I use your phone?" "Go ahead." The security chief called Enterprises and asked his assistant, Phil Radnor, who was on night duty, to make a thorough search. While awaiting the results, Ames also called the restaurant, but learned that no such item had been turned in. Half an hour later Radnor called back to report no luck. "The amulet may show up yet, Harlan," he said. "But I'll alert the guards at the plant to be on the lookout for an unauthorized visitor." "Thanks, Phil." Ames hung up and turned away from the telephone with an embarrassed look. "Fine example I'm setting as head of plant security," he murmured. "Let's hope the amulet wasn't stolen." Excusing themselves from Mrs. Swift and Sandy, Tom Sr. and Jr. retired with Ames to Mr. Swift's study to discuss the news he had brought. "I had a late call from Admiral Walter this evening," Ames explained. "The Navy's getting pretty desperate over that lost missile. They're ready to co-operate with any moves you care to make. I take it you're prepared to carry out a search on your own, Tom?" The young inventor nodded. "Yes, as soon as I've perfected all the gear I'll need--which won't be long, I hope." Ames added, unhappily, that certain papers and news commentators had been making snide remarks about the Swifts' failure to match the Brungarians' submarine achievement. "I think Tom has that situation pretty well in hand," Mr. Swift remarked with a smile. Tom gave Ames a full report on his own apparatus for rendering a submarine invisible to underwater detection. Ames grinned at the news. The grin grew even wider as he heard of the successful test of the quality analyzer sonar. "Bud Barclay's on his way to the South Atlantic right now with a fully equipped jetmarine," Tom ended. The next morning he eagerly tackled the job of adding sonar protection and sonar detection features to his electronic hydrolung. What an amazing fish man the wearer would be, Tom thought, if his project succeeded! It would enable a skin diver to operate indefinitely under water at jet-propelled speed--invisible to enemy "eyes," yet be able to spy out any hostile undersea prowlers, including supposedly "undetectable" submarines! Tom chuckled wryly as he mulled over the difficulties ahead. "Bud wasn't kidding when he said it would take a magician!" Besides his mask, electronic breathing device, density-control unit, and ion drive, the wearer would now need at least three major additions--first, sonar-blinding equipment with electronic control; second, amplifying equipment to camouflage the wearer's noise under water; and, third, a portable quality analyzer sonar. "Whew! The miniaturizing job alone will be a king-sized headache!" Tom said to himself. "I'd better start with a skin-diving suit made of that molded plastic Arv is turning out." After having some of the Tomasite sheathing, with its embedding transducers, sent over from the plastics department, Tom cut out a suit from a pattern and welded the seams electronically. He had just finished wiring the control unit when Chow wheeled in a lunch cart. "Got some _dee_licious steak-and-kidney pie today," the cook announced, setting it out. "Swell," Tom said absent-mindedly. Chow frowned but left without interrupting the young inventor. Twenty minutes later the cook poked his head into the laboratory again. Tom had not yet touched his lunch. "Brand my vitaminnies, start eatin', boss!" "Sure, Chow." By this time, however, Tom had become so absorbed in the task of assembling some tiny monolithic blocks for the computer circuits of his analyzer, that the lunch remained untasted. When Chow returned a third time, Tom was startled by his bellow: "Get your nose out o' that work, buckaroo, and _eat_!" Realizing Tom's pie had cooled off, Chow had brought another serving, hot from the oven. Seeing the stern look on the Texan's face, Tom burst out laughing and obeyed meekly. "I declare!" Chow chuckled. "One o' these days I'll have to force-feed you if you won't pay no mind to your own nourishment!" "Sorry, old-timer." Tom smiled. "Sometimes I do get a bit wrapped up, I guess." Hour after hour, Tom stayed glued to his workbench, sometimes busy with delicate electronic gear, sometimes lost in thought as he pondered a tricky problem in circuit design. It was long after dark when he drove home from the experimental station, yet he was back on the job in his laboratory early the next morning. By lunchtime Tom had all the apparatus assembled. He was just trying on the plastic suit, with all its accompanying paraphernalia, when Chow made his usual appearance. "Great sufferin' snakes!" the cook gasped. "You ain't goin' divin' in _that_ getup, I hope! You look like a Christmas tree, boss!" Tom nodded glumly. "Know something, Chow? That's just what I was thinking myself." The young inventor's suit was loaded down with the various electronic units and festooned with wires. Even taking a few steps around the lab convinced Tom that the design was too unwieldy. "I'd probably either get tangled in seaweed or sink from sheer weight," he muttered. Changing back to his slacks and T shirt, Tom began eating abstractedly as Chow hovered around. "If fishes could talk, I reckon you'd scare 'em half to death in that rig!" Chow said, trying to cheer Tom. "Fish do talk," the young inventor said. "At least they make noises. Don't you remember that emergency fish-talk code we used when we were--" Suddenly Tom paused, his mouth dropping open. "_Chow!_ You've just solved my problem!" he exclaimed. "I have?" Chow goggled at the young inventor. "You sure have!" Tom bounced off his stool and began pacing about. "Now, take porpoises. They utter all sorts of sounds--grunts, squeals, jawclaps--and one particularly characteristic sound, like the grating of a rusty hinge." Chow scratched his chin uncertainly. "Wal, what about it?" "Suppose I used that rusty-hinge noise to mask the diver's noise." Tom turned and stabbed the air with his finger. "I could _also_ use that same sound output as the search pulse for my quality analyzer sonar!" In this way, Tom explained, he could eliminate part of his bulky equipment and do an even better job of making the diver "invisible." Bubbling with enthusiasm, Tom decided to buy a live porpoise at once and make an exact recording of its sounds. As soon as he had finished lunch, he put in a number of calls to suppliers of marine specimens. But none could provide a porpoise on short notice. "Guess I'll have to catch one myself!" Tom told Chow. He drove out to the airfield and took off in a Whirling Duck for Fearing Island. At the base, both Mel Flagler and Zimby Cox were eager to accompany the young inventor when he told them about the trip he had in mind. Tom chose the _Sea Hound_ as the fastest and best suited craft for his purpose. With Mel's and Zimby's help, he quickly rigged a plastic "tank" in the stern cabin. Minutes later, the seacopter zoomed skyward, heading for the Florida Keys. The flight was a short one at transonic speed. Tom chose a sparkling stretch of open water, a mile or so offshore from a palm-green islet. Zimby agreed to stay aboard and tend ship while Tom and Mel went over the side in hydrolungs. The two glided about in the translucent blue depths, keeping in close range of each other. The sea was alive with shimmering fish of every hue, darting among the coral. Suddenly, as Tom veered around to rejoin Mel, his eyes widened in horror. A vicious-looking hammerhead shark was zeroing in, directly behind his friend! "Look out!" Tom yelled over his microphone. CHAPTER XVIII SMILEY THE SEA COW Mel turned in the nick of time. The monster shark was bearing down on him like an undersea express train. Overcoming a moment of panic, Mel gunned his ion drive to dodge the attack. As Tom watched in agonized suspense, he saw the shark's jaws open and shut in a lightning snap at Mel's outstretched arm. Its razor-sharp teeth missed their target by inches! Mel's gasp of relief was audible over Tom's earphones. "Let's get out of here!" he cried, arrowing away from the man-killer. Suddenly Tom realized the full extent of their peril. A long, sweeping coral reef, which extended above water, lay between them and the _Sea Hound_. Unless they could round the reef in time, the shark had them trapped! "Quick! This way!" Tom exclaimed. The shark was moving at blinding speed. As if sensing the boys' plan of escape, it launched itself in a wide curving sweep to cut them off. "We can't make it!" Tom gasped. "We'll have to fight!" Both swimmers were armed with skin diver's knives as a precaution. The two maneuvered to meet the killer's onslaught. This time its broad nightmarish head was aiming straight at Tom. He jetted off to the right, but the monster veered instantly. Its lashing tail gave Mel a stunning blow. As the shark's jaws gaped for a bite, Tom zoomed underneath the man-eater and slashed its belly with his knife. The shark, maddened, thrashed the water in a frenzy. Tom moved like lightning to dodge a deadly blow from its bony tail. Again and again they felt the horrifying brush of the killer's fins or armor-tough hide. By this time, Mel had revived. Repeatedly the two boys dived to jab and slash at the shark's soft underbelly. Both were nearly exhausted when the monster at last went limp and floated slowly up toward the surface. Pale with shock and fright, Tom and Mel jetted back to the _Sea Hound_. Zimby Cox was startled by their faces when they clambered aboard and ripped off their masks. "What happened to you two?" Tom told him. "Good night!" Zimby cried out. After resting, Tom and Mel dived in again. This time luck was with them. In less than twenty minutes they sighted a small porpoise. "Think we can lure it back toward the _Sea Hound_?" Mel queried. "We'll try," Tom replied. The creature with the bottle-shaped snout was as friendly and playful as most of its fellow dolphins. Too playful, Tom concluded, after vainly trying to tease it into chasing them. Instead of following, it would "tag" Tom or Mel quickly, then swim away, evidently expecting to be chased in turn! "I give up!" Mel snorted in disgust. Tom grinned and bobbed to the surface. He waved his hand several times in a prearranged signal. Zimby at last spotted him and brought the _Sea Hound_ to the scene. Raising his mask, Tom called, "Let's have the net!" Zimby lowered a nylon net and some pieces of fish to the two swimmers as they came alongside. With the food as bait they tried to lure the porpoise to the seacopter. But just as they thought they had it, the monster would scoot off. "It's just laughing at us!" Mel fumed. At last, after winning its confidence with several bits of fish, the boys succeeded in snaring the porpoise. Tom clambered onto the _Sea Hound_'s deck and helped Zimby haul their catch aboard. "Quacking" reproachfully, it was lowered through the hatch and placed in the tank, which was then pumped full of salt water. As soon as the _Sea Hound_ arrived at Fearing, Tom phoned Chow Winkler at Enterprises and asked him to fly out to the base. "Pardner, how'd you like to ride herd on this critter and gentle it down for me?" Tom asked, when he showed Chow the porpoise. It had been transferred to a huge, glass-paneled tank which had been set up just outside Tom's Fearing Island laboratory during his flight to the Florida Keys. "Reckon I kin try makin' friends with it," Chow declared. The porpoise stared morosely at Chow. The kindly old Texan's heart was touched by the odd creature. To his delight, it soon responded to his friendly overtures and quickly recovered its good nature. By the next morning the porpoise was playing catch with Chow, or else swimming over to have its back scratched. The cook named it Smiley. "She's kind of a sea cow," he told Tom, "and you got to talk to my Smiley like any cow!" Tom grinned and refrained from explaining to Chow that a real "sea cow" was a walrus. Meanwhile, the young inventor was busy with his own experiments. By means of a microphone placed in the tank, he made exact recordings of Smiley's "talk." Using Mel Flagler as a subject, Tom also tape-recorded the sound of a skin diver propelled through the water by ion drive. The next step was to compare the sound pattern of the tapes. Tom filtered out the difference in the two sounds with the correlation calculator unit of one of his quality analyzer sonars. "Uh-huh. So you got the difference betwixt Smiley's talk an' the noise Mel made," muttered Chow as he watched the jagged lines of light flashing on the pulse-check oscilloscope. "Now what're you fixin' to do with it?" "This will be fed into the diver's sonar along with his own noise output," Tom said, "to make him sound like a porpoise." Chow howled. "That I've got to hear!" The young inventor worked feverishly throughout the day and into the next, perfecting his new "porpoise sonar." Using microelectronic components, he was able to reduce all the units to amazingly small size. Next, Tom began tailoring himself a completely new skin-diving suit. Mask, ion-drive jet, and the various hydrolung units were molded into the plastic, with no loose wires or tubes showing. Monday morning he was ready to try the outfit. The sonarscope with its tiny viewing screen was strapped to his left forearm. Another small unit was fastened to the inside of his wrist, with four plungers in finger-tip reach. "What in tarnation's that?" Chow asked. "Simplified controls," Tom explained. "One's for breathing adjustment, one's for the density unit, one is my ion-drive 'throttle,' and this last is for the sonar pulse--which will duplicate the porpoise sound." The suit worked perfectly in a tank test. Chow was amazed as he listened to Tom gliding about, via an underwater microphone. "If that don't beat all!" he declared. "Can't tell the difference 'twixt you an' Smiley!" As Tom emerged from the tank, the portly cook rolled up his own pantlegs and waddled up the metal ladder to the tank brim. He summoned the porpoise with a whistle and straddled its back. "What in the name of aquanautics do you think _you're_ doing?" Tom gasped. "I'll show you a real broncobustin' act in the water," Chow bragged. Smiley glided off gently at first, Chow fanning the air with his hat and yipping like a rodeo star. He did, in fact, cling to his slippery perch with considerable skill. But suddenly Smiley began bobbing and humping like an eel. Chow's face froze in alarm. A moment later the porpoise dived and the cook let out a yell of terror, "He-e-elp!" Roaring with laughter, Tom dived in and rescued him. "Guess he ain't quite broke yet, pardner!" "Reckon not." Now that Tom had all his technical problems solved, he plunged eagerly into the job of fitting out his expedition to the South Atlantic to search for the lost Jupiter missile. [Illustration] Besides the _Sea Hound_ and the other diving seacopter which had already been rigged with antisonar and antidetection equipment, Tom ordered a large cargo jetmarine to be similarly equipped. [Illustration] Then he drew up a list of supplies and underwater search gear needed for the missile hunt. Tom phoned orders to a dozen different departments. Food, space-plant pills, extra clothing, tools, including a midget atomic earth blaster, grappling hooks--nothing was overlooked. "I'd better take along a Damonscope too," Tom reflected. "Judging by those Navy reports, ordinary Geiger counters haven't revealed anything." Tom's Damonscope, one of his early inventions, was a photographic device which worked on fluorescent principles. It was amazingly sensitive to any form of radioactivity--and the missile, of course, would be "hot" from exposure to cosmic rays. Meanwhile, Tom had ordered his new hydrolung suit, with its four-plunger control unit and porpoise sonar, to be flown back to Enterprises. Arv Hanson had promised to make up several duplicates with a team of technicians working on all-night shifts. Late the next afternoon Tom returned to the mainland to confer with his father. Mr. Swift reviewed the expedition plans with approval. "Suppose we call Admiral Walter now and set a time for the Navy to move out of the missile area, so you can take over," his father said. Tom agreed, and his father placed the long-distance call to Washington. Moments later, Admiral Walter came on the line. Mr. Swift talked to him briefly, then turned the phone over to Tom, who described his preparations for the missile hunt. A time schedule of operations and communications was quickly laid out. The admiral was amazed to learn that Bud Barclay was already patrolling the area. "Our ships haven't seen or heard him!" the officer exclaimed. Suddenly Admiral Walter broke off. "Hold it, please, Tom! A code call is just coming in!" His voice was grave as he returned to the Swifts' line. "That message was from your friend, Bud Barclay," Admiral Walter reported. "It looks as if our enemy has found the missile!" "Oh, no!" Tom groaned. CHAPTER XIX FLASH FROM THE DEPTHS Tom was stunned by the news. "There's no chance of a mistake?" "Judge for yourself," Admiral Walter replied. He read the message: HAVE JUST SIGHTED ENEMY CRAFT DREDGING OUT METAL OBJECT Tom repeated the information to his father. Both Swifts were silent for a moment, exchanging dejected looks. Then Mr. Swift remarked evenly: "The game's never lost till it's over, son." "You're right, Dad!" Tom exclaimed. Turning back to the telephone, he said, "Admiral, I'm not quitting. We'll take off as soon as I can get back to the base!" With a hasty good-by to his father, and farewells to his mother, Sandy, and Phyl by phone, Tom dashed out of the building. He sped to Arv Hanson's workshop, and the new hydrolung suits were loaded onto a small pickup truck and taken to the airfield. While flying back to Fearing Island in a helijet, Tom received a radio flash from his father. "Another message from Bud. He says the object dug up by the Brungarians was _not_ the missile. It appeared to be the metal section of a ship's prow, from some hulk buried in the silt!" Tom was jubilant. "Terrific news, Dad! Our luck may be turning!" At the rocket base Tom detailed crews for the three undersea craft which were to take off on the expedition. Arv Hanson would captain one seacopter, Mel Flagler the jetmarine, while Zimby Cox, Chow, and four crewmen would accompany Tom in the _Sea Hound_. Because of their sonar-blinding systems, Tom realized there was a chance of the ships losing contact with one another--especially if their analyzer sonars developed trouble. He therefore plotted their course to the South Atlantic carefully, and issued orders for the antidetection circuits to be switched off every half-hour for a position check. "Report to your ships," he now ordered. As Tom was about to leave base headquarters, Harlan Ames telephoned from Shopton. "Bad news, Tom. Dimitri Mirov has broken jail!" "Good night!" Tom stifled a groan of dismay. "How did it happen?" Ames said the Brungarian had somehow fashioned a crude weapon and overpowered the turnkey. Disguising himself in the guard's uniform, he had slipped out before his victim was discovered. "He must have had outside help within close call," Ames ended, "because he seems to have made a clean getaway. The State Police have spread a dragnet, but it doesn't look hopeful." "He'll probably duck out of the country pronto," Tom surmised. "Anyhow, this won't stop us, Harlan." By nightfall the little fleet of three undersea craft was speeding southward at periscope depth. Tom alternated at the controls with Zimby, two hours on and two hours off. Sleep came in snatches, the crewmen flopping on their bunks as the chance offered. Chow's tasty meals helped break the monotony. It was the following day when they reached the missile search area. Tom surfaced the _Sea Hound_ and reversed blade pitch, then gunned the rotor turbines for an aerial reconnaissance flight, while the jetmarine and the other seacopter stood by in the water. "Brand my guppies, it's some ocean, eh, boss?" Chow remarked in an awed voice. "Big enough, all right," Tom agreed with a grin. "And plenty of water to search in." "No sign of the Navy," Zimby said. Tom nodded. "They pulled out on schedule." "What about them Brungarian sidewinders?" put in Chow. "That's the question!" Tom swooped down to rejoin the other two craft. "We'll keep an eye out for enemy blips while we do our prospecting." Rather than lose time trying to contact Bud, Tom decided to let him find the _Sea Hound_. Accordingly, he switched off the antidetection system and ordered all ships to submerge. Arv's seacopter and Mel's jetmarine were to maintain close formation and stand guard while Tom's craft did the actual searching. Now the missile hunt began. Tom had plotted a concentric search pattern, focused on the probable position worked out by the task-force computers. After checking his fix on the automatic navigator, Tom switched on the Damonscope and steered the _Sea Hound_ on a gradually circling course. The Damonscope was mounted in a blister on the hull, its camera lens pointing toward the ocean floor. The automatic developing film would record any trace of fluorescence, and a red light would signal this result to the pilot's cabin. Minutes went by as the _Sea Hound_ nosed slowly along through the gray-green gloom, its sister craft flanking it a hundred yards on either side. They were moving only a fathom or so above the bottom. "A blip at eleven o'clock!" the sonarman called out suddenly. Tom's pulse quickened. "Moving straight toward us," the sonarman added. Tom surrendered the controls to Zimby long enough to dart over and study the sonarscope. "I've a hunch it's Bud," he told the others. His guess proved correct when the unmistakable outline of a jetmarine loomed into view. Tom flicked on the search beam for a moment, and Bud could be seen waving through the cabin window. Then the yellow glare went off, and Bud's jetmarine glided away to take up a scouting position ahead of the _Sea Hound_. An hour went by, then another. Suddenly a flash of light stabbed through the murk from dead ahead. "It's a signal from Bud!" Zimby exclaimed. Tom nodded grimly. "He's spotted trouble--probably an enemy sub." Silence settled over the cabin as Tom reached out to switch on the antisonar circuits. At that same instant a red light flashed on the control panel. "The Damonscope!" Tom cried out. "We may be over the Jupiter prober!" Cutting off the steering jets, Tom gave a brief flick on the reverse jets to halt the craft. Then he turned over the controls to Zimby and began stripping down to don a hydrolung suit. "Gallopin' guppies! What're you aimin' to do?" Chow exploded. [Illustration] "Go out and look for that missile," Tom said calmly. "It's what we came for." "Are you loco, boss? What about that sub Bud just spotted? Mebbe it's Mirov's bunch!" Tom refused to be dissuaded. After swallowing a space-plant pill, he armed himself with an underwater flashlight. "Think it's safe to show that light, skipper?" a crewman asked uneasily. "If the enemy spots it, I'm hoping they'll think it's coming from a school of lantern fish or sea anglers," Tom explained. He picked up a three-pronged digging fork with his other hand and went out through the air lock. Tom glided back to the spot which the _Sea Hound_ had just passed over and began digging into the silt. Presently he felt the fork strike something hard. "An obstruction!" Tom thought excitedly. He probed deeper. Bit by bit, a smoothly contoured and still-shiny metal surface became visible. "I've found it!" Tom's eyes flashed in triumph, his heart pounding. There was no doubt he had uncovered the nose cone of the missile which had re-entered the earth's atmosphere tailfirst! Meanwhile, Bud, keeping watch on the enemy submarine, had seen a shadowy figure glide from its air lock and head in Tom's direction. Bud donned a hydrolung and followed. "What's that he's carrying?" Bud wondered. Suddenly the answer came to him--a self-propelled underwater grenade! Horrified, Bud jetted forward, tackling the diver at full speed. A split second too late! The grenade went streaking straight toward Tom Swift! CHAPTER XX A LUCKY BLAST Tom's earphones caught the hiss of the approaching grenade. Instantly his eyes darted to the sonarscope on his wrist. A tiny blip of light was moving on the screen! Tom whirled about, then gunned his ion drive. He pushed out of the path of the grenade, which nevertheless grazed him as it streaked past. Seconds later, the grenade struck bottom. A shattering _bo-o-oom_ reverberated through the depths, and clouds of silt darkened the water into Stygian gloom. Tom, knocked off balance, was tumbled about helplessly by the train of shock waves. As they died away, he gradually recovered his bearings and pressed the throttle control of his ion drive. It coughed and stuttered! For a moment Tom felt a surge of panic, but the jet motor smoothed into a steady purr of power. "Whew!" he thought in relief. "At least I can still get around at full speed if anything else comes at me!" He had clung to the flashlight and fork despite the explosion. The blast had hurled him away from the spot where the missile was buried, so Tom began trying to locate it again. But he soon realized that his efforts were hopeless. He must wait until the silt which clouded the water cleared. Now Tom feared that the explosion might have reburied the nose cone. Suddenly a new worry gripped him. _Had the missile's precious contents been destroyed by the blast?!_ Slowly he began making his way back to the _Sea Hound_. Unknown to Tom, Bud was fighting a desperate battle with his adversary barely fifty yards away. The divers grappled each other in an octopuslike duel. At such depths, their movements were impeded, as if by oil. The Brungarian pulled out the knife at his belt. Bud, a skilled wrestler from high-school days, managed to twist his foe's knife arm behind his back--then applied a punishing judo hold! The Brungarian gave an audible screech of pain and dropped the knife. "Now you're coming along with me!" Bud muttered. He gunned his jet, forcing himself and his adversary toward the _Sea Hound_. Moments later, they passed the seacopter's cabin window. Reaching the air lock, Bud hammered for admission. The hatch opened quickly and his prisoner was hauled inside. Bud followed. Tom greeted him with a bear hug. "Hi, Bud, you old devilfish!" Turning to the prisoner, Tom added "Who's this?" "The rat who fired that grenade at you!" The prisoner was wearing a frogman costume and a mask which hid the lower part of his face. The man's dark eyes glittered in hate, as Tom ordered him to remove his mask. Sullenly the prisoner obeyed. Tom gasped. "_Dimitri Mirov!_" The name sent a shock through the Americans aboard. "Wal, I'll be jing-whistled!" Chow declared, then broke into a gleeful cackle. Under their scornful gaze, the Brungarian's own eyes wavered and his shoulders slumped in an attitude of defeat. "What is the use?" he muttered. "Again I have failed. My career is over now, just like my brother's." Tom seized the opening. "In that case, maybe you're ready to do some talking now." Mirov shrugged. "What do you wish to know?" In answer to Tom's questions, Mirov admitted that his group, composed of Brungarian rebel Navy men and rocket engineers, had sabotaged the returning Jupiter probe missile, hoping to obtain its data for their own use. Their key agent in America was the man who had posed over the phone as Lester Morris and masterminded the other attempts to kidnap Tom. He had also taken the amulet bracelet from Ames's jacket in a restaurant. Mirov himself had been given the bracelet after his jail break. Pulling back the sleeve of his frogman suit, he displayed it with a momentary smirk of pride. "I even got inside the grounds of Swift Enterprises and stole a plane that same night," Mirov boasted. Tom was startled. "How did you manage that?" "Very simple. I thumbed a ride with one of your trusted workers on the late shift and showed him the amulet to identify myself as a Swift employee. The guard at the gate was fooled the same way." Tom nodded thoughtfully. "They were instructed to look for a man trying to sneak past alone. Seeing you in the same car with a known employee, he probably assumed you were all right." Mirov was allowed to change into dry clothes, then his hands were bound behind his back. When the water cleared, Tom and Bud ventured outside again. First they headed for Bud's jetmarine to reassure his crew. Here they learned that the mystery submarine had vanished. "Good riddance!" Bud exclaimed jubilantly. "They probably didn't even realize you had found the missile!" "_Had found_ is right--past tense," Tom said wryly. "It's no doubt buried again. But at least we have the right spot." They emerged from the jetmarine and headed back toward the site. As they glided astern of the _Sea Hound_, Tom uttered a cry over his suit mike. "_Bud! There it is!_" Both boys darted ahead at increased speed, and Tom played his flashlight beam over the precious treasure. Instead of burying the missile deeper, the grenade explosion had uncovered the entire nose cone and part of the section behind it! "Sizzlin' squids! What a break!" Bud whooped. The boys jetted back to the _Sea Hound_ to announce the good news. Zimby and two other crewmen were dispatched in hydrolungs to inform the other ships. Tom requested them to remain submerged and guard the site. Twenty minutes later the _Sea Hound_ was zooming up to the surface. Tom hoisted the craft's aerial and radioed word to his father, who was overjoyed. Mr. Swift, in turn, had news--that the rebels' key man and Len Unger had been seized by the FBI. Tom's next call was to Admiral Walter. "Tom, this is wonderful news!" the admiral exclaimed. "I'll have our Navy ships routed back there immediately--and I intend to fly out myself as soon as I can board a plane!" As Tom waited for the task force to arrive, his thoughts turned to new inventions to tackle. But he could not anticipate what would happen to him in his _Triphibian Atomicar_. Within hours, the task force arrived at the site and recovery operations got under way. The missile was hoisted to the surface by cables attached to submarines, then hauled aboard the tender. Tom himself supervised the job of extracting the sealed data section. "You've done a tremendous job, Tom Swift, and our whole country will be proud of you!" Admiral Walter declared before sailing home. Tom grinned as he prepared to descend the ladder over the side. "Let me know about life on Jupiter, sir. I may go there myself one of these days!" 
21188	----	[Transcriber's note: Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the copyright on this publication was renewed.] TOM SWIFT and His Giant Telescope _By_ VICTOR APPLETON _Illustrations by_ JAMES GARY WHITMAN PUBLISHING COMPANY Racine, Wisconsin Copyright, 1939, by WHITMAN PUBLISHING COMPANY Racine, Wisconsin All Rights Reserved Printed in U.S.A. CONTENTS CHAPTER PAGE I The New Project 9 II Suspicions 42 III An Accident 90 IV A Murderous Attempt 124 V In Peril 168 VI Tom Drugged! 216 VII Deep Sea Diving 264 VIII Trapped By a Sea Monster 296 IX A Robber 346 X Success! 380 [Illustration: Tom Swift Appeared Calm] TOM SWIFT and His Giant Telescope CHAPTER I THE NEW PROJECT Tom Swift appeared to be calm, although in reality he was about as excited over his latest invention as he ever had been about anything in his life. "I'm sure it's going to work, Ned!" he said eagerly to his chum as they neared Tom's private laboratory. "With my new device I hope to learn more about the planets. I want to start soon--" "Listen here!" broke in Ned Newton. "If you're thinking of going to Mars or the moon, just count me out! I've gone with you to many strange places and have never kicked. But this--" "Hold on, young fellow!" interrupted the youthful inventor with an amused chuckle. "I've nothing like that in mind YET! All I want to do is show you my new 'space eye.'" [Illustration: Ned Newton, Tom's Chum] "Can't say as I like that word 'yet,'" Ned muttered darkly. "But I'll take a look at your new jigger if you'll promise not to shoot me through space in a rocket or cannon-ball!" "Word of honor I won't," promised Tom, crossing his heart with mock solemnity. "Well, here we are." The two boys had reached the laboratory, a small building at the rear of the spacious lawn surrounding Tom's father's home and close to the extensive work of the Swift Manufacturing Company at Shopton. [Illustration: Tom Crossed His Heart] "I'll bet these shelves have more scientific apparatus on 'em than any other shelves in the world," remarked Ned, as his chum opened the door. Various cabinets containing hundreds of chemicals stood about. Against one wall was a huge transformer, from which the youthful scientist, Tom Swift, could draw almost any kind of electric current he might desire. [Illustration: They Entered the Laboratory] "Here goes!" said the young inventor. He rolled back a small rug in the middle of the floor to expose a massive steel trap door. This he unlocked by twirling the dial of a complicated mechanism. Some years before Tom had constructed beneath his laboratory an impregnable chamber to safeguard his secret plans. He called it his Chest of Secrets, and guarded it well. [Illustration: Tom Rolled Back a Small Rug] Even Ned Newton, Tom's closest friend and business associate, did not know the entire contents of the massive vault. Only Tom and his father were aware of all the inventions concealed there. "Some of these inventions must not be known to the world in its present state," the elder man had said. One of them was the terrible electric death-ray, capable of destroying anything in its path. Only if the United States should be invaded by an enemy power, would this be revealed. [Illustration: There Was a Death Ray] "Here it is," said Tom, joining his chum after a few minutes spent in the vault. He was carrying a small wooden box which he placed on the desk and opened. If Ned, as he leaned over eagerly, expected to see anything astonishing he was disappointed. Resting on the velvet lining was simply a round disk of a greenish substance perhaps six inches in diameter. This was mounted in a gleaming metal ring from the edges of which there projected five electric binding posts. [Illustration: He Was Carrying a Wooden Box] "Funny kind of an eye," observed Ned. "You can't even see through it." "You'll soon see through it, all right," retorted Tom, laying the disk on his desk and connecting four dry cells to the binding posts. He placed a small rheostat in the circuit so that the strength of the current might be regulated. [Illustration: The Disk Was Mounted in a Metal Ring] Slowly he moved the little handle over the graduated dial. A minute passed during which, so far as Ned could see, nothing happened. Without warning the green crystal suddenly glowed brightly for a fraction of a second, then could not be seen at all. The polished ring of metal in which it had been mounted alone remained. "It's gone!" cried Ned in bewilderment. "I can see your desk top right through where it was!" "No," smiled the inventor, "it's still there as you'll find if you try to poke your finger through the metal ring." [Illustration: "It's Gone!" Cried Ned] A trifle gingerly his chum extended his hand toward the circle of metal. Though Tom had assured him that the little disk was still in place, Ned was unable to repress a start when his finger touched a cool, polished surface which his eyes told him could not be there. "Say, that's wonderful!" he exclaimed, staring at the invisible substance with awe. "That stuff must be a hundred times more transparent than the finest plate glass!" [Illustration: His Finger Touched the Cool Surface] "Yes, and more," said Tom. "But that's not the most wonderful feature of the new substance." "What, then?" "Well, it's difficult to explain. Even now I know very little about it. I can tell you WHAT it can do, but the WHY is still as much of a mystery as ever. Briefly, this new element, or maybe it's a compound, I'm not sure which, reacts in a very strange manner to light. Let me show you. That'll beat any long-winded theory I could spout." [Illustration: "That's Wonderful!" He Exclaimed] Going to the door, Tom called in his giant servant Koku, who once had been a prince in his own far-off savage land, before Tom Swift had brought him to Shopton. "What want, Master?" came a deep-toned reply, as the huge dark-skinned man, who stood a trifle over eight feet in height, entered. "Just carry outside that telescope there in the corner," requested Tom, pointing to the instrument. "Better be careful; it's a bit heavy." [Illustration: Tom's Giant Servant Koku] "Not heavy for Koku," boomed the giant. "Liftum in one hand!" Though it was not a large instrument as telescopes go, this one, with the massive iron pier upon which it was mounted, weighed not far from four hundred pounds. When Koku clamped his mighty hand about the stand he seemed to lift it as easily as a boy might raise a baseball bat or a golf club. [Illustration: Koku Lifted It Easily] "I'll never get used to his strength," murmured Ned as the boys followed the giant through the laboratory door, Tom carrying his marvelous green disk. "He is a big boy, for fair," laughed Tom. "Lucky for our prize-fighters he hasn't gone into the ring." After carefully placing the telescope where the inventor directed, Koku returned to the bench under a near-by apple tree where it was his wont to rest when he was not needed. [Illustration: Tom Carried the Green Disk] "Now what, Tom?" questioned Ned. "Surely you're not expecting to see stars in broad daylight?" "Oh, no, though it could be done," returned Tom, pointing the instrument toward the crest of a wooded hill several miles distant from Shopton. "Now we're ready. Take a peek." "Well," said Ned, peering into the eyepiece, "all I see are a few trees." [Illustration: "Take a Peek," Invited Tom] "Just stand by," directed his friend, clamping his green disk over the front lens, or objective, of the telescope and turning on the current. As before, the green stuff seemed to vanish. "Now, look again," he said. No sooner had Ned put his eye to the instrument than he gave a start. "It's magic!" he exclaimed. "Why, that hill seems as if it were right here and the view is much brighter. I can see every leaf on the trees and--yes! even a bird's nest and the little birds in it!" [Illustration: "It's Magic!" He Exclaimed] "Now maybe you have an idea as to how I propose to discover the secret of life on the planets," responded Tom calmly. "The secret? What do you mean? Surely you don't expect to see men on Mars!" "I mean to build a telescope with a space eye big enough and powerful enough to do it!" The young inventor's face lit up with a strange light. "It's the greatest thing yet, Ned!" [Illustration: "What Do You Mean?" Asked Ned] CHAPTER II SUSPICIONS "Yes," said Ned dubiously, "if you can do it. Oh, I'll admit that your invention improves a telescope marvelously. But to see life on another world, millions of miles away--well, that sounds like a pretty tall order even for you, Tom Swift!" [Illustration: "That Sounds Like a Tall Order!"] "Let's go back in the lab and I'll tell you more about the project." Tom directed Koku to carry the telescope inside. As the three walked back, the giant suddenly gave a yell. "Quick, Master!" With that the servant let go the big instrument, placing it with a thud none too gently on the hard ground. In a bound he was off. Tom and Ned caught a glimpse of someone just disappearing around the edge of the building. Had the stranger sneaked into the laboratory while Koku's back was turned? [Illustration: Koku Bounded Off] "I hope the space eye isn't smashed!" exclaimed Tom, examining the instrument. "Or the telescope lens." Anxiously Ned waited as his chum detached the green disk and held it up. "I--I guess it's O.K.," said Tom at length. "I'll test it in the lab and see." [Illustration: "I Hope the Space Eye Isn't Smashed!"] At this moment Koku reappeared, saying the intruder had vanished. Moreover, he was very contrite about having handled the telescope roughly. In a few seconds the fears of the three vanished. Put to the electric test, the disk was found to be all right. "Who do you suppose was sneaking around here?" asked Ned. "No telling," replied Tom. "But nothing seems to be missing," he added, glancing around. [Illustration: "Nothing Seems to Be Missing."] "I hope you're right," said Ned. "Now tell me more about this green disk. How did you happen to discover the stuff?" "As to just what it is," replied the other slowly, "I'm not sure yet. When I analyzed it, I found a substance absolutely new to chemistry." "Where did you get it?" asked Ned. "I scraped it from that meteorite down in Koku's country in South America." Ned whistled. "Ever since we found that thing which we called a planet stone, you've been discovering all sorts of things about it." [Illustration: "I Scraped It From a Meteorite."] "Right now I hope to revolutionize the field of astronomy with it," said Tom. "Tell me more about this wonderful green substance." "It may be a new compound or it may be an unknown element. Anyway, in experimenting with it I found that heat and electricity both change the stuff. The former has an apparently permanent effect, while an electric current, as you saw, alters it only temporarily." [Illustration: "Heat and Electricity Change It."] "Why didn't you make a big disk? Then you could have tested your theory right away," stated Ned Newton. "For two good reasons," replied Tom, opening a drawer and taking out a small vial filled with yellow powder. "I wasn't sure it would improve a telescope for one thing, and this is the other." He handed the bottle to Ned. "This is all I have on hand of the new stuff." [Illustration: "This Is All I Have."] "'X,'" murmured Ned, reading the label. "But this powder isn't green. And why the X?" "When the stuff is melted and then cooled it changes color," explained Tom. "As for the X, if you remember your algebra you know that letter stands for the unknown quantity." "Too bad you can't make a huge green disk." [Illustration: "This Powder Isn't Green!"] "Don't worry about that," smiled his friend. "I'll soon have plenty of the powder. You haven't forgotten how the natives of Giant Land feared the meteorite and insisted that we take it away. It seems, however, that we got but a small piece of it. Evidently when it struck the ground the thing split, the heavier portion burying itself deep in the earth while the part we found remained near the surface." [Illustration: "An Earthquake Caused the Upheaval."] "About six weeks ago Koku got a letter from his brother, King Amo of Giant Land, telling of an earthquake which caused the upheaval of the huge stone. His people think we are great magicians or else witch doctors, and Amo wrote begging us to take the meteorite from his land. Of course, I was only too glad to oblige 'em." "Then you plan going to South America--" "Bless my passport, but I'm glad to hear that!" exclaimed a voice from the open doorway. "It seems as if I'm just in time!" "Mr. Damon!" cried both boys together. [Illustration: "Mr. Damon!" Cried Both Boys] A jolly-looking, rather portly gentleman entered, swinging his cane excitedly. Tom and Ned gave him a warm welcome, for he was a friend of long standing and had accompanied them on many an expedition to remote quarters of the globe. "Come in," invited Tom. "Sit down, Mr. Damon, and tell us the news." "And what was it you were so tickled to hear just now?" added Ned. [Illustration: "Come in and Tell us the News!"] "I'll tell you," said the rather eccentric man, for once forgetting to bless something. "I'm in trouble, boys, and I need your help." "You know we'll do anything we can, Mr. Damon," Tom assured him. "Just what is the difficulty?" "My wife," said the caller glumly. "She's the trouble." [Illustration: "I'm in Trouble, Boys."] On hearing this both boys experienced no little difficulty in keeping their faces straight. Although Mrs. Damon was a fine woman in many ways, she was inclined to be very domineering where her husband was concerned. Ever since Tom Swift had rescued the man from a band of kidnapers, Mrs. Damon had had a great liking for the youthful scientist. Yet she felt that her husband should remain quietly at home with her and not go off on any wild trips, as the good lady called them. "But I don't see--well, suppose you explain," suggested Tom. [Illustration: "Bless My Headache Pills!"] "My wife wants me to go on a week-end house party with her next Friday and I detest 'em. Bless my headache pills, but it's enough to drive a man distracted. Now, I heard you boys talking about South America as I came in and I want to go along!" "Well, Mr. Damon, if we were going South you know I'd be only too pleased to have you a member of the party. But Ned and I were merely talking about a shipment of freight I'm expecting from Giant Land." "Koku's country?" asked Mr. Damon, somewhat astonished. "I thought Ambolata was still unknown to commerce. Bless my bill-of-lading, if the world isn't moving faster than I thought!" [Illustration: Some Freight From Giant Land] Tom smiled. "I had to arrange for an expedition through the consular office at Buenos Aires to get what I want. It seems we didn't receive all of that strange meteorite even with the help of your magic wig." [Illustration: Tom Smiled and Explained] Even Mr. Damon had to laugh when he recalled the ludicrous situation in which he had been placed in the jungles of South America. Surrounded by savages, he had absent-mindedly taken off his wig, thereby frightening the simple natives half out of their wits. They had thought he could scalp himself at will. Nevertheless, this action had saved the lives of Tom Swift and his party, ultimately enabling them to escape when the giants turned against them. [Illustration: They Thought He Could Scalp Himself] "Ah, those were the days, Tom," sighed the eccentric man, "those were the days! Even if you're not going off to the wilds, maybe you might give me some kind of a job here so that my wife can't drag me off to that house party. I feel it in my very bones that old Hiram Leatherby will be there and he ALWAYS singles me out to talk about his fossil collection!" "I can sympathize with you," muttered Ned. "Mr. Leatherby used to be a director in the bank where I worked before Tom made me his business manager, and I've often thought he was a bit fossilized himself!" [Illustration: "I'll See What Can Be Done."] "Well, Mr. Damon, I'll see what can be done," promised Tom. "Good!" came an enthusiastic exclamation. "Bless my cup of tea, I'm counting on you!" "In the meantime, why don't you go up to the house and have our housekeeper, Mrs. Baggert, make you a cup of tea? Stop in the library and see Dad. He's been working too hard lately on his electrical book and he needs company." [Illustration: "Stop in and See Dad."] "I will, Tom. Your father is a mighty fine man. Oh, my goodness! Bless my poor memory, Tom, but I had some news for you. Good or bad I don't know, but I feel uneasy about it." "Tell us what it is," suggested the young inventor. [Illustration: "Two Men Called on Me."] "It's a rather odd thing. You see, last evening I was reading my paper on the porch when two men called on me. Said they were long-lost relatives--cousins, or something of the sort--just back from a stay in South Africa. They seemed nice enough fellows, but bless my family tree, I had never heard of 'em! At any rate, they seemed to know a good deal about the Damon family and so I asked them to dinner. What got me thinking something might not be right was the way those chaps tried to pump me about you, Tom." "Pump you?" asked young Swift, a puzzled look on his face. "About what?" "Glass," said the eccentric character promptly. "Some kind of glass. Bless my windshield-wiper, what was it? Oh, yes! Flexible glass, that was it." [Illustration: "They Tried to Pump Me."] Tom and Ned exchanged startled glances. For many months experiments directed toward the production of a glass as bendable as rubber had been going forward in the Swift plant. Every possible precaution had been taken to cloak the work in deepest secrecy, yet somewhere evidently a leak had developed among Tom's employees. [Illustration: Tom and Ned Exchanged Glances] "Are these men still at your home, Mr. Damon?" asked Ned, a worried look on his face. "No, they left after dinner. Mr. Brown said they had some important business up state. Is this glass business some new invention, Tom?" "I hope it will be. So far my experiments haven't turned out successfully. But I can't understand how anyone outside our plant could have known about them." [Illustration: "They Left After Dinner."] Mr. Damon could tell little more about his self-styled relatives. After giving a description of the two men he took his leave. The boys were rather worried about the information he had brought along. "It's not so much the glass," said Tom, "for we don't know if it will be a success. What bothers me is the idea of there being a traitor in the shops. I thought we had weeded out all unscrupulous employees." [Illustration: He Described the Two Men] "The Apex Glass Works are located in Portville," said Ned, struck with an idea, "fifty miles north of here. Mr. Damon's visitors claimed to have business up state. To my mind that's more than a coincidence, especially since the Apex people would give their back teeth to get hold of your formula, Tom!" [Illustration: "That's More Than Coincidence."] CHAPTER III AN ACCIDENT "Oh, I think you're letting your imagination run away with you, Ned," grinned Tom. "I know Mr. Stern, the president of Apex, very well, and I'm positive that he wouldn't stand for any underhanded tactics." [Illustration: "I Know Mr. Stern," Grinned Tom] "I hope you're right," said his business manager. "But you know better than anyone else how unscrupulous gangs have tried to steal your inventions. At first it was Happy Harry the tramp, and the last was Doctor Bane. No telling how many thugs were after you and your father in between. You'd be wise to get some extra guards." "I think Koku is well able to handle any intruder," declared Tom confidently. "Besides, I think you're getting excited over nothing. You know Mr. Damon is inclined to make mountains out of molehills." [Illustration: "Koku Is Able to Handle Anyone."] "That's all very well," persisted his friend stubbornly, "but just suppose Mr. Damon is right in his suspicions? It'd be too late then to do anything about it." "Don't worry, old man. My Chest of Secrets will hold its contents secure against any burglar's attack. Now it's late. You'd better stay to dinner. Afterward, if you care to and have no other date, we can talk over some unfinished business." [Illustration: The Chest Would Guard the Secrets] "Thanks, Tom. I'll be glad to spend the evening with you." Locking up the laboratory, the two boys walked leisurely through the warm June twilight toward the big white house. Low in the sky hung the silvery crescent of the new moon, while almost overhead Mars glowed brightly. "There's our goal, Ned," murmured Tom, pointing to the red planet. "I feel sure that our meteorite came from that far-off world!" [Illustration: "There's Our Goal, Ned."] "Granting that it did come from another planet," objected Ned, "I don't get the reason why you're so sure it came from Mars. There are nine planets circling the sun, including the earth. Ruling out the sun, it seems to me that there is but one chance in eight that you are right." [Illustration: "Nine Planets Circle the Sun."] "If it were simply a matter of chance, there'd be a lot of weight behind your argument, Ned. But a lot of other factors enter the problem. I should say that the only planets where life as we know it might exist are Mars and Venus. The latter I ruled out, for astronomers have found that it is forever covered thickly with dense clouds. Thus the inhabitants, if any, must be ignorant of any world but their own." "What have people on the planets got to do with the question, anyhow?" asked Ned. "Huge chunks of metal break off of any heavenly body and go hurtling through space. The inhabitants don't throw them off!" [Illustration: Chunks of Metal Rushing Through Space] "But our meteor was no ordinary one as we have proved already," replied Tom. "I firmly believe that someone on another planet deliberately fired that missile into space, hoping it would reach this world. Since scientists agree that Mars probably is inhabited by a highly intelligent race, that planet is a reasonable guess." "Whew!" whistled Ned. "Such ideas are beyond me." [Illustration: "Someone on Another Planet Fired the Missile."] As he finished speaking, the boys reached the Swift residence. The young inventor's father had built the handsome white house many years before his son was born. Beyond were the several buildings where the inventions of Tom Swift and his father, Barton Swift, were manufactured. Of recent years the latter had not been active, but had put the affairs in the hands of his capable son Tom, ably assisted by Ned Newton. The older man now spent most of his time writing scientific books and articles. [Illustration: The Boys Reached the Swift Residence] The boys washed as quickly as possible so as not to delay dinner, for both possessed healthy appetites. Joining Mr. Swift in the library, they found him and Mr. Damon deep in a game of chess. "Check!" cried Tom's father triumphantly, moving his king. "Got you again, Damon!" "Bless my pawns and castles!" exclaimed the eccentric gentleman. "You've won three straight games!" [Illustration: Mr. Swift, Tom's Father] "Hello, Dad!" said Tom suddenly. "I see you're up to your old tricks!" In spite of his bantering tone the young inventor was pleased that his father was relaxing in a friendly game. "Your father shouldn't be in the amateur class any more, Tom!" Mr. Damon grumbled playfully. "Bless my trophy cup, but I'm afraid to play with him!" "Better luck next time," consoled Mr. Swift, a twinkle in his eye. Mr. Damon left, refusing an invitation to dinner and saying that he had to take his car to a garage for a minor repair job before starting for his home in Waterford, a near-by town. [Illustration: "Hello, Dad," Said Tom] "How goes it with you, son?" asked Mr. Swift when Tom returned from seeing his guest to the door. "Your new space eye, as you call it--is it working out?" "I think so, Dad, but wait until I get the big model built!" [Illustration: Tom Saw Mr. Damon to the Door] "Genmens, dinnah am serbed!" An old negro thrust his white-fringed head through the library door. "An' it sho' am good!" Eradicate Sampson, so-called for his work in younger days of eradicating dirt from the homes of Shopton, had been attached to the Swift household for many years and now regarded himself as one of the family. As they sat at table the conversation of the three turned naturally to Tom's latest invention. Mr. Swift had not heard yet all Tom's ideas of the proposed telescope and was full of eager questions. [Illustration: Eradicate Sampson] "Just how long do you think it will take to make your big disk, son?" asked Mr. Swift. "That is, if you find any more of the new material." "The meteorite is already on board a north-bound freight steamer," answered Tom, "and ought to get here within the next ten days. It'll require at least three weeks to extract all the X and cast it into shape. Taking everything into consideration, I should say it will be at least six weeks before we can test the device. The matter depends entirely on finding a lot of X in the planet stone. But I'm sure I shall." [Illustration: "The Meteorite Is Northbound!"] After dinner the boys went over to the main office of the Swift Construction Company to clear up a number of routine business matters which required Tom's personal attention. He had postponed them for a while to give more time to his new experiments. [Illustration: The Boys Went to the Main Office] "Now, young fellow, I'm not letting you get away until you've looked over these papers!" declared Ned, pretending to threaten his chum with a yardstick. "I've been after you for a week about 'em!" Tom dodged and pretended to be scared. "You're right, though," he admitted. The two worked rapidly. Within an hour the seemingly endless stack of documents had shrunk to a few letters and bills. Just as Ned was reaching for one of them the telephone rang in the outer office. [Illustration: The Two Worked Rapidly] "I'll get it, Tom," his chum said. "Sit still," replied the young inventor. "I'll switch it to my private phone." "Tom Swift speaking," he said into the mouthpiece a moment later. "Oh, hello, Mrs. Damon. What's that? But I don't understand. No, there must be some mistake!" A loud click sounded in the receiver and Tom jerked the instrument from his ear. "What's wrong?" asked Ned, noting his friend's serious face. [Illustration: Tom Jerked the Instrument From His Ear] "Mr. Damon's been hurt in an auto accident. For some reason his wife is blaming it on me! Come, we must get to the hospital at once!" [Illustration: "Mr. Damon's Been Hurt!"] CHAPTER IV A MURDEROUS ATTEMPT "You drive, Tom," said Ned, for they had come from the Swift home in his car. "O.K., and hang onto your hat!" Tom Swift had once driven a fast racing auto of his own design and Ned knew his chum could get the most out of his roadster. In a few seconds the little car reached the gate of the works, where the watchman halted them. [Illustration: "Hang on to Your Hat."] "Oh, an' 'tiz you agin, Misther Swift," said Malligan. "Sure, an' I wouldn't have stopped yez but me orders is to inspect iveryone." "You did right, Pat," commended Tom, shifting gears. "Good-night." The Shopton Hospital was located a couple of miles from the Swift plant. Under the young scientist's guidance the roadster reached its entrance within a few minutes. At the information desk the boys were informed where Mr. Damon had been taken. [Illustration: They Reached the Hospital] "Room 302, Mr. Swift. Doctor Chilton is with him now." Just as the boys reached Room 302 the physician came out. Tom was glad to note that the man was smiling. "How is he, Doctor?" [Illustration: "How Is He, Doctor?"] "Hello, boys. Mr. Damon will be as good as new in a week or so. Barring a sprained wrist his injuries are trifling--a few bruises and a slight cut. From the way he's blessing everything in the place no one would think he was hurt in the least!" "I'm relieved," said Tom. "May we see him?" "Go right in. He'll be glad to have some company. But don't stay too long." "Bless my operating table, if it isn't Tom and Ned!" exclaimed Mr. Damon, seeing his visitors enter. The eccentric gentleman was propped up in bed by several pillows. His left arm was in a sling and around his head was a big bandage. "You two got here almost as quickly as I did. But I'm glad they didn't have to carry you in!" [Illustration: Mr. Damon Was Propped up in Bed] "Your wife phoned me the news," explained Tom. "We're mighty glad you weren't injured badly. Tell us how it happened." "It all occurred so suddenly that I hardly know myself. But I know one thing!" Mr. Damon seemed very indignant. "The scoundrels deliberately ran into my car!" [Illustration: "The Scoundrels Ran into My Car!"] "Did you get their license number?" inquired Ned Newton. "If you did, I'll call the police!" "No, I couldn't see it in the dark. But I know the villains well enough. They were my two so-called relatives that I told you about--Jones and Brown! It was spite work for my refusal to tell 'em about your glass!" Tom now saw the reason why Mrs. Damon was blaming him for the accident. [Illustration: "My Two So-Called Relatives."] "We'll notify the authorities and also do a little detective work ourselves," he said. "We must leave now because the doctor wants you to get some rest." "Come back again, boys. At any rate, I've escaped that house party!" After reporting the accident at the local police station, Tom and Ned visited all the garages and repair shops in the little town in an attempt to learn if any damaged machine had been brought in. They met with no success, however. [Illustration: They Visited All the Garages] "Guess their bus wasn't hurt much," commented Ned as they left the last place. "We might as well give up for the night." "The police will be on the job. Unless the two men hid the car somewhere it's sure to be found. The teletype will flash the word all through the state." The following morning the Police Chief telephoned Tom to tell him that no trace of the mysterious Jones and Brown could be discovered, nor had any witness to the accident been located. [Illustration: The Police Chief Called Tom] Later Ned went to the hospital where he found Mr. Damon much improved and able to sit up in a wheel chair. After a visit with him he attended to some business at the bank. On returning to the Swift plant, he found Tom busy with his green disk, which once more was clamped to the little telescope. "Mr. Damon is a lot better," Ned reported, watching his friend's work curiously. "When I left him he was blessing his hat and coat, so I suppose he's eager to get out of the hospital." [Illustration: Mr. Damon Was Much Improved] "That's great," said Tom. "I knew he was getting along all right. I was too busy to go with you so I called Doctor Chilton. He told me that the X-ray showed no broken bones, but our friend must remain under observation for a few days more." "You've changed the wiring on the disk, haven't you?" asked Ned, who knew a little about electricity. [Illustration: "I Want to Try Alternating Current."] "I want to try alternating current instead of direct and see if doing so won't improve it. Dad suggested that. What is it, Koku?" "Boy bringum letter for Master. Say must put name on book." The man held out an envelope and pad. "It's a radiogram. Sign for me, Ned, will you?" Tom ripped open the envelope and glanced over the message. "Bad news?" asked his chum, seeing a changed expression on the inventor's face. [Illustration: Tom Ripped Open the Envelope] "I should say so. Here, read it yourself. We might just as well forget the whole telescope idea, that's how bad it is!" Ned took the sheet, which Tom had crumpled, spread it out on the desk, and read as follows: "Regret inform you was compelled to jettison your cargo last night in bad storm to save ship. Approximate location four miles due east Port Baracoa, Cuba. Salvage boat take position at apex isosceles triangle 27.6 degrees with lighthouse and summit hill a mile to the south." "(Signed) A. Mawson, Captain S.S. Perry." [Illustration: "Was Compelled to Jettison Your Cargo."] "Say, Tom, that IS tough, having your meteorite thrown overboard!" exclaimed Ned, rereading the message. "All your work wasted and your marvelous invention junked--" "Not yet!" broke in the young scientist grimly as he grabbed the telephone from his desk. "Hello, operator, get me long distance, please." [Illustration: Tom Grabbed the Telephone] "What are you going to do?" asked Ned excitedly. "Get divers," replied Tom as he waited. "I'm going to recover that meteorite or know the reason--Oh, hello! Yes. I want the main office of the Neptune Salvage Company in New York City. No, I haven't the address. Yes, I'll hold the line. "These people are experts," he told his chum while waiting for his call to be put through. "If the stone isn't in too deep water they'll be able to raise it if anyone can." [Illustration: "I'm Going to Recover the Meteorite."] "But how can they ever find it? Seems to me it'll be like hunting for the proverbial needle in a haystack, only more so!" "Not quite that bad. Captain Mawson gives what seem to be pretty complete directions. You might try getting any further data the man may have." [Illustration: "Captain Mawson Gave Directions."] Unfortunately for Tom, as he learned in the next two hours, the Neptune Company and other salvage concerns he called were very busy and could not spare a barge of the required size. Moreover, Ned could get no more information, when he finally contacted the freighter, than her commander had given already. "Why doan yo' tak' yo' submarine boat down dere, Massa Tom?" asked Eradicate as he served luncheon to the young inventor, his father and Ned. "Ah 'members we once got some treasure off'n de bottom ob de sea dat way." [Illustration: Eradicate Served Luncheon] "I did think of that, Rad," answered Tom a bit wearily, "but my ship isn't big enough to raise such a great weight." "And so, son," said the elder Swift, "if you can't get the use of a large salvage craft you will have to give up your project; is that right?" "That's right, Dad, and I surely hate to think of it. But I'm not going to give up, even if I have to bring men and equipment from the Pacific coast!" [Illustration: "I'm Not Going to Give Up!"] "That'd be mighty expensive," objected Ned. In his capacity as the Swifts' business manager, he had earned the nickname "watchdog of the treasury." "Why not wait until some local firm can take the job?" "Too risky. You see, ocean currents or some submarine upheaval might shift the big stone so great a distance that we could never find it. Don't forget that to the best of our knowledge the meteorite is the only source of X on earth." [Illustration: "Ocean Currents Might Shift the Stone."] "Hmm," frowned Mr. Swift. "I used to know an old fellow very well who was in the diving business. Met him when we built the submarine 'Advance'--you boys remember her--but I can't seem to recall his name. Let me see--Ha! I have it! Britten! That's it, John Britten, the best salvage man on the coast!" "Maybe he's busy too," said Ned, "as all the others seem to be." [Illustration: "Maybe He's Busy, Too."] "I think not," replied the elderly scientist, "because he's retired. Yet I believe he'll undertake the job if I ask him as I once did him a great favor. His salvaging outfit is in Florida, but he lives on Delaware Bay. I'll phone him at once." "That's great, Dad!" cried Tom, his face lighting up with renewed hope. "Tell him I'll bring him here by plane tomorrow. We can talk things over and start for Florida from here." "He'll go," said Mr. Swift a few minutes later, turning away from the telephone with a smile. "Said he'll be tickled to get back in harness." [Illustration: "He'll Go," Said Mr. Swift] "Thanks a million, Dad! You've saved the day!" The following morning the boys hurried out to the Swift private airport to oversee the fueling of the huge plane Tom had decided to take. At first he had thought of making the trip in his small two-seated racer, since it was the fastest craft in the hangar. Realizing, however, that Captain Britten might want to bring along considerable baggage, the young inventor had told Ned he felt it best to go in his flying boat. [Illustration: They Fueled the Huge Plane] The "Winged Arrow," in which Tom once had made a memorable rescue flight to Iceland, was equipped now with a retractable landing gear as well as with pontoons, enabling the craft to descend on both land and water. Suddenly Tom became very excited as he looked at the hydroplane. "Look, Ned!" he cried. "Can you beat that!" [Illustration: "Look, Ned," Tom Cried] CHAPTER V IN PERIL Upon inspection, it was found that three half-inch holes had been drilled into each pontoon. It was evident that only an enemy of Tom or of the Swift Company could have done such a thing. "Ned, that proves it!" declared the young inventor gloomily. [Illustration: Three Holes in Each Pontoon] "Proves what?" Ned asked. "Can't you see? It all ties in with Mr. Damon's so-called relatives, and their knowledge of my formula for a bendable glass. Someone in our shops is a traitor--or worse!" "But what has a damaged hydroplane to do with that?" objected Ned. "If we had landed on water with these damaged pontoons, we'd have drowned most likely," replied Tom. "That would have suited the villains who want my formula, and no one would have been the wiser as to what caused the accident." [Illustration: "We'd Have Been Drowned!"] "Admitting you're right, the thing's a pretty serious mess," said Ned. "But of course crooked people will go to long lengths for money, and if your formula is a good one, it certainly will bring a lot of money to someone or something." "And that something is going to be the Swift Company!" declared Tom. [Illustration: "It's a Pretty Serious Mess."] "Since we can't take off in the hydroplane today," said Ned, "let's go back to the office. I suppose it'll require some time to patch up those holes." Tom immediately sent for one of his skilled mechanics, a man whom he knew to be trustworthy. He set the fellow to work welding patches over the holes. After cautioning his employee to maintain strict silence, he and Ned drove away. [Illustration: He Welded Patches Over the Holes] "Don't say anything to Dad about this," warned Tom as the two left the field. "It would only worry him and could do no good. You and I must work out this mess by ourselves." After dinner that evening Tom went to his private laboratory to check the thermostat controlling the temperature of the annealing oven in which his batch of new glass was being slowly cooled. Then he spent some time at his desk over certain intricate formulas. The room was in semi-darkness, lighted only by a shaded reading lamp. [Illustration: Tom Checked the Thermostat] "Well, that's that," yawned the young inventor at length, locking up his desk. "Guess I'd better put the valuable disk back in the vault before I go home," he decided, switching on the ceiling lights and glancing toward the corner where Koku had placed the telescope. With a start he saw that his invention was gone! [Illustration: His Invention Was Gone] Quickly examining the instrument, he found that the green disk had been jerked roughly from its clamps by someone who evidently had been in too great a hurry to bother unscrewing the bolts which had held it in place. "Ho!" suddenly boomed a deep voice. Tom became aware of a commotion outside the laboratory. "You no get 'way fum me! How you like 'nother knock on top head?" "Don't hit me again!" whined someone. "I won't try to escape!" Tom flung open the door and saw his giant servant dragging a man up the steps. A feeling of tremendous relief swept over young Swift as he discovered his precious green disk in Koku's left hand. [Illustration: Koku Was Dragging a Man] "Ha, Master Tom! Catchum bad mans tryin' to sneak through gate! See green thing stick out of pocket and grabbum--bringum here. Want me hittum again?" "Please don't let him hurt me, Mr. Swift," snivelled the man. "He hit me an awful blow back there." [Illustration: "Want Me Hittum Again?"] "You had it coming to you," retorted Tom sternly. "Besides, you're not hurt very much. Koku, bring him in here. You certainly did a good piece of work when you nabbed this fellow. Take him into the office and we'll have a word or two with him before I call the police." "I ain't talkin'," muttered the man, shifting uncomfortably and looking rather uneasily at the giant. "You ain't got nothin' on me. I just found that chunk of green glass in the field." [Illustration: "You Ain't Got Nothin' on Me."] "Don't lie to me, unless you want to be mussed up some more," said Tom grimly, glancing at Koku. "I think I'll just take a look through your pockets. Perhaps you found a few other little things when you broke in here." Under the menacing eye of the giant, the man submitted sullenly to the search. There was nothing in his clothes to identify him. Apparently he had stolen nothing else from the laboratory. He refused to answer any questions, however. Tom gave up and summoned the police by telephone. [Illustration: Tom Searched the Man] "O Master, here other thing in man's pocket!" exclaimed Koku, after the thief had been carted away to jail. "It stuck to round green thing when I yank away from um." He handed Tom a bit of pasteboard from which the lower third had been torn. "It's a business card of the Apex Glass Works with the representative's name ripped off!" exclaimed young Swift aloud. Then to himself he added, "I wonder? Maybe Ned was right after all and they ARE after my formula for bendable glass!" [Illustration: A Business Card] Tom immediately called the home of Mr. Stern, head of the glass works, to whom he related the occurrence. The executive was shocked and very indignant at the thought of there being a criminal among his employees and promised to investigate thoroughly. "I hope you don't think I had anything to do with this, Mr. Swift!" the man exclaimed. [Illustration: The Executive Was Shocked] "Not in the least, sir. But if you turn up any clues, I hope you'll let me know." "I most assuredly will. You may count on my help." An early hour next day found Tom and Ned flying south over the sandy coast of New Jersey. Every inch of the "Winged Arrow" had been thoroughly inspected, but no other signs of damage had been discovered. Even so, the young business manager sat a bit uneasily in his seat as he peered out anxiously at the broad wings. [Illustration: Tom and Ned Flew South] "Afraid they'll drop off, old man?" grinned Tom. "Don't worry. We X-rayed 'em and no struts have been filed nor any time-bombs planted!" "Huh, I was just looking at the weather," grunted Ned indignantly. He was secretly relieved, for he had been pondering how easily a charge of dynamite could have been secreted aboard ship. "How soon do you think we'll reach Delaware Bay?" [Illustration: Ned Was Uneasy] "Within the next twenty minutes," answered his chum, glancing at the instrument board. "Mr. Britten is to meet us at a dock near Lewes." Less than half an hour later the pontoons of the "Winged Arrow" were plowing through the waters of Delaware Bay toward a near-by pier. A wharf attendant caught the line Ned threw him and the ship was moored securely to a stout post. As Tom and his companion climbed up, a grizzled-looking old man hailed them in a voice that seemed well able to travel from quarterdeck to fo'c'sle even in the teeth of a hurricane. [Illustration: The Plane Plowed Through the Waters] "Ahoy there!" he bellowed, though scarcely twenty feet away. "Are you young Swift and company?" "Right you are. Captain Britten, I take it?" Vastly flattered by the title, the red-faced old seaman warmly shook hands with the boys. "Correct ye are, me lad. Your good father tells me you need a bit o' salvagin' done an' I'm the man as'll do it proper!" [Illustration: Captain Britten, the Grizzled Old Man] "Good for you, Captain!" said Tom. "That's exactly what my father said. And now, have you your equipment handy? If it's not too heavy we can load it aboard the plane right away. Oh, and I want to introduce my good friend here, Ned Newton." [Illustration: "I Want to Introduce My Friend."] "Glad to meet ye, shipmate! As for my salvagin' outfit, it's aboard ship. We'll pick up my old barge, the 'Elizabeth B.,' but I calls her the 'Betsy B.,' at Key West, where I keeps her anchored. She's in a manner o' speakin' my winter home." Captain Britten picked up a huge, battered old suitcase. "If your flyin' machine is ready, so am I!" The old man was obviously a trifle eccentric, but both boys were warmly attracted to him by his sincere and friendly manner. Besides, as Tom noted, there was a certain air of competence about him, as if he was well able to tackle and solve the hardest of problems in his line. [Illustration: Captain Britten Carried His Suitcase] "Let's go, then!" proposed Ned, motioning to the attendant to cast off and handing him a coin at the same time. Listening to a number of quaint seafaring expressions from old Captain Britten, who was starting his first voyage into the upper air, Tom sent the big craft roaring above the smooth water toward Shopton. [Illustration: Tom Sent the Big Craft Roaring] "How do you like flying, Captain Britten?" Ned asked. "Ever been up?" "Well, I guess it's all right," rumbled the salvaging expert, looking down at the sea dubiously. "But to tell you the truth, I'm more at home ON the water than OVER it!" In a short time the nose of the "Winged Arrow" turned inland as Tom set his course direct for home. When they were nearing Shopton, the young inventor, intending to come down on solid ground, grasped the device which lowered the landing wheels. It seemed to work very stiffly, he thought, so he leaned over farther to exert more force. Suddenly there came a snapping noise. [Illustration: The Plane Turned Inland] "What's up, Tom?" called Ned, hearing the noise and seeing his chum fumbling with the now useless mechanism. "Landing gear out of commission. But there's no need to worry as we can descend on Lake Carlopa easily with the pontoons." [Illustration: "Landing Gear out of Commission."] "By George!" exclaimed Ned Newton, banging his fist on the instrument panel. "Ten to one this is the work of the same scoundrel who bored holes in the floats. If I could get my hands on--" "I hope you'll be in a condition to do so," cut in Tom in an oddly strained voice. "Take a look at the fuel gauge." "It--it says zero! But that's impossible. We saw the tanks filled last night." [Illustration: "Look at the Fuel Gauge."] "Sure, and when we took off this morning the gauge showed they were still full. Someone tampered with the pointer of the instrument and all but drained the gas containers when they wrecked the landing gear. Just now you dislodged the jammed needle when you struck the instrument board with your fist." "Then we're in a pretty bad way, eh, Tom?" asked Captain Britten calmly. [Illustration: "We're in a Pretty Bad Way?"] "I'll say," replied young Swift grimly. "We can't hope to reach Carlopa and there is nothing beneath us now but thick woodland. No question about it. A crack-up is the next thing on the program!" As he finished speaking, the starboard motor emitted a groaning cough and stopped. The port engine might run for another five minutes or it might give out within the next five seconds! [Illustration: The Starboard Engine Stopped] CHAPTER VI TOM DRUGGED! Tom had headed the ship up at a steep angle so as to get as much altitude as possible before the other motor should stop. But he knew in his heart that he could not hope to glide so heavy a plane as far as the lake. [Illustration: Tom Headed the Ship Up] In some surprise Ned observed that Captain Britten was fumbling with the straps about his big, old-fashioned valise. Young Newton wondered what the elderly man was looking for so intensely. "Ahoy there, Tom Swift!" boomed the old diver, straightening up with a bottle in his hand. "I've got a drop o' gasoline here that may help ye!" [Illustration: "I've Got a Drop of Gasoline."] "What's that?" gasped the pilot. Turning, he saw the quart bottle. Already the remaining engine was dying of thirst. "Quick, Ned!" he ordered, snatching the container. "Take the controls and hold the ship level." Five seconds later the inventor was creeping out along one wing toward the intake valve of the port gas tank. Their hearts almost in their mouths, his companions watched his hazardous progress. In spite of the clutching hand of the wind and the quavering of the ship under Ned's inexpert guidance, Tom managed to reach his goal. [Illustration: He Crept Along One Wing] Removing the cap with no little difficulty, he dumped the precious drops of gasoline into the tank. In a few moments he got back to the cabin. As he closed the door the laboring engine once more resumed its full-throated roar. "Lad, you've got what it takes!" rumbled Captain Britten, shaking Tom's hand approvingly. "You're a mighty brave young fellow!" "You mean YOU had what it takes," laughed the inventor, taking over the controls preparatory to landing on Carlopa. "Without that extra bit of gas we'd be piled up in a tree by now!" [Illustration: He Emptied the Precious Drops] The quart of fuel was just sufficient to carry the ship safely down to the lake's surface at a point about three miles from the town. Fortunately one of Tom's friends was sailing near-by in his cat-boat and gladly offered to take the three over to the Swift dock, which jutted out from the grounds behind Tom's home. It was mid-afternoon before the "Winged Arrow" was towed across to the dock and her tanks refilled with high-test gasoline. While this was being done, Tom and Ned went to the home of Mr. Damon to ask if he would like to accompany them to the West Indies. [Illustration: Tom Saw a Friend] The man was found to be sitting in an easy chair on his front porch, where he spent much time, now that he was home from the hospital. [Illustration: They Went to See Mr. Damon] "Bless my parachute, I'd like nothing better than to make the trip!" he said a trifle wistfully. "To tell you the truth, though," his voice sank to a whisper, "between the doctors and Mrs. Damon I'll be lucky if I'm allowed to walk around the block alone for some time to come!" "Well, that's too bad, Mr. Damon. We were counting on you." [Illustration: "We Were Counting on You."] "Bless my fishing tackle, Tom, I'm sorry too. But tell me! How did Captain Britten happen to be carrying a quart of gasoline in his satchel?" asked the eccentric gentleman after he had been told of the airplane's narrow escape. "I thought it strange myself," said Tom, "but he claimed he always carries some with him to remove grease spots from his clothes." "Ha! He must be quite a character. I suppose aboard a salvage boat folks get their clothes pretty dirty, at that." After the boys returned home it was decided that they and Mr. Britten would set out for Florida the next morning. In the meantime, the elderly diver telegraphed his caretaker to get the "Betsy B." in order and arrange to hire a tug-boat. [Illustration: They Planned to Start the Next Day] Late in the afternoon Tom called his chum on the phone. "Can you spare me a few minutes?" he asked. "Think I'm going to have something interesting to show you." "Be right over," replied Ned. "Where are you?" "In the lab." A few minutes later young Newton had joined his friend. "What's up?" he asked Tom as he entered. [Illustration: "What's up?" Asked Ned] Tom had discovered that his bendable glass mixture had cooled to a critical temperature, making it necessary to remove it from the furnace at once lest it be ruined. In a small secret chamber beneath his private laboratory he had set up a sort of miniature glass works which would have astonished any ordinary glass worker, for the young inventor had devised an entirely new method of procedure. As to its outcome, well, even to its inventor that feature remained in doubt. [Illustration: A Miniature Glass Works] "Do you think it'll work, Tom?" asked Ned Newton anxiously as he followed the youthful scientist down the stairs. "Your experiments have cost a mint of money already--" "Don't croak," chuckled Tom. "I've a few pennies left, haven't I?" "You won't have so very many after you finish with your new telescope idea," declared Ned grimly. "And THAT certainly won't bring in any dividends." [Illustration: Ned Followed Tom] "Nor is it intended to," said Tom a bit sharply. "There is, you know, such a thing as pursuing knowledge for its own sake." "I'm sorry. You ought to know, though, that I'm thinking only of your interests, not of mine," he said as they reached the room below. "Forgive me, old man!" Tom clapped Ned warmly on the back. "Don't feel for a minute that I don't appreciate everything you've done for me. To tell you the truth, I'm as worried about this new glass as you are. That's why I jumped on you. Let's forget it!" [Illustration: "Forgive Me, Old Man!"] "Right!" The two were standing now before the cylindrical furnace containing the mixture of silicates and other ingredients from which Tom Swift hoped would emerge a glass as flexible as rubber and as strong as steel. The thermometer on the front stood at twenty-one degrees Centigrade. [Illustration: They Looked at the Thermometer] "She's just right," muttered the inventor, consulting a complicated chart hanging on the wall. "Now we'll see!" The asbestos-coated door clanged open. Tom drew out a shallow tray, the contents of which were buried in a black powder. "Charcoal!" he explained, setting the pan on a table. "It prevents any rapid temperature change. Even common glass must be cooled slowly or it becomes as brittle as peanut candy." [Illustration: Tom Drew out a Shallow Tray] With the aid of a wooden rod Tom pulled out a glass bar about ten inches long and an inch thick. After picking it up carefully he examined it closely. In no way did the object appear different from ordinary glass. "Well, here goes!" said the inventor and forthwith bent the bar into the shape of a horseshoe! "Hurrah!" yelled Ned, clapping his friend on the back. "You've done it again, Tom Swift!" [Illustration: He Bent the Glass] "Don't crow too soon. Perhaps it won't bend back again. If a rod of copper is annealed in a certain way it can be bent ONCE like rubber but then the crystal breaks up and it becomes as rigid as ever. Maybe this glass will act the same way." "Then try it! Don't keep me in suspense!" Perhaps Tom had been tantalizing his business manager, or maybe he really was doubtful about the flexibility of the bar. At any rate, when he applied pressure he did not seem surprised when the glass became straight again. Then he proceeded actually to tie a knot in it, so bendable was the new substance! [Illustration: The Glass Became Straight Again] "This will revolutionize the glass industry!" declared Ned, noting that even the blows of a heavy sledge-hammer failed even so much as to crack the rod. "It's not half as wonderful as that other kind of glass," said Tom, dreamily. "Your glass eye, d'you mean?" chuckled Ned in high good humor. In his mind he could already see fat profits for the company. [Illustration: A Heavy Hammer Did Not Crack It] "I'll give you a pair of black eyes if you make another bad joke!" laughed Tom, giving his chum a playful push. "But seriously, I'm mighty well pleased with this stuff; it turned out better than I dared hope. You know, I got the idea for bendable glass while I was trying to figure out a way to make a huge telescope mirror. That was before we found the meteorite." "And I suppose you'll go back to the glass mirror if you can't find the big stone so you can make the large green disk." [Illustration: "I'm Well Pleased With This."] "Yes, that's what I'll have to do if the salvage attempt fails. But I'm sure we'll succeed." Captain Britten had been given a room at the Swift home. When the boys got there they found their guest and Tom's father deep in a game of chess. [Illustration: The Two Men Were Playing Chess] "Well, son," laughed Mr. Swift, "I've met my match at last. John Britten has beaten me three straight games! But don't tell Damon about it!" "I won't, Dad," grinned Tom. "What do you think of this?" He handed his father the bar of bendable glass. "What do I think of it? Why, it looks like a glass rod, that's all I can see." "Then watch!" Tom took the bar and deftly twisted it into the shape of a fat pretzel. "You've done it, son!" cried Mr. Swift. "And to think I told you such a thing was impossible! Congratulations!" [Illustration: "What Do You Think of This?"] At dinner that evening the conversation turned mainly to the projected flight to the West Indies. It was decided to start the next day at sunrise, as Captain Britten had received word from Florida that his barge had been made ready. A tug was getting up steam to haul it to the Cuban coast. [Illustration: "Congratulations!" Cried Mr. Swift] "Mr. Damon can't go with us, Dad," said Tom. "His wife won't let him! By the way," he added with a laugh, "she was looking up the names of all his relatives--Mr. Damon said she was glad of the excuse to do so!--but she could find none named Jones or Brown. So that definitely proves those two fellows were fakes and that they merely pretended relationship in order to pump him about my work." After supper Ned went to his home to pack a suitcase, for he was to spend the night at the Swifts' to be on hand for the early start that was being planned. Tom spent the evening in his office studying the latest available data on diving operations, and plotting the route over which the party would travel to the coast of Cuba. [Illustration: Ned Packed His Suitcase] Immersed in his work, he at first paid but little attention to a peculiar odor that gradually was pervading the atmosphere. Suddenly he realized that something was wrong; a strange buzzing filled his ears and the lights seemed to be growing dim. He started to get up, but instead fell across his desk. [Illustration: Something Was Wrong] As Tom lay there motionless, a window opened noiselessly. Stealthily a masked figure climbed in. After a hasty glance around the room, the intruder hastened to the desk and leaned over the unconscious youth. [Illustration: A Masked Figure Entered] CHAPTER VII DEEP SEA DIVING Swiftly the masked man took a bunch of keys from Tom's pocket. With a directness that indicated familiarity with the place, he went straight to the rug covering the entrance to the secret vault. Throwing this aside, he unlocked the trap door and quietly raised it. The combination lock, which gave warning if tampered with, had not been set for the night. [Illustration: He Unlocked the Trap Door] Now the intruder very carefully draped the rug over the door in such a way that it would spread itself as before when the trap should be closed from below. Two minutes later Tom was alone in the office, which appeared exactly as it had before he was rendered unconscious. Yet there crouched in the vault a hidden spy whose purpose was as sinister as his appearance. [Illustration: He Draped the Rug Over the Door] "Mist' Swift, Massa Tom ain' come back fum de office yit," announced Rad Sampson as he placed the elderly inventor's nightly glass of hot milk on the library table. "I wuz jest up t' his room to ax him suffin' an' he wuzn't dar." "Well, I guess the boy is working a bit late tonight. But you sound a trifle anxious, Eradicate. Do you think anything is wrong?" "Uh--Oh, no suh. No suh," mumbled the old Negro. "I jest wondered ef yo'd seen him. Good night, suh! Good night!" [Illustration: "Massa Tom Ain' Back Fum de Office."] "Good night, Rad." "Mustn't worry ole Mist' Swift," the servant muttered to himself as he shuffled back to the kitchen. "But Massa Tom tole me hisself he gwine t' baid early 'cause he gotta git up befo' sunrise. "Look hyah, Koku," he went on when he got to the kitchen. "Quit stuffin' dat 'ar pie an' go out an' see ef Massa Tom all right. He ought t' have bin in de house long sence. I'se skeered mebbe some villains mought've cotched him!" [Illustration: "See Ef Massa Tom All Right."] "Whoo!" growled the giant, jumping up so quickly that his big, specially-built chair crashed over. "Where um war-club? Me fixum!" "Doan make sich a racket, yo' big lummox! Yo' want to skeer ol' Mist' Swift? Heah, take mah rollin'-pin." Clutching the rolling pin as a "war-club," Koku started through the darkness toward Tom's private laboratory. Following him at a discreet distance came old Rad Sampson, who had armed himself with a big butcher knife. [Illustration: Rad Followed] "Dar's a light in de office, big boy," whispered the Negro. "Be keerful, now!" The giant merely grunted, crept up to the window and peered within. His great height enabled him to do so easily. "Come," he said finally, turning toward the door. "We go in." "Whut de matter?" demanded Eradicate, struggling to keep up with his companion. "Am suffin' wrong? Mah goodness!" he cried a moment later in the office. "Po' Massa Tom done been killed! Look at him a-layin' dere!" [Illustration: The Giant Peered in the Window] "Him no dead!" rumbled Koku, leaning over his master. "Him heart still beatum. Him need fresh air." Gently he picked Tom up and carried him outside. "I'll git a doctah!" exclaimed the old colored man. "Dey's a phone in heah." [Illustration: "Him No Dead!" Rumbled Koku] Before the physician could be reached, the beneficial effects of the cool night air had brought the young inventor back to consciousness. At first he could not recall what had happened and was not a little astonished to find himself lying on the grass. "What in the world is the matter, Koku?" he demanded, pressing his hand to his aching head. "What am I doing out here?" "Master out, get knockum," said the giant. "We find you on desk. Rad callum medicine man now." [Illustration: "What Am I Doing Here?"] "A doctor? No, I'm all right. Tell him to cancel the call." Tom managed to struggle to his feet. "I remember now! Some kind of gas must have been used on me. But I must see to the office. Maybe I've been robbed." Leaning heavily on the giant's arm, Tom walked as fast as he could into the laboratory. At first glance everything seemed to be in order, and to his relief he found the vault was locked. [Illustration: The Vault Was Locked] The young inventor did not know that a key was missing from his ring, nor, as he twirled the dial of the combination-lock, did he realize that a slender lever had been severed from below, thus rendering useless the intricate mechanism. "Who done dis to you', Massa Tom?" asked Rad. "Wish I knew. Anyhow, there's been no damage done except to me! My head's splitting, so I must get to bed. Koku, stay on guard here from now on until I return from Cuba. And get several of the men to relieve you. Another thing: I don't want either of you to mention this affair to anyone. Dad would hear about it and worry." [Illustration: "Koku, Stay on Guard Here."] "If I catchum fella I breakum in little bits!" cried Koku fiercely. He shook the rolling-pin vigorously. "Better him stay 'way fum me!" Tom awoke the next morning little the worse for his experience. Thanks to a rugged constitution, he had been able to throw off the ill effects of the poisonous fumes which had overcome him. [Illustration: "Better Him Stay 'Way Fum Me!"] "I can't make it out, Ned," he said as the boys stood watching the mechanics warm up the engines of the big seaplane. "Nothing is missing. Whoever did the job didn't even rob me, and I had a good deal of cash in my wallet." "Maybe nobody made an attempt on you or your property at all, Tom," Ned remarked slowly. "What d'you mean? I certainly was knocked out!" "Oh, I know that. But couldn't some sort of gas have seeped into your office from your adjoining laboratory? A bottle of acid might have cracked, or--" [Illustration: The Mechanics Warmed up the Engines] "Nothing like that happened. I'm positive, because the same thought struck me. I made a careful inspection this morning. Everything was in perfect order." "It certainly is strange," said Ned. "It looks as if some enemy is camping on your trail, Tom!" "He'll have a hard time picking up that same trail in a few minutes," chuckled the inventor. "Here come Captain Britten and Dad. I guess we can take off soon." [Illustration: "A Bottle of Acid Might Have Cracked."] "So your sea-goin' air-yacht is ready to cast off, is she?" asked the old diver. "Well, when ye haul in the gangplank, so to speak, I'll be aboard!" "Take care of yourself, son," said Barton Swift, shaking Tom's hand. "I hope you will be successful in your attempt." "Good-bye, Dad. And thanks." "Doan git et up by no sharks or allygators!" cautioned Rad. [Illustration: "Take Care of Yourself, Son."] The mechanics had finished their work and were seen climbing down from the fuselage. The passengers took their places in the roomy cabin while Tom seated himself behind the controls. After running a critical eye over the score of instruments he reached for the throttle and clutched the wheel tighter. The intermittent coughing of the powerful motors changed to a deafening roar, and the huge ship lumbered off down the long field, gathering speed every second. [Illustration: Tom Sat Behind the Controls] "We're off!" cried Ned, waving at the already distant figures left behind. "And we'll bring home the meteorite!" muttered Tom to himself as the "Winged Arrow" glided smoothly toward the clouds lining the southern horizon. "For I'm going to make the most wonderful telescope the world has ever known!" [Illustration: "We're off!" Cried Ned] CHAPTER VIII TRAPPED BY A SEA MONSTER "This is travelin' in style, all right," approvingly remarked Captain Britten, looking about the comfortably appointed cabin and sniffing the appetizing odor of lamb chops on the electric grill. When necessary, Ned Newton could cook an impromptu meal. He really was rather proud of his ability. [Illustration: Ned Cooked Some Lamb Chops] As the amateur chef placed the meal on a small, collapsible table, Tom announced that they were now flying over the state of Georgia. "We should reach Key West about three P.M.," he said. The ship droned steadily onward. At two o'clock in the afternoon they were passing near a large city. "Miami," declared Ned, who had been poring over a chart. "Airplanes go to many parts of South America from there." [Illustration: "Miami," Declared Ned] Tom sent the "Winged Arrow" lower and lower. Finally he leveled off at an altitude of about five hundred feet above the blue sea. Here the full force of the fierce subtropical sun began to make itself felt. The travelers, fresh from the comparatively cool northern summer, made haste to open all the air vents in the plane. Then they changed into white linen suits. [Illustration: They Changed into Linen Suits] "Whew!" exclaimed Tom, mopping his brow. "I've traveled in the jungles of Africa but have never felt hotter!" "Ah, it's the ship, my boy. You see, the dark metal hull fairly soaks up the sun, an' that's why we're a bit uncomfortable," said Captain Britten. "Once we land, you'll think the climate fine!" Shortly afterward they flew over a grim-looking American battleship. It greeted them with a hoarse blast of her whistle as the flying boat shot by at the rate of two hundred miles an hour. On either side tiny islands, or cays, appeared, then vanished as if by magic. Finally a blue blur straight ahead began to loom even larger, and in a few minutes the "Winged Arrow" landed in the harbor of Key West. [Illustration: They Flew Over a Battleship] "Half-past three," said Tom, glancing at the clock on the instrument panel. "A slow passage." "Fast as I'd want to make it," declared Captain Britten. "A steamer'd have taken a good many hours where we needed only minutes. There's the old 'Betsy B.' tied to her pier, so let's get over to her!" [Illustration: In the Harbor at Key West] The idling engines were speeded up and the flying boat moved slowly across the harbor. A tug with smoke curling from her single thick funnel lay near the broad-beamed barge. [Illustration: A Tug Lay Near the Barge] Over the stern of the latter several grinning Negroes leaned. Their ancestors might have been stricken dumb at sight of the great sky craft tying up to their ship, but these darkies were familiar with daily passage of planes bound for South America and showed but little astonishment. In a liquid Spanish-English patois they bade the whites welcome. All of them were old retainers of Captain Britten. As the elderly man had said, the old barge had served as winter quarters for him during the past years. In consequence, he had had her little cabins fitted up more luxuriously than is customary on such vessels. Tom and Ned were given one far more comfortable than they had expected. [Illustration: The Cabins Were Comfortable] The rest of the afternoon was taken up with inspection of the ship, the arrangements for the safe-keeping of the "Winged Arrow," and the laying of plans. Immediately after the hydroplane had been moored to a small pier owned by Captain Britten, the tug-boat chugged out into the Gulf of Mexico at the rate of ten knots. [Illustration: The Tug Chugged out into the Gulf] "I'd say we should reach the spot some time tomorrow afternoon," said Tom after studying the chart. "It's just under two hundred miles." "And we'll get your meteorite for you!" predicted the old salvage man confidently. "Lucky the captain of that freighter 'Perry' took a bearing on the lighthouse at Port Baracoa; otherwise it would be like lookin' for a boll weevil in a bale o' cotton!" [Illustration: Tom Studied the Charts] Ruiz, the coal-black cook, served a good supper at sundown. Shortly afterward the boys went to their bunks, for both were tired after the long flight. Then too, Tom was still feeling the effects of the gas inhaled the previous night. Next morning found the "Betsy B." wallowing through a smooth sea a few miles off the east coast of Cuba. Under the supervision of Captain Britten, several of the crew were busy oiling the huge winch, overhauling steel cables, and seeing to a dozen other minor but important details. Altogether, it was a busy scene that met the eyes of Tom and Ned when they emerged on deck. [Illustration: The Crew Was Busy] "Your father was right, I think," said Ned. "You certainly have a competent man. See how the crew jump at his word!" "I agree," said Tom with satisfaction. "But me for breakfast! This sea air surely gives a fellow a good appetite." A head wind coupled with a rising sea combined to hold back the tug and her rather clumsy tow as the day waned. Occasional heavy rain squalls made the deck of the barge a rather uncomfortable place, so the boys stayed in the main cabin and discussed plans. [Illustration: Head Winds Held Back the Tug] "I think the rainy season must be at its height," groaned Ned at last as he and Tom sat sweltering. "Maybe we'll be cooped up here for the whole voyage." [Illustration: Rain Kept the Boys in Their Cabins] "Not me," declared the young inventor with a laugh. "Since when have you grown afraid of a little rain? By afternoon we ought to be near the spot where Captain Mawson jettisoned the meteorite and then we'll begin to get busy, weather or no weather!" "I hope the thing will be worth all our trouble," said Ned a bit crossly. "Perhaps we won't even be able to find it. What then?" "You're just suffering from a touch of 'mal de mer'!" teased Tom, refusing to consider his chum's gloomy remarks. "I'm not a bit seasick!" protested Ned indignantly. "I just think we're on a wild goose chase, that's all!" [Illustration: "I'm Not Seasick," Protested Ned] "Wait and see." Evening drew nigh, and the sudden tropical night fell. On the Cuban coast lights went on, dominated by the intermittent glare of a powerful beacon many miles ahead. "Baracoa Light," announced Captain Britten, seeing this. "We will lay off-shore till morning and begin our work tomorrow." [Illustration: The Captain Pointed to the Beacon] It spoke well for Tom Swift's nerves that he slept soundly, despite his great interest in the morrow's activities. During the night the sea abated and the rain ceased. Dawn broke with a brilliance to be seen only in tropical lands. In order to reach the spot in the sea beneath which the meteorite lay, it was necessary to get the barge into a position corresponding to the apex of an isosceles triangle in relation to the lighthouse tower and the peak of a small hill near by. [Illustration: Tom Made Some Observations] Captain Britten and Tom, sextants in hand, made repeated observations. Ned stood by the telephone connecting the tug and her tow, transmitting to the former's captain the navigation directions. Finally the barge was supposed to be exactly where the freighter had thrown overboard the big stone. "We may have to look around a little, though," remarked Tom as Captain Britten ordered the tug halted and anchors lowered. "In the big storm Captain Mawson might have made a mistake in his reckoning." [Illustration: The Chart Showed the Depth of the Water] The water was about three hundred feet deep here, the Hydrographic Office charts showed. When Ned learned this, he looked serious. "The record depth attained by a diver is only 204 feet!" he exclaimed. "At least, that's what I read in an encyclopedia." "Guess you're referring to James Hooper, who reached that depth off the South American coast some years ago," smiled Tom Swift. "But since then diving-dress has undergone considerable improvement, eh, Captain Britten?" [Illustration: A Boom Was Swung Overside] "That's right. I have on board several of the newest type suits. Besides, I use native divers, men who, even without protection, can descend to almost unbelievable distances." Quickly a boom was swung out overside. From it hung several pulleys to which was attached a narrow steel platform. Presently three tall Negroes carried out of the storeroom grotesque-looking diving suits which weighed over two hundred and fifty pounds apiece. [Illustration: He Shuffled Across the Deck] Captain Britten spoke in Spanish to one of them, then the fellow began putting on the weird uniform. It made him look like a visitor from another world. The tremendous weight of his garb prevented him from moving at more than a slow shuffle across the deck, strong though he was. [Illustration: A Trail of Bubbles] A section of the railing had been removed to allow access to the dangling metal platform upon which the diver stepped. The boom swung out and the drum of the winch began unrolling. In a few seconds only a trail of vanishing bubbles marked the spot where the Negro had gone into the sea. "How long will it take him to reach bottom?" asked Ned, peering overside in fascination. "About forty minutes," replied Captain Britten. "A diver must be lowered and raised gradually in order to avoid the terrible after-effects of a sudden change in pressure. At three hundred feet the pressure is more than eighteen thousand pounds per square foot!" [Illustration: Tom Held His Watch to His Ear] Time dragged on. Down, down rolled the heavy cable supporting the diver. Finally Tom held his watch to his ear, as though he were afraid it might have stopped. "Oh, it's still running," laughed Ned a little nervously as he observed his chum's action. "Only five more minutes, Tom!" [Illustration: He Reported a Good Sandy Bottom] At last a bell tinkled and Captain Britten grabbed up the telephone instrument which connected barge and diver. For a few seconds he listened, then replied briefly in Spanish. "Alvarez is down," he said to Tom as he hung up the receiver. "He reports a good, sandy bottom but no sight yet of the meteorite. At any rate, there's no danger of it having sunk in an oozy bottom." Ten minutes later the phone buzzed again, this time with a request that the ship be moved a little east and that Manuel, Alvarez's mate, be sent down to help. This was done, and another telephone instrument was plugged in. [Illustration: Manuel Was to Go Down] Tom, who understood a little Spanish, stood by to hear the report of the second diver. Both lines were now kept open continuously. Finally Manuel reached bottom, saying that he had contacted Alvarez. For some minutes nothing came through either telephone but the sound of the submerged men's breathing. [Illustration: Something Has Gone Wrong!] "I see something, Señor! A rock--'que grande'!" came to Tom's ears suddenly. "It must indeed be that which the Señor seeks. But, Santa Maria! there is something else--!" Manuel's voice broke off suddenly. "Captain Britten! Can you hear your man?" shouted Tom after his repeated attempts to renew, the connection had failed. "No! I can hear only a muffled groaning. Something has gone wrong. That's sure!" [Illustration: "Stop, Señor!" Screamed the Engineer] "Pull 'em up quick, then!" advised Ned. This seemed good advice, so the auxiliary engine was started and the winches began turning slowly. "Stop, Señor!" suddenly screamed the native engineer, waving his arms excitedly and cutting off the steam. "The drums turn--si--but the cables do not rise. Something has caught the men!" [Illustration: Loose the Winches] CHAPTER IX A ROBBER "Loose the winches a little!" ordered Captain Britten sharply. "The air-hoses are strained almost to the breaking point." "Si," mumbled the engineer, easing off the brake a trifle. "What's the trouble, in your opinion, Captain?" asked Tom. [Illustration: The Engineer Eased the Brake] "Hard to say, young fellow," came the worried reply. "What I'm afraid of is that a huge octopus or some such monster has attacked the poor divers. Whatever it is, I fear it's the end for 'em, as there's not another diver aboard and we can't haul the men up for fear of breakin' their air-lines." "Have you another diving suit?" asked Tom rapidly. "I've had considerable experience in undersea work and can't let those boys drown without trying to help 'em!" [Illustration: "I'm Afraid It Is an Octopus!"] "Can you do it, lad? Yes, I've a brand-new outfit aboard that's of the latest type. But what'll I say to your father if anything happens to you?" "Dad wouldn't want me to stand back at a time like this," rejoined the young inventor. "I sent these men down and it's up to me to see they get back safely!" "But, Tom!" cried Ned. "What of the octopus? You may be trapped too, and not save Manuel and Alvarez either!" [Illustration: "It's up to Me!"] "You forget, or maybe you didn't know, that I brought my electric rifle with me. That'll polish off any devil-fish I'm likely to meet!" "Well, at least let me go too!" "Isn't but one suit," said Captain Britten. "Now, Tom Swift, if you're ready, here's the suit." "All set," said the young inventor calmly. He began to remove his outer clothing. "Ned, please bring up my rifle." By the time the young scientist had been helped into the massively armored suit, Ned was back on deck carrying a peculiar-looking gun. Unlike other weapons, this one could discharge a bolt of electricity which would slay the largest animal or merely tickle a baby, according to the adjustment. Tom set it to its highest power. [Illustration: They Helped Tom into the Suit] "Good luck!" cried Ned as the heavy helmet was lowered into place. Tom attempted to wave in reply but the gear was too weighty. Later, when he got into the depths, the buoyant effect of the water would enable him to move more freely. [Illustration: Ned Carried a Peculiar Gun] Clutching his gun in his armored hand, Tom crept slowly on to the platform suspended over the sea. As it was lowered to the water he got a last glimpse of Ned Newton's face staring down at him. The young business manager paced the deck of the barge, at every step reproaching himself for allowing his chum to undertake so hazardous a venture. As his watch told him that Tom must be nearing the bottom he seated himself by the switchboard, headphones clamped over his ears. [Illustration: Tom Crept Slowly to the Platform] "Ground floor," announced Tom at last. "Pretty dark down here. I'll switch on my flash. Now--by George!" Ned heard a muffled silence. "Tom! Tom!" he shouted frantically. "What's happened? Are you all right?" For nearly ten minutes Ned crouched by the instrument trying to get in touch with his friend. Just as he was giving up hope he heard a weak voice gasp: [Illustration: "Ground Floor," Announced Tom] "Not so loud, old man! You've nearly broken my ear-drums. Everything's under control!" "Hurray!" shouted Ned. "He's found 'em, Captain Britten!" "Easy!" protested Tom from the depths. "Don't shout like that so near the phone! Yes, the men are O.K. A big fish had 'em--don't know what it was, as I never heard of anything like it. But a couple of shots from the rifle killed it." [Illustration: "A Big Fish Had 'Em!"] "Tell Captain Britten to send down some heavy chains. We've found the meteorite!" The now jubilant crew, who had feared their companions lost, scurried about. In a few minutes the stout chain was snaking its way down through the blue-green ocean. "Seems to me they're taking a mighty long time about it," said Ned to Captain Britten after an hour had passed with no word from the three divers. [Illustration: A Chain Snaked Its Way Down] "You're right," agreed the other. "Working at that depth it's decidedly unsafe to stay below so long. I'll warn Tom." "Can't be done!" was that young man's decisive answer to the old salvage expert's warning. "This is a tougher job than I thought, for the bottom of the stone seems to be sinking slowly. If we can't finish our job now I'm afraid we'll lose our prize. But don't worry. We ought to be through in another twenty minutes." [Illustration: "This Is a Tough Job."] The twenty minutes passed, and another like period was nearly run through before Tom announced himself and the other two ready to come to the surface. To avoid the dreaded "bends," an affliction suffered by divers drawn to the surface too rapidly, they made their ascent as slowly as their descent. Thus it was that the great meteorite reached the top long before Tom and the two natives did. [Illustration: They Made Their Ascent Slowly] "What in the name o' tarnation did he want with that?" demanded Captain Britten as the giant stone was lowered cautiously to the deck. Weighing many tons, it had tilted the barge far over to one side as the powerful derrick drew it up. "It looks like some old rock a man might pick up 'most any place." "Oh, Tom Swift usually has a good reason for everything he does," smiled Ned noncommittally. "I'm no scientist, but he is, so perhaps he wants to experiment with this stone from another planet." [Illustration: The Powerful Derrick Drew It Up] At last the three divers reached the surface and were hauled rapidly up to the deck of the barge. All of them appeared exhausted, but Tom's eyes expressed the greatest satisfaction when he saw the meteorite safely aboard. At his request the tug was put under way and the "Betsy B." started back to her home port in Key West. During the trip Tom managed to cut from the meteorite a fifty-pound chunk. [Illustration: Tom Cut off a Large Chunk] "I'm very eager to see if this stone contains more X," he explained to Ned, "so I'm planning to fly straight home with this sample to analyze it. I want you to put the rest of the meteorite on a fast freight train and travel north with it." The sun was setting when the dock at Key West was reached. Tom waited no longer than was necessary to take on a supply of gasoline for the "Winged Arrow." He paid Captain Britten a generous fee and added a bonus for the divers who had helped him. Then with a hasty good-bye the excited young inventor roared off in the gathering darkness toward his distant home. [Illustration: He Paid Captain Britten] After an uneventful flight he reached Shopton at about half-past one the following morning. The wheels of the plane had barely stopped turning when the tall figure of Koku came rushing out of the shadows of the hangar to greet his master. [Illustration: Koku Came Rushing Out] "You're right on the job!" exclaimed Tom, climbing stiffly from the cabin. "How is everything?" "All thing good!" declared the giant, grinning to see the young inventor back. "Catchum skystone?" "We caught it, all right. You might tote this sample of it over to the lab." Tom handed his servant the segment he had chiseled from the main mass. "Master knows 'bout secret cave under lab'tory?" questioned the giant as the two walked across the field in the moonlight. [Illustration: "Tote This Sample to the Lab."] "Cave? Oh, you mean the vault?" asked Tom, who had been thinking of other matters. "Night you go 'way in sky-bird, Koku watch. Koku hear bell go ting-ting-ting!" Suddenly Tom was paying strict attention. "Great Scott! D'you mean to say someone broke into my Chest of Secrets? Tell me about it quickly!" [Illustration: Tom Paid Strict Attention] CHAPTER X SUCCESS "Me tell!" said Koku. "Hear bell, know bad mans hide in cave. I creep up an' watch!" His dramatic pause might have seemed funny at any other time but Tom was badly worried. [Illustration: Tom Swift Was Worried] "Hurry up!" commanded the young inventor sharply, grabbing the giant's arm. "What happened?" "Nothing happen US," answered Koku. "Plenty happen HIM! I catchum fella, crawl up fum cave, knockum out, callum policemans." "Good boy! You rate a new suit for that. You can tell the tailor to make it as loud as you like!" Nothing could have pleased the simple giant more, for he loved to dress up in gaudy clothes, a trait left over from his savage life before the young inventor had brought him to America. [Illustration: "I Catchum Fella!"] Too excited to sleep, Tom Swift went straight to his office and called the police station. The desk sergeant verified what Koku had said and asked the young scientist to come down and prefer charges. As he was about to leave he saw on top of his accumulated mail a letter from the Apex Glass Works. It was from Mr. Stern. The man advised Tom that he suspected two discharged workmen as the pair who had attempted to rob him. Photographs were enclosed. [Illustration: Photographs Were Enclosed] "That he, Master!" suddenly boomed Koku, who had been gazing at the photos. "That man steal green glass thing I ketch back!" "By Jove, I believe you're right!" declared Tom. "This picture most certainly resembles the fellow you dragged in here. Come on, you and I will go over to the jail and check up." Late as the hour was, the two took out a car and hastened over to the county prison. No sooner had the sleepy officer on duty conducted them back to the prisoner's cell than Tom immediately recognized the man as the one Koku had captured with the green disk. [Illustration: They Drove to the County Prison] Eager to get off as lightly as possible, the fellow, who had been a confidential clerk in the main offices of the glass works, made a full confession. "It was Hammer who got me into this, Mr. Swift," whined Anton. "He overheard Mr. Stern talking about your experiments with bendable glass. He said you'd surely succeed and that the invention would be worth a fortune. So we decided to steal your formula. I've got a sick wife, Mr. Swift--" [Illustration: Hammer Overheard Mr. Stern] "A pack of lies!" roughly interrupted the policeman. "He's a single man, Mr. Swift, and has a police record to boot!" "Well, hold him. And I hope you will catch his confederate." "Don't worry. The boys'll bring him in!" [Illustration: "He Has a Police Record."] Although the hour was late, Tom decided to return to the laboratory and inspect the vault. There had been a certain sly expression in Anton's eyes which had vaguely disturbed the inventor. It was as if the man were holding something back and grinning over it. In a few minutes Tom's feeling was proven correct, for the formula dealing with the flexible glass was gone! Koku, when questioned, admitted that he had seen some papers drop from Anton's pocket when he had seized him just outside the laboratory, but the simple giant had paid no attention to them. There followed a frantic search with a flashlight by Tom but there was no trace of the missing documents. [Illustration: The Formula Was Gone] "They couldn't have blown away!" he declared. "They were clipped together by a special heavy binder. Somebody must have picked them up!" [Illustration: He Made a Frantic Search] When Tom visited Anton in jail the next day, the fellow denied loudly that he had taken anything. The police promised to redouble their efforts to capture Hammer. With that assurance the inventor was forced to content himself. The next few days Tom was so busy that he gave only an occasional thought to his loss. Analysis of the sample cut from the meteorite showed that it was even richer than he had hoped in the new substance, X. Immediately he telegraphed a large science supply house for huge flasks, beakers, retorts and other paraphernalia necessary to extract and refine the material. [Illustration: The Sample Was Rich in X] This done, he arranged for the loan of a large refracting telescope from a near-by observatory to be used in conjunction with the big green disk he proposed to make. Professor Standish of the college was so interested in the project that Tom invited him to the forthcoming test. Work was begun on an improvised observatory to be erected on a mountain in the Adirondacks. This would place the telescope above most of the blurring effects of the dense, lower atmosphere, filled as it is with smoke and dust. [Illustration: Work Was Begun on the Observatory] Ned Newton wired that the meteorite had been safely placed on a fast freight train. He added that he was traveling in the caboose of the same train by special arrangement with the road officials. Tom met his chum at the station. "How do you like riding in style?" he teased. [Illustration: Ned Traveled in the Caboose] "Humph!" grunted Ned. "I'll take a plane next time." A huge truck transported the planet stone to the shops of the Swift Construction Company. One of the buildings had been cleared of all other work, and in it a very large furnace had been erected to cast the green disk. Powerful mechanisms crushed the meteorite to a fine powder which was dissolved by strong acids, then separated into its various ingredients. [Illustration: The Meteorite Was Crushed] "The furnace will have to be enlarged!" declared Tom. "I had planned to make a disk twenty feet long but there is so much X that we can easily make it thirty-five feet. There'll still be several hundred pounds left." "Why not use it all and make the biggest 'scope you can?" suggested Ned Newton. "I believe this will be large enough. Besides, I have an idea that the X has other and even more remarkable powers. I don't want to use it all up in this device." [Illustration: "We Can Make a Larger Disk!"] A gang of men had been employed to clear a trail up the side of the mountain in the Adirondacks and construct a road to the summit as none ever had been made to the spot Tom intended to use. A specially large motor truck was built to carry first the telescope, then the giant green disk. It may well be supposed that all these preparations ran into money. Many a groan did Ned give when he studied the mounting cost sheets. Tom, however, was deaf to all his chum's protestations. [Illustration: A Special Truck Was Built] "I had hoped your new bendable glass would more than repay the cost of your telescope," grumbled Ned. "That's gone, and it looks to me as though everything else'll go too. The Swift Construction Company will soon be bankrupt, Tom Swift, if you don't slow down!" "What do you mean, my flexible glass is gone? Why, I've had an application on file in the Patent Office for several months." "Well, for Pete's sake, why didn't you tell me? Here I've been worrying my head off for nothing!" [Illustration: "You'll Be Bankrupt!" Warned Ned] "Sorry, old man. But you know I've had a lot on my mind. However, we must get back the papers, for the thief can make things pretty uncomfortable if he chooses to." As Tom had found out, X would be useful only in an absolutely pure state. To refine it to the proper degree was a painfully slow process, taking in this case a full six weeks. While his chemists labored away under the young inventor's supervision, everything else had been made ready. At last the new element was prepared. The tons of yellow powder were dumped into the heated furnace. [Illustration: His Chemists Worked Away] Three days later the stuff had cooled sufficiently for an inspection to be made. A traveling crane slowly hoisted the massive iron lid of the electric furnace. Tom climbed a ladder and peered down. "It's perfect!" he shouted a moment later. Mr. Damon and Barton Swift were standing anxiously with Ned and the workmen to hear the verdict. At the young inventor's words the group gave a cheer. [Illustration: Tom Peered Down at the Disk] "Bless my stars and planets!" cried Mr. Damon, capering about like a boy. "I can hardly wait till you have your big glass set up!" "It won't be long now," promised Tom, much pleased himself. While the giant disk was being given a final electrical treatment, the youthful inventor was called to the police station. The fugitive crook, Hammer, had finally been nabbed, still with the formula for the bendable glass in his possession. Tom was glad to get this back, even though patent proceedings were under way, for anyone holding the papers could have instituted a costly legal contest. [Illustration: Hammer Had Been Nabbed] At last the time arrived when the great disk was wrapped in hundreds of bales of cotton, suspended on racks and loaded onto the great truck. Tom insisted upon riding with his precious creation. The rest of his party, including his father, Ned Newton, Mr. Damon, Professor Standish, Koku and Rad, traveled by train to the foot of the mountain. [Illustration: The Disk Was Loaded on the Truck] "Massa Tom gonna look about six scrillion miles froo space," confided Eradicate Sampson to Koku. The old Negro leaned heavily upon the massive arm of his huge companion. "He see wonderful things!" "He sure make big medicine!" declared the giant, for once agreeing with his old rival. He had only the vaguest idea about what his master was attempting. [Illustration: Koku and Rad Went Along] When the entire group assembled on top the mountain there was a sudden hush. The sun had set in a fiery glow that presaged a clear night, and now darkness overtook the expectant onlookers. At last Tom stepped to the giant telescope and adjusted it upon the planet Mars. He electrified the immense disk, which glowed, then could not be seen at all. Looking through the eyepiece, the young inventor stood as though transfixed. One minute! Two! [Illustration: Tom Stepped to the Telescope] "Tom! How does it work?" asked Ned finally, unable to restrain himself any longer. "Look for yourself!" cried Tom, turning from the instrument. His face wore an expression of awe. Ned quickly took his place. "Marvelous!" he exclaimed. Before his eyes were revealed a great city, nearly seventy-five million miles distant! Peculiar people surged along the avenues, weird aircraft thronged the upper atmosphere, and gigantic buildings and palaces dotted the place. All on far-distant Mars! [Illustration: He Saw a Gigantic City] As each one in Tom's party saw the wonderful sight, he in turn congratulated the youthful inventor in his own way. Ned grasped his chum's hand but could say nothing. Mr. Damon blessed the distant stars. Koku and Rad fell upon their knees. Into the eyes of Barton Swift came tears as he said: "Tom, my son, you have performed the greatest miracle of the Age!" [Illustration: "You Have Performed a Miracle!"] Read These INTERESTING BOOKS Too! Airplanes!--War!--Superscience! TOM SWIFT and His Giant Telescope MANDRAKE THE MAGICIAN and the Midnight Monster MEN WITH WINGS: Thrilling Story of Flyers TAILSPIN TOMMY and the Sky Bandits Captain Frank Hawks, Famous AIR ACE, and the League of Twelve PAT NELSON, Ace of Test Pilots MAC OF THE MARINES in War-Torn China BARNEY BAXTER in the Air With the Eagle Squadron BUCK ROGERS, 25th Century A.D., in the War With the Planet Venus FLASH GORDON in the Forest Kingdom of Mongo SKYROADS, with Clipper Williams of the Flying Legion DON WINSLOW of the Navy vs. the Scorpion Gang Read These THRILLING BOOKS Too! Cowboys!--Indians!--Horses! THE LONE RANGER and the Red Renegades (With Silver and Tonto) JARAGU, Indian Boy of the Jungle (Rex Beach) TIM McCOY on the Tomahawk Trail BUCK JONES in the Rock Creek Cattle War TOM MIX and the Hoard of Montezuma KEN MAYNARD in Western Justice BRONC PEELER, the Lone Cowboy FLAME BOY and the INDIANS' SECRET TEX THORNE Comes out of the West The TEXAS KID GUNS in the Roaring West KING of the ROYAL MOUNTED Gets His Man (Zane Grey) Read These EXCITING BOOKS Too! Mysteries!--Thrills!--Adventures! The PHANTOM and the Sign of the Skull TERRY and the Pirates and the Giant's Vengeance JANE ARDEN and the Vanished Princess MYRA NORTH, Special Nurse, and Foreign Spies Little ORPHAN ANNIE and the Mysterious Shoemaker TARZAN'S Revenge (Edgar Rice Burroughs) KAY DARCY and the Mystery Hideout Blaze Brandon With the FOREIGN LEGION Little ANNIE ROONEY on the Highway to Adventure MARY LEE and the Indian Bead Mystery WASH TUBBS and Capt. Easy Hunting for Whales JACK ARMSTRONG, All-American Boy, and the Ivory Treasure BRICK BRADFORD Fighting Brocco the Modern Buccaneer 
2273	----	TOM SWIFT AND HIS MOTOR-BOAT Or The Rivals of Lake Carlopa By VICTOR APPLETON CONTENTS I A Motor-boat Auction II Some Lively Bidding III A Timely Warning IV Tom And Andy Clash V A Test Of Speed VI Towing Some Girls VII A Brush With Andy VIII Off On A Trip IX Mr. Swift Is Alarmed X A Cry For Help XI A Quick Run XII Suspicious Characters XIII Tom In Danger XIV The ARROW Disappears XV A Damaging Statement XVI Still On The Search XVII "There She Is!" XVIII The Pursuit XIX A Quiet Cruise XX News Of A Robbery XXI The Balloon On Fire XXII The Rescue XXIII Plans For An Airship XXIV The Mystery Solved XXV Winning A Race CHAPTER I A MOTOR-BOAT AUCTION "Where are you going, Tom?" asked Mr. Barton Swift of his son as the young man was slowly pushing his motor-cycle out of the yard toward the country road. "You look as though you had some object in view." "So I have, dad. I'm going over to Lanton." "To Lanton? What for?" "I want to have a look at that motor-boat." "Which boat is that, Tom? I don't recall your speaking about a boat over at Lanton. What do you want to look at it for?" "It's the motor-boat those fellows had who tried to get away with your turbine model invention, dad. The one they used at the old General Harkness mansion, in the woods near the lake, and the same boat that fellow used when he got away from me the day I was chasing him here." "Oh, yes, I remember now. But what is the boat doing over at Lanton?" "That's where it belongs. It's the property of Mr. Bently Hastings. The thieves stole it from him, and when they ran away from the old mansion, the time Mr. Damon and I raided the place, they left the boat on the lake. I turned it over to the county authorities, and they found out it belonged to Mr. Hastings. He has it back now, but I understand it's somewhat damaged, and he wants to get rid of it. He's going to sell it at auction to-day, and I thought I'd go over and take a look at it. You see--" "Yes, I see, Tom," exclaimed Mr. Swift with a laugh. "I see what you're aiming at. You want a motor-boat, and you're going all around Robin Hood's barn to get at it." "No, dad, I only--" "Oh, I know you, Tom, my lad!" interrupted the inventor, shaking his finger at his son, who seemed somewhat confused. "You have a nice rowing skiff and a sailboat, yet you are hankering for a motor-boat. Come now, own up. Aren't you?" "Well, dad, a motor-boat certainly would go fine on Lake Carlopa. There's plenty of room to speed her, and I wonder there aren't more of them. I was going to see what Mr. Hastings' boat would sell for, but I didn't exactly think of buying it' Still--" "But you wouldn't buy a damaged boat, would you?" "It isn't much damaged," and in his eagerness the young inventor (for Tom Swift had taken out several patents) stood his motor-cycle up against the fence and came closer to his father. "It's only slightly damaged," he went on. "I can easily fix it. I looked it all over before I gave it in charge of the authorities, and it's certainly a fine boat. It's worth nine hundred dollars--or it was when it was new." "That's a good deal of money for a boat," and Mr. Swift looked serious, for though he was well off, he was inclined to be conservative. "Oh, I shouldn't think of paying that much. In fact, dad, I really had no idea of bidding at the auction. I only thought I'd go over and get an idea of what the boat might sell for. Perhaps some day--" Tom paused. Since his father had begun to question him some new plans had come into the lad's head. He looked at his parent and saw a smile beginning to work around the corners of Mr. Swift's lips. There was also a humorous look in the eyes of the older inventor. He understood boys fairly well, even if he only had one, and he knew Tom perfectly. "Would you really like to make a bid on that boat Tom?" he asked. "Would I, dad? Well--" The youth did not finish, but his father knew what he meant. "I suppose a motor-boat would be a nice thing to have on Lake Carlopa," went on Mr. Swift musingly. "You and I could take frequent trips in it. It isn't like a motor-cycle, only useful for one. What do you suppose the boat will go for, Tom?" "I hardly know. Not a high price, I believe, for motor-boats are so new on our lake that few persons will take a chance on them. But if Mr. Hastings is getting another, he will not be so particular about insisting on a high price for the old one. Then, too, the fact that it is damaged will help to keep the price down, though I know I can easily put it in good shape. I would like to make a bid, if you think it's all right." "Well, I guess you may, Tom, if you really want it. You have money of your own and a motor-boat is not a bad investment. What do you think ought to be the limit?" "Would you consider a hundred and fifty dollars too high?" Mr. Swift looked at Tom critically. He was plainly going over several matters in his mind, and not the least of them was the pluck his son had shown in getting back some valuable papers and a model from a gang of thieves. The lad certainly was entitled to some reward, and to allow him to get a boat might properly be part of it. "I think you could safely go as high as two hundred dollars, Tom," said Mr. Swift at length. "That would be my limit on a damaged boat for it might be better to pay a little more and get a new one. However, use your own judgment, but don't go over two hundred. So the thieves who made so much trouble for me stole that boat from Mr. Hastings, eh?" "Yes, and they didn't take much care of it either. They damaged the engine, but the hull is in good shape. I'm ever so glad you'll let me bid on it. I'll start right off. The auction is at ten o'clock and I haven't more than time to get there." "Now be careful how you bid. Don't raise your own figures, as I've sometimes seen women, and men too, do in their excitement. Somebody may go over your head; and if he does, let them. If you get the boat I'll be very glad on your account. But don't bring any of Anson Morse's gang back in it with you. I've seen enough of them." "I'll not dad!" cried Tom as he trundled his motor-cycle out of the gate and into the country road that led to the village of Shopton, where he lived, and to Lanton, where the auction was to be held. The young inventor had not gone far before he turned back, leaving his machine standing on the side path. "What's the matter?" asked his father, who had started toward one of several machine shops on the premises--shops where Mr. Swift and his son did inventive work. "Guess I'd better get a blank check and some money," replied Tom as he entered the house. "I'll need to pay a deposit if I secure the boat." "That's so. Well, good luck," and with his mind busy on a plan for a new kind of storage battery, the inventor went on to his workroom. Tom got some cash and his checkbook from a small safe he owned and was soon speeding over the road to Lanton, his motor-cycle making quite a cloud of dust. While he is thus hurrying along to the auction I will tell you something about him. Tom Swift, son of Barton Swift, lived with his father and a motherly housekeeper, Mrs. Baggert, in a large house on the outskirts of the town of Shopton, in New York State. Mr. Swift had acquired considerable wealth from his many inventions and patents, but he did not give up working out his ideas simply because he had plenty of money. Tom followed in the footsteps of his parent and had already taken out several patents. Shortly before this story opens the youth had become possessed of a motor-cycle in a peculiar fashion. As told in the first volume of this series, entitled "Tom Swift and His Motor-cycle," Tom was riding to the town of Mansburg on an errand for his father one day when he was nearly run down by a motorcyclist. A little later the same motorcyclist, who was a Mr. Wakefield Damon, of Waterfield, collided with a tree near Tom's home and was severely cut and bruised, the machine being broken. Tom and his father cared for the injured rider, and Mr. Damon, who was an eccentric individual, was so disheartened by his attempts to ride the motor-cycle that he sold it to Tom for fifty dollars, though it had cost much more. About the same time that Tom bought the motor-cycle a firm of rascally lawyers, Smeak & Katch by name, had, in conjunction with several men, made an attempt to get control of an invention of a turbine motor perfected by Mr. Swift. The men, who were Ferguson Appleson, Anson Morse, Wilson Featherton, alias Simpson, and Jake Burke, alias Happy Harry, who sometimes disguised himself as a tramp, tried several times to steal the model. Their anxiety to get it was due to the fact that they had invested a large sum in a turbine motor invented by another man, but their motor would not work and they sought to steal Mr. Swift's. Tom was sent to Albany on his motor-cycle to deliver the model and some valuable papers to Mr. Crawford, of the law firm of Reid & Crawford, of Washington, attorneys for Mr. Swift. Mr. Crawford had an errand in Albany and had agreed to meet Tom there with the model. But, on the way, Tom was attacked by the gang of unscrupulous men and the model was stolen. He was assaulted and carried far away in an automobile. In an attempt to capture the gang in a deserted mansion, in the woods on the shore of Lake Carlopa, Tom was aided by Mr. Damon, of whom he had purchased the motor-cycle. The men escaped, however, and nothing could be done to punish them. Tom was thinking of the exciting scenes he had passed through about a month previous as he spun along the road leading to Lanton. "I hope I don't meet Happy Harry or any of his gang to-day," mused the lad as he turned on a little more power to enable his machine to mount a hill. "I don't believe they'll attend the auction, though. It would be too risky for them." As Tom swung along at a rapid pace he heard, behind him, the puffing of an automobile, with the muffler cut out. He turned and cast a hasty glance behind. "I hope that ain't Andy Foger or any of his cronies," he said to himself. "He might try to run me down just for spite. He generally rushes along with the muffler open so as to attract attention and make folks think he has a racing car." It was not Andy, however, as Tom saw a little later, as a man passed him in a big touring car. Andy Foger, as my readers will recollect, was a red-haired, squinty-eyed lad with plenty of money and not much else. He and his cronies, including Sam Snedecker, nearly ran Tom down one day, when the latter was on his bicycle, as told in the first volume of this series. Andy had been off on a tour with his chums during the time when Tom was having such strenuous adventures and had recently returned. "If I can only get that boat," mused Tom as he swung back into the middle of the road after the auto had passed him, "I certainly will have lots of fun. I'll make a week's tour of Lake Carlopa and take dad and Ned Newton with me." Ned was Tom's most particular chum, but as young Newton was employed in the Shopton bank, the lad did not have much time for pleasure. Lake Carlopa was a large body of water, and it would take a moderately powered boat several days to make a complete circuit of the shore, so cut up into bays and inlets was it. In about an hour Tom was at Lanton, and as he neared the home of Mr. Hastings, which was on the shore of the lake, he saw quite a throng going down toward the boathouse. "There'll be some lively bidding," thought Tom as he got off his machine and pushed it ahead of him through the drive and down toward the river. "I hope they don't go above two hundred dollars, though." "Get out the way there!" called a sudden voice, and looking back, Tom saw that an automobile had crept up silently behind him. In it were Andy Foger and Sam Snedecker. "Why don't you get out the way?" petulantly demanded the red-haired lad. "Because I don't choose to," replied Tom calmly, knowing that Andy would never dare to speed up his machine on the slope leading down to the lake. "Go ahead, bump him!" the young inventor heard Sam whisper. "You'd better try it, if you want to get the best trouncing you ever had!" cried Tom hotly. "Hu! I s'pose you think you're going to bid on the boat?" sneered Andy. "Is there any law against it?" asked Tom. "Hu! Well, you'll not get it. I'm going to take that boat," retorted the squint-eyed bully. "Dad gave me the money to get it." "All right," answered Tom non-committally. "Go ahead. It's a free country." He stood his motor-cycle up against a tree and went toward a group of persons who were surrounding the auctioneer. The time had arrived to start the sale. As Tom edged in closer he brushed against a man who looked at him sharply. The lad was just wondering if he had ever seen the individual before, as there seemed to be something strangely familiar about him, when the man turned quickly away, as if afraid of being recognized. "That's odd," thought Tom, but he had no further time for speculation, as the auctioneer was mounting on a soapbox and had begun to address the gathering. CHAPTER II SOME LIVELY BIDDING "Attention, people!" cried the auctioneer. "Give me your attention for a few minutes, and we will proceed with the business in hand. As you all know, I am about to dispose of a fine motor-boat, the property of Mr. Bently Hastings. The reason for disposing of it at auction is known to most of you, but for the benefit of those who do not, I will briefly state them. The boat was stolen by a gang of thieves and recovered recently through the efforts of a young man, Thomas Swift, son of Barton Swift, our fellow-townsman, of Shopton." At that moment the auctioneer, Jacob Wood, caught sight of Tom in the press, and, looking directly at the lad, continued: "I understand that young Mr. Swift is here to-day, and I hope he intends to bid on this boat. If he does, the bidding will be lively, for Tom Swift is a lively young man. I wish I could say that some of the men who stole the boat were here to-day." The auctioneer paused and there were some murmurs from those in the throng as to why such a wish should be uttered. Tom felt some one moving near him, and, looking around, he saw the same man with whom he had come in contact before. The person seemed desirous of getting out on the edge of the crowd, and Tom felt a return of his vague suspicions. He looked closely at the fellow, but could trace no resemblance to any of the men who had so daringly stolen his father's model. "The reason I wish they were here to-day," went on Mr. Wood, "is that the men did some slight damage to the boat, and if they were here to-day we would make them pay for it. However, the damage is slight and can easily be repaired. I mention that, as Mr. Hastings desired me to. Now we will proceed with the bidding, and I will say that an opportunity will first be given all to examine the boat. Perhaps Tom Swift will give us his opinion on the state it is in as we know he is well qualified to talk about machinery." All eyes were turned on Tom, for many knew him. "Humph! I guess I know as much about boats and motors as he does," sneered Andy Foger. "He isn't the only one in this crowd! Why didn't the auctioneer ask me?" "Keep quiet," begged Sam Snedecker. "People are laughing at you, Andy." "I don't care if they are," muttered the sandy haired youth. "Tom Swift needn't think he's everything." "If you will come down to the dock," went on the auctioneer, "you can all see the boat, and I would be glad to have young Mr. Swift give us the benefit of his advice." The throng trooped down to the lake, and, blushing somewhat, Tom told what was the matter with the motor and how it could be fixed. It was noticed that there was less enthusiasm over the matter than there had been, for certainly the engine, rusty and out of order as it was, did not present an attractive sight. Tom noted that the man, who had acted so strangely, did not come down to the dock. "Guess he can't be much interested in the motor," decided Tom. "Now then, if it's all the same to you folks, I'll proceed with the auction here," went on Mr. Wood. "You can all see the boat from here. It is, as you see, a regular family launch and will carry twelve persons comfortably. With a canopy fitted to it a person could cruise all about the lake and stay out over night, for you could sleep on the seat cushions. It is twenty-one feet in length and has a five-and-a-half-foot beam, the design being what is known as a compromise stern. The motor is a double-cylinder two-cycle one, of ten horsepower. It has a float-feed carburetor, mechanical oiler, and the ignition system is the jump-spark--the best for this style of motor. The boat will make ten miles an hour, with twelve in, and, of course, more than that with a lighter load. A good deal will depend on the way the motor is managed. "Now, as you know, Mr. Hastings wishes to dispose of the boat partly because he does not wish to repair it and partly because he has a newer and larger one. The craft, which is named CARLOPA by the way, cost originally nine hundred dollars. It could not be purchased new to-day, in many places, for a thousand. Now what am I offered in its present condition? Will any one make an offer? Will you give me five hundred dollars?" The auctioneer paused and looked critically at the throng. Several persons smiled. Tom looked worried. He had no idea that the price would start so high. "Well, perhaps that is a bit stiff," went on Mr. Wood. "Shall we say four hundred dollars? Come now, I'm sure it's worth four hundred. Who'll start it at four hundred?" No one would, and the auctioneer descended to three hundred, then to two and finally, as if impatient, he called out: "Well, will any one start at fifty dollars?" Instantly there were several cries of "I will!" "I thought you would," went on the auctioneer. "Now we will get down to work. I'm offered fifty dollars for this twenty-one foot, ten horsepower family launch. Will any one make it sixty?" "Sixty!" called out Andy Foger in a shrill voice. Several turned to look at him. "I didn't know he was going to bid," thought Tom. "He may go above me. He's got plenty of money, and, while I have too, I'm not going to pay too much for a damaged boat." "Sixty I'm bid, sixty--sixty!" cried Mr. Wood in a sing-song tone, "who'll make it seventy?" "Sixty-five!" spoke a quiet voice at Tom's elbow, and he turned to see the mysterious man who had joined the crowd at the edge of the lake. "Sixty-five from the gentleman in the white straw hat!" called Mr. Wood with a smile at his wit, for there were many men wearing white straw hats, the day being a warm one in June. "Here, who's bidding above me?" exclaimed Andy, as if it was against the law. "I guess you'll find a number going ahead of you, my young friend," remarked the auctioneer. "Will you have the goodness not to interrupt me, except when you want to bid?" "Well, I offered sixty," said the squint-eyed bully, while his crony, Sam Snedecker, was vainly, pulling at his sleeve. "I know you did, and this gentleman went above you. If you want to bid more you can do so. I'm offered sixty-five, sixty-five I'm offered for this boat. Will any one make it seventy-five?" Mr. Wood looked at Tom, and our hero, thinking it was time for him to make a bid, offered seventy. "Seventy from Tom Swift!" cried the auctioneer. "There is a lad who knows a motor-boat from stem to stern, if those are the right words. I don't know much about boats except what I'm told, but Tom Swift does. Now, if he bids, you people ought to know that it's all right. I'm bid seventy--seventy I'm bid. Will any one make it eighty?" "Eighty!" exclaimed Andy Foger after a whispered conference with Sam. "I know as much about boats as Tom Swift. I'll make it eighty." "No side remarks. I'll do most of the talking. You just bid, young man," remarked Mr. Wood. "I have eighty bid for this boat--eighty dollars. Why, my friends, I can't understand this. I ought to have it up to three hundred dollars, at least. But I thank you all the same. We are coming on. I'm bid eighty--" "Ninety!" exclaimed the quiet man at Tom's elbow. He was continually fingering his upper lip, as though he had a mustache there, but his face was clean-shaven. He looked around nervously as he spoke. "Ninety!" called out the auctioneer. "Ninety-five!" returned Tom. Andy Foger scowled at him, but the young inventor only smiled. It was evident that the bully did not relish being bid against. He and his crony whispered together again. "One hundred!" called Andy, as if no one would dare go above that. "I'm offered an even hundred," resumed Mr. Wood. "We are certainly coming on. A hundred I am bid, a hundred--a hundred--a hundred--" "And five," said the strange man hastily, and he seemed to choke as he uttered the words. "Oh, come now; we ought to have at least ten-dollar bids from now on," suggested Mr. Wood. "Won't you make it a hundred and ten?" The auctioneer looked directly at the man, who seemed to shrink back into the crowd. He shook his head, cast a sort of despairing look at the boat and hurried away. "That's queer," murmured Tom. "I guess that was his limit, yet if he wanted the boat badly that wasn't a high price." "Who's going ahead of me?" demanded Andy in loud tones. "Keep quiet!" urged Sam. "We may get it yet." "Yes, don't make so many remarks," counseled the auctioneer. "I'm bid a hundred and five. Will any one make it a hundred and twenty-five?" Tom wondered why the man had not remained to see if his bid was accepted, for no one raised it at once, but he hurried off and did not look back. Tom took a sudden resolve. "A hundred and twenty-five!" he called out. "That's what I like to hear," exclaimed Mr. Wood. "Now we are doing business. A hundred and twenty-five from Tom Swift. Will any one offer me fifty?" Andy and Sam seemed to be having some dispute. "Let's make him quit right now," suggested Andy in a hoarse whisper. "You can't," declared Sam' "Yes, I can. I'll go up to my limit right now." "And some one will go above you---maybe Tom will," was Sam's retort. "I don't believe he can afford to," Andy came back with. "I'm going to call his bluffs. I believe he's only bidding to make others think he wants it. I don't believe he'll buy it." Tom heard what was said, but did not reply. The auctioneer was calling monotonously: "I'm bid a hundred and twenty-five--twenty-five. Will any one make it fifty?" "A hundred and fifty!" sang out Andy, and all eyes were directed toward him. "Sixty!" said Tom quietly. "Here, you--" began the red-haired lad. "You--" "That will do!" exclaimed the auctioneer sternly. "I am offered a hundred and sixty. Now who will give me an advance? I want to get the boat up to two hundred, and then the real bidding will begin." Tom's heart sank. He hoped it would be some time before a two hundred dollar offer would be heard. As for Andy Foger, he was almost speechless with rage. He shook off the restraining arm of Sam, and, worming his way to the front of the throng, exclaimed: "I'll give a hundred and seventy-five dollars for that boat!" "Good!" cried the auctioneer. "That's the way to talk. I'm offered a hundred and seventy-five." "Eighty," said Tom quietly, though his heart was beating fast. "Well, of all--" began Andy, but Sam Snedecker dragged him back. "You haven't got any more money," said the bully's crony. "Better stop now." "I will not! I'm going home for more," declared Andy. "I must have that boat." "It will be sold when you get back," said Sam. "Haven't you got any money you can lend me?" inquired the squint-eyed one, scowling in Tom's direction. "No, not a bit. There, some one raised Tom's bid." At that moment a man in the crowd offered a hundred and eighty-one dollars. "Small amounts thankfully received," said Mr. Wood with a laugh. Then the bidding became lively, a number making one-dollar advances. The price got up to one hundred and ninety-five dollars and there it hung for several minutes, despite the eloquence of Mr. Wood, who tried by all his persuasive powers to get a substantial advance. But every one seemed afraid to bid. As for the young inventor, he was in a quandary. He could only offer five dollars more, and, if he bid it in a lump, some one might go to two hundred and five, and he would not get the boat. He wished he had secured permission from his father to go higher, yet he knew that as a fair proposition two hundred dollars was about all the motor-boat in its present condition was worth, at least to him. Then he made a sudden resolve. He thought he might as well have the suspense over. "Two hundred dollars!" he called boldly. "I'm offered two hundred!" repeated Mr. Wood. "That is something like it. Now who will raise that?" There was a moment of silence. Then the auctioneer swung into an enthusiastic description of the boat. He begged for an advance, but none was made, though Tom's heart seemed in his throat, so afraid was he that he would not get the CARLOPA. "Two hundred--two hundred!" droned on Mr. Wood. "I am offered two hundred. Will any of you go any higher?" He paused a moment, and Tom's heart beat harder than ever. "If not," resumed the speaker, "I will declare the bidding closed. Are you all done? Once--twice--three times. Two hundred dollars. Going--going--gone!" He clapped his hands. "The boat is sold to Thomas Swift for two hundred dollars. If he'll step up I'll take his money." There was a laugh as Tom, blushingly, advanced. He passed Andy Foger, who had worked his way over near him. "You got the boat," sneered the bully, "and I s'pose you think you got ahead of me." "Keep quiet!" begged Sam. "I won't!" exclaimed Andy. "He outbid me just out of spite, and I'll get even with him. You see if I don't!" Tom looked Andy Foger straight in the eyes, but did not answer, and the red-haired youth turned aside, followed by his crony, and started toward his automobile. "I congratulate you on your bargain," said Mr. Wood as Tom proceeded to make out a check. He gave little thought to the threat Andy Foger had made, but the time was coming when he was to remember it well. CHAPTER III A TIMELY WARNING "Well, are you satisfied with your bargain, Tom?" asked Mr. Wood when the formalities about transferring the ownership of the motor-boat had been completed. "Oh, yes, I calculated to pay just what I did." "I'm glad you're satisfied, for Mr. Hastings told me to be sure the purchaser was satisfied. Here he comes now. I guess he wasn't at the auction." An elderly gentleman was approaching Mr. Wood and Tom. Most of the throng was dispersing, but the young inventor noticed that Andy Foger and Sam Snedecker stood to one side, regarding him closely. "So you got my boat," remarked the former owner of the craft. "I hope you will be able to fix it up." "Oh, I think I shall," answered the new owner of the CARLOPA. "If I can't, father will help me." "Yes, you have an advantage there. Are you going to keep the same name?" and Mr. Hastings seemed quite interested in what answer the lad would make. "I think not," replied Tom. "It's a good name, but I want something that tells more what a fast boat it is, for I'm going to make some changes that will increase the speed." "That's a good idea. Call it the Swift." "Folks would say I was stuck up if I did that," retorted the youth quickly. "I think I shall call it the ARROW. That's a good, short name, and--" "It's certainly speedy," interrupted Mr. Hastings. "Well now, since you're not going to use the name CARLOPA, would you mind if I took it for my new boat? I have a fancy for it." "Not in the least," said Tom. "Don't you want the letters from each side of the bow to put on your new craft?" "It's very kind of you to offer them, and, since you will have no need for them, I'll be glad to take them off." "Come down to my boat," invited Tom, using the word "my" with a proper pride, "and I'll take off the brass letters. I have a screw driver in my motor-cycle tool bag." As the former and present owners of the ARROW (which is the name by which I shall hereafter designate Tom's motor-boat) walked down toward the dock where it was moored the young inventor gave a startled cry. "What's the matter?" asked Mr. Hastings. "That man! See him at my motor-boat?" cried Tom. He pointed to the craft in the lake. A man was in the cockpit and seemed to be doing something to the forward bulkhead, which closed off the compartment holding the gasoline tank. "Who is he?" asked Mr. Hastings, while Tom started on a run toward the boat. "I don't know. Some man who bid on the boat at the auction, but who didn't go high enough," answered the lad. As he neared the craft the man sprang out, ran along the lakeshore for a short distance and then disappeared amid the bushes which bordered the estate of Mr. Hastings. Tom hurriedly entered the ARROW. "Did he do any damage?" asked Mr. Hastings. "I guess he didn't have time," responded Tom. "But he was tampering with the lock on the door of the forward compartment. What's in there?" "Nothing but the gasoline tank. I keep the bulkhead sliding door locked on general principles. I can't imagine what the fellow would want to open it for. There's nothing of value in there. Perhaps he isn't right in his head. Was he a tramp?" "No, he was well dressed but he seemed very nervous during the auction, as if he was disappointed not to have secured the boat. Yet what could he want in that compartment? Have you the key to the lock, Mr. Hastings?" "Yes, it belongs to you now, Mr. Swift," and the former owner handed it to Tom, who quickly unlocked the compartment. He slid back the door and peered within, but all he saw was the big galvanized tank. "Nothing in there he could want," commented the former owner of the craft. "No," agreed Tom in a low voice. "I don't see what he wanted to open the door for." But the time was to come, and not far off, when Tom was to discover quite a mystery connected with the forward compartment of his boat, and the solution of it was fated to bring him into no little danger. "It certainly is odd," went on Mr. Hastings when, after Tom had secured the screw driver from his motor-cycle tool bag, he aided the lad in removing the letters from the bow of the boat "Are you sure you don't know the man?" "No, I never saw him before. At first I thought his voice sounded like one of the members of the Happy Harry gang, but when I looked squarely at him I could not see a bit of resemblance. Besides, that gang would not venture again into this neighborhood." "No, I imagine not. Perhaps he was only a curious, meddlesome person. I have frequently been bothered by such individuals. They want to see all the working parts of an automobile or motor-boat, and they don't care what damage they do by investigating." Tom did not reply, but he was pretty certain that the man in question had more of an object than mere curiosity in tampering with the boat. However, he could discover no solution just then, and he proceeded with the work of taking off the letters. "What are you going to do with your boat, now that you have it?" asked Mr. Hastings. "Can you run it down to your dock in the condition in which it is now?" "No, I shall have to go back home, get some tools and fix up the motor. It will take half a day, at least. I will come back this afternoon and, have the boat at my house by night. That is if I may leave it at your dock here." "Certainly, as long as you like." The young inventor had many things to think about as he rode toward home, and though he was somewhat puzzled over the actions of the stranger, he forgot about that in anticipating the pleasure he would have when the motor-boat was in running order. "I'll take dad off on a cruise about the lake," he decided. "He needs a rest, for he's been working hard and worrying over the theft of the turbine motor model. I'll take Ned Newton for some rides, too, and he can bring his camera along and get a lot of pictures. Oh, I'll have some jolly sport this summer!" Tom was riding swiftly along a quiet country road and was approaching a steep hill, which he could not see until he was close to it, owing to a sharp turn. As he was about to swing around it and coast swiftly down the steep declivity he was startled by hearing a voice calling to him from the bushes at the side of the road. "Hold on, dar! hold on, Mistah Swift!" cried a colored man, suddenly popping into view. "Doan't go down dat hill." "Why, it's Eradicate Sampson!" exclaimed Tom, quickly shutting off the power and applying the brakes. "What's the matter, Rad? Why shouldn't I go down that hill?" "Beca'se, Mistah Swift, dere's a pow'ful monstrous tree trunk right across de road at a place whar yo' cain't see it till yo' gits right on top ob it. Ef yo' done hit dat ar tree on yo' lickity-split machine, yo' suah would land in kingdom come. Doan't go down dat hill!" Tom leaped off his machine and approached the colored man. Eradicate Sampson did odd jobs in the neighborhood of Shopton, and more than once Tom had done him favors in repairing his lawn mower or his wood-sawing machine. In turn Eradicate had given Tom a valuable clue as to the hiding place of the model thieves. "How'd the log get across the road, Rad?" asked Tom. "I dunno, Mistah Swift. I see it when I come along wid mah mule, Boomerang, an' I tried t' git it outer de way, but I couldn't. Den I left Boomerang an' mah wagon at de foot ob de hill an' I come up heah t' git a long pole t' pry de log outer de way. I didn't t'ink nobody would come along, case dis road ain't much trabeled." "I took it for a short cut," said the lad. "Come on, let's take a look at the log." Leaving his machine at the top of the slope, the young inventor accompanied the colored man 'down the hill. At the foot of it, well hidden from sight of any one who might come riding down, was a big log. It was all the way across the road. "That never fell there," exclaimed Tom in some excitement. "That never rolled off a load of logs, even if there had been one along, which there wasn't. That log was put there!" "Does yo' t'ink dat, Mistah Swift?" asked Eradicate, his eyes getting big. "I certainly do, and, if you hadn't warned me, I might have been killed." "Oh, I heard yo' lickity-split machine chug-chuggin' along when I were in de bushes, lookin' for a pryin' pole, an' I hurried out to warn yo. I knowed I could leave Boomerang safe, 'case he's asleep." "I'm glad you did warn me," went on the youth solemnly. Then, as he went closer to the log, he uttered an exclamation. "That has been dragged here by an automobile!" he cried. "It's been done on purpose to injure some one. Come on, Rad, let's see if we can't find out who did it." Something on the ground caught Tom's eye. He stooped and picked up a nickle-plated wrench. "This may come in handy as evidence," he murmured. CHAPTER IV TOM AND ANDY CLASH Even a casual observer could have told that an auto had had some part in dragging the log to the place where it blockaded the road. In the dust were many marks of the big rubber tires and even the imprint of a rope, which had been used to tow the tree trunk. "What fo' yo' t'ink any one put dat log dere?" asked the colored man as he followed Tom. Boomerang, the mule, so called because Eradicate said you never could tell what he was going to do, opened his eyes lazily and closed them again. "I don't know why, Rad, unless they wanted to wreck an automobile or a wagon. Maybe tramps did it for spite." "Maybe some one done it to make yo' hab trouble, Mistah Swift." "No, I hardly think so. I don't know of any one who would want to make trouble for me, and how would they know I was coming this way--" Tom suddenly checked himself. The memory of the scene at the auction came back to him and he recalled what Andy Foger had said about "'getting even." "Which way did dat auto go?" resumed Eradicate. "It came from down the road," answered Tom, not completing the sentence he had left unfinished. "They dragged the log up to the foot of the hill and left it. Then the auto went down this way." It was comparatively easy, for a lad of such sharp observation as was Tom, to trace the movements of the vehicle. "Den if it's down heah, maybe we cotch 'em," suggested the colored man. The young inventor did not answer at once. He was hurrying along, his eyes on the telltale marks. He had proceeded some distance from the place where the log was when he uttered a cry. At the same moment he hurried from the road toward a thick clump of bushes that were in the ditch alongside of the highway. Reaching them, he parted the leaves and called: "Here's the auto, Rad!" The colored man ran up, his eyes wider open than ever. There, hidden amid the bushes, was a large touring car. "Whose am dat?" asked Eradicate. Tom did not answer. He penetrated the underbrush, noting where the broken branches had been bent upright after the forced entrance of the car, the better to hide it. The young inventor was, seeking some clew to discover the owner of the machine. To this end he climbed up in the tonneau and was looking about when some one burst in through the screen of bushes and a voice cried: "Here, you get out of my car!" "Oh, is it your car, Andy Foger?" asked Tom calmly as he recognized his squint-eyed rival. "I was just beginning to think it was. Allow me to return your wrench," and he held out the one he had picked up near the log. "The next time you drag trees across the road," went on the lad in the tonneau, facing the angry and dismayed Andy, "I'd advise you to post a notice at the top of the hill, so persons riding down will not be injured." "Notice--road--hill--logs!" stammered Andy, turning red under his freckles. "That's what I said," replied Tom coolly. "I--I didn't have anything to do with putting a log across any road," mumbled the bully. "I--I've been off toward the creek." "Have you?" asked Tom with a peculiar smile. "I thought you might have been looking for the wrench you dropped near the log. You should be more careful and so should Sam Snedecker, who's hiding outside the bushes," went on our hero, for he had caught sight of the form of Andy's crony. "I--I told him not to do it!" exclaimed Sam as he came from his hiding place. "Shut up!" exclaimed Andy desperately. "Oh, I think I know your secret," continued the young inventor. "You wanted to get even with me for outbidding you on the motor-boat. You watched which road I took, and then, in your auto, you came a shorter way, ahead of me. You hauled the log across the foot of the hill, hoping, I suppose, that my machine would be broken. But, let me tell you, it was a risky trick. Not only might I have been killed, but so would whoever else who happened to drive down the slope over the log, whether in a wagon or automobile. Fortunately Eradicate discovered it in time and warned me. I ought to have you arrested, but you're not worth it. A good thrashing is what such sneaks as you deserve!" "You haven't got any evidence against us," sneered Andy confidently, his old bravado coming back. "I have all I want," replied Tom. "You needn't worry. I'm not going to tell the police. But you've got to do one thing or I'll make you sorry you ever tried this trick. Eradicate will help me, so don't think you're going to escape." "You get out of my automobile!" demanded Andy. "I'll have you arrested if you don't." "I'll get out because I'm ready to, but not on account of your threats," retorted Mr. Swift's son. "Here's your wrench. Now I want you and Sam to start up this machine and haul that log out of the way." "S'pose I won't do it?" snapped Andy. "Then I'll cause your arrest, besides thrashing you into the bargain! You can take your choice of removing the log so travelers can pass or having a good hiding, you and Sam. Eradicate, you take Sam and I'll tackle Andy." "Don't you dare touch me!" cried the bully, but there was a whine in his tones. "You let me alone or I'll tell my father!" added Sam. "I--I didn't have nothin' to do with it, anyhow. I told Andy it would make trouble, but he made me help him." "Say, what's the matter with you?" demanded Andy indignantly of his crony. "Do you want to--" "I wish I'd never come with you," went on Sam, who was beginning to be frightened. "Come now. Start up that machine and haul the log out of the way," demanded Tom again. "I won't do it!" retorted the red-haired lad impudently. "Yes, you will," insisted our hero, and he took a step toward the bully. They were out of the clump of bushes now and in the roadside ditch. "You let me alone," almost screamed Andy, and in his baffled rage he rushed at Tom, aiming a blow. The young inventor quickly stepped to one side, and, as the bully passed him, Tom sent out a neat left-hander. Andy Foger went down in a heap on the grass. CHAPTER V A TEST OF SPEED Whether Tom or Andy was the most surprised at the happening would be hard to say. The former had not meant to hit so hard and he certainly did not intend to knock the squint-eyed youth down. The latter's fall was due, as much as anything, to his senseless, rushing tactics and to the fact that he slipped on the green grass. The bully was up in a moment, however, but he knew better than to try conclusions with Tom again. Instead he stood out of reach and spluttered: "You just wait, Tom Swift! You just wait!" "Well, I'm waiting," responded the other calmly. "I'll get even with you," went on Andy. "You think you're smart because you got ahead of me, but I'll get square!" "Look here!" burst out the young inventor determinedly, taking a step toward his antagonist, at which Andy quickly retreated, "I don't want any more of that talk from you, Andy Foger. That's twice you've made threats against me to-day. You put that log across the road, and if you try anything like it for your second attempt I'll make you wish you hadn't. That applies to you, too, Sam," he added, glancing at the other lad. "I--I ain't gone' to do nothin'," declared Sam. "I told Andy not to put that tree--" "Keep still, can't you!" shouted the bully. "Come on. We'll get even with him, that's all," he muttered as he went back into the bushes where the auto was. Andy cranked up and he and his crony getting into the car were about to start off. "Hold on!" cried Tom. "You'll take that log from across the road or I'll have you arrested for obstructing traffic, and that's a serious offense." "I'm goin' to take it away!" growled Andy. "Give a fellow a show can't you?" He cast an ugly look at Tom, but the latter only smiled. It was no easy task for Sam and Andy to pull the log out of the way, as they could hardly lift it to slip the rope under. But they finally managed it, and, by the power of the car, hauled it to one side. Then they speed off. "I 'clar t' gracious, dem young fellers am most as mean an' contrary as mah mule Boomerang am sometimes," observed Eradicate. "Only Boomerang ain't quite so mean as dat." "I should hope not, Rad," observed Tom. "I'm ever so much obliged for your warning. I guess I'll be getting, home now. Come around next week; we have some work for you." "'Deed an' I will," replied the colored man. "I'll come around an' eradicate all de dirt on yo' place, Mistah Swift. Yais, sah, I's Eradicate by name, and dat's my perfession--eradicatin' dirt. Much obleeged, I'll call around. Giddap, Boomerang!" The mule lazily flicked his ears, but did not stir, and Tom, knowing the process of arousing the animal would take some time, hurried up the hill to where he had left his motor-cycle. Eradicate was still engaged on the task of trying to arouse his steed to a sense of its duty when the young inventor flashed by on his way home. "So now you own a broken motor-boat," observed Mr. Swift when Tom had related the circumstances of the auction. "Well, now you have it, what are you going to do with it?" "Fix it, first of all," replied his son. "It needs considerable tinkering up, but nothing but what I can do, if you'll help me." "Of course I will. Do you think you can get any speed out of it?" "Well, I'm not so anxious for speed. I want a good, comfortable boat, and the ARROW will be that. I've named it, you see. I'm going back to Lanton this afternoon, take some tools along, and repair it so I can run the boat over to here. Then I'll get at it and fix it up. I've got a plan for you, dad." "What is it?" asked the inventor, his rather tired face lighting up with interest. "I'm going to take you on a vacation trip." "A vacation trip?" "Yes, you need a rest. You've been working too hard over that gyroscope invention." "Yes, Tom, I think I have," admitted Mr. Swift. "But I am very much interested in it, and I think I can get it to work. If I do it will make a great difference in the control of aeroplanes. It will make them more stable and able to fly in almost any wind. But I certainly have puzzled my brains over some features of it. However, I don't quite see what you mean." "You need a rest, dad," said Mr. Swift's son kindly. "I want you to forget all about patents, invention, machinery and even the gyroscope for a week or two. When I get my motor-boat in shape I'm going to take you and Ned Newton up the lake for a cruise. We can camp out, or, if we had to, we could sleep in the boat. I'm going to put a canopy on it and arrange some bunks. It will do you good and perhaps new ideas for your gyroscope may come to you after a rest." "Perhaps they will, Tom. I am certainly tired enough to need a vacation. It's very kind of you to think of me in connection with your boat. But if you're going to get it this afternoon you'd better start if you expect to get back by night. I think Mrs. Baggert has dinner ready." After the meal Tom selected a number of tools from his own particular machine shop and carried them down to the dock on the lake, where his two small boats were tied. "Aren't you going back on your motor-cycle?" asked his father. "No, Dad, I'm going to row over to Lanton, and, if I can get the ARROW fixed, I'll tow my rowboat back." "Very well, then you won't be in any danger from Andy Foger. I must speak to his father about him." "No, dad, don't," exclaimed the young inventor quickly. "I can fight my own battles with Andy. I don't fancy he will bother me again right away." Tom found it more of a task than he had anticipated to get the motor in shape to run the ARROW back under her own power. The magneto was out of order and the batteries needed renewing, while the spark coil had short-circuited and took considerable time to adjust. But by using some new dry cells, which Mr. Hastings gave him, and cutting out the magneto, or small dynamo which produces the spark that exploded the gasoline in the cylinders, Tom soon had a fine, "fat" hot spark from the auxiliary ignition system. Then, adjusting the timer and throttle on the engine and seeing that the gasoline tank was filled, the lad started up his motor. Mr. Hastings helped him, but after a few turns of the flywheel there were no explosions. Finally, after the carburetor (which is the device where gasoline is mixed with air to produce an explosive mixture) had been adjusted, the motor started off as if it had intended to do so all the while and was only taking its time about it. "The machine doesn't run as smooth as it ought to," commented Mr. Hastings. "No, it needs a thorough overhauling," agreed the owner of the ARROW. "I'll get at it to-morrow," and with that he swung out into the lake, towing his rowboat after him. "A motor-boat of my own!" exulted Tom as he twirled the steering wheel and noted how readily the craft answered her helm. "This is great!" He steered down the lake and then, turning around, went up it a mile or more before heading for his own dock, as he wanted to see how the engine behaved. "With some changes and adjustments I can make this a speedy boat," thought Tom. "I'll get right at it. I shouldn't wonder if I could make a good showing against Mr. Hastings' new CARLOPA, though his boat's got four cylinders and mine has but two." The lad was proceeding leisurely along the lakeshore, near his home, with the motor throttled down to test it at low speed, when he heard some one shout. Looking toward the bank, Tom saw a man waving his hands. "I wonder what he wants?" thought our hero as he put the wheel over to send his craft to shore. He heard a moment later, for the man on the bank cried: "I say, my young friend, do you know anything about automobiles? Of course you do or you wouldn't be running a motor-boat. Bless my very existence, but I'm in trouble! My machine has stopped on a lonely road and I can't seem to get it started. I happened to hear your boat and I came here to hail you. Bless my coat-pockets but I am in trouble! Can you help me? Bless my soul and gizzard!" "Mr. Damon!" exclaimed Tom, shutting off the power, for he was now near shore. "Of course I'll help you, Mr. Damon," for the young inventor had recognized the eccentric man of whom he had purchased the motor-cycle and who had helped him in rounding up the thieves. "Why, bless my shoe-laces, if it isn't Tom Swift!" exclaimed Mr. Damon, who seemed very fond of calling down blessings upon himself or upon articles of his dress or person. "Yes! I'm here," admitted Tom with a laugh. "And in a motor-boat, too! Bless my pocketbook, but did that run away with some one who sold it to you cheap?" "No, not exactly," and the lad explained how he had come into possession of it. By this time he was ashore and had tied the ARROW to an overhanging tree. Then Tom proceeded to where Mr. Damon had left his stalled automobile. The eccentric man was wealthy and his physician had instructed him to ride about in the car for his health. Tom soon located the trouble. The carburetor had become clogged, and it was soon in working order again. "Well, now that you have a boat, I don't suppose you will be riding about the country so much," commented Mr. Damon as he got into his car. "Bless my spark-plug! But if you ever get over to Waterfield, where I live, come and see me. It's handy to get to by water." "I'll come some day," promised the lad. "Bless my hat band, but I hope so," went on the eccentric individual as he prepared to start his car. Tom completed the remainder of the trip to his house without incident and his father came down to the dock to see the motor-boat. He agreed with his son that it was a bargain and that it could easily be put in fine shape. The youth spent all the next day and part of the following working on the craft. He overhauled the ignition system, which was the jump-spark style, cleaned the magneto and adjusted the gasoline and compression taps so that they fitted better. Then he readjusted the rudder lines, tightening them on the steering wheel, and looked over the piping from the gasoline tank. The tank was in the forward compartment, and, upon inspecting this, the lad concluded to change the plan by which the big galvanized iron box was held in place. He took out the old wooden braces and set them closer together, putting in a few new ones. "The tank will not vibrate so when I'm going at full speed," he explained to his father. "Is that where the strange man was tampering with the lock the day of the auction?" asked Mr. Swift. "Yes, but I don't see what he could want in this compartment, do you dad?" The inventor got into the boat and looked carefully into the rather dark space where the tank fitted. He went over every inch of it, and, pointing to one of the thick wooden blocks that supported the tank, asked: "Did you bore that hole in there, Tom?" "No, it was there before I touched the braces. But it isn't a hole, or rather, someone bored it and stopped it up again. It doesn't weaken the brace any." "No, I suppose not. I was just wondering whether that was one of the new blocks or an old one." "Oh, an old one. I'm going to paint them, too, so in case the water leaks in or the gasoline leaks out the wood won't be affected. A gasoline tank should vibrate as little as possible, if you don't want it to leak. I guess I'll paint the whole interior of this compartment white, then I can see away into the far corners of it." "I think that's a good idea," commented Mr. Swift. It was four days after his purchase of the boat before Tom was ready to make a long trip in it. Up to that time he had gone on short spins not far from the dock, in order to test the engine adjustment. The lad found it was working very well, but he decided with a new kind of spark plugs for the two cylinders that he could get more speed out of it. Finally the forward compartment was painted and a general overhauling given the hull and Tom was ready to put his boat to a good test. "Come on, Ned," he said to his chum early one evening after Mr. Swift had said he was too tired to go out on a trial run. "We'll see what the ARROW will do now." From the time Tom started up the motor it was evident that the boat was going through the water at a rapid rate. For a mile or more the two lads speeded along, enjoying it hugely. Then Ned exclaimed: "Something's coming behind us." Tom turned his head and looked. Then he called out: "It's Mr. Hastings in his new CARLOPA. I wonder if he wants a race?" "Guess he'd have it all his own way," suggested Ned. "Oh, I don't know. I can get a little more speed out of my boat." Tom waited until the former owner of the ARROW was up to him. "Want a race?" asked Mr. Hastings good-naturedly. "Sure!" agreed Tom, and he shoved the timer ahead to produce quicker explosions. The ARROW seemed to leap forward and for a moment was ahead of the CARLOPA, but with a motion of his hand to the spark lever Mr. Hastings also increased his speed. For a moment the two boats were on even terms and then the larger and newer one forged ahead. Tom had expected it, but he was a little disappointed. "That's doing first rate," complimented Mr. Hastings as he passed them. "Better than I was ever able to make her do even when she was new, Tom." This made the present owner of the ARROW feel somewhat consoled. He and Ned ran on for a few miles, the CARLOPA in the meanwhile disappearing from view around a bend. Then Tom and his chum turned around and made for the Swift dock. "She certainly is a dandy!" declared Ned. "I wish I had one like it." "Oh, I intend that you shall have plenty of rides in this," went on his friend. "When you get your vacation, you and dad and I are going on a tour," and he explained his plan, which, it is needless to say, met with Ned's hearty approval. Just before going to bed, some hours later, Tom decided to go down to the dock to make sure he had shut off the gasoline cock leading from the tank of his boat to the motor. It was a calm, early summer night, with a new moon giving a little light, and the lad went down to the lake in his slippers. As he neared the boathouse he heard a noise. "Water rat," he murmured, "or maybe muskrats. I must set some traps." As Tom entered the boathouse he started back in alarm, for a bright light flashed up, almost in his eyes. "Who's here?" he cried, and at that moment someone sprang out of his motor-boat, scrambled into a rowing craft which the youth could dimly make out in front of the dock and began to pull away quickly. "Hold on there!" cried the young inventor. "Who are you? What do you want? Come back here!" The person in the 'coat returned no answer. With his heart doing beats over-time Tom lighted a lantern and made a hasty examination of the ARROW. It did not appear to have been harmed, but a glance showed that the door of the gasoline compartment had been unlocked and was open. Tom jumped down into his craft. "Some one has been at that compartment again!" he murmured. "I wonder if it was the same man who acted so suspiciously at the auction? What can his object be, anyhow?" The next moment he uttered an exclamation of startled surprise and picked up something from the bottom of the boat. It was a bunch of keys, with a tag attached, bearing the owner's name. "Andy Foger!" murmured Tom. "So this is, how he was trying to get even! Maybe he started to put a hole in the tank or in my boat." CHAPTER VI TOWING SOME GIRLS With a sense of anger mingled with an apprehension lest some harm should have been done to his craft, the owner of the ARROW went carefully over it. He could find nothing wrong. The engine was all right and all that appeared to have been accomplished by the unbidden visitor was the opening of the locked forward compartment. That this had been done by one of the many keys on Andy Foger's ring was evident. "Now what could have been his object?" mused Tom. "I should think if he wanted to put a hole in the boat he would have done it amidships, where the water would have a better chance to come in, or perhaps he wanted to flood it with gasoline and--" The idea of fire was in Tom's mind, and he did not finish his half-completed thought. "That may have been it," he resumed after a hasty examination of the gasoline tank, to make sure there were no leaks in it. "To get even with me for outbidding him on the boat, Andy may have wanted to destroy the ARROW. Well, of all the mean tricks, that's about the limit! But wait until I see him. I've got evidence against him," and Tom looked at the key ring. "I could almost have him arrested for this." Going outside the boathouse, Tom stood on the edge of the dock and peered into the darkness. He could hear the faint sound of someone rowing across the lake, but there was no light. "He had one of those electric flash lanterns," decided Tom. "If I hadn't found his keys, I might have thought it was Happy Harry instead of Andy." The young inventor went back into the house after carefully locking the boat compartment and detaching from the engine an electrical device, without which the motor in the ARROW could not be started. "That will prevent them from running away with my boat, anyhow," decided Tom. "And I'll tell Garret Jackson to keep a sharp watch to-night." Jackson was the engineer at Mr. Swift's workshop. Tom told his father of the happening and Mr. Swift was properly indignant. He wanted to go at once to see Mr. Foger and complain of Andy's act, but Tom counseled waiting. "I'll attend to Andy myself," said the young inventor. "He's getting desperate, I guess, or he wouldn't try to set the place on fire. But wait until I show him these keys." Bright and early the next morning the owner of the motor-boat was down to the dock inspecting it. The engineer, who had been on watch part of the night, reported that there had been no disturbance, and Tom found everything all right. "I wonder if I'd better go over and accuse Andy now or wait until I see him and spring this evidence on him?" thought our hero. Then he decided it would be better to wait. He took the ARROW out after breakfast, his father going on a short spin with him. "But I must go back now and work on my gyroscope invention," said Mr. Swift when about two hours had been spent on the lake. "I am making good progress with it." "You need a vacation," decided Tom, "I'll be ready to take you and Ned in about two weeks. He will have two weeks off then and, we'll have some glorious times together." That afternoon Tom put some new style spark plugs in the cylinders of his motor and found that he had considerably increased the revolutions of the engine, due to a better explosion being obtained. He also made some minor adjustments and the next day he went out alone for a long run. Heading up the lake, Tom was soon in sight of a popular excursion resort that was frequently visited by church and Sunday-school organizations in the vicinity of Shopton. The lad saw a number of rowing craft and a small motor-boat circling around opposite the resort and remarked: "There must be a picnic at the grove to-day. Guess I'll run up and take a look." The lad was soon in the midst of quite a flotilla of rowboats, most of them manned by pretty girls or in charge of boys who were giving sisters (their own or some other chap's) a trip on the water. Tom throttled his boat down to slow speed and looked with pleasure on the pretty scene. His boat attracted considerable attention, for motor craft were not numerous on Lake Carlopa. As our hero passed a boat, containing three very pretty young ladies, Tom heard one of them exclaim: "There he is now! That's Tom Swift." Something in the tones of the voice attracted his attention. He turned and saw a brown-eyed girl smiling at him. She bowed and asked, blushing the while: "Well, have you caught any more runaway horses lately?" "Runaway horses--why--what? Oh, it's Miss Nestor!" exclaimed the lad, recognizing the young lady whose steed he had frightened one day when he was on his bicycle. As told in the first volume of this series, the horse had run away, being alarmed at the flashing of Tom's wheel, and Miss Mary Nestor, of Mansburg, was in grave danger. "So you've given up the bicycle for the motor-boat," went on the young lady. "Yes," replied Tom with a smile, shutting off the power, "and I haven't had a chance to save any girls since I've had it." The two boats had drifted close together, and Miss Nestor introduced her two companions to Tom. "Don't you want to come in and take a ride?" he asked. "Is it safe?" asked Jennie Haddon, one of the trio. "Of course it is, Jennie, or he wouldn't be out in it," said Miss Nestor hastily. "Come on, let's get in. I'm just dying for a motor-boat ride." "What will we do with our boat?" asked Katie Carson. "Oh, I can tow that," replied the youth. "Get right in and I'll take you all around the lake." "Not too far," stipulated the girl who had figured in the runaway. "We must be back for lunch, which will be served in about an hour. Our church and Sunday-school are having a picnic." "Maybe Mr. Swift will come and have some lunch with us," suggested Miss Carson, blushing prettily. "Nothing would give me greater pleasure," answered Tom, and then he laughed at his formal reply, the girls joining in. "We'd be glad to have you," added Miss Haddon. "Oh!" she suddenly screamed, "the boat's tipping over!" "Oh, no," Tom hastened to assure her, coming, to the side to help her in. "It just tilts a bit, with the weight of so many on one side. It couldn't capsize if it tried." In another moment the three were in the roomy cockpit and Tom had made the empty rowboat fast to the stern. He was about to start up when from another boat, containing two little girls and two slightly larger boys, came a plaintive cry: "Oh, mister, give us a ride!" "Sure!" agreed Tom pleasantly. "Just fasten your boat to the other rowboat and I'll tow you." One of the boys did this, and then, with three pretty girls as his companions in the ARROW and towing the two boats, Tom started off. The girls were very much interested in the craft and asked all sorts of questions about how the engine operated. Tom explained as clearly as he could how the gasoline exploded in the cylinders, about the electric spark and about the propeller. Then, when he had finished, Miss Haddon remarked naively: "Oh, Mr. Swift, you've explained it beautifully, and I'm sure if our teacher in school made things as clear as you have that I could get along fine. I understand all about it, except I don't see what makes the engine go." "Oh," said Tom faintly, and he wondering what would be the best remark to make under the circumstances, when Miss Nestor created a diversion by looking at her watch and exclaiming: "Oh, girls, it's lunch time! We must go ashore. Will you kindly put about, Mr. Swift--I hope that is the proper term--and--land us--is that right?" and she looked archly at Tom. "That's perfectly right," he admitted with a laugh and a glance into the girl's brown eyes. "I'll put you ashore at once," and he headed for a small dock. "And come yourself to take lunch with us, added Miss Haddon. "I'm afraid I might be in the way," stammered Tom. "I--I have a pretty good appetite, and--" "I suppose you think that girls on a picnic don't take much lunch," finished Miss Nestor. "But I assure you that we have plenty, and that you will be very welcome," she added warmly. "Yes, and I'd like to have him explain over again how the engine works," went on Miss Haddon. "I am so interested." Tom helped the girls out, receiving their thanks as well as those of the children in the second boat. But as he walked with the young ladies through the grove the young inventor registered a mental vow that he would steer clear of explaining again how a gasoline engine worked. "Now come right over this way to our table," invited Miss Nestor. "I want you to meet papa and mamma." Tom followed her. As he stepped from behind a clump of trees he saw, standing not far away, a figure that seemed strangely familiar. A moment later the figure turned and Tom saw Andy Foger confronting him. At the sight of our hero the bully turned red and walked quickly away, while Tom's fingers touched the ring of keys in his pocket. CHAPTER VII A BRUSH WITH ANDY So unexpected was his encounter with Andy that the young inventor hardly knew how to act, especially since he was a guest of the young ladies. Tom did not want to do or say anything to embarrass them or make a scene, yet he did want to have a talk, and a very serious talk, with Andy Foger. Miss Nestor must have noticed Tom's sudden start at his glimpse of Andy, for she asked: "Did you see some one you knew, Mr. Swift?" "Yes," replied Tom, "I did--er--that is--" He paused in some confusion. "Perhaps you'd like---that is prefer--to go with them instead of taking lunch with girls who don't know anything about engines?" she persisted. "Oh, no indeed," Tom hastened to assure her. "He--that is--the person I saw wouldn't care to have me lunch with him," and the youth smiled grimly. "Would you like to bring him over to our table?" inquired Miss Carson. "We have plenty for him." "No, I think that would hardly do," continued the lad, who tried not to smile at the picture of the red-haired and squint-eyed Andy Foger making one of a party with the girls. The young ladies fortunately had not noticed the bully, who was out of view by this time. Tom was presented to Mr. and Mrs. Nestor, who told him how glad they were to meet the young man who had been instrumental in saving their daughter from injury, if not death. Tom was a bit embarrassed, but bore the praise as well as he could, and he was very glad when a diversion, in the shape of lunch, occurred. After a meal on tables under the trees in the grove Tom took the girls and some of their friends out in his motor-boat again. They covered several miles around the lake before returning to the picnic ground. As Tom was starting toward home in his boat, wondering what had become of Andy and trying to think of a reason why the bully should attend anything as "tame" as a church picnic, the object of his thoughts came strolling through the trees down to the shore of the lake. The moment he saw Tom the red-haired lad started back, but the young inventor, leaping out of his boat, called out: "Hold on there, Andy Foger, I want to see you!" and there was menace in Tom's tone. "But, I don't want to see you!" retorted the other sulkily. "I've got no use for you." "No more have I for you," was Tom's quick reply. "But I want to return you these keys. You dropped them in my boat the other night when you tried to set it afire. If I ever catch you--" "My keys! Your boat! On fire!" gasped Andy, so plainly astonished that Tom knew his surprise was genuine. "Yes, your keys. You were a little too quick for me or I'd have caught you at it. The next time you pick a lock don't leave your keys behind you," and he held out the jingling ring. Andy Foger advanced slowly. He took the bunch of keys and looked at the tag. "They are mine," he said slowly, as if there was some doubt about it. "Of course they are," declared Tom. "I found them where you dropped them--in my boat." "Do you mean over at the auction?" "No, I mean down in my boathouse, where you sneaked in the other night and tried to do some damage. "The other night!" cried Andy. "I never was near your boathouse any night and I never lost my keys there! I lost these the day of the auction, on Mr. Hastings' ground, and I've been looking for them ever since." "Didn't you sneak in my boathouse the other night and try to do some mischief? Didn't you drop them then?" "No, I didn't," retorted Andy earnestly. "I lost those keys at the auction, and I can prove it to you. Look, I advertised for them in the weekly Gazette." The red-haired lad pulled a crumpled paper from his pocket and showed Tom an advertisement offering a reward of two dollars for a bunch of keys on a ring, supposed to have been lost at the auction on Mr. Hastings' grounds in Lanton. The finder was to return them to Andy Foger. "Does that look as if I lost the keys in your boathouse?" demanded the bully sneeringly. "I wouldn't have advertised them that way if I'd been trying to keep my visit quiet. Besides, I can prove that I was out of town several nights. I was over to an entertainment in Mansburg one night and I didn't get home until two o'clock in the morning, because my machine broke down. Ask Ned Newton. He saw me at the entertainment." Andy's manner was so earnest that Tom could not help believing him. Then there was the evidence of the advertisement. Clearly the squint-eyed youth had not been the mysterious visitor to the boathouse and had not unlocked the forward compartment. But if it was not he, who could it have been and how did the keys get there? These were questions which racked Tom's brain. "You can ask Ned Newton," repeated Andy. "He'll prove that I couldn't have been near your place, if you don't believe me." "Oh, I believe you all right," answered Tom, for there could be no doubting Andy's manner, even though he and the young inventor were not on good terms. "But how did your keys get in my boat?" "I don't know, unless you found them, kept them and dropped them there," was the insolent answer. "You know better than that," exclaimed Tom. "Well, I owe you a reward of two dollars for giving them back to me," continued the bully patronizingly. "Here it is," and he hauled out some bills. "I don't want your money!" fired back Tom. "But I'd like to know who it was that was in my boat." "And I'd like to know who it was took my keys," and Andy stuffed the money back in his pocket. Tom did not answer. He was puzzling over a queer matter and he wanted to be alone and think. He turned aside from the red-haired lad and walked toward his motor-boat. "I'll give you a surprise in a few days," Andy called after him, but Tom did not turn his head nor did he inquire what the surprise might be. Mr. Swift was somewhat puzzled when his son related the outcome of the key incident. He agreed with Tom that some one might have found the ring and kept it, and that the same person might have been the one whom Tom had surprised in the boathouse. "But it's idle to speculate on it," commented the inventor. "Andy might have induced some of his chums to act for him in harming your boat, and the key advertisement might have been only a ruse." "I hardly think so," answered his son, shaking his head. "It strikes me as being very curious, and I'm going to see if I can't get at the bottom of it." But a week or more passed and Tom had no clew. In the meanwhile he was working away at his motor-boat, installing several improvements. One of these was a better pump, which circulated the water around the cylinders, and another was a new system of lubrication under forced feed. "This ought to give me a little more speed," reasoned Tom, who was not yet satisfied with his craft. "Guess I'll take it out for a spin." He was alone in the ARROW, taking a long course up the lake when, as he passed a wooded point that concealed from view a sort of bay, he heard the puffing of another motor-boat. "Maybe that's Mr. Hastings," thought Tom. "If I raced with him now, I think the ARROW could give a better account of herself." The young inventor looked at the boat as it came into view. It needed but a glance to show that it was not the CARLOPA. Then, as it came nearer, Tom saw a familiar figure in it--a red-haired, squint-eyed chap. "Andy Foger!" exclaimed Tom. "He's got a motor-boat! This is the surprise he spoke of." The boat was rapidly approaching him, and he saw that it was painted a vivid red. Then he could make out the name on the bow, RED STREAK. Andy was sending the craft toward him at a fast rate. "You needn't think you're the only one on this lake who has a gasoline boat!" called Andy boastfully. "This is my new one and the fastest thing afloat around here. I can go all around you. Do you want to race?" It was a "dare," and Tom never took such things when he could reasonably enter a contest. He swung his boat around so as to shoot alongside of Andy and answered: "Yes, I'll race you. Where to?" "Down opposite Kolb's dock and back to this point," was the answer. "I'll give you a start, as my engine has three cylinders. This is a racing boat." "I don't need any start," declared Tom. "I'll race you on even terms. Go ahead!" Both lads adjusted their timers to get more speed. The water began to curl away from the sharp prows, the motors exploded faster and faster. The race was on between the ARROW and the RED STREAK. CHAPTER VIII OFF ON A TRIP Glancing with critical eyes at the craft of his rival, Tom saw that Andy Foger had a very fine boat. The young inventor also realized that if he was to come anywhere near winning the race he would have to get the utmost speed out of his engine, for the new boat the bully had was designed primarily for racing, while Tom's was an all-around pleasure craft, though capable of something in the speed line. "I'll be giving you a tow in a few minutes, as soon as my engine gets warmed up!" sneered Andy. "Maybe," said Tom, and then he crouched down to make as little resistance as possible to the wind. Andy, on the contrary, sat boldly upright at the auto steering wheel of his boat. On rushed the two motor craft, their prows exactly even and the propellers tossing up a bulge in the water at their sterns. Rapidly acquiring speed after the two lads had adjusted the timers on their motors, the boats were racing side by side, seemingly on even terms. The RED STREAK had a very sharp prow, designed to cut through the water. It was of the type known as an automobile launch. That is, the engine was located forward, under a sort of hood, which had two hinged covers like a bat's wings. The steering-wheel shaft went through the forward bulkhead, slantingly, like the wheel of an auto, and was arranged with gasoline and sparking levers on the center post in a similar manner. At the right of the wheel was a reversing lever, by which the propeller blades could be set at neutral, or arranged so as to drive the boat backward. Altogether the RED STREAK was a very fine boat and had cost considerably more than had Tom's, even when the latter was new. All these things the young owner of the ARROW thought of as he steered his craft over the course. "I hardly think I can win," Tom remarked to himself in a whisper. "His boat is too speedy for this one. I have a chance, though, for his engine is new, and I don't believe he understands it as well as I do mine. Then, too, I am sure I have a better ignition system." But if Tom had any immediate hopes of defeating Andy, they were doomed to disappointment, for about two minutes after the race started the RED STREAK forged slowly ahead. "Come on!" cried the red-haired lad. "I thought you wanted a race." "I do," answered the young inventor. "We're a long way from the dock yet, and we've got to come back." "You'll be out of it by the time I get to the dock," declared Andy. Indeed it began to look so, for the auto boat was now a full length ahead of Tom's craft and there was open water between them. But our hero knew a thing or two about racing, though he had not long been a motor-boat owner. He adjusted the automatic oiler on the cylinders to give more lubrication, as he intended to get more speed out of his engine. Then he opened the gasoline cock a trifle more and set his timer forward a few notches to get an earlier spark. He was not going to use the maximum speed just yet, but he first wanted to see how the motor of the ARROW would behave under these conditions. To his delight he saw his boat slowly creeping up on Andy's. The latter, with a glance over his shoulder, saw it too, and he advanced his spark. His craft forged ahead, but the rate of increase was not equal to Tom's. "If I can keep up to him I suppose I ought to be glad," thought the young inventor, "for his boat is away ahead of mine in rating." Through the water the sharp bows cut. There were only a few witnesses to the race, but those who were out in boats saw a pretty sight as the two speedy craft came on toward the dock, which was the turning point. Andy's boat reached it first, and swung about in a wide circle for the return. Tom decided it was time to make his boat do its best, so he set the timer at the limit, and the spark, coming more quickly, increased the explosions. Up shot the ARROW and, straightening out after the turn, Tom's craft crept along until it lapped the stern of the RED STREAK. Andy looked back in dismay. Then he tried to get more speed out of his engine. He did cause the screw to revolve a little faster, and Tom noted that he was again being left behind. Then one of those things, which may happen at any time to a gasoline motor, happened to Andy's. It began to miss explosions. At first it was only occasionally, then the misses became more frequent. The owner of the RED STREAK with one hand on the steering wheel, tried with the other to adjust the motor to get rid of the trouble, but he only made it worse. Andy's boat began to fall back and Tom's to creep up. Frantically Andy worked the gasoline and sparking levers, but without avail. At last one cylinder went completely out of service. The two boats were now on even terms and were racing along side by side toward the wooded, point, which marked the finish. "I'll beat you yet!" exclaimed Andy fiercely. "Better hurry up!" retorted Tom. But the young inventor was not to have it all his own way. With a freakishness equal to that with which it had ceased to explode the dead cylinder came to life again, and the RED STREAK shot ahead. Once more Andy's boat had the lead of a length and the finish of the race was close at hand. The squint-eyed lad turned and shouted: "I told you I'd beat you! Want a tow now?" It began to look as though Tom would need it, but he still had something in reserve. One of the improvements he had put in the ARROW was a new auxiliary ignition system. This he now decided to use. With a quick motion Tom threw over the switch that put it into operation. A hotter, "fatter" spark was at once produced, and adjusting his gasoline cock so that a little more of the fluid would be drawn in, making a "richer" mixture, the owner of the ARROW saw the craft shoot forward as if, like some weary runner, new life had been infused. In vain did Andy frantically try to get more speed out of his motor. He cut out the muffler, and the explosions sounded loudly over the lake. But it was no use. A minute later the ARROW, which had slowly forged ahead, crossed the bows of the RED STREAK opposite the finishing point, and Tom had won the race. "Well, was that fair?" our hero called to Andy, who had quickly shut off some of his power as he saw his rival's daring trick. "Did I beat you fair?" "You wouldn't have beaten me if my engine hadn't gone back on me," grumbled Andy, chagrin showing on his face. "Wait until my motor runs smoother and I'll give you a big handicap and beat you. My boat's faster than yours. It ought to be. It cost fifteen hundred dollars and it's a racer." "I guess it doesn't like racing," commented Tom as he swung the prow of his craft down the lake toward his home. But he knew there was some truth in what Andy had said. The RED STREAK was a more speedy boat, and, with proper handling, could have beaten the ARROW. That was where Tom's superior knowledge came in useful. "Just you wait, I'll beat you yet," called Andy, after the young inventor, but the latter made no answer. He was satisfied. Mr. Swift was much interested that night in his son's account of the race. "I had no idea yours was such a speedy boat," he said. "Well, it wasn't originally," admitted Tom, "but the improvements I put on it made it so. But, dad, when are we going on our tour? You look more worn out than I've seen you in some time, not excepting when the turbine model was stolen. Are you worrying over your gyroscope invention?" "Somewhat, Tom. I can't seem to hit on just what I want. It's a difficult problem." "Then I tell you what let's do, dad. Let's drop everything in the inventive line and go off on a vacation. I'll take you up the lake in my boat and you can spend a week at the Lakeview Hotel at Sandport. It will do you good." "What will you do, Tom?" "Oh, Ned Newton and I will cruise about and we'll take you along any time you want to go. We're going to camp out nights or sleep in the boat if it rains. I've ordered a canopy with side curtains. Ned and I don't care for the hotel life in the summer. Will you go?" Mr. Swift considered a moment. He did need a rest, for he had been working hard and his brain was weary with thinking of many problems. His son's program sounded very attractive. "I think I will accept," said the inventor with a smile. "When can you start, Tom?" "In about four days. Ned Newton will get his vacation then and I'll have the canopy on. I'll start to work at it to-morrow. Then we'll go on a trip." Sandport was a summer resort at the extreme southern end of Lake Carlopa, and Mr. Swift at once wrote to the Lakeview Hotel there to engage a room for himself. In the meanwhile Tom began to put the canopy on his boat and arrange for the trip, which would take nearly a whole day. Ned Newton was delighted with the prospect of a camping tour and helped Tom to get ready. They took a small tent and plenty of supplies, with some food. They did not need to carry many rations, as the shores of the lake were lined with towns and villages where food could be procured. Finally all was ready for the trip and the night before the start Ned Newton stayed at Tom's house so as to be in readiness for going off early in the morning. The day was all that could be desired, Tom noted, as he and his chum hurried down to the dock before breakfast to put their blankets in the boat. As the young inventor entered the craft he uttered an exclamation. "What's the matter?" asked Ned. "I was sure I locked the sliding door of that forward compartment," was the reply. "Now it's open." He looked inside the space occupied by the gasoline tank and cried out: "One of the braces is gone! There's been some one at my boat in the night and they tried to damage her." "Much harm done?" asked Ned anxiously. "No, none at all, to speak of," replied Tom. "I can easily put a new block under the tank. In fact, I don't really need all I have. But why should any one take one out, and who did it? That's what I want to know." The two lads looked carefully about the dock and boat for a sign of the missing block or any clews that might show who had been tampering with the ARROW, but they could find nothing. "Maybe the block fell out," suggested Ned. "It couldn't," replied Tom. "It was one of the new ones I put in myself and it was nailed fast. You can see where it's been pried loose. I can't understand it," and Tom thought rapidly of several mysterious occurrences of late in which the strange man at the auction and the person he had surprised one night in the boathouse had a part. "Well, it needn't delay our trip," resumed the young inventor. "Maybe there's a hoodoo around here, and it will do us good to get away a few days. Come on, we'll have breakfast, get dad and start." A little later the ARROW was puffing away up the lake in the direction of Sandport. CHAPTER IX MR. SWIFT IS ALARMED "Don't you feel better already, dad?" asked Tom that noon as they stopped under a leaning, overhanging tree for lunch on the shore of the lake. "I'll leave it to Ned if you don't look more contented and less worried." "I believe he does," agreed the other lad. "Well, I must say I certainly have enjoyed the outing so far," admitted the inventor with a smile. "And I haven't been bothering about my gyroscope. I think I'll take another sandwich, Tom, and a few more olives." "That's the way to talk!" cried the son. "Your appetite is improving, too. If Mrs. Baggert could see you she'd say so." "Oh, yes, Mrs. Baggert. I do hope she and Garret will look after the house and shops well," said Mr. Swift, and the old, worried look came like a shadow over his face. "Now don't be thinking of that, dad," advised Tom, "Of course everything will be all right. Do you think some of those model thieves will return and try to get some of your other inventions?" "I don't know, Tom. Those men were unscrupulous scoundrels, and you can never tell what they might do to revenge themselves on us for defeating their plans." "Well, I guess Garret and Mrs. Baggert will look out for them," remarked his son. "Don't worry." "Yes, it's bad for the digestion," added Ned. "If you don't mind, Tom, I'll have some more coffee and another sandwich myself." "Nothing the matter with your appetite, either," commented the young inventor as he passed the coffee pot and the plate. They were soon on their way again, the ARROW making good time up the lake. Tom was at the engine, making several minor adjustments to it, while Ned steered. Mr. Swift reclined on one of the cushioned seats under the shade of the canopy. The young owner of the ARROW looked over the stretch of water from time to time for a possible sight of Andy Foger, but the RED STREAK was not to be seen. The Lakeview Hotel was reached late that afternoon and the boat was tied up to the dock, while Tom and Ned accompanied Mr. Swift to see him comfortably established in his room. "Won't you stay to supper with me?" invited the inventor to his son and the latter's chum. "Or do you want to start right in on camp life?" "I guess we'll stay to supper and remain at the hotel to-night," decided Tom. "We got here a little later than I expected, and Ned and I hardly have time to go very far and establish a temporary camp. We'll live a life of luxurious ease to-night and begin to be 'wanderlusters' and get back to nature to-morrow." In the morning Tom and his chum, full of enthusiasm for the pleasures before them, started off, promising to come back to the hotel in a few days to see how Mr. Swift felt. The trip had already done the man good and his face wore a brighter look. Tom and Ned, in the speedy ARROW, cruised along the lakeshores all that morning. At noon they went ashore, made a temporary camp and arranged to spend the night there in the tent. After this was erected they got out their fishing tackle and passed the afternoon at that sport, having such good luck that they provided their own supper without having to depend on canned stuff. They lived this life for three days, making a new camp each night, being favored with good weather, so that they did not have to sleep in the boat to keep dry. On the afternoon of the third day Tom, with a critical glance at the sky, remarked: "I shouldn't be surprised if it rained to-morrow, Ned." "Me either. It does look sort of hazy, and the wind is in a bad quarter." "Then what do you say to heading for the hotel? I fancy dad will be glad to see us." "That suits me. We can start camp life again after the storm passes." They started for Sandport that afternoon. When within about two miles of the hotel dock Tom saw, just ahead of them, a small motor-boat. Ned observed it too and called out: "S'pose that's Andy looking for another race?" "No, the boat's too small for his. We'll put over that way and see who it is." The other craft did not appear to be moving very rapidly and the ARROW was soon overhauling it. As the two chums came nearer they could hear the puffing of the motor. Tom listened with critical ears. "That machine isn't working right," he remarked to his chum. At that moment there sounded a loud explosion from the other boat and at the same time there came over the water a shrill cry of alarm. "That's a girl in that boat!" exclaimed Ned. "Maybe she's hurt." "No, the motor only backfired," observed Tom. "But we'll go over and see if we can help her. Perhaps she doesn't understand it. Girls don't know much about machinery." A little later the ARROW shot up alongside the other craft, which had come to a stop. The two lads could see a girl bending over the motor, twirling the flywheel and trying to get it started. "Can I help you?" asked Tom, shutting off the power from his craft. The young lady glanced up. Her face was red and she seemed ill at ease. At the sight of the young inventor she uttered an exclamation of relief. "Why, Mr. Swift!" she cried. "Oh, I'm in such trouble. I can't make the machine work, and I'm afraid it's broken; it exploded." "Miss Nestor!" blurted out Tom, more surprised evidently to see his acquaintance of the runaway again than she was at beholding him. "I didn't know you ran a motor-boat," he added. "I don't," said she simply and helplessly. "That's the trouble, it won't run." "How comes it that you are up here?" went on Tom. "I am stopping with friends, who have a cottage near the Lakeview Hotel. They have a motor-boat and I got Dick Blythe--he's the owner of this--to show me how to run it. I thought I knew, and I started out a little while ago. At first it went beautifully, but a few minutes ago it blew up, or--or something dreadful happened." "Nothing very dreadful, I guess," Tom assured her. "I think I can fix it." He got into the other boat and soon saw what the trouble was. The carburetor had gotten out of adjustment and the gasoline was not feeding properly. The young inventor soon had it in order, and, testing the motor, found that it worked perfectly. "Oh, I can't thank you enough," cried Miss Nestor with a flash from her brown eyes that made Tom's heart beat double time. "I was afraid I had damaged the boat, and I knew Dick, who is a sort of second cousin of mine, would never forgive me." "There's no harm done," Tom assured her. "But you had better keep near us on your way back, that is, if you are going back." "Oh, indeed I am. I was frightened when I found I'd come so far away from shore, and then, when that explosion took place--well, you can imagine how I felt. Indeed I will keep near you. Are you stopping near here? If you are, I wish you'd come and see me, you and Mr. Newton," she added, for Tom had introduced his chum. "I'll be very glad to," answered our hero, and he told how he happened to be in the neighborhood. "I'll give you a few lessons in managing a boat, if you like," he added. "Oh, will you? That will be lovely! I won't tell Dick about it, and I'll surprise him some day by showing him how well I can run his boat." "Good idea," commented Tom. He started the motor for Miss Nestor, having stopped it after his first test, and then, with the DOT, which was the name of the small boat Miss Nestor was in, following the larger ARROW, the run back to the hotel was made. The young lady turned off near the Lakeview dock to go to the cottage where she was stopping and the lads tied up at the hotel boathouse. "Yes, we are in for a storm," remarked Tom as he and his chum walked up toward the hotel. "I wonder how dad is? I hope the outing is doing him good." "There he comes now," observed Ned, and, looking up, Tom saw his father approaching. The young inventor was at once struck by the expression on his parent's face. Mr. Swift looked worried and Tom anxiously hastened forward to meet him. "What's the matter dad?" he asked as cheerfully as he could. "Have you been figuring over that gyroscope problem again, against my express orders?" and he laughed a little. "No, Tom, it's not the gyroscope that's worrying me." "What is it then?" "Those scoundrels are around again, Tom!" and Mr. Swift looked apprehensively about him. "You mean the men who stole the turbine model?" "Yes. I was walking in the woods near the hotel yesterday and I saw Anson Morse. He did not see me, for I turned aside as quickly as I had a glimpse of him. He was talking to another man." "What sort of a man?" "Well, an ordinary enough individual, but I noticed that he had tattooed on the little finger of his left hand a blue ring." "Happy Harry, the tramp!" exclaimed Tom. "What can he and Morse be doing here?" "I don't know, Tom, but I'm worried. I wish I was back home. I'm afraid something may happen to some of my inventions. I want to go back to Shopton, Tom." "Nonsense, dad. Don't worry just because you saw some of your former enemies. Everything is all right at home. Mrs. Baggert and Garret Jackson will look after things. But, if you like, I, can find out for you how matters are." "How, Tom?" "By taking a run down there in my motor-boat. I can do it to-morrow and get back by night, if I start early. Then you will not worry." "All right, Tom; I wish you would. Come up to my room and we will talk it over. I'd rather leave you go than telephone, as I don't like to talk of my business over the wire if I can avoid it." CHAPTER X A CRY FOR HELP "Now, dad, tell me all about it," requested Tom when he and Ned were in Mr. Swift's apartment at the hotel, safe from the rain that was falling. "How did you happen to see Anson Morse and Happy Harry?" My old readers will doubtless remember that the latter was the disguised tramp who was so vindictive toward Tom, while Morse was the man who endeavored to sneak in Mr. Swift's shop and steal a valuable invention. "Well, Tom," proceeded the inventor, "there isn't much to tell. I was out walking in the woods yesterday, and when I was behind a clump of bushes I heard voices. I looked out and there I saw the two men." "At first I thought they were trailing me, but I saw that they had not seen me, and I didn't see how they could know I was in the neighborhood. So I quietly made my way back to the hotel." "Could you hear what they were saying?" "Not all, but they seemed angry over something. The man with the blue ring on his finger asked the other man whether Murdock had been heard from." "Who is Murdock?" "I don't know, unless he is another member of the gang or unless that is an assumed name." "It may be that. What else did you hear?" "The man we know as Morse replied that he hadn't heard from him, but that he suspected Murdock was playing a double game. Then the tramp--Happy Harry--asked this question: 'Have you any clew to the sparkler?' And Morse answered: 'No, but I think Murdock has hid it somewhere and is trying to get away with it without giving us our share.' Then the two men walked away, and I came back to the hotel," finished Mr. Swift. "Sparkler," murmured Tom. "I wonder what that can be?" "That's a slang word for diamonds," suggested Ned. "So it is. In that case, dad, I think we have nothing to worry about. Those fellows must be going to commit a diamond robbery or perhaps it has already taken place." The inventor seemed relieved at this theory of his son. His face brightened and he said: "If they are going to commit a robbery, Tom, we ought to notify the police." "But if they said that 'Murdock,' whoever he is, had the sparkler and was trying to get away with it without giving them their share, wouldn't that indicate that the robbery had already taken place?" asked Ned. "That's so," agreed Tom. "But it won't do any harm to tell the hotel detective that suspicious characters are around, no matter if the robbery has been committed. Then he can be on the lookout. But I don't think we have anything to worry about, dad. Still, if you like, I'll take a run down to the house to see that everything is all right, though I'm sure it will be found that we have nothing to be alarmed over." "Well, I will be more relieved if you do," said the inventor, "However, suppose we have a good supper now and you boys can stay at the hotel to-night. Then you and Ned can start off early in the morning." "All right," agreed Tom, but there was a thoughtful look on his face and he appeared to be planning something that needed careful attention to details. After supper that night Tom took his chum to one side and asked: "Would you mind very much if you didn't make the trip to Shopton with me?" "No, Tom, of course not, if it will help you any. Do you want me to stay here?" "I think it will be a good plan. I don't like to leave dad alone if those scoundrels are around. Of course he's able to look after himself, but sometimes he gets absent minded from thinking too much about his inventions." "Of course I'll stay here at the hotel. This is just as good a vacation as I could wish." "Oh, I don't mean all the while. Just a day or so--until I come back. I may be here again by to-morrow night and find that my father is needlessly alarmed. Then something may have happened at home and I would be delayed. If I should be, I'd feel better to know that you were here." "Then I'll stay, and if I see any of those men--" "You'd better steer clear of them," advised Tom quickly. "They are dangerous customers." "All right. Then I'll go over and give Miss Nestor lessons on how to run a motor-boat," was the smiling response. "I fancy, with what she and I know, we can make out pretty well." "Hold on there!" cried Tom gaily. "No trespassing, you know." "Oh, I'll just say I'm your agent," promised Ned with a grin. "You can't object to that." "No, I s'pose not. Well, do the best you can. She is certainly a nice girl." "Yes, but you do seem to turn up at most opportune times. Luck is certainly with you where she is concerned. First you save her in a runaway--" "After I start the runaway," interrupted Tom. "Then you take her for a ride in your motor-boat, and, lastly, you come to her relief when she is stalled in the middle of the lake. Oh you certainly are a lucky dog!" "Never mind, I'm giving you a show. Now let's get to bed early, as I want to get a good start." Tom awoke to find a nasty, drizzling rainstorm in progress, and the lake was almost hidden from view by a swirling fog. Still he was not to be daunted from his trip to Shopton by the weather, and, after a substantial breakfast, he bade his father and Ned good-by and started off in the ARROW. The canopy he had provided was an efficient protection against the rain, a celluloid window in the forward hanging curtains affording him a view so that he could steer. Through the mist puffed the boat, the motor being throttled down to medium speed, for Tom was not as familiar with the lake as he would like to have been, and he did not want to run aground or into another craft. He was thinking over what his father had told him about the presence of the men and vainly wondering what might be their reference to the "sparkler." His thoughts also dwelt on the curious removal of the bracing block from under the gasoline tank of his boat. "I shouldn't be surprised but what Andy Foger did that," he mused. "Some day he and I will have a grand fight, and then maybe he'll let me alone. Well, I've got other things to think about now. The hotel detective can keep a lookout for the men around the hotel, after the warning I gave him, and I'll see that all is right at home." The fog lifted somewhat and Tom put on more speed. As he was steering the boat along near shore he heard, off to the woods at his right, the report of a gun. It came so suddenly that he jumped involuntarily. A moment later there sounded, plainly through the damp air, a cry for help. "Some one's hurt--shot!" cried the youth aloud. He turned the boat in toward the bank. As he shut off the power from the motor he heard the cry again: "Help! Help! Help!" "I must go ashore!" he exclaimed. "Probably some one is badly wounded by a gun." He paused for a moment as the fear came to him that it might be some of the patent thieves. Then, dismissing that idea as the ARROW's prow touched the gravel, Tom sprang out, drew the boat up a little way, fastened the rope to a tree and hurried off into the dripping woods in the direction of the voice that was calling for aid. CHAPTER XI A QUICK RUN "Where are you?" cried Tom. "Are you hurt? Where are you?" Uttering these words after he had hurried into the woods a short distance, the young inventor paused for an answer. At first he could hear nothing but the drip of water from the branches of the trees; then, as he listened intently, he became aware of a groan not far away. "Where are you?" cried the lad again. "I've come to help you. Where are you?" He had lost what little fear he had had at first, that it might be one of the unscrupulous gang, and came to the conclusion that he might safely offer to help. Once more the groan sounded and it was followed by a faint voice speaking: "Here I am, under the big oak tree. Oh, whoever you are, help me quickly! I'm bleeding to death!" With the sound of the voice to guide him, Tom swung around. The appeal had come from the left and, looking in that direction, he saw, through the mist, a large oak tree. Leaping over the underbrush toward it he caught sight of the wounded man at its foot. Beside him lay a gun and there was a wound in the man's right arm. "Who shot you?" cried Tom, hurrying to the side of the man. "Was it some of those patent thieves?" Then, realizing that a stranger would know nothing of the men who had stolen the model, Tom prepared to change the form of his question. But, before he had an opportunity to do this, the man, whose eyes were closed, opened them, and, as he got a better sight of his face, Tom uttered a cry. "Why, it's Mr. Duncan!" exclaimed the lad. He had recognized the rich hunter, whom he had first met in the woods that spring shortly after Happy Harry, the tramp, had disabled Tom's motor-cycle. "Mr. Duncan," the young inventor repeated, "how did you get shot?" "Is that you, Tom Swift?" asked the gunner. "Help me, please. I must stop this bleeding in my arm. I'll tell you about it afterward. Wind something around it tight--your handkerchief will do." The man sighed weakly and his eyes closed again. The lad saw the blood spurting from an ugly wound. "I must make a tourniquet," the youth exclaimed. "That will check the bleeding until I can get him to a doctor." With Tom to think was to act. He took out his knife and cut off Mr. Duncan's sleeves below the injury, slashing through coat and shirts. Then he saw that part of a charge of shot had torn away some of the large muscular development of the upper arm. The hunter seemed to have fainted and the youth worked quickly. Tying his handkerchief above the wound and inserting a small stone under the cloth, so that the pebble would press on the main artery, Tom put a stick in the handkerchief and began to twist it. This had the effect of tightening the linen around the arm, and in a few seconds the lad was glad to see that the blood had stopped spurting out with every beat of the heart. Giving the tourniquet a few more twists to completely stop the flow of blood, Tom fastened the stick-lever in place by a bit of string. "That's--that's better," murmured Mr. Duncan. "Now if you can go for a doctor--" He had to pause for breath. "I'll not leave you here alone while I go for a doctor," declared Tom. "I have my motor-boat on the lake. Do you think I could get you down to it and take you home?" "Perhaps--maybe. I'll be stronger in a moment, now that the bleeding has stopped. But not--not home--frighten my wife. Take me to the sanitarium if you can--sanitarium up the lake, a few miles from here." The unfortunate man, who had tried to sit upright, had to lean back against the tree again. Tom understood what he meant in spite of the broken sentences. Mr. Duncan did not want to be taken home in the condition he was then in, for fear of alarming his wife. He wanted to be taken to the sanitarium, and Tom knew where this was, a well-known resort for the treatment of various diseases and surgical cases. It was about five miles away and on the opposite shore of the lake. "Water--a drink!" murmured Mr. Duncan. Seeing that his patient would be all right, for a few minutes at least, Tom hurried to his motor-boat, got a cup and, filling it with water from a jug he carried, he hastened with it to the hunter. The fluid revived the man wonderfully and now that the bleeding had almost completely stopped, Mr. Duncan was much stronger. "Do you think you can get to the boat, if I help you?" asked Tom. "Yes, I believe so. To think of meeting you again, and under such circumstances! It is providential." "Did someone shoot you?" inquired Tom, who could not get out of his head the notion of the men who had once assaulted him. "No, I shot myself," answered Mr. Duncan as he got to his feet with Tom's help. "I was out with my gun, practicing just as I was that day when I met you in the woods. I stooped down to crawl under a bush and the weapon went off, the muzzle being close against my arm. I can't understand how it happened. I fell down and called for help. Then I guess I must have fainted, but I came to when I heard you talking to me. I shouldn't have come out to-day as it is so wet, but I had some new shot shells I wished to try in order to test them before the hunting season. But if I can get to the sanitarium, I will be well taken care of. I know one of the doctors there." With Tom leading him and acting as a sort of support, the journey to the motor-boat was slowly made. Making as comfortable a bed as possible out of the seat cushions, Tom assisted Mr. Duncan to it, and then starting the engine he sent his boat out from shore at half speed, as the fog was still thick and he did not want to run upon a rock. "Do you know where the sanitarium is?" asked the wounded hunter. "About," answered Tom a little doubtfully, "but I'm afraid it's going to be hard to locate it in this fog." "There's a compass in my coat pocket," said Mr. Duncan. "Take it out and I'll tell you how to steer. You ought to carry a compass if you're going to be a sailor." Tom was beginning to think so himself and wondered that he had not thought of it before. He found the one the hunter had, and placing it on the seat near him, he carefully listened to the wounded man's directions. Tom easily comprehended and soon had the boat headed in the proper direction. After that it was comparatively easy to keep on the right course, even in the fog. But there was another danger, however, and this was that he might run into another boat. True, there were not many on Lake Carlopa, but there were some, and one of the few motor-boats might be out in spite of the bad weather. "Guess I'll not run at full speed," decided Tom. "I wouldn't like to crash into the RED STREAK. We'd both sink." So he did not run his motor at the limit and sat at the steering-wheel, peering ahead into the fog for the first sight of another craft. He turned to look at Mr. Duncan and was alarmed at the pallor of his face. The man's eyes were closed and he was breathing in a peculiar manner. "Mr. Duncan," cried Tom, "are you worse?" There was no answer. Leaving the helm for a moment, Tom bent over the injured hunter. A glance showed him what had happened. The tourniquet had slipped and the wound was bleeding again. Tom quickly shut off the motor, so that he might give his whole attention to the work of tightening the handkerchief. But something seemed to be wrong. No matter how tightly he twisted the stick the blood did not stop flowing. The lad was frightened. In a short time the man would bleed to death. "I've got to get him to the sanitarium in record time!" exclaimed Tom. "Fog or no fog, I've got to run at full speed! I've got to chance it!" Making the bandage as tight as he could and fastening it in place, the young inventor sprang to the motor and set it in motion. Then he went to the wheel. In a few minutes the ARROW was speeding through the water as it had never done before, except when it had raced the RED STREAK. "If I hit anything--good-by!" thought Tom grimly. His hands were tense on the rim of the steering-wheel and he was ready in an instant to reverse the motor as he sat there straining his eyes to see through the curtain of mist that hung over the lake. Now and then he glanced at the compass, to keep on the right course, and from time to time he looked at Mr. Duncan. The hunter was still unconscious. How Tom accomplished that trip he hardly remembered afterward. Through the fog he shot, expecting any moment to crash into some other boat. He did pass a rowing craft in which sat a lone fisherman. The lad was upon him in an instant, but a turn of the wheel sent the ARROW safely past, and the startled fisherman, whose frail craft was set to rocking violently by the swell from the motor-boat, sent an objecting cry through the fog after Tom. But the youth did not reply. On and on he raced, getting the last atom of power from his motor. He feared Mr. Duncan would be dead when he arrived, but when he saw the dock of the sanitarium looming up out of the mist and shut off the power to slowly run up to it, he placed his hand on the wounded man's heart and found it still beating. "He's alive, anyhow," thought the youth, and then his craft bumped up against the bulkhead and a man in the boathouse on the dock was sent on the run for a physician. Mr. Duncan was quickly taken up to the sanitarium on a stretcher and Tom followed. "You must have made a record run," observed one of the physicians a little while afterward, when Tom was telling of his trip while waiting in the office to hear the report on the hunter's condition. "I guess I did," muttered the young inventor "only I didn't think so at the time. It seemed as if we were only crawling along." CHAPTER XII SUSPICIOUS CHARACTERS Under the skill of the physicians at the lake sanitarium Mr. Duncan's wound was quickly attended to and the bleeding, which Tom had partly checked, was completely stopped. Some medicines having been administered, the hunter regained a little of his strength, and, about an hour after he had been brought to the resort, he was able to see Tom, who, at his request, was admitted to his room. The young inventor found Mr. Duncan propped up in bed, with his injured arm bandaged. "Is the injury a bad one?" asked Tom, entering softly. "Not as bad as I feared," replied the hunter, while a trained nurse placed a chair for the lad at the bedside. "If it had not been for you, though, I'm afraid to think of what might have happened." "I am glad I chanced to be going past when you called," replied the lad. "Well, you can imagine how thankful I am," resumed Mr. Duncan. "I'll thank you more properly at another time. I hope I didn't delay you on your trip." "It's not of much consequence," responded the youth. "I was only going to see that everything was all right at our house," and he explained about his father being at the hotel and mentioned his worriment. "I will go on now unless I can do something more for you," resumed Tom. "I will probably stay at our house all night to-night instead of trying to get back to Sandport." "I'd like to send word to my wife about what has happened," said the hunter. "If it would not be too much out of your way, I'd appreciate it if you could stop at my home in Waterford and tell her, so she will not be alarmed at my absence." "I'll do it," replied our hero. "There is no special need of my hurrying. I have brought your gun and compass up from the boat. They are down in the office." "Will you do me a favor?" asked Mr. Duncan quickly. "Of course." "Then please accept that gun and compass with my compliments. They are both of excellent make, and I don't think I shall use that gun this season. My wife would be superstitious about it. As for the compass, you'll need one in this fog, and I can recommend mine as being accurate." "Oh, I couldn't think of taking them," expostulated Tom, but his eyes sparkled in anticipation, for he had been wishing for a gun such as Mr. Duncan owned. He also needed a compass. "If you don't take them I shall feel very much offended," the hunter said, "and the nurse here will tell you that sick persons ought to be humored. Hadn't they?" and he appealed to the pretty young woman, who was smiling at Tom. "That's perfectly true," she said, showing her white, even teeth. "I think, Mr. Swift, I shall have to order you to take them." "All right," agreed Tom, "only it's too much for what I did." "It isn't half enough," remarked Mr. Duncan solemnly. "Just explain matters to my wife, if you will, and tell her the doctor says I can be out in about a week. But I'm not going hunting or practicing shots again." A little later Tom, with the compass before him to guide him on his course through the fog, was speeding his boat toward Waterford. Now and then he glanced at the fine shotgun which he had so unexpectedly acquired. "This will come in handy this fall!" he exclaimed. "I'll go hunting quail and partridge as well as wild ducks. This compass is just what I need, too." Mrs. Duncan was at first very much alarmed when Tom started to tell her of the accident, but she soon calmed down as the lad went more into details and stated how comparatively out of danger her husband now was. The hunter's wife insisted that Tom remain to dinner, and as he had made up his mind he would have to devote two days instead of one to the trip to his house, he consented. The fog lifted that afternoon, and Tom, rejoicing in the sunlight, which drove away the storm clouds, speeded up the ARROW until she was skimming over the lake like a shaft from a bow. "This is something like," he exclaimed. "I'll soon be at home, find everything all right and telephone to dad. Then I'll sleep in my own room and start back in the morning." When Tom was within a few miles of his own boathouse he heard behind him the "put-put" of a motor craft. Turning, he saw the RED STREAK fairly flying along at some distance from him. "Andy certainly is getting the speed out of her now," he remarked. "He'd beat me if we were racing, but the trouble with his boat and engine is that he can't always depend on it. I guess he doesn't understand how to run it. I wonder if he'll offer to race now?" But the red-haired owner of the auto boat evidently did not intend to offer Tom a race. The RED STREAK went on down the lake, passing the ARROW about half a mile away. Then the young inventor saw that Andy had two other lads in the boat with him. "Sam Snedecker and Pete Bailey, I guess," he murmured. "Well, they're a trio pretty much alike. The farther off they are the better I like it." Tom once more gave his attention to his own boat. He was going at a fair speed, but not the limit, and he counted on reaching home in about a half hour. Suddenly, when he was just congratulating himself on the smooth-running qualities of his motor, which had not missed an explosion, the machinery stopped. "Hello!" exclaimed the young inventor in some alarm. "What's up now?" He quickly shut off the gasoline and went back to the motor. Now there are so many things that may happen to a gasoline engine that it would be difficult to name them all offhand, and Tom, who had not had very much experience, was at a loss to find what had stopped his machinery. He tried the spark and found that by touching the wire to the top of the cylinder, when the proper connection was, made, that he had a hot, "fat one." The compression seemed all right and the supply pipe from the gasoline tank was in perfect order. Still the motor would not go. No explosion resulted when he turned the flywheel over, not even when he primed the cylinder by putting a little gasoline in through the cocks on the cylinder heads. "That's funny," he remarked to himself as he rested from his labors and contemplated the "dead" motor. "First time it has gone back on me." The boat was drifting down the lake, and, at the sound of another motor craft approaching, Tom looked up. He saw the RED STREAK, containing Andy Foger and his cronies. They had observed the young inventor's plight. "Want a tow?" sneered Andy. "What'll you take for your second-hand boat that won't run?" asked Pete Bailey. "Better get out of the way or you might be run down," added Sam Snedecker. Tom was too angry and chagrined to reply, and the RED STREAK swept on. "I'll make her go, if it takes all night!" declared Tom energetically. Once more he tried to start the motor. It coughed and sighed, as if in protest, but would not explode. Then Tom cried: "The spark plug! That's where the trouble is, I'll wager. Why didn't I think of it before?" It was the work of but a minute to unscrew the spark plugs from the tops of the cylinders. He found that both had such accumulations of carbon on them that no spark could ever have reached the mixture of gasoline and air. "I'll put new ones in," he decided, for he carried a few spare plugs for emergencies. Inside of five minutes, with the new plugs in place, the motor was running better than before. "Now for home!" cried Tom, "and if I meet Andy Foger I'll race him this time." But the RED STREAK was not in sight, and, a little later, Tom had run the ARROW into the boathouse, locked the door and was on his way up to the mansion. "I suppose Mrs. Baggert and Garret will be surprised to see me," he remarked. "Maybe they'll think we don't trust them, by coming back in this fashion to see that everything is safe. But then, I suppose, dad is naturally nervous about some of his valuable machinery and inventions. I think I'll find everything all right, though." As Tom went up the main path and swung off to a side one, which was a short cut to the house, he saw in the dusk, for it was now early evening, a movement in the bushes that lined the walk. "Hello, Garret!" exclaimed the lad, taking it for granted it was the engineer employed by Mr. Swift. There was no reply, and Tom, with a sudden suspicion, sprang toward the bushes. The shrubbery was more violently agitated and, as the lad reached the screen of foliage, he saw a man spring up from the ground and take to his heels. "Here! Who are you? What do you want?" yelled Tom. Hardly had he spoken when from behind a big apple tree another man sprung. It was light enough so that the lad could see his face, and a glimpse of it caused him to cry out: "Happy Harry, the tramp!" Before he could call again the two men had disappeared. CHAPTER XIII TOM IN DANGER "Garret! Garret Jackson!" cried Tom as he struggled through the hedge of bushes and ran after the men. "Where are you, Garret? Come on and help me chase these men!" But there came no answer to Tom's hail. He could not hear the sound of the retreating footsteps of the men now and concluded that they had made their escape. Still he would not give up, but dashed on, slipping and stumbling, now and then colliding with a tree. "What can they be doing here?" thought Tom in great anxiety. "Are they after some more of dad's inventions because they didn't get his turbine motor?" "Hello! Who's there? Who are you?" called a voice suddenly. "Oh, Garret! Where have you been?" asked the young inventor, recognizing the tones of his father's keeper. "I've been calling you. Some of those scoundrels are around again!" "Why if it isn't Tom!" ejaculated the engineer. "However in the world did you get here? I thought you were at Sandport." "I'll explain later, Garret. Just now I want to catch those men, if I can." "Which men?" "Happy Harry and another one. I saw them hiding down by the orchard path. Come on, they're right ahead of us." But though they hunted as well as they were able to in the fast-gathering darkness, there was no trace of the intruders. They had to give up, and Tom, after going to the boathouse to see that the ARROW was all right, returned to the house, where he told the engineer and housekeeper what had brought him back and how he had surprised the two men. "Is everything all right, Garret?" he concluded. "Dad is nervous and frightened. I must telephone him at the hotel to-night and let him know, for I promised to come back. I can't, though, until to-morrow." "Everything is all right as far as I know," answered Jackson. "I've kept a careful watch and the burglar alarm has been in working order. Mrs. Baggert and I haven't been disturbed a single night since you went away. It's curious that the men should be here the very night you come back. Maybe they followed you." "I hardly think so, for they didn't know I was coming." "You can't tell what those fellows know," commented the engineer. "But, anyhow, I don't suppose they could have gotten here from Sandport as soon as you did." "Oh, yes they could, in their automobile," declared Tom. "But I don't believe they knew I was coming. They knew we were away, however, and thought it would be a good time to steal something, I guess. Are you sure nothing has been taken?" "Perfectly sure, but you and I will take a look around the shop." They made a hasty examination, but found nothing disturbed and no signs that anyone had tried to break in. "I think I'll telephone dad that everything is all right," decided Tom. "It is as far as his inventions are concerned, and if I tell about seeing the men it will only worry him. I can explain that part better when I see him. But when I go back, Garret, you will have to be on your guard, since those men are in the neighborhood." "I will, Tom. Don't worry." Mr. Swift was soon informed by his son over the telephone that nothing in the shops had been disturbed, and the inventor received the news with evident satisfaction. He requested Tom to come back to the hotel in the morning, in order that the three of them might go for a ride about the lake in the afternoon, and Tom decided to make an early start. The night passed without incident, though Tom, who kept the gun Mr. Duncan had given him in readiness for use, got up several times, thinking he heard suspicious noises. After an early breakfast, and having once more cautioned the engineer and housekeeper to be on their guard, Tom started back in the ARROW. As it would not be much out of his way, the young inventor decided to cut across the lake and stop at the sanitarium, that he might inquire about Mr. Duncan. He thought he could speed the ARROW up sufficiently to make up for any time he might lose, and, with this in mind, he headed out toward the middle of Lake Carlopa. The engine was working splendidly with the new spark plugs, and Tom was wondering if there was any possible method of getting more revolutions out of the motor. He had about come to the conclusion that a new propeller might answer his purpose when he heard the noise of an approaching boat. He looked up quickly and exclaimed: "Andy Foger again, and Pete and Sam are with him. It's a wonder he wouldn't go off on a trip instead of cruising around so near home. Guess he's afraid he'll get stuck." Idly Tom watched the RED STREAK. It was cutting through the water at a fast rate, throwing up curling foam on either side of the sharp bow. "He seems to be heading this way," mused Tom. "Well, I'm not going to race with him to-day." Nearer and nearer came the speedy craft, straight for the ARROW. The young inventor shifted his helm in order to get out of Andy's course, but to his surprise he saw that the red haired lad changed the direction of his own boat. "Guess he wants to see how close he can come to me," thought our hero. "Maybe he wants to show how fast he's going." The RED STREAK was now so close that the features of the occupants could easily be distinguished. There were grins on the faces of Andy and his cronies. "Get out of the way or we'll run you down!" cried the bully. "We've got the right of way." "Don't you try anything like that!" shouted Tom in some alarm, not that he was afraid of Andy, but the RED STREAK was getting dangerously near, and he knew Andy was not a skillful helmsman. The auto-boat was now headed directly at the ARROW and coming on speedily. Andy was bending over the wheel and Tom had begun to turn his, in order to get well out of the way of the insolent, squint-eyed lad and his friends. Suddenly Andy uttered a cry and leaped up. "Look out! Look out!" he yelled. "My steering gear has broken! I can't change my course. Look out!" The RED STREAK was bearing right down on Tom's boat. "Shut off your power! Reverse!" shouted Tom. Andy seemed confused and did not know what to do. Sam Snedecker sprang to the side of his crony, but he knew even less about a motor-boat. It looked as if Tom would be run down, and he was in great danger. But the young inventor did not lose his head. He put his wheel hard over and then, leaping to his motor, sent it full speed forward. Not a moment too soon had he acted, for an instant later the other boat shot past the stern of the ARROW, hitting it a severe but glancing blow. Tom's boat quivered from end to end and he quickly shut off the power. By this time Andy had succeeded in slowing down his craft. The young inventor hastily looked over the side of the ARROW. One of the rudder fastenings had been torn loose. "What do you mean by running me down?" shouted Tom angrily. "I--I didn't do it on purpose," returned Andy contritely. "I was seeing how near I could come to you when my steering gear broke. I hope I haven't damaged you." "My rudder's broken," went on Tom "and I've got to put back to repair it. I ought to have you arrested for this!" "I'll pay for the damage," replied Andy, and he was so frightened that he was white, in spite of his tan and freckles. "That won't do me any good now," retorted Tom. "It will delay me a couple of hours. If you try any tricks like that again, I'll complain to the authorities and you won't be allowed to run a boat on this lake." Andy knew that his rival was in the right and did not reply. The bully and his cronies busied themselves over the broken steering gear, and the young inventor, finding that he could make a shift to get back to his boathouse, turned his craft around and headed for there, in order to repair the damage. CHAPTER XIV THE ARROW DISAPPEARS Paying no heed to the occupants of the bully's boat, who, by reason of their daring, had been responsible for his accident that might have resulted seriously, Tom was soon at his dock. He had it conveniently arranged for hoisting craft out of the water to repair them, and in a few minutes the stern of the ARROW was elevated so that he could get at the rudder. "Well, it's not as bad as I thought," he remarked when, with critical eye, he had noted the damage done. "I can fix it in about an hour if Garret helps me." Going up to the house to get some tools and to tell the engineer that he had returned, Tom looked out over the lake and saw Andy's boat moving slowly off. "They've got her fixed up in some kind of shape," he murmured. "It's a shame for a chump like Andy to have a good boat like that. He'll spoil it in one season. He's getting altogether too reckless. First thing he knows, he and I will have a clash and I'll pay back some of the old scores." Mr. Jackson was much surprised to see the young inventor home again so soon, as was also Mrs. Baggert. Tom explained what had happened, and he and the engineer went to work repairing the damage done by the RED STREAK. As the owner of the ARROW had anticipated, the work did not take long, and, shortly before dinner time, the boat was ready to resume the interrupted trip to Sandport. "Better stay and have lunch," urged Mrs. Baggert. "You can hardly get to the hotel by night, anyhow, and maybe it would be better not to start until to-morrow." "No, I must get back to-night or dad would be worried," declared Tom. "I've been gone longer now than I calculated on. But I will have dinner here, and, if necessary, I can do the last half of the trip after dark. I know the way now and I have a compass and a good searchlight." The ARROW was let down into the water again and tied outside the boathouse ready for a quick start. The dinner Mrs. Baggert provided was so good that Tom lingered over it longer than he meant to, and he asked for a second apple dumpling with hard sauce on. So it was with a very comfortable feeling indeed and with an almost forgiving spirit toward Andy Foger that our hero started down the path to the lake. "Now for a quick run to Sandport," he said aloud. "I hope I shan't see any more of those men and that dad hasn't been bothered by them. His suspicions about the house weren't altogether unfounded, for I did see the tramp and some one else sneaking around, but I don't believe they'll come back now." Tom swung around the path that led to the dock. As he came in sight of the water, he stared as if he could not believe what he saw, or, rather, what he did not see. For there was no craft tied to the string-piece, where he had fastened his motor-boat. He looked again, rubbed his eyes to make sure and then cried out: "The ARROW is gone!" There was no doubt of it. The craft was not at the dock. Breaking into a run, Tom hastened to the boathouse. The ARROW was not in there, and a look across the lake showed only a few rowboats in sight. "That's mighty funny," mused the youth. "I wonder--" He paused suddenly in his thoughts. "Maybe Garret took it out to try and see that it worked all right," he said hopefully. "He knows how to run a boat. Maybe he wanted to see how the rudder behaved and is out in it now. He got through dinner before I did. But I should have thought he'd have said something to me if he was going out in it." This was the one weak point in Tom's theory, and he felt it at once. "I'll see if Garret is in his shop," he went on as he turned back toward the house. The first person he met as he headed for the group of small structures where Mr. Swift's inventive work was carried on was Garret Jackson, the engineer. "I--I thought you were out in my boat!" stammered Tom. "Your boat! Why would I be out in your boat?" and Mr. Jackson removed his pipe from his mouth and stared at the young inventor. "Because it's gone!" "Gone!" repeated the engineer, and then Tom told him. The two hurried down to the dock, but the addition of another pair of eyes was of no assistance in locating the ARROW. The trim little motor craft was nowhere to be seen. "I can't understand it," said Tom helplessly. "I wasn't gone more than an hour at dinner, and yet--" "It doesn't take long to steal a motor-boat," commented the engineer. "But I think I would have heard them start it," went on the lad. "Maybe it drifted off, though I'm sure I tied it securely." "No, there's not much likelihood of that. There's no wind to-day and no currents in the lake. But it could easily have been towed off by some one in a rowboat and then you would not have heard the motor start." "That's so," agreed the youth. "That's probably how they did it. They sneaked up here in a rowboat and towed the ARROW off. I'm sure of it." "And I'll wager I know who did it," exclaimed Mr. Jackson energetically. "Who?" demanded Tom quickly. "Those men who were sneaking around--Happy Harry and his gang. They stole the boat once and they'd do it again. Those men took your boat, Tom." The young inventor shook his head. "No," he answered, "I don't believe they did." "Why not?" "Well, because they wouldn't dare come back here when they knew we're on the lookout for them. It would be too risky." "Oh, those fellows don't care for risk," was the opinion of Mr. Jackson. "Take my word for it, they have your boat. They have been keeping watch, and as soon as they saw the dock unprotected they sneaked up and stole the ARROW." "I don't think so," repeated Mr. Swift's son. "Who do you think took it then?" "Andy Foger!" was the quick response. "I believe he and his cronies did it to annoy me. They have been trying to get even with me-or at least Andy has--for outbidding him on this boat. He's tried several times, but he hasn't succeeded--until now. I'm sure Andy Foger has my boat," and Tom, with a grim tightening of his lips, swung around as though to start in instant pursuit. "Where are you going?" asked Mr. Jackson. "To find Andy and his cronies. When I locate them I'll make them tell me where my boat is." "Hadn't you better send some word to your father? You can hardly get to Sandport now, and he'll be worried about you." "That's so, I will. I'll telephone dad that the boat--no, I'll not do that either, for he'd only worry and maybe get sick. I'll just tell him I've had a little accident, that Andy ran into me and that I can't come back to the hotel for a day or two. Maybe I'll be lucky to find my boat in that time. But dad won't worry then, and, when I see him, I can explain. That's what I'll do," and Tom was soon talking to Mr. Swift by telephone. The inventor was very sorry his son could not come back to rejoin him and Ned, but there was no help for it, and, with as cheerful voice as he could assume, the lad promised to start for Sandport at the earliest opportunity. "Now to find Andy and my boat!" Tom exclaimed as he hung up the telephone receiver. CHAPTER XV A DISMAYING STATEMENT Trouble is sometimes good in a way; it makes a person resourceful. Tom Swift had had his share of annoyances of late, but they had served a purpose. He had learned to think clearly and quickly. Now, when he found his boat stolen, he at once began to map out a plan of action. "What will you do first?" asked Mr. Jackson as he saw his employer's son hesitating. "First I'm going to Andy Foger's house," declared the young inventor. "If he's home I'm going to tell him what I think of him. If he's not, I'm going to find him." "Why don't you take your sailboat and run down to his dock?" suggested the engineer. "It isn't as quick as your motor-boat, but it's better than walking." "So it is," exclaimed the lad. "I will use my catboat. I had forgotten all about it of late. I'm glad you spoke." He was soon sailing down the lake in the direction of the boathouse on the waterfront of Mr. Foger's property. It needed but a glance around the dock to show him that the RED STREAK was not there, but Tom recollected the accident to the steering gear and thought perhaps Andy had taken his boat to some wharf where there was a repair shop and there left it to return home himself. But inquiry of Mrs. Foger, who was as nice a woman as her son was a mean lad, gave Tom the information that his enemy was not at home. "He telephoned to me that his boat was damaged," said Mrs. Foger gently, "and that he had taken it to get fixed. Then, he said, he and some friends were going on a little cruise and might not be back to-night." "Did he say where he was going?" asked our hero, who did not tell Andy's mother why he wanted to see her son. "No, and I'm worried about him. Sometimes I think Andy is too--well, too impetuous, and I'm afraid he will get into trouble." Tom, in spite of his trouble, could hardly forbear smiling. Andy's mother was totally unaware of the mean traits of her son and thought him a very fine chap. Tom was not going to undeceive her. "I'm afraid something will happen to him," she went on. "Do you think there is any danger being out on the lake in a motor-boat, Mr. Swift? I understand you have one." "Yes, I have one," answered Tom. He was going to say he had once had one, but thought better of it. "No, there is very little danger this time of year," he added. "I am very glad to hear you say so," went on Mrs. Foger with a sigh. "I shall feel more at ease when Andy is away now. When he returns home, I shall tell him you called upon him and he will return your visit. I am glad to see that the custom of paying calls has not died out among the present generation. It is a pleasant habit, and I am glad to have my son conform to it. He shall return your kind visit." "Oh, no, it's of no consequence," replied Tom quickly, thinking grimly that his visit was far from a friendly one. "There is no need to tell your son I was here. I will probably see him in a day or two. "Oh, but I shall tell him," insisted Mrs. Foger with a kind smile. "I'm sure he will appreciate your call." There was much doubt concerning this in the mind of the young inventor, but he did not express it and soon took his leave. Up and down the lake for the rest of the day he cruised, looking in vain for a sight of Andy Foger in the RED STREAK, but the racing boat appeared to be well hidden. "If I only could find where they've taken mine," mused Tom. "Hang it all, this is rotten luck!" and for the first time he began to feel discouraged. "Maybe you'd better notify the police," suggested Mr. Jackson when Tom returned to the Swift house that night. "They might help locate it." "I think I can do as well as the police," answered the youth. "If the boat is anywhere it's on the lake, and the police have no craft in which to make a search." "That's so," agreed the engineer. "I wish I could help you, but I don't believe it would be wise for me to leave the house, especially since those men have been about lately." "No, you must stay here," was Tom's opinion. "I'll take another day or two to search. By this time Andy and his gang will return, I'm sure, and I can tackle them." "Suppose they don't?" "Well, then I'll make a tour of the lake in my sailboat and I'll run up to Sandport and tell dad, for he will wonder what's keeping me. I'll know better next time than to leave my boat at the dock without taking out the connection at the spark coil, so no one can start the motor. I should have done that at first, but you always think of those things afterward." The lad began his search again the next morning and cruised about in little bays and gulfs looking for a sight of the RED STREAK or the ARROW, but he saw neither, and a call at Andy's house showed that the red-haired youth had not returned. Mrs. Foger was quite nervous over her son's continued absence, but Mr. Foger thought it was all right. Another day passed without any results and the young inventor was getting so nervous, partly with worrying over the loss of his boat and partly on his father's account, that he did not know what to do. "I can't stand it any longer," he announced to Mrs. Baggert the night of the third day, after a telephone message had been received from Mr. Swift. The inventor wanted to know why his son did not return to the hotel to join him and Ned. "Well, what will you do?" asked the housekeeper. "If I don't find my boat to-morrow, I'll sail to Sandport, bring home dad and Ned and we three will go all over the lake. My boat must be on it somewhere, but Lake Carlopa is so cut up that it could easily be hidden." "It's queer that the Foger boy doesn't come home. That makes it look as if he was guilty." "Oh, I'm sure he took it all right," returned Tom. "All I want is to see him. It certainly is queer that he stays away as long as he does. Sam Snedecker and Pete Bailey are with him, too. But they'll have to return some time." Tom dreamed that night of finding his boat and that it was a wreck. He awoke, glad to find that the latter part was not true, but wishing that some of his night vision might come to pass during the day. He started out right after breakfast, and, as usual, headed for the Foger home. He almost disliked to ask Mrs. Foger if her son had yet returned, for Andy's mother was so polite and so anxious to know whether any danger threatened that Tom hardly knew how to answer her. But he was saved that embarrassment on this occasion, for as he was going up the walk from the lake to the residence he met the gardener and from him learned that Andy had not yet come back. "But his mother had a message from him, I did hear," went on the man. "He's on his way. It seems he had some trouble." "Trouble. What kind of trouble?" asked Tom. "I don't rightly know, sir, but," and here the gardener winked his eye, "Master Andy isn't particular what kind of trouble he gets into." "That's right," agreed our hero, and as he went down again to where he had left his boat he thought: "Nor what kind of trouble he gets other people into. I wish I had hold of him for about five minutes!" The sailboat swung slowly from the dock and heeled over to the gentle breeze. Hardly knowing what to do, Tom headed for the middle of the lake. He was discouraged and tired of making plans only to have them fail. As he looked across the stretch of water he saw a boat coming toward him. He shaded his eyes with his hand to see better, and then, with a pair of marine glasses, took an observation. He uttered an exclamation. "That's the RED STREAK as sure as I'm alive!" he cried. "But what's the matter with her? They're rowing!" The lad headed his boat toward the approaching one. There was no doubt about it. It was Andy Foger's craft, but it was not speeding forward under the power of the motor. Slowly and laborious the occupants were pulling it along, and as it was not meant to be rowed, progress was very slow. "They've had a breakdown," thought Tom. "Serves 'em right! Now wait till I tackle 'em and find out where my boat is. I've a good notion to have Andy Foger arrested!" The sailing craft swiftly approached the motor-boat. Tom could see the three occupants looking at him, apprehensively as well as curiously, he thought. "Guess they didn't think I'd keep after 'em," mused the young inventor, and a little later he was beside the RED STREAK. "Well," cried Tom angrily, "it's about time you came back!" "We've had a breakdown," remarked Andy, and he seemed quite humiliated. He was beginning to find out that he didn't know as much about a motor-boat as he thought he did. "I've been waiting for you," went on Tom. "Waiting for us? What for?" asked Sam Snedecker. "What for? As if you didn't know!" blurted out the owner of the ARROW. "I want my boat, Andy Foger, the one you stole from me and hid! Tell me where it is at once or I'll have you arrested!" "Your boat!" repeated the bully, and there was no mistaking the surprise in his tones. "Yes, my boat! Don't try to bluff me like that." "I'm not trying to bluff you. We've been away, three days and just got back." "Yes, I know you have. You took my boat with you, too." "Are you crazy?" demanded Pete Bailey. "No, but you fellows must have been to think you could take my boat and me not know it," and Tom, filled with wrath, grasped the gunwale of the RED STREAK as if he feared it would suddenly shoot away. "Look here!" burst out Andy, and he spoke sincerely, "we didn't touch your boat. Did we, fellows?" "No!" exclaimed Sam and Pete at once, and they were very much in earnest. "We didn't even know it was stolen, did we?" went on Andy. "No," agreed his chums. Tom looked unconvinced. "We haven't taken your boat and we can prove it," continued the bully. "I know you and I have had quarrels, but I'm telling you the truth, Tom Swift. I never touched your boat." There was no mistaking the sincerity of Andy. He was not a skilful deceiver, and Tom, looking into his squint-eyes, which were opened unusually wide, could not but help believing the fellow. "We haven't seen it since the day we had the collision," added Andy, and his chums confirmed this statement. "We went off on a little cruise," continued the red-haired bully, "and broke down several times. We had bad luck. Just as we were nearing home something went wrong with the engine again. I never saw such a poor motor. But we never took your boat, Tom Swift, and we can prove it." Tom was in despair. He had been so sure that Andy was the thief, that to believe otherwise was difficult. Yet he felt that he must. He looked at the disabled motor of the RED STREAK and viewed it with the interested and expert eye of a machinist, no matter if the owner of it was his enemy. Then suddenly a brilliant idea came into Tom's head. CHAPTER XVI STILL ON THE SEARCH "You seem to have lots of trouble with your boat, Andy," said Tom after a few moments of rather embarrassed silence. "I do," admitted the owner of the RED STREAK. "I've had bad luck ever since I got it, but usually I've been able to fix it by looking in the book. This time I can't find out what the trouble is, nor can any of the fellows. It stopped when we were out in the middle of the lake and we had to row. I'm sick of motor boating." "Suppose I fix it for you?" went on Tom. "If you do, I'll pay you well." "I wouldn't do it for pay--not the kind you mean," continued the young inventor. "What do you mean then?" and Andy's face, that had lighted up, became glum again. "Well, if I fix your boat for you, will you let me run it a little while?" "You mean show me how to run it?" "No, I mean take it myself. Look here, Andy, my boat's been stolen, and I thought you took it to get even with me. You say you didn't--" "And I didn't touch it," interposed the squint-eyed lad quickly. "All right, I believe you. But somebody stole it, and I think I know who." "Who?" asked Sam Snedecker. "Well, you wouldn't know if I told you, but I suspect some men with whom I had trouble before," and Tom referred to Happy Harry and his gang. "I think they have my boat on this lake, and I'd like to get another speedy craft to cruise about it and make a further search. How about it, Andy? If I fix your boat, will you let me take it to look for my boat?" "Sure thing!" agreed the bully quickly, and his voice for once was friendly toward Tom. "Fix the engine so it will run, and you can use the RED STREAK as long as you like." "Oh, I probably wouldn't want it very long. I could cover the lake in about three days, and I hope by that time I could locate the thieves. Is it a bargain?" "Sure," agreed Andy again, and Tom got into the motor-boat to look at the engine. He found that it would require some time to adjust it properly and that it would be necessary to take the motor apart. "I think I'd better tow you to my dock," the young inventor said to Andy. "I can use some tools from the shop then, and by to-night I'll have the RED STREAK in running order." The breeze was in the right quarter, fortunately, and with the motor-boat dragging behind, the ARROW's owner put the nose of the sailing craft toward his home dock. When Tom reached his house he found that Mrs. Baggert had received another telephone message from Mr. Swift, inquiring why his son had not returned to Sandport. "He says if you don't come back by to-morrow," repeated the housekeeper, "that he'll come home by train. He's getting anxious, I believe." "Shouldn't wonder," admitted Tom. "But I want him to stay there. The change will do him good. I'll soon have my boat back, now that I can go about the lake swiftly, and then I'll join him. I'll tell him to be patient." Tom talked with his father at some length, assuring him that everything was well at the Shopton house and promising to soon be with him. Then the young inventor began work on the motor of the RED STREAK. He found it quite a job and had to call on Mr. Jackson to help him, for one of the pistons had to be repaired and a number of adjustments made to the cylinders. But that night the motor was fully mended and placed back in the boat. It was in better shape than it had been since Andy had purchased the craft. "There," remarked Tom, "now I'm ready to hunt for those scoundrels. Will you leave your boat at my dock to-night, Andy?" "Yes, so you can start out early in the morning. I'm not going." "Why not?" demanded Tom quickly. "Well--er--you see I've had enough of motoring for a while," explained Andy. "Besides, I don't believe my mother would like me to go out on a chase after thieves. If we had to shoot I might hit one of them, and--" "Oh, I see," answered Tom. "But I don't like to take your boat alone. Besides, I don't fancy there will be much shooting. I know I'm not going to take a gun. In fact, the one Mr. Duncan gave me is in the boat. All I want is to get the ARROW back." "That's all right," went on Andy. "You take my boat and use it as long as you like. I'll rest up a few days. When you find your boat you can bring mine back." Tom understood. He was just as glad not to have Andy accompany him in the chase, as he and the red-haired lad had never been good friends and probably never would be. So it would cause some embarrassment to be together in a boat all day. Then again Tom knew he could manage the RED STREAK better alone, but, of course, he did not want to mention this when he asked for the loan of the craft. Andy's own suggestion, however, had solved the difficulty. Tom had an idea that Andy felt a little timid about going in pursuit of the thieves, but naturally it would not do to mention this, for the squint-eyed lad considered himself quite a fighter. Early the next morning, alone in the RED STREAK, Tom continued the search for his stolen boat. He started out from his home dock and mapped out a course that would take him well around the lake. "I s'pose I could take a run to Sandport now," mused the youth as he shot in and out of the little bays, keeping watch for the ARROW. "But if I do dad will have to be told all about it, and, he'll worry. Then, too, he might want to accompany me, and I think I can manage this better alone, for the RED STREAK will run faster with only one in. I ought to wind up this search in two days, if my boat is still on the lake. And if those scoundrels have sunk her I'll make them pay for it." On shot the speedy motor-boat, in and out along the winding shoreline, with the lad in the bow at the steering-wheel peering with eager eyes into every nook and corner where his craft might be hidden. CHAPTER XVII "THERE SHE IS!" Anticipating that he would be some time on his search, the young inventor had gone prepared for it. He had a supply of provisions and he had told Mrs. Baggert he might not be back that night. But he did not intend to sleep aboard the RED STREAK, which, being a racing boat, was not large enough to afford much room for passengers. Tom had planned, therefore, to put up at some hotel near the lake in case his hunt should last beyond one night. That it would do this was almost certain, for all that morning he searched unavailingly for the ARROW. A distant mill whistle sounding over Lake Carlopa told him it was noon. "Dinner time," he announced to himself. "Guess I'll run up along shore in the shade and eat." Selecting a place where the trees overhung the water, forming a quiet, cool nook, Tom sent the boat in there, and, tying it to a leaning tree, he began his simple meal. Various thoughts filled his mind, but chief among them was the desire to overtake the thieves who had his boat. That it was Happy Harry's gang he was positive. The lad nearly finished eating and was considering what direction he might best search in next when he heard, running along a road that bordered the lake, an automobile. "Wonder who that is?" mused Tom. "It won't do any harm to take a look, for it might be some of those thieves again. They probably still have their auto or Happy Harry couldn't have gotten from Sandport to Shopton so quickly." The young inventor slipped ashore from the motor-boat, taking care to make no noise. Stealing silently along toward the road, he peered through the underbrush for a sight of the machine, which seemed to be going slowly. But before the youth had a glimpse of it he was made aware who the occupant was by hearing someone exclaim: "Bless my shoe laces if this cantankerous contraption isn't going wrong again! I wonder if it's going to have a fit here in this lonely place. It acts just as if it was. Bless my very existence! Hold on now. Be nice! Be nice!" "Mr. Damon!" exclaimed Tom, and, without knowing it, he had spoken aloud. "Hold on there! Hold on! Who's calling me in this forsaken locality? Bless my shirt studs! But who is it?" and the eccentric man who had sold Tom the motor-cycle looked intently at the bushes. "Here I am, Mr. Damon," answered the lad, stepping out into the road. "I knew it was you as soon as I saw you." "Bless my liver, but that's very true! I suppose you heard my unfortunate automobile puffing along. I declare I don't know what ails it. I got it on the advice of my physician, who said I must get out in the air, but, bless my gears, it's the auto who needs a doctor more than I do! It's continually out of order. Something is going to happen right away. I can tell by the way it's behaving." Mr. Damon had thrown out the clutch, but the engine was still running, though in a jerky, uncertain fashion, which indicated to the trained ear of the young inventor that something was wrong. "Perhaps I can fix it for you as I did before," ventured Tom. "Bless my eyebrows! Perhaps you can," cried the eccentric man hopefully. "You always seem to turn up at the right moment. How do you manage it?" "I don't know. I remember the time you turned up just when I wanted you to help me capture Happy Harry and his gang, and now, by, a strange coincidence, I'm after them again." "You don't say so! My good gracious! Bless my hatband! But that's odd. There!" he ejaculated suddenly as the automobile engine stopped with a choking sigh, "I knew something was going to happen." "Let me take a look," proposed the lad, and he was soon busy peering into the interior of the machine. At first he could not find the trouble, but being a persistent youth, Tom went at it systematically and located it in two places. The clutch was not rightly adjusted and the carburetor float feed needed fixing. The young inventor was not long in making the slight repairs and then he assured Mr. Damon that his automobile would run properly. "Bless my very existence, but what a thing it is to have a head for mechanics!" exclaimed the odd man gratefully. "Now it would bother me to adjust a nutmeg grater if it got out of order, but I dare say you could fix it in no time." "Yes," answered Tom, "I could and so could you, for there's nothing about it to fix. But you can go ahead now if you wish." "Thank you. It just shows how ignorant I am of machinery. I presume something will go wrong in another mile or two. But may I ask what you are doing here? I presume you are in your motor-boat, sailing about for pleasure. And didn't I understand you to say you were after those chaps again? Bless my watch charm, but I was so interested in my machine that I didn't think to ask you." "Yes, I am after those thieves again." "In your motor-boat, I presume. Well, I hope you catch them. What have they stolen now?" "My motor-boat. That's why I'm after them, but I had to borrow a craft to chase them with." "Bless my soul! You don't tell me! How did it happen?" Thereupon the lad related as much of the story as was necessary to put Mr. Damon in possession of the facts and he ended up with: "I don't suppose you have seen anything of the men in my boat, have you?" Mr. Damon seemed strangely excited. He had entered his auto, but as the lad's story progressed the odd gentleman had descended. When Tom finished he exclaimed: "Don't say a word now--not a word. I want to think, and that is a process, which, for me, requires a little time. Don't speak a word now. Bless my left hand, but I think I can help you!" He frowned, stamped first one foot, then the other, looked up at the sky, as if seeking inspiration there, and then down at the ground, as if that would help him to think. Then he clapped his hands smartly together and cried out: "Bless my shoe buttons!" "Have you seen them?" asked Tom eagerly. "Was your boat one with a red arrow painted on the bow?" asked Mr. Damon in turn. "It was!" and the lad was now almost as excited as was his friend. "Then I've seen it and, what's more, this morning! Bless my spark plug, I've seen it!" "Tell me about it!" pleaded the young inventor, and Mr. Damon, calming himself after an effort, resumed: "I was out for an early spin in my auto," he said, "and was traveling along a road that bordered the lake, about fifteen miles above here. I heard a motor-boat puffing along near shore, and, looking through the trees, I saw one containing three men. It had a red arrow on the bow, and that's why I noticed it, because I recalled that your boat was named the DART." "ARROW," corrected Tom. "The ARROW. Oh, yes, I knew it was something like that. Well of course at the time I didn't think that it was your boat, but I associated it in my mind with yours. Do you catch my meaning?" Tom did and said so, wishing Mr. Damon would hurry and get to the point. But the eccentric character had to do things in his own way. "Exactly," he resumed. "Well, I didn't think that was your boat, but, at the same time, I watched the men out of curiosity, and I was struck with their behavior. They seemed to be quarreling, and, from what I could hear, two of them seemed to be remonstrating with the third one for having taken some sort of a piece of wood from the forward compartment. I believe that is the proper term." "Yes!" Tom almost shouted. "But where did they go? What became of them? What was the man doing to the forward compartment--where the gasoline tank is?" "Exactly. I was trying to think what was kept there. That's it, the gasoline tank. Well, the boat kept on up the lake, and I don't know what became of the men. But about that piece of wood. It seems that one of the men removed a block, from under the tank and the others objected. That's why they were quarreling." "That's very strange," exclaimed the lad. "There must be some mystery about my boat that I don't understand. But that will keep until I get the boat itself. Good-by, Mr. Damon. I must be off." "Where to?" "Up the lake after those thieves. I must lose no time," and Tom started to go back to where he had left the RED STREAK. "Hold on!" cried Mr. Damon. "I have something to propose, Tom. Two heads are better than one, even if one doesn't know how to adjust a nutmeg grate. Suppose I come along with you? I can point out the direction the men took, at any rate." "I'll be very glad to have you," answered the lad, who felt that he might need help if there were three of the thieves in his craft. "But what will you do with your automobile?" "I'll just run it down the road a way to where a friend of mine has a stable. I'll leave it in there and join you. Will you let me come? Bless my eye glasses, but I'd like to help catch those scoundrels!" "I'll be very glad to have you. Go ahead, put the auto in the barn and I'll wait for you." "I have a better plan than that," replied Mr. Damon. "Run your boat down to that point," and he indicated one about a mile up the lake. "I'll be there waiting for you, and we'll lose no time. I can cover the ground faster in my auto than you can in your boat." Tom saw the advantage of this and was soon under way, while he heard on shore the puffing of his friend's car. On the trip to the point Tom puzzled over the strange actions of the man in taking one of the braces from under the gasoline tank. "I'll wager he did it before," thought the lad. "It must be the same person who was tampering with the lock of the forward compartment the day I bought the boat. But why--that's the question--why?" He could find no answer to this, puzzle over it as he did, and he gave it up. His whole desire now was to get on the trail of the thieves, and he had strong hopes, after the clew Mr. Damon had given him. The latter was waiting for him on the point, and so nimble was the owner of the auto, in spite of his size, that Tom was not delayed more than the fraction of a minute ere he was under way again, speeding up the lake. "Now keep well in toward shore," advised Mr. Damon. "Those fellows don't want to be observed any more than they can help, and they'll sneak along the bank, They were headed in that direction," and he pointed it out. "Now I hope you won't think I'm in the way. Besides, you know, if you get your boat back, you'll want some one to help steer it, while you run this one. I can do that, at all events, bless my very existence!" "I am very glad of your help," replied the lad, but he did not take his eyes from the water before him, and he was looking for a sight of his boat with the men in it. For three hours or more Tom and Mr. Damon cruised in and out along the shore of the lake, going farther and farther up the body of water. Tom was beginning to think that he would reach Sandport without catching sight of the thieves, and he was wondering if, after all, he might not better stop off and see his father when, above the puffing of the motor in the RED STREAK, he heard the put-put of another boat. "Listen!" cried Mr. Damon, who had heard it at the same time. Tom nodded. "They're just ahead of us," whispered his companion. "If it's them," was the lad's reply. "Speed up and we'll soon see," suggested Mr. Damon, and Tom shoved the timer over. The RED STREAK forged ahead. The sound of the other boat came more plainly now. It was beyond a little point of land. The young inventor steered out to get around it and leaned eagerly forward to catch the first glimpse of the unseen craft. Would it prove to be the ARROW? The put-put became louder now. Mr. Damon was standing up, as if that would, in some mysterious way, help. Then suddenly the other boat came into view. Tom saw it in an instant and knew it for the ARROW. "There she is!" he cried. CHAPTER XVIII THE PURSUIT For an instant after Tom's exultant cry the men in the boat ahead were not aware that they were being pursued. Then, as the explosions from the motor of the RED STREAK sounded over the water, they turned to see who was coming up behind them. There was no mistaking the attitude of the young inventor and his companion. They were leaning eagerly forward, as if they could reach out and grasp the criminals who were fleeing before them. "Put on all the speed you can, Tom!" begged Mr. Damon. "We'll catch the scoundrels now. Speed up the motor! Oh, if I only had my automobile now. Bless my crank shaft, but one can go so much faster on land than on water." The lad did not reply, but thought, with grim humor, that running an automobile over Lake Carlopa would be no small feat. Mr. Damon, however, knew what he was saying. "We'll catch them! We'll nab 'em!" he cried. "Speed her up, Tom." The youth was doing his best with the motor of the RED STREAK. He was not as well acquainted with it as he was with the one in his boat, but he knew, even better than Andy Foger, how to make it do efficient work. It was a foregone conclusion that the RED STREAK, if rightly handled, could beat the ARROW, but there were several points in favor of the thieves. The motor of Tom's boat was in perfect order, and even an amateur, with some knowledge of a boat, could make it do nearly its best. On the other hand, the RED STREAK's machinery needed "nursing." Again, the thieves had a good start, and that counted for much. But Tom counted on two other points. One was that Happy Harry and his gang would probably know little about the fine points of a motor. They had shown this in letting the motor of the boat they had first stolen get out of order, and Tom knew the ins and outs of a gasoline engine to perfection. So the chase was not so hopeless as it seemed. "Do you think you can catch them?" asked Mr. Damon anxiously. "I'm going to make a big try," answered his companion. "They're heading out into the middle of the lake!" cried the eccentric man. "If they do, I can cut them off!" murmured Tom as he put the wheel over. But whoever was steering the ARROW knew better than to send it on a course that would enable the pursuing boat to cut across and shorten the distance to it. After sending the stolen craft far enough out from shore to clear points of land that jutted out into the lake, the leading boat was sent straight ahead. "A stern chase and a long chase!" murmured Mr. Damon. "Bless my rudder, but those fellows are not going to give up easily." "I guess not," murmured Tom. "Will you steer for a while, Mr. Damon?" "Of course I will. If I could get out and pull the boat after me, to make it go faster, I would. But as I always lose my breath when I run, perhaps it's just as well that I stay in here." Tom thought so too, but his attention was soon given to the engine. He adjusted the timer to get if possible a little more speed out of the boat he had borrowed from Andy, and he paid particular attention to the oiling system. "We're going a bit faster!" called Mr. Damon' encouragingly, "or else they're slacking up." Tom peered ahead to see if this was so. It was hard to judge whether he was overhauling the ARROW, as it was a stern chase, and that is always difficult to judge. But a glimpse along shore showed him that they were slipping through the water at a faster speed. "They're up to something!" suddenly exclaimed Mr. Damon a moment later. "I believe they're going to fire on us, Tom. They are pointing something this way." The lad stood up and gazed earnestly at his boat, which seemed to be slipping away from him so fast. One of the occupants was in the stern, aiming some glittering object at those in the RED STREAK. For a moment Tom thought it might be a gun. Then, as the man turned, he saw what it was. "A pair of marine glasses," cried the lad. "They're trying to make out who we are." "I guess they know well enough," rejoined Mr. Damon. "Can't you go any faster, Tom?" "I'm afraid not. But we'll land them, sooner or later. They can't go very far in this direction without running ashore and we'll have them. They're cutting across the lake now." "They may escape us if it gets dark. Probably that's what they're working for. They want to keep ahead of us until nightfall." The young inventor thought of this too, but there was little he could do. The motor was running at top speed. It could be made to go faster, Tom knew, with another ignition system, but that was out of the question now. The man with the glasses had resumed his seat, and the efforts of the trio seemed concentrated on the motor of the ARROW. They, too, wished to go faster. But they had not skill enough to accomplish it, and in about ten minutes, when Tom took another long and careful look to ascertain if possible whether or not he was overhauling the thieves, he was delighted to see that the distance between the boats had lessened. "We're catching them! We're creeping up on them!" cried Mr. Damon. "Keep it up, Tom." There was nothing to do, however, save wait. The boat ahead had shifted her course somewhat and was now turning in toward the shore, for the lake was narrow at this point, and abandoning their evident intention of keeping straight up the lake, the thieves seemed now bent on something else. "I believe they're going to run ashore and get out!" cried Mr. Damon. "If they do, it's just what I want," declared the lad. "I don't care for the men. I want my boat back!" The occupants of the ARROW were looking to the rear again, and one--Happy Harry, Tom thought--shook his fist. "Ah, wait until I get hold of you!" cried Mr. Damon, following his example. "I'll make you wish you'd behaved yourselves, you scoundrels! Bless my overcoat! Catch them if you can, Tom." There was now no doubt of the intention of the fleeing ones. The shore was looming up ahead and straight for it was headed the ARROW. Tom sent Andy's boat in the same direction. He was rapidly overhauling the escaping ones now, for they had slowed down the motor. Three minutes later the foremost boat grated on the beach of the lake. The men leaped out, one of them pausing an instant in the bow. "Here, don't you damage my boat!" cried Tom involuntarily, for the man seemed to be hammering something. The fellow leaped over the side, holding something in his hand. "There they go! Catch them!" yelled Mr. Damon. "Let them go!" answered the lad as the men ran toward the wood. "I want my boat. I'm afraid they've damaged her. One of them tore something from the bow." At the same instant the two companions of the fellow who had paused in the forward part of the ARROW saw that he had something in his hand. With yells of rage they dashed at him, but he, shaking his fist at them, plunged into the bushes and could be heard breaking his way through, while his companions were in pursuit. "They've quarreled among themselves," commented Mr. Damon as high and angry voices could be heard from the woods. "There's some mystery here, Tom." "I don't doubt it, but my first concern is for my boat. I want to see if they have damaged her." Tom had run so closely in shore with the RED STREAK that he had to reverse to avoid damaging the craft against the bank. In a mass of foam he stopped her in time, and then springing ashore, he hurried to his motor-boat. CHAPTER XIX A QUIET CRUISE "Have they done any damage?" asked Mr. Damon as he stood in the bow of the RED STREAK. Tom did not answer for a moment. His trained eye was looking over the engine. "They yanked out the high tension wire instead of stopping the motor with the switch," he answered at length, and then, when he had taken a look into the compartment where the gasoline tank was, he added: "And they've ripped out two more of the braces I put in. Why in the world they did that I can't imagine." "That's evidently what one man had that the others wanted," was Mr. Damon's opinion. "Probably," agreed Tom. "But what could he or they want with wooden braces?" That was a puzzler for Mr. Damon, but he answered: "Perhaps they wanted to damage your boat and those two men were mad because the other got ahead of them." "Taking out the braces wouldn't do much damage. I can easily put others in. All it would do would be to cause the tank to sag down and maybe cause a leak in the pipe. But that would be a queer thing to do. No, I think there's some mystery that I haven't gotten to the bottom of yet. But I'm going to." "Good!" exclaimed Mr. Damon. "I'll help you. But can you run your boat back home?" "Not without fixing it a bit. I must brace up that tank and put in a new high-tension wire from the spark coil. I can do it here, but I'd rather take it to the shop. Besides, with two boats to run back, for I must return Andy's to him, I don't see how I can do it very well unless you operate one, Mr. Damon." "Excuse me, but I can't do it. Bless my slippers, but I would be sure to run on a rock! The best plan will be for you to tow your boat and I'll ride in it and steer. I can do that much, anyhow. You can ride in the RED STREAK." Tom agreed that this would be a good plan. So, after temporarily bracing up the tank in the ARROW, it was shoved out into the lake and attached to Andy's craft. "But aren't you going to make a search for those men?" asked Mr. Damon when Tom was ready to start back. "No, I think it would be useless. They are well away by this time, and I don't fancy chasing them through the woods, especially as night is coming on. Besides, I won't leave these boats." "No doubt you are right, but I would like to see them punished, and I am curious enough to wish to know what object that scoundrel could have in ripping out the blocks that served as a brace for the tank." "I feel the same way myself," commented the lad, "especially since this is the second time that's happened. But we'll have to wait, I guess." A little later the start back was made, Mr. Damon steering the ARROW skillfully enough so that it did not drag on the leading boat, in which Tom rode. His course took him not far from the lake sanitarium, where Mr. Duncan, the hunter, had been brought, and desiring to know how the wounded man was getting on, the youth proposed that they make a halt, explaining to Mr. Damon his reason. "Yes, and while you're about it you'd better telephone your father that you will join him to-morrow," suggested the other. "I know what it is to fret and worry. You can fix your boat up in time to go to Sandport to-morrow, can't you?" "Yes, I'm glad you reminded me of it. I'll telephone from the sanitarium, if they'll let me." Mr. Duncan was not at the institution, Tom was told, his injury having healed sufficiently to allow of his being removed to his home. The youth readily secured permission to use the telephone, and was soon in communication with Mr. Swift. While not telling him all the occurrences that had delayed him, Tom gave his father and Ned Newton enough information to explain his absence. Then the trip to Shopton was resumed in the two boats. "What are you going to do about your automobile?" asked Tom as they neared the point where the machine had been left. "Never mind about that," replied Mr. Damon. "It will do it good to have a night's vacation. I will go on to your house with you, and perhaps I can get a train back to my friend's home, so that I can claim my car." "Won't you stay all night with me?" invited the young inventor. "I'd be glad to have you." Mr. Damon agreed, and, Tom putting more speed on the RED STREAK, was soon opposite his own dock. The ARROW was run in the boathouse and the owner hastily told Mrs. Baggert and the engineer what had occurred. Then he took Andy's boat to Mr. Foger's dock and warmly thanked the red-haired lad for the use of his craft. "Did you find your boat?" asked Andy eagerly. "How did the RED STREAK run?" "I got my boat and yours runs fine," explained Tom. "Good! I'll race you again some day," declared Andy. Mr. Damon enjoyed his visit at our hero's house, for Mrs. Baggert cooked one of her best suppers for him. Tom and the engineer spent the evening repairing the motor-boat, Mr. Damon looking on and exclaiming "Bless my shoe leather" or some other part of his dress or anatomy at every stage of the work. The engineer wanted to know all about the men and their doings, but he could supply no reason for their queer actions regarding the braces under the gasoline tank. In the morning Tom once more prepared for an early start for Sandport, and Mr. Damon, reconsidering his plans, rode as far with him as the place where the automobile had been left. There he took leave of the young inventor, promising to call on Mr. Swift in the near future. "I hope you arrive at the hotel where your father is without any more accidents," remarked the automobilist. "Bless my very existence, but you seem to have the most remarkable series of adventures I ever heard of!" "They are rather odd," admitted Tom. "I don't know that I particularly care for them, either. But, now that I have my boat back, I guess everything will be all right." But Tom could not look ahead. He was destined to have still more exciting times, as presently will be related. Without further incident he arrived at the Lakeview Hotel in Sandport that evening and found his father and Ned very glad to see him. Of course he had to explain everything then, and, with his son safely in his sight, Mr. Swift was not so nervous over the recital as he would have been had Tom not been present. "Now for some nice, quiet trips," remarked the lad when he had finished his account. "I feel as if I had cheated you out of part of your vacation, Ned, staying away as long as I did." "Well, of course we missed you," answered his chum. "But your father and I had a good time." "Yes, and I invented a new attachment for a kitchen boiler," added Mr. Swift. "I had a chance for it when I passed through the hotel kitchen one day, for I wanted to see what kind of a range they used." "I guess there's no stopping you from inventing," replied his son with a laugh and a hopeless shake of the head. "But don't let it happen again when you go away to rest." "Oh, I only just thought of it," said Mr. Swift. "I haven't worked the details out yet." Then he wanted to know about everything at home and he seemed particularly anxious lest the Happy Harry gang do some damage. "I don't believe they will," Tom assured him. "Garret and Mrs. Baggert will be on guard." The next few days were pleasant ones for Tom, his father and Ned Newton. They cruised about the lake, went fishing and camped in the woods. Even Mr. Swift spent one night in the tent and said he liked it very much. For a week the three led an ideal existence, going about as they pleased, Ned taking a number of photographs with his new camera. The ARROW proved herself a fine boat, and Tom and Ned, when Mr. Swift did not accompany them, explored the seldom visited parts of Lake Carlopa. The three had been out one day and were discussing the necessity of returning home soon when Ned spoke. "I shall hate to give up this life and go to slaving in the bank again," he complained. "I wish I was an inventor." "Oh, we inventors don't have such an easy time," said Mr. Swift. "You never know when trouble is coming," and he little imagined how near the truth he was. A little later they were at the hotel dock. When Tom had tied up his boat the three walked up the path to the broad veranda that faced the lake. A boy in uniform met them. "Some one has just called you on the telephone, Mr. Swift," he reported. "Some one wants me? Who is it?" "I think he said his name is Jackson, sir, Garret Jackson, and he says the message is very important." "Tom, something has happened at home!" exclaimed the inventor as he hurried up the steps. "I'm afraid there's bad news." Unable to still the fear in his heart, Tom followed his father. CHAPTER XX NEWS OF A ROBBERY With a hand that trembled so he could scarcely hold the receiver of the telephone, Mr. Swift placed it to his ear. "Hello! Hello!" he cried into the transmitter. "Yes, this is Mr. Swift--yes, Garret. What is it?" Then came a series of clicks, which Tom and Ned listened to. The inventor spoke again. "What's that? The same men? Broke in early this evening? Oh, that's too bad! Of course, I'll come at once." There followed more meaningless clicks, which Tom wished he could translate. His father hung up the receiver, turned to him and exclaimed: "I've been robbed again!" "Robbed again! How, dad?" "By that same rascally gang, Garret thinks. This evening, when he and Mrs. Baggert were in the house the burglar alarm went off. The indicator showed that the electrical shop had been entered, and the engineer hurried there. He saw a light inside and the shadows of persons on the windows. Before he could reach the shop, however, the thieves heard him coming and escaped. Oh, Tom, I should never have come away!" "But did they take anything, dad? Perhaps Garret frightened them away before they had a chance to steal any of your things. Did you ask him that?" "I didn't need to. He said he made a hasty exanimation before he called me up, and he is sure a number of my electrical inventions are missing. Some of them are devices I never have had patented, and if I lose them I will have no recovery." "But just what ones are they? Perhaps we can send out a police alarm to-night." "Garret couldn't tell that," answered Mr. Swift as he paced to and fro in the hotel office. "He doesn't know all the tools and machinery I had in there. But it is certain that some of my most valuable things have been taken." "Never mind. Don't worry, dad," and Tom tried to speak soothingly, for he saw that his father was much excited. "We may be able to get them back. How does Garret know the same men who stole the turbine model broke in the shop this evening?" "He saw them. One was Happy Harry, he is positive. The others he did not know, but he recognized the tramp from our description of him." "Then we must tell the police at once." "Yes, Tom, I wish you would telephone. I'll give you a description of the things. No, I can't do that either, for I don't know what was stolen. I must go home at once to find out. It's a good thing the motor-boat is here. Come, let's start at once. What is my bill here?" and the inventor turned to the hotel proprietor, who had come into the office. "I have suffered a severe loss and must leave at once." "I am very sorry, sir. I'll have it ready for you in a few minutes." "All right. Tom, is your boat ready for a quick trip?" "Yes, dad, but I don't like to make it at night with three in. Of course it might be perfectly safe, but there's a risk, and I don't like to take it." "Don't worry about the risk on my account, Tom. I'm not afraid. I must get home and see of what I have been robbed." The young inventor was in a quandary. He wanted to do as his father requested and to aid him all he could, yet he knew that an all-night trip in the boat down the lake would be dangerous, not only from the chance of running on an unknown shore or into a hidden rock, but because Mr. Swift was not physically fitted to stand the journey. "Come, Tom," exclaimed the aged inventor impatiently, "we must start at once!" "Won't morning do as well, dad?" "No, I must start now. I could not sleep worrying over what has happened. We will start--" At that instant there came a low, rumbling peal of thunder. Mr. Swift started and peered from a window. There came a flash of lightning and another vibrant report from the storm-charged clouds. "There is your bill, Mr. Swift," remarked the proprietor, coming up, "but I would not advise you to start to-night. There is a bad storm in the west, and it will reach here in a few minutes. Storms on Lake Carlopa, especially at this open and exposed end, are not to be despised, I assure you." "But I must get home!" insisted Tom's father. The lace curtain over the window blew almost straight out with a sudden breeze, and a flash of lightning so bright that it reflected even in the room where the incandescent electrics were glowing made several others jump. Then came a mighty crash, and with that the flood-gates of the storm were opened, and the rain came down in torrents. Tom actually breathed a sigh of relief. The problem was solved for him. It would be impossible to start to-night, and he was glad of it, much as he wanted to get on the trail of the thieves. There was a scurrying on the part of the hotel attendants to close the windows, and the guests who had been enjoying the air out on the porches came running in. With a rush, a roar and a muttering, as peal after peal of thunder sounded, the deluge continued. "It's a good thing we didn't start," observed Ned. "I should say so," agreed Tom. "But we'll get off the first thing in the morning, dad." Mr. Swift did not reply, but his nervous pacing to and fro in the hotel office showed how anxious he was to be at home again. There was no help for it, however, and, after a time, finding that to think of reaching his house that night was out of the question, the inventor calmed down somewhat. The storm continued nearly all night, as Tom could bear witness, for he did not sleep well, nor did his father. And when he came down to breakfast in the morning Mr. Swift plainly showed the effects of the bad news. His face was haggard and drawn and his eyes smarted and burned from lack of sleep. "Well, Tom, we must start early," he said nervously. "I am glad it has cleared off. Is the boat all ready?" "Yes, and it's a good thing it was under shelter last night or we'd have to bail it out now, and that would delay us." An hour later they were under way, having telephoned to the engineer at the Swift home that they were coming. Garret Jackson reported over the wire that he had notified the Shopton police of the robbery, but that little could be done until the inventor arrived to give a description of the stolen articles. "And that will do little good, I fear," remarked Tom. "Those fellows have evidently been planning this for some time and will cover their tracks well. I'd like to catch them, not only to recover your things, dad, but to find out the mystery of my boat and why the man took the tank braces." CHAPTER XXI THE BALLOON ON FIRE Down Lake Carlopa speeded the ARROW, those on board watching the banks slip past as the motor-boat rapidly cut through the water. "What time do you think we ought to reach home, Tom?" asked Mr. Swift. "Oh, about four o'clock, if we don't stop for lunch." "Then we'll not stop," decided the inventor. "We'll eat what we have on board. I suppose you have some rations?" and he smiled, the first time since hearing the bad news. "Oh, yes, Ned and I didn't eat everything on our camping trips," and Tom was glad to note that the fine weather which followed the storm was having a good effect on his father. "We certainly had a good time," remarked Ned. "I don't know when I've enjoyed a vacation so." "It's too bad it had to be cut short by this robbery," commented Mr. Swift. "Oh, well, my time would be up in a few days more," went on the young bank employee. "It's just as well to start back now." Tom took the shortest route he knew, keeping in as close to shore as he dared, for now he was as anxious to get home as was his father. On and on speeded the ARROW, yet fast as it was, it seemed slow to Mr. Swift, who, like all nervous persons, always wanted to go wherever he desired to go instantly. Tom headed his boat around a little point of land, and was urging the engine to the top notch of speed, for now he was on a clear course, with no danger from shoals or hidden rocks, when he saw, darting out from shore, a tiny craft which somehow seemed familiar to him. He recognized a peculiar put-putter of the motor. "That's the DOT," he remarked in a low voice to Ned, "Miss Nestor's cousin's boat." "Is she in it now?" asked Ned. "Yes," answered Tom quickly. "You've got good eyesight," remarked Ned dryly, "to tell a girl at that distance. It looks to me like a boy." "No, it's Mary--I mean Miss Nestor," the youth quickly corrected himself, and a close observer would have noticed that he blushed a bit under his coat of tan. Ned laughed, Tom blushed still more, and Mr. Swift, who was in a stern seat, glanced up quickly. "It looks as if that boat wanted to hail us," the inventor remarked. Tom was thinking the same thing, for, though he had changed his course slightly since sighting the DOT, the little craft was put over so as to meet him. Wondering what Miss Nestor could want, but being only too willing to have a chat with her, the young inventor shifted his helm. In a short time the two craft were within hailing distance. "How do you do?" called Miss Nestor, as she slowed down her motor. "Don't you think I'm improving, Mr. Swift?" "What's that? I--er--I beg your pardon, but I didn't catch that," exclaimed the aged inventor quickly, coming out of a sort of day-dream. "I beg your pardon." He thought she had addressed him. Miss Nestor blushed and looked questioningly at Tom. "My father," he explained as he introduced his parent. Ned needed none, having met Miss Nestor before. "Indeed you have improved very much," went on our hero. "You seem able to manage the boat all alone." "Yes, I'm doing pretty well. Dick lets me take the DOT whenever I want to, and I thought I'd come out for a little trial run this morning. I'm getting ready for the races. I suppose you are going to enter them?" and she steered her boat alongside Tom's, who throttled down his powerful motor so as not to pass his friend. "Races? I hadn't heard of them," he replied. "Oh, indeed there are to be fine ones under the auspices of the Lanton Motor Club. Mr. Hastings, of whom you bought that boat, is going to enter his new CARLOPA, and Dick has entered the DOT, in the baby class of course. But I'm going to run it, and that's why I'm practicing." "I hope you win," remarked Tom. "I hadn't heard of the races, but I think I'll enter. I'm glad you told me. Do you want to race now?" and he laughed as he looked into the brown eyes of Mary Nestor. "No, indeed, unless you give me a start of several miles." They kept together for some little time longer, and then, as Tom knew his father would be restless at the slow speed, he told Miss Nestor the need of haste, and, advancing his timer, he soon left the DOT behind. The girl called a laughing good-by and urged him not to forget the races, which were to take place in about two weeks. "I suppose Andy Foger will enter his boat," commented Ned. "Naturally," agreed Tom. "It's a racer, and he'll probably think it can beat anything on the lake. But if he doesn't manage his motor differently, it won't." The distance from Sandport to Shopton had been more than half covered at noon, when the travelers ate a lunch in the boat. Mr. Swift was looking anxiously ahead to catch the first glimpse of his dock and Tom was adjusting the machinery as finely as he dared to get out of it the maximum speed. Ned Newton, who happened to be gazing aloft, wondering at the perfect beauty of the blue sky after the storm, uttered a sudden exclamation. Then he arose and pointed at some object in the air. "Look!" he cried, "A balloon! It must have gone up from some fair." Tom and his father looked upward. High in the air, almost over their heads, was an immense balloon. It was of the hot-air variety, such as performers use in which to make ascensions from fair grounds and circuses, and below it dangled a trapeze, upon which could be observed a man, only he looked more like a doll than a human being. "I shouldn't like to be as high as that," remarked Ned. "I would," answered Tom as he slowed down the engine the better to watch the balloon. "I'd like to go up in an airship, and I intend to some day." "I believe he's going to jump!" suddenly exclaimed Ned after a few minutes. "He's going to do something, anyhow." "Probably come down in a parachute," said Tom. "They generally do that." "No! No!" cried Ned. "He isn't going to jump. Something has happened! The balloon is on fire! He'll be burned to death!" Horror stricken, they all gazed aloft. From the mouth of the balloon there shot a tongue of fire, and it was followed by a cloud of black smoke. The big bag was getting smaller and seemed to be descending, while the man on the trapeze was hanging downward by his hands to get as far as possible away from the terrible heat. CHAPTER XXII THE RESCUE "Jump! Jump!" cried Mr. Swift, leaping to his feet and motioning to the man on the trapeze of the balloon. But it is doubtful whether or not the performer heard him. Certainly he could not see the frantic motions of the inventor. "Why doesn't he jump?" Mr. Swift went on piteously to the two lads. "He'll surely be burned to death if he hangs on there!" "It's too far to leap!" exclaimed Tom. "He's a good way up in the air, though it looks like only a short distance. He would be killed if he dropped now." "He ought to have a parachute," added Ned. "Most of those men do when they go up in a balloon. Why doesn't he come down in that? I wonder how the balloon took fire?" "Maybe he hasn't a parachute," suggested Tom, while he slowed down the motor-boat still more so as to remain very nearly under the blazing balloon. "Yes, he has!" cried Ned. "See, it's hanging to one side of the big bag. He ought to cut loose. He could save himself then. Why doesn't he?" The balloon was slowly twisting about, gradually settling to the surface of the lake, but all the while the flames were becoming fiercer and the black clouds of smoke increased in size. "There, see the parachute!" went on Ned. The twisting of the bag had brought into view the parachute or big, umbrella-shaped bag, which would have enabled the man to safely drop to the surface of the lake. Without it he would have hit the water with such force that he would have been killed as surely as if he had struck the solid earth. But the boys and Mr. Swift also saw something else, and this was that the balloon was on fire on the same side where the parachute was suspended. "Look! Look!" shouted Tom, bringing his boat to a stop. "That's why he can't jump! He can't reach the parachute!" By this time the balloon had settled so low that the actions of the man could be plainly seen. That he was in great agony of fear, as well as in great pain from the terrific heat over his head was evident. He shifted about on the trapeze bar, now hanging by one hand, so as to bring his body a little farther below the blazing end of the bag, then, when one arm tired, he would hang by the other. If the balloon would only come down more quickly it would get to within such a short distance of the water that the man could safely make the drop. But the immense canvas bag was settling so slowly, for it was still very buoyant, that considerable time must elapse before it would be near enough to the water to make it safe for the unfortunate man to let go the trapeze. "Oh, if we could only do something!" cried Tom. "We have to remain here helpless and watch him burn to death. It's awful!" The three in the boat continued to gaze upward. They could see the man making frantic efforts to reach his parachute from time to time. Once, as a little current of air blew the flames and smoke to one side, he thought he had a chance. Up on the trapeze bar he pulled himself and then edged along it in an endeavor to grasp the ring of the parachute. Once he almost had hold of that and also the cord, which ran to a knife blade. This cord, being pulled, would sever the rope that bound it to the balloon, and he would be comparatively safe, so he might drop to the lake. But, just as he was about to grasp the ring and cord the smoke came swirling down on him and the hungry flames seemed to put out their fiery tongues to devour him. He had to slide back and once more hung by his hands. "I thought he was saved then," whispered Tom, and even the whisper sounded loud in the silence. Several men came running along the shore of the lake now. They saw the occupants in the ARROW and cried out: "Why don't you save him? Go to his rescue!" "What can we do?" asked Ned quietly of his two friends, but he did not trouble to answer the men on shore, who probably did not know what they were saying. The motor-boat had drifted from a spot under the unfortunate balloonist, and at a word from his father the young inventor started the engine and steered the craft back directly under the blazing bag again. "If he does drop, perhaps we may be able to pick him up," said Mr. Swift. "I wish we could save him!" A cry from Ned startled Tom and his father, and their eyes, that had momentarily been directed away from the burning bag high in the air, were again turned toward it. "The balloon is falling apart!" exclaimed Ned. "It's all up with him now!" Indeed it did seem so, for pieces of the burning canvas, blazing and smoking, were falling in a shower from the part of the bag already consumed, and the fiery particles were fairly raining down on the man. But he still had his wits about him, though his perilous position was enough to make any one lose his mind, and he swung from side to side on the bar, shifting skillfully with his hands and dodging the larger particles of blazing canvas. When some small sparks fell on his clothing he beat them out with one hand, while with the other he clung to the trapeze. There was scarcely any wind or the man's plight might have been more bearable, for the current of air would have carried the smoke and fire to one side. As it was, most of the smoke and flames went straight up, save now and then, when a draught created by the heat would swirl the black clouds down on the performer, hiding him from sight for a second or two. A breeze would have carried the sparks away instead of letting them fall on him. Nearer and nearer to the surface of the lake sank the balloon. By this time the crowd on the bank had increased and there were excited opinions as to what was best to do. But the trouble was that little could be done. If the man could hold out until he got near enough to the water to let go he might yet be saved, but this would not be for some time at the present rate the balloon was falling. The performer realized this, and, as the fire was getting hotter, he made another desperate attempt to reach the parachute. It was unavailing and he had to drop back, hanging below the slender bar. Suddenly there came a puff of wind, fanning the faces of those in the motor-boat, and they looked intently to observe if there was any current as high as was the balloonist. They saw the big bag sway to one side and the flames broke out more fiercely as they caught the draught. The balloon moved slowly down the lake. "Keep after it, Tom!" urged his father. "We may be able to save him!" The lad increased the speed of his engine and Ned, who was at the wheel, gave it a little twist. Then, with a suddenness that was startling, the blazing canvas airship began to settle swiftly toward the water. It had lost much of its buoyancy. "Now he can jump! He's near enough to the water now!" cried Tom. But a new danger arose. True, the balloon was rapidly approaching the surface of the lake and in a few seconds more would be within such a short distance that a leap would not be fatal. But the burning bag was coming straight down and scarcely would the man be in the water ere the fiery canvas mass would be on top of him. In such an event he would either be burned to death or so held down that drowning must quickly follow. "If there was only wind enough to carry the balloon beyond him after he jumped he could do it safely!" cried Ned. Tom said nothing. He was measuring, with, his eye, the distance the balloon had yet to go and also the distance away the motor-boat was from where it would probably land. "He can do it!" exclaimed the young inventor. "How?" asked his father. For answer Tom caught up a newspaper he had purchased at the hotel that morning. Rolling it quickly into a cone, so that it formed a rough megaphone, he put the smaller end to his mouth, and, pointing the larger opening at the balloonist, he called out: "Drop into the lake! We'll pick you up before the bag falls on you! Jump! Let go now!" The balloonist heard and understood. So did Ned and Mr. Swift. Tom's quick wit had found a way to save the man. Faster and faster the blazing bag settled toward the surface of the water. It was now merely a mushroom-shaped piece of burning and smoking canvas, yet it was supporting the man almost as a parachute would have done. With one look upward to the burning mass above him and a glance downward to the lake, the aeronaut let go his hold. Like a shot he came down, holding his body rigid and straight as a stick, for he knew how to fall into water, did that balloonist. Tom Swift was ready for him. No sooner had the lad called his directions through the megaphone than the young inventor had speeded up his engine to the top notch. "Steer so as to pick him up!" Tom cried to Ned, who was at the wheel. "Pass by him on a curve, and, as soon as I grab him, put the wheel over so as to get out from under the balloon." It was a risky thing to do, but our hero had it all planned out. He made a loop of the boat's painter, and, hurrying to the bow, leaned over as far as he could, holding the rope in readiness. His idea was to have the balloonist grab the strands and be pulled out of danger by the speedy motor-boat, for the blazing canvas would cover such an extent of water that the man could not have swum out of the danger zone in time. Down shot the balloonist and down more slowly settled the collapsed bag, yet not so slowly that there was any time to spare. It needed only a few seconds to drop over the performer, to burn and smother him. Into the water splashed the man, disappearing from sight as when a stick is dropped in, point first. Ned was alert and steered the boat to the side in which the man's face was, for he concluded that the aeronaut would strike out in that direction when he came up. The ARROW was now directly under the blazing balloon and cries of fear from the watchers on shore urged upon Tom and his companions the danger of their position. But they had to take some risk to rescue the man. "There he is!" cried Mr. Swift, who was on the watch, leaning over the side of the boat. Tom and Ned saw him at the same instant. Ned shifted his wheel and the young inventor bent over, holding out the rope for the man to grasp. He saw it and struck out toward the ARROW. But there was no need for him to go far. An instant more and the speeding motor-boat shot past him. He grabbed the rope and Tom, aided by Mr. Swift, began to lift him out of the water. "Quick! To one side, Ned!" yelled Tom, for the heat of the descending mass of burning canvas struck him like a furnace blast. Ned needed no urging. With a swirl of the screw the ARROW shot herself out of the way, carrying the aeronaut with her. A moment later the burning balloon, or what there was left of it, settled down into the lake, hissing angrily as the fire was quenched by the water and completely covering the spot where, but a few seconds before, the man had been swimming. He had been saved in the nick of time. CHAPTER XXIII PLANS FOR AN AIRSHIP "Slow her down, Ned!" cried Tom, for the ARROW was shooting so swiftly through the water that the young inventor found it impossible to pull up the balloonist. Ned hurried back to the motor, and, when the boat's way had been checked, it was an easy matter to pull the dripping and almost exhausted man into the craft. "Are you much hurt?" asked Mr. Swift anxiously, for Tom was too much out of breath with his exertion to ask any questions. For that matter the man was in almost as bad a plight. He was breathing heavily, as one who had run a long race. "I--I guess I'm all right," he panted. "Only burned a little on my hands. That--that was a close call!" The boat swung around and headed for shore, on which was quite a throng of persons. Some of them had cheered when they saw the plucky rescue. "I'm afraid we can't save your balloon," gasped Tom as he looked at the place where the canvas was still floating and burning. "No matter. It wasn't worth much. That's the last time I'll ever go up in a hot-air balloon," said the man with more energy than he had before exhibited. "I'm done with 'em. I've had my lesson. Hereafter an aeroplane or a gas balloon for me. I only did this to oblige the fair committee. I'll not do it again." The man spoke in short, crisp sentences, as though he was in too much of a hurry to waste his words. "Let it sink," he went on. "It's no good. Glad to see the last of it." Almost as he spoke, with a final hiss and a cloud of steam that mingled with the black smoke, the remains of the big bag sunk beneath the surface of the lake. "We must get you ashore at once and to a doctor," said Mr. Swift. "You must be badly burned." "Not much. Only my hands, where some burning pieces of canvas fell on' em. If I had a little oil to put on I'd be all right." "I can fix you up better than that," put in Tom. "I have some Vaseline." "Good! Just the thing. Pass it over," and the man, though he spoke shortly, seemed grateful for the offer. "My name's Sharp," he went on, "John Sharp, of no place in particular, for I travel all over. I'm a professional balloonist. Ha! That's the stuff!" This last was in reference to a bottle of Vaseline, which Tom produced. Mr. Sharp spread some over the backs of his hands and went on: "That's better. Much obliged. I can't begin to thank you for what you did for me--saved my life. I thought it was all up with me--would have been but for you. Mustn't mind my manner--it's a way I have--have to talk quick when you're balloonin'--no time--but I'm grateful all the same. Who might you people be?" Tom told him their names and Mr. Swift asked the aeronaut if he was sure he didn't need the services of a physician. "No doctor for me," answered the balloonist. "I've been in lots of tight places, but this was the worst squeeze. If you'll put me ashore, I guess I can manage now." "But you're all wet," objected Tom. "Where will you go? You need some other clothes," for the man wore a suit of tights and spangles. "Oh, I'm used to this," went on the performer. "I frequently have to fall in the water. I always carry a little money with me so as to get back to the place where I started from. By the way, where am I?" "Opposite Daleton," answered Tom. "Where did you go up from?" "Pratonia. Big fair there. I was one of the features." "Then you're about fifteen miles away," commented Mr. Swift. "You can hardly get back before night. Must you go there?" "Left my clothes there. Also a valuable gas balloon. No more hot-air ones for me. Guess I'd better go back," and the aeronaut continued to speak in his quick, jerky sentences. "We'd be very glad to have you come with us, Mr. Sharp," went on the inventor. "We are not far from Shopton, and if you would like to remain over night I'm sure we would make you comfortable. You can proceed to Pratonia in the morning." "Thanks. Might not be a bad idea," said Mr. Sharp. "I'm obliged to you. I've got to go there to collect my money, though I suppose they won't give it all to me." "Why not?" demanded Ned. "Didn't drop from my parachute. Couldn't. Fire was one reason--couldn't reach the parachute, and if I could have, guess it wouldn't have been safe. Parachute probably was burned too. But I'm done with hot-air balloons though I guess I said that before." The boys were much interested in the somewhat odd performer, and, on his part, he seemed to take quite a notion to Tom, who told him of several things that he had invented. "Well," remarked Mr. Swift after a while, during which the boat had been moving slowly down the lake, "if we are not to go ashore for a doctor for you, Mr. Sharp, suppose we put on more speed and get to my home? I'm anxious about a robbery that occurred there," and he related some facts in the case. "Speed her up!" exclaimed Mr. Sharp. "Wish I could help you catch the scoundrels, but afraid I can't--hands too sore," and he looked at his burns. Then he told how he had made the ascension from the Pratonia fair grounds and how, when he was high in the air, he had discovered that the balloon was on fire. He described his sensations and told how he thought his time had surely come. Sparks from the hot air used to inflate it probably caused the blaze, he said. "I've made a number of trips," he concluded, "hot air and gas bags, but this was the worst ever. It got on my nerves for a few minutes," he added coolly. "I should think it would," agreed Tom as he speeded up the motor and sent the ARROW on her homeward way. The boys and Mr. Swift were much interested in the experiences of the balloonist and asked him many questions, which he answered modestly. Several hours passed and late that afternoon the party approached Shopton. "Here we are!" exclaimed Mr. Swift, relief in his tones. "Now to see of what I have been robbed and to get the police after the scoundrels!" When the boat was nearing the dock Mr. Sharp, who had been silent for some time, suddenly turned to Tom and asked: "Ever invent an airship?" "No," replied the lad, somewhat surprised. "I never did." "I have," went on the balloonist. "That is, I've invented part of it. I'm stuck over some details. Maybe you and I'll finish it some day. How about it?" "Maybe," assented Tom, who was occupied just then in making a good landing. "I am interested in airships, but I never thought I could build one." "Easiest thing in the world," went on Mr. Sharp, as if it was an everyday matter. "You and I will get busy as soon as we clear up this robbery." He talked as though he had been a friend of the family for some time, for he had a genial, taking manner. A little later Mr. Swift was excitedly questioning Garret Jackson concerning the robbery and making an examination of the electrical shop to discover what was missing. "They've taken some parts of my gyroscope!" he exclaimed, "and some valuable tools and papers, as well as some unfinished work that will be difficult to replace." "Much of a loss?" asked Mr. Sharp with a business-like air. "Well, not so large as regards money," answered the inventor, "but they took things I can never replace, and I will miss them very much if I cannot get them back." "Then we'll get them back!" snapped the balloonist, as if that was all there was to it. The police were called up on the telephone and the facts given to them, as well as a description of the stolen things. They promised to do what they could, but, in the light of past experiences, Tom and his father did not think this would be much. There was little more that could be done that evening. Ned Newton went to his home, and, after Mr. Swift had insisted in calling in his physician to look after Mr. Sharp's burns the balloonist was given a room next to Tom's. Then the Swift household settled down. "Well," remarked Tom to his father, as he got ready for bed, "this sure has been an exciting day." "And my loss is a serious one," added the inventor somewhat sadly. "Don't worry, dad," begged his son. "I'll do my best to recover those things for you." Several days passed, but there was no clew to the thieves. That they were the same ones who had stolen the turbine model there was little doubt, but they seemed to have covered their tracks well. The police were at a loss, and, though Tom and Mr. Sharp cruised about the lake, they could get no trace of the men. The balloonist had sent to Pratonia for his clothing and other baggage and was now installed in the Swift home, where he was invited to stay a week or two. One night when he was looking over some papers he had taken from his trunk the balloonist came over to where Tom was making a drawing of a new machine he was planning and said: "Like to see my idea for an airship? Different from some. It's a dirigible balloon with an aeroplane front and rear to steer and balance it in big winds. It would be a winner, only for one thing. Maybe you can help me." "Maybe I can," agreed Tom, who was at once interested. "We ought to be able to do something. Look at our names--Swift and Sharp--quick and penetrating--a good firm to build airships," and he laughed genially. "Shall we do it?" "I'm willing," agreed Tom, and the balloonist spread his plans out on the table, he and the young inventor soon being deep in a discussion of them. CHAPTER XXIV THE MYSTERY SOLVED From then on, for several days, the young inventor and his new friend lived in an atmosphere of airships. They talked them from morning until night, and even Mr. Swift, much as he was exercised over his loss, took part in the discussions. In the meanwhile efforts had not ceased to locate the robbers and recover the stolen goods, but so far without success. One afternoon, about two weeks after the thrilling rescue of John Sharp, Tom said to the balloonist: "Wouldn't you like to come for a ride in the motor-boat? Maybe it will help us to solve the puzzle of the airship. We'll take a trip across and up the opposite shore." "Good idea," commented Mr. Sharp. "Fine day for a sail. Come on. Blow the cobwebs from our brains." Mr. Swift declined an invitation to accompany them, as he said he would stay home and try to straighten out his affairs, which were somewhat muddled by the robbery. Out over the blue waters of Lake Carlopa shot the ARROW. It was making only moderate speed, as Tom was in no hurry, and he knew his engine would last longer if not forced too frequently. They glided along, crossed the lake and were proceeding up the opposite shore when, as they turned out from a little bay and rounded a point of land, Mr. Sharp exclaimed: "Look out, Tom, there's rowboat just ahead!" "Oh, I'll pass well to one side of that," answered the young inventor, looking at the craft. As he did so, noting that there were four men in it, one of the occupants caught a glimpse of the ARROW. No sooner had he done so than he spoke to his companions, and they all turned to stare at Tom. At first the lad could scarcely believe his eyes, but as he looked more intently he uttered a cry. "There they are!" "Who?" inquired Mr. Sharp. "Those men--the thieves! We must catch them!" Tom had spoken loudly, but even though the men in the rowboat did hear what he said, they would have realized without that that they were about to be pursued, for there was no mistaking the attitude of our hero. Two of the thieves were at the oars, and, with one accord, they at once increased their speed. The boat swung about sharply and was headed for the shore, which they seemed to have come from only a short time previous, as the craft was not far out in the lake. "No, you don't!" cried Tom. "I see your game! You want to get to the woods, where you'll have a better chance to escape! If this isn't great luck, coming upon them this way!" It was the work of but a moment to speed up the engine and head the ARROW for the rowboat. The men were pulling frantically, but they had no chance. "Get between them and the shore!" cried Mr. Sharp. "You can head them off then." This was good advice and Tom followed it. The men, among whom the lad could recognize Happy Harry and Anson Morse, were all excited. Two of them stood up, as though to jump overboard, but their companions called to them to stop. "If we only had a gun now, not to shoot at them but to intimidate them," murmured the balloonist, "maybe they'd stop." "Here's one," answered Tom, pointing to the seat locker, where he kept the shotgun Mr. Duncan had given him. In a moment Mr. Sharp had it out. "Surrender!" he cried, pointing the weapon at the men in the small boat. "Don't shoot! Don't fire on us! We'll give up!" cried Happy Harry, and the two with the oars ceased pulling. "Don't take any chances," urged Mr. Sharp in a low voice. "Keep between them and the shore. I'll cover them." Tom was steering from an auxiliary side wheel near the motor, and soon the ARROW had cut off the retreat of the men. They could not land and to row across the lake meant speedy capture. "Well, what do you want of us?" growled Morse. "What right have you got to interfere with us in this fashion?" "The best of right," answered Tom. "You'll find out when you're landed in jail." "You can't arrest us," sneered Happy Harry. "You're not an officer and you haven't any warrant." Tom hadn't thought of that, and his chagrin showed in his face. Happy Harry was quick to see it. "You'd better let us go," he threatened "We can have you arrested for bothering us. You haven't any right to stop us, Tom Swift." "Maybe he hasn't, but I have!" exclaimed John Sharp suddenly. "You! Who are you?" demanded Featherton, alias Simpson, the man who had run the automobile that carried Tom away. "Me. I'm a special deputy sheriff for this county," answered the balloonist simply. "Here's my badge," and, throwing back his coat, he displayed it. "You see I got the appointment in order to have some authority in the crowds that gather to watch me go up," he explained to Tom, who plainly showed his astonishment. "I found it very useful to be able to threaten arrest, but in this case I'll do more than threaten. You are my prisoners," he went on to the men in the boat, and he handled the shotgun as if he knew how to use it. "I'll take you into custody on complaint of Mr. Swift for robbery. Now will you go quietly or are you going to make a fuss?" and Mr. Sharp shut his jaw grimly. "Well, seeing as how you have the drop on us, I guess we'll have to do as you say," admitted Happy Harry, alias Jim Burke. "But you can't prove anything against us. We haven't any of Mr. Swift's property." "Well, you know where it is then," retorted Tom quickly. Under the restraining influence of the gun the men made no resistance. While Mr. Sharp covered them, Tom towed their boat toward shore. Then, while the young inventor held the gun, the balloonist tied the hands and feet of the thieves in a most scientific manner, for what he did not know about ropes and knots was not worth putting into a book. "Now, I guess they'll stay quiet for a while," remarked Mr. Sharp as he surveyed the crestfallen criminals. "I'll remain on guard here, Tom, while you go notify the nearest constable and we'll take them to jail. We bagged the whole lot as neatly as could be desired." "No, you didn't get all of us!" exclaimed Happy Harry, and there was a savage anger in his tones. "Keep quiet!" urged Morse. "No, I'll not keep quiet! It's a shame that we have to take our medicine while that trimmer, Tod Boreck, goes free. He ought to have been with us, and he would be, only he's trying to get away with that sparkler!" "Keep quiet," again urged Morse. Tom was all attention. He had caught the word "sparkler," and he at once associated it with the occasion he had heard the men use it before. He felt that he was on the track of solving the mystery connected with his boat. He looked at the men. They were the same four who had been involved in the former theft--Appleson, Featherton, Morse and Burke. Were there five of them? He recalled the man who had been caught tampering with his boat--the man who had tried to bid on the ARROW at the auction. Where was he? "Boreck didn't get what he was after," resumed Happy Harry, "and I'm going to spoil his game for him. Say, kid," he went on to Tom, "look in the front part of your boat--where the gasoline tank is." Tom felt his heart beating fast. At last he felt that he would solve the puzzle. He opened the forward compartment. To his disappointment it seemed as usual. Morse and the others were making a vain effort to silence Happy Harry. "I don't see anything here," said Tom. "No, because it's hidden in one of those blocks of wood you use for a brace," continued the man. "Which one it is, Boreck didn't know, so he pulled out two or three, only to be fooled each time. You must have shifted them, kid, from the way they were when we had the boat." "I did," answered the young inventor, recollecting how he had taken out some of the braces and inserted new ones, then painted the interior of the compartment. "What is in the braces, anyhow?" "The sparkler--a big diamond--in a hollow place in the wood, kid!" exclaimed Happy Harry, blurting out the words. "I'm not going to let Tod Boreck get away with it while we stay in jail." "Take out all the braces that haven't been moved and have a look," suggested Mr. Sharp. Tom only had to remove two, those farthest back, for all the others had, at one time or another, been changed or taken away by the thief. One of the blocks did not seem to have anything unusual about it, but at the sight of the other Tom could not repress a cry. It was the one that seemed to have had a hole bored in it and then plugged up again. He remembered his father noticing it on the occasion of overhauling the boat. "The sparkler's in there," said the tramp as he saw the brace. "Boreck was after it several times, but he never pulled out the right one." With his knife Tom dug out the putty that covered the round hole in the block. No sooner had he done so than there rolled out into his hand a white object. It was something done up in tissue paper, and as he removed the wrapper, there was a flash in the sunlight and a large, beautiful diamond was revealed. The mystery had been solved. CHAPTER XXV WINNING A RACE "Where did this diamond come from?" demanded Mr. Sharp of the quartette of criminals. "That's for us to know and you to find out," sneered Happy Harry. "I don't care as long as that trimmer Boreck didn't get it. He tried to do us out of our share." "Well, I guess the police will make you tell," went on the balloonist. "Go for the constable, Tom." Leaving his friend to guard the ugly men, who for a time at least were beyond the possibility of doing harm, Tom hurried off through the woods to the nearest village. There he found an officer and the gang was soon lodged in jail. The diamond was turned over to the authorities, who said they would soon locate the owner. Nor were they long in doing it, for it appeared the gem was part of a large jewel robbery that had taken place some time before in a distant city. The Happy Harry gang, as the men came to be called, were implicated in it, though they got only a small share of the plunder. Search was made for Tod Boreck and he was captured about a week after his companions. Seeing that their game was up, the men made a partial confession, telling where Mr. Swift's goods had been secreted, and the inventor's valuable tools, papers and machinery were recovered, no damage having been done to them. It developed that after the diamond theft, and when the gang still had possession of Mr. Hastings' boat, Boreck, sometimes called Murdock by his cronies, unknown to them, had secreted the jewel in one of the braces under the gasoline tank. He expected to get it out secretly, but the capture of the gang and the sale of the boat prevented this. Then he tried to buy the craft to take out the diamond, but Tom overbid him. It was Boreck who found Andy's bunch of keys and used one to open the compartment lock when Tom surprised him. The man did manage to remove some of the blocks, thinking he had the one with the diamond in it, but the fact of Tom changing them, and painting the compartment deceived him. The gang hoped to get some valuables from Mr. Swift's shops, and, to a certain extent, succeeded after hanging around for several nights and following him to Sandport, but Tom eventually proved too much for them. Even stealing the Arrow, which was taken to aid the gang in robbing Mr. Swift, did not succeed, and Boreck's plan then to get possession of the diamond fell through. It was thought that the gang would get long terms in prison, but one night, during a violent storm, they escaped from the local jail and that was the last seen of them for some time. A few days after the capture as Tom was in the boathouse making some minor repairs to the motor he heard a voice calling: "Mistah Swift, am yo' about?" "Hello, Rad, is that you?" he inquired, recognizing the voice of the colored owner of the mule Boomerang. "Yais, sa, dat's me. I got a lettah fo' yo'. I were passin' de post-office an' de clerk asted me to brung it to yo' 'case as how it's marked 'hurry,' an' he said he hadn't seen yo' to-day." "That's right. I've been so busy I haven't had time to go for the mail," and Tom took the letter, giving Eradicate ten cents for his trouble. "Ha, that's good!" exclaimed Tom as he read it. "Hab some one done gone an' left yo' a fortune, Mistah Swift?" asked the negro. "No, but it's almost as good. It's an invitation to take part in the motor-boat races next week. I'd forgotten all about them. I must get ready." "Good land! Dat's all de risin' generation t'inks about now," observed Eradicate, "racin' an' goin' fast. Mah ole mule Boomerang am good enough fo' me," and, shaking his head in a woeful manner, Eradicate went on his way. Tom told Mr. Sharp and his father of the proposed races of the Lanton Motor-boat Club, and, as it was required that two persons be in a craft the size of the ARROW, the young inventor arranged for the balloonist to accompany him. Our hero spent the next few days in tuning up his motor and in getting the ARROW ready for the contest. The races took place on that side of Lake Carlopa near where Mr. Hastings lived, and he was one of the officials of the club. There were several classes, graded according to the horsepower of the motors, and Tom found himself in a class with Andy Foger. "Here's where I beat you," boasted the red-haired youth exultantly, though his manner toward Tom was more temperate than usual. Andy had learned a lesson. "Well, if you can beat me I'll give you credit for it," answered Tom. The first race was for high-powered craft, and in this Mr. Hastings' new CARLOPA won. Then came the trial of the small boats, and Tom was pleased to note that Miss Nestor was on hand in the tiny DOT. "Good luck!" he called to her as he was adjusting his timer, for his turn would come soon. "Remember what I told you about the spark," for he had given her a few lessons. "If I win it will be due to you," she called brightly. She did win, coming in ahead of several confident lads who had better boats. But Miss Nestor handled the DOT to perfection and crossed the line a boat's length ahead of her nearest competitor. "Fine!" cried Tom, and then came the warning gun that told him to get ready for his trial. This was a five-mile race and had several entrants. The affair was a handicap one and Tom had no reason to complain of the rating allowed him. "Crack!" went the starting pistol and away went Tom and one or two others who had the same allowance as did he. A little later the others started and finally the last class, including Andy Foger. The RED STREAK shot ahead and was soon in the lead, for Andy and Sam had learned better how to handle their craft. Tom and Mr. Sharp were worried, but they stuck grimly to the race and when the turning stake was reached Tom's motor had so warmed up and was running so well that he crept up on Andy. A mile from the final mark Andy and Tom were on even terms, and though the red-haired lad tried to shake off his rival he could not. Andy's ignition system failed him several times and he changed from batteries to magneto and back again in the hope of getting a little more speed out of the motor. But it was not to be. A half-mile away from the finish Tom, who had fallen behind a little, crept up on even terms. Then he slowly forged ahead, and, a hundred rods from the stake, the young inventor knew that the race was his. He clinched it a few minutes later, crossing the line amid a burst of cheers. The ARROW had beaten several boats out of her own class and Tom was very proud and happy. "My, but we certainly did scoot along some!" cried Mr. Sharp. "But that's nothing to how we'll go when we build our airship, eh, Tom?" and he looked at the flushed face of the lad. "No, indeed," agreed the young inventor. "But I don't know that we'll take part in any races in it. We'll build it, however, as soon as we can solve that one difficulty." They did solve it, as will be told in the next book of this series, to be called "Tom Swift and His Airship; or, The Stirring Cruise of the RED CLOUD." They had some remarkable adventures in the wonderful craft, and solved the mystery of a great bank robbery. This ended the contests of the motor-boats and the little fleet crowded up to the floats and docks, where the prizes were to be awarded. Tom received a handsome silver cup and Miss Nestor a gold bracelet. "Now I want all the contestants, winners and losers, to come up to my house and have lunch," invited Mr. Hastings. As Tom and the balloonist strolled up the walk to the handsome house Andy Foger passed them. "You wouldn't have beaten me if my spark coil hadn't gone back on me," he said, somewhat sneeringly. "Maybe," admitted Tom, and just then he caught sight of Mary Nestor. "May I take you in to lunch?" he asked. "Yes," she said, "because you helped me to win," and she blushed prettily. And then they all sat down to the tables set out on the lawn, while Tom looked so often at Mary Nestor that Mr. Sharp said afterward it was a wonder he found time to eat. But Tom didn't care. He was happy. 
3005	----	Tom Swift and His Airship by Victor Appleton Contents I An Explosion II Ned Sees Mysterious Men III Whitewashed IV A Trial Trip V Colliding With A Tower VI Getting Off The Roof VII Andy Tries A Trick VIII Winning a Prize IX The Runaway Auto X A Bag of Tools XI The "Red Cloud" Departs XII Some Startling News XIII Mr. Damon in Danger XIV Andy Gives the Clue XV Fired Upon XVI Over a Fiery Furnace XVII "Wanted--For Robbery!" XVIII Back for Vindication XIX Wrecked XX Tom Gets a Clue XXI On the Trail XXII The Sheriff on Board XXIII On To the Camp XXIV The Raid XXV Andy Gets His Reward Chapter 1 An Explosion "Are you all ready, Tom?" "All ready, Mr. Sharp," replied a young man, who was stationed near some complicated apparatus, while the questioner, a dark man, with a nervous manner, leaned over a large tank. "I'm going to turn on the gas now," went on the man. "Look out for yourself. I'm not sure what may happen." "Neither am I, but I'm ready for it. If it does explode it can't do much damage." "Oh, I hope it doesn't explode. We've had so much trouble with the airship, I trust nothing goes wrong now." "Well, turn on the gas, Mr. Sharp," advised Tom Swift. "I'll watch the pressure gauge, and, if it goes too high, I'll warn you, and you can shut it off." The man nodded, and, with a small wrench in his hand, went to one end of the tank. The youth, looking anxiously at him, turned his gaze now and then toward a gauge, somewhat like those on steam boilers, which gauge was attached to an aluminum, cigar-shaped affair, about five feet long. Presently there was a hissing sound in the small frame building where the two were conducting an experiment which meant much to them. The hissing grew louder. "Be ready to jump," advised Mr. Sharp. "I will," answered the lad. "But the pressure is going up very slowly. Maybe you'd better turn on more gas." "I will. Here she goes! Look out now. You can't tell what is going to happen." With a sudden hiss, as the powerful gas, under pressure, passed from the tank, through the pipes, and into the aluminum container, the hand on the gauge swept past figure after figure on the dial. "Shut it off!" cried Tom quickly. "It's coming too fast! Shut her off!" The man sprang to obey the command, and, with nervous fingers, sought to fit the wrench over the nipple of the controlling valve. Then his face seemed to turn white with fear. "I can't move it!" Mr. Sharp yelled. "It's jammed! I can't shut off the gas! Run! Look out! She'll explode!" Tom Swift, the young inventor, whose acquaintance some of you have previously made, gave one look at the gauge, and seeing that the pressure was steadily mounting, endeavored to reach, and open, a stop-cock, that he might relieve the strain. One trial showed him that the valve there had jammed too, and catching up a roll of blue prints the lad made a dash for the door of the shop. He was not a second behind his companion, and hardly had they passed out of the structure before there was a loud explosion which shook the building, and shattered all the windows in it. Pieces of wood, bits of metal, and a cloud of sawdust and shavings flew out of the door after the man and the youth, and this was followed by a cloud of yellowish smoke. "Are you hurt, Tom?" cried Mr. Sharp, as he swung around to look back at the place where the hazardous experiment had been conducted. "Not a bit! How about you?" "I'm all right. But it was touch and go! Good thing you had the gauge on or we'd never have known when to run. Well, we've made another failure of it," and the man spoke somewhat bitterly. "Never mind, Mr. Sharp," went on Tom Swift. "I think it will be the last mistake. I see what the trouble is now; and know how to remedy it. Come on back, and we'll try it again; that is if the tank hasn't blown up." "No, I guess that's all right. It was the aluminum container that went up, and that's so light it didn't do much damage. But we'd better wait until some of those fumes escape. They're not healthy to breathe." The cloud of yellowish smoke was slowly rolling away, and the man and lad were approaching the shop, which, in spite of the explosion that had taken place in it, was still intact, when an aged man, coming from a handsome house not far off, called out, "Tom, is anyone hurt?" "No, dad. We're all right." "What happened?" "Well, we had another explosion. We can't seem to get the right mixture of the gas, but I think we've had the last of our bad luck. We're going to try it again. Up to now the gas has been too strong, the tank too weak, or else our valve control is bad." "Oh dear, Mr. Swift! Do tell them to be careful!" a woman's voice chimed in. "I'm sure something dreadful will happen! This is about the tenth time something has blown up around here, and--" "It's only the ninth, Mrs. Baggert," interrupted Tom, somewhat indignantly. "Well, goodness me! Isn't nine almost as bad as ten? There I was, just putting my bread in the oven," went on Mrs. Baggert, the housekeeper, "and I was so startled that I dropped it, and now the dough is all over the kitchen floor. I never saw such a mess." "I'm sorry," answered the youth, trying not to laugh. "We'll see that it doesn't happen again." "Yes; that's what you always say," rejoined the motherly-looking woman, who looked after the interests of Mr. Swift's home. "Well, we mean it this time," retorted the lad. "We see where our mistake was; don't we. Mr. Sharp?" "I think so," replied the other seriously. "Come on back, and we'll see what damage was done," proposed Tom. "Maybe we can rig up another container, mix some fresh gas, and make the final experiment this afternoon." "Now do be careful," cautioned Mr. Swift, the aged inventor, once more. "I'm afraid you two have set too hard a task for yourselves this time." "No we haven't, dad," answered his son. "You'll see us yet skimming along above the clouds." "Humph! If you go above the clouds I shan't be very likely to see you. But go slowly, now. Don't blow the place up again." Mr. Swift went into the house, followed by Mrs. Baggert, who was loudly bewailing the fate of her bread. Tom and Mr. Sharp started toward the shop where they had been working. It was one of several buildings, built for experimental purposes and patent work by Mr. Swift, near his home. "It didn't do so very much damage," observed Tom, as he peered in through a window, void of all the panes of glass. "We can start right in." "Hold on! Wait! Don't try it now!" exclaimed Mr. Sharp, who talked in short, snappy sentences, which, however, said all he meant. "The fumes of that gas aren't good to breathe. Wait, until they have blown away. It won't be long. It's safer." He began to cough, choking from the pungent odor, and Tom felt an unpleasant tickling sensation in his throat. "Take a walk around," advised Mr. Sharp. "I'll be looking over the blue prints. Let's have 'em." Tom handed over the roll he had grabbed up when he ran from the shop, just before the explosion took place, and, while his companion spread them out on his knee, as he sat on an upturned barrel, the lad walked toward the rear of the large yard. It was enclosed by a high board fence, with a locked gate, but Tom, undoing the fastenings, stepped out into a broad, green meadow at the rear of his father's property. As he did so he saw three boys running toward him. "Hello!" exclaimed our hero. "There are Andy Foger, Sam Snedecker and Pete Bailey. I wonder what they're heading this way for?" On the trio came, increasing their pace as they caught sight of Tom. Andy Foger, a red-haired and squint-eyed lad, a sort of town bully, with a rich and indulgent father, was the first to reach the young inventor. "How--how many are killed?" panted Andy. "Shall we go for doctors?" asked Sam. "Can we see the place?" blurted out Pete, and he had to sit down on the grass, he was so winded. "Killed? Doctors?" repeated Tom, clearly much puzzled. "What are you fellows driving at, anyhow?" "Wasn't there a lot of people killed in the explosion we heard?" demanded Andy, in eager tones. "Not a one," replied Tom. "There was an explosion!" exclaimed Pete. "We heard it, and you can't fool us!" "And we saw the smoke," added Snedecker. "Yes, there was a small explosion," admitted Tom, with a smile, "but no one was killed; or even hurt. We don't have such things happen in our shops." "Nobody killed?" repeated Andy questioningly, and the disappointment was evident in his tones. "Nobody hurt?" added Sam, his crony, and he, too, showed his chagrin. "All our run for nothing," continued Pete, another crony, in disgust. "What happened?" demanded the red-haired lad, as if he had a right to know. "We were walking along the lake road, and we heard an awful racket. If the police come out here, you'll have to tell what it was, Tom Swift." He spoke defiantly. "I've no objection to telling you or the police," replied Tom. "There was an explosion. My friend, Mr. Sharp, the balloonist, and I were conducting an experiment with a new kind of gas, and it was too strong, that's all. An aluminum container blew up, but no particular damage was done. I hope you're satisfied." "Humph! What you making, anyhow?" demanded Andy, and again he spoke as if he had a right to know. "I don't know that it's any of your business," Tom came back at him sharply, "but, as everyone will soon know, I may as well tell you. We're building an airship." "An airship?" exclaimed Sam and Pete in one breath. "An airship?" queried Andy, and there was a sneer in his voice. "Well, I don't think you can do it, Tom Swift! You'll never build an airship; even if you have a balloonist to help you!" "I won't, eh?" and Tom was a trifle nettled at the sneering manner of his rival. "No, you won't! It takes a smarter fellow than you are to build an airship that will sail. I believe I could beat you at it myself." "Oh, you think you could?" asked Tom, and this time he had mastered his emotions. He was not going to let Andy Foger make him angry. "Maybe you can beat me at racing, too?" he went on. "If you think so, bring out your Red Streak and I'll try the Arrow against her. I beat you twice, and I can do it again!" This unexpected taunt disconcerted Andy. It was the truth, for, more than once had Tom, in his motor-boat, proved more than a match for the squint-eyed bully and his cronies. "Go back at him, Andy," advised Sam, in a low voice. "Don't take any of his guff!" "I don't intend to," spluttered Andy. "Maybe you did beat me in the races, because my motor wasn't working right," he conceded, "but you can't do it again. Anyhow, that's got nothing to do with an airship. I'll bet you can't make one!" "I don't bet," replied Tom calmly, "but if you wait a few weeks you'll see me in an airship, and then, if you want to race the Red Streak against that, I'll accommodate you. Or, if you want to enter into a competition to build a dirigible balloon or an aeroplane I'm willing." "Huh! Think you're smart, don't you? Just because you helped save that balloonist from being killed when his balloon caught fire," went on Andy, for want of something better to say. "But you'll never build an airship!" "Of course he won't!" added Sam and Pete, bound to side with their crony, to whom they were indebted for many automobile and motor-boat rides. "Just wait," advised Tom, with a tantalizing smile. "Meanwhile, if you want to try the Red Streak against the Arrow, I'm willing. I have an hour or so to spare." "Aw, keep still!" muttered Andy, much discomfited, for the defeat of his speedy boat, by a much smaller and less powerful one, was a sore point with him. "You just wait, that's all. I'll get even with you!" "Look here!" cried Tom, suddenly. "You always say that whenever I get the best of you. I'm sick of hearing it. I consider that a threat, and I don't like it. If you don't look out, Andy Foger, you'll have trouble with me, and at no very distant date!" Tom, with flashing eyes, and clenched fists, took a step forward. Andy shrank back. "Don't be afraid of him," advised Sam. "We'll stand by you, Andy." "I ain't afraid," muttered the red-haired lad, but it was noticed that he shuffled off. "You just wait, I'll fix you," he added to Tom. The bully was plainly in a rage. The young inventor was about to reply, and, possibly would have made a more substantial rejoinder to Andy than mere words, when the gate opened, and Mr. Sharp stepped out. "The fumes have all cleared away, Tom," he said. "We can go in the shop, now." Without further notice of Andy Foger, Tom Swift turned aside, and followed the aeronaut into the enclosed yard. Chapter 2 Ned Sees Mysterious Men "Who were those fellows?" asked the balloonist, of his companion. "Oh, some chaps who think we'll never build our airship, Mr. Sharp. Andy Foger, and his crowd." "Well, we'll show them whether we will or not," rejoined the man. "I've just thought of one point where we made a mistake. Your father suggested it to me. We need a needle valve in the gas tank. Then we can control the flow of vapor better." "Of course!" cried Tom. "Why didn't I think of that? Let's try it." And the pair hurried into the machine shop, eager to make another test, which they hoped would be more successful. The young inventor, for Tom Swift was entitled to that title, having patented several machines, lived with his father, Barton Swift, on the outskirts of the small town of Shopton, in New York State. Mr. Swift was quite wealthy, having amassed a considerable fortune from several of his patents, as he was also an inventor. Tom's mother had been dead since he was a small child, and Mrs. Baggert kept house for the widower and his son. There was also, in their household, an aged engineer, named Garret Jackson, who attended to the engine and boilers that operated machinery and apparatus in several small shops that surrounded the Swift homestead; for Mr. Swift did most of his work at home. As related in the first volume of this series, entitled "Tom Swift and His Motor-Cycle," the lad had passed through some strenuous adventures. A syndicate of rich men, disappointed in a turbine motor they had acquired from a certain inventor, hired a gang of scoundrels to get possession of a turbine Mr. Swift had invented. Just before they made the attempt, however, Tom became possessed of a motor-cycle. It had belonged to a wealthy man, Mr. Wakefield Damon, of Waterford, near Lake Carlopa, which body of water adjoined the town of Shopton; but Mr. Damon had two accidents with the machine, and sold it to Tom cheap. Tom was riding his motorcycle to Albany, to deliver his father's model of the turbine motor to a lawyer, in order to get a patent on it, when he was attacked by the gang of bad men. These included Ferguson Appleson, Anson Morse, Wilson Featherton, alias Simpson, Jake Burke, alias Happy Harry, who sometimes masqueraded as a tramp, and Tod Boreck, alias Murdock. These men knocked Tom unconscious, stole the valuable model and some papers, and carried the youth away in their automobile. Later the young inventor, following a clue given him by Eradicate Sampson, an aged colored man, who, with his mule, Boomerang, went about the country doing odd jobs, got on the trail of the thieves in a deserted mansion in the woods at the upper end of the lake. Our hero, with the aid of Mr. Damon, and some friends of the latter, raided the old house, but the men escaped. In the second book of the series, called "Tom Swift and His Motor-Boat," there was related the doings of the lad, his father and his chum, Ned Newton, on Lake Carlopa. Tom bought at auction, a motor-boat the thieves had stolen and damaged, and, fixing it up, made a speedy craft of it so speedy, in fact that it beat the racing-boat Red Streak--owned by Andy Foger. But Tom did more than race in his boat. He took his father on a tour for his health, and, during Mr. Swift's absence from home, the gang of bad men stole some of the inventor's machinery. Tom set out after them in his motor boat, but the scoundrels even managed to steal that, hoping to get possession of a peculiar and mysterious treasure in it, and Tom had considerable trouble. Among other things he did when he had his craft, was to aid a Miss Mary Nestor, who, in her cousin's small boat, the Dot, was having trouble with the engine, and you shall hear more of Miss Nestor presently, for she and Tom became quite friendly. Events so shaped themselves that Andy Foger was glad to loan Tom the Red Streak in which to search for the stolen Arrow, and it was in the later craft that Tom, his father and Ned Newton had a most thrilling adventure. They were on their way down the lake when, in the air overhead they saw a balloon on fire, with a man clinging to the trapeze. They managed to save the fellow's life, after a strenuous endeavor. The balloonist, John Sharp, was destined to play quite a part in Tom's life. Mr. Sharp was more than an aeronaut--he was the inventor of an airship--that is, he had plans drawn for the more important parts, but he had struck a "snag of clouds," as he expressed it, and could not make the machine work. His falling in with Mr. Swift and his son seemed providential, for Tom and his father were at once interested in the project for navigating the upper air. They began a study of Mr. Sharp's plans, and the balloonist was now in a fair way to have the difficulty solved. His airship was, primarily an aeroplane, but with a sustaining aluminum container, shaped like a cigar, and filled with a secret gas, made partly of hydrogen, being very light and powerful. It was testing the effect of this gas on a small model of the aluminum container that the explosion, told of in the first chapter, occurred. In fact it was only one of several explosions, but, as Tom said, all the while they were eliminating certain difficulties, until now the airship seemed almost a finished thing. But a few more details remained to be worked out, and Mr. Swift and his son felt that they could master these. So it was with a feeling of no little elation, that the young inventor followed Mr. Sharp into the shop. The balloonist, it may be explained, had been invited to live with the Swifts pending the completion of the airship. "Do you think we'll get on the right track if we put the needle valve in?" asked Tom, as he noted with satisfaction that the damage from the explosion was not great. "I'm sure we will," answered the aeronaut. "Now let's make another model container, and try the gas again." They set to work, with Mr. Swift helping them occasionally, and Garret Jackson, the engineer, lending a hand whenever he was needed. All that afternoon work on the airship progressed. The joint inventors of it wanted to be sure that the sustaining gas bag, or aluminum container, would do its work properly, as this would hold them in the air, and prevent accidents, in case of a stoppage of the engine or propellers. The aeroplane part of the airship was all but finished, and the motor, a powerful machine, of new design, built by Mr. Swift, was ready to be installed. All that afternoon Tom, his father and Mr. Sharp labored in the shop. As it grew dusk there sounded from the house the ringing of a bell. "Supper time," remarked Tom, laying aside a wrench. "I wish Mrs. Baggert would wait about an hour. I'd have this valve nearly done, then." But the housekeeper was evidently not going to wait, for her voice supplemented the bell. "Supper! Sup-per!" she called. "Come now, Mr. Swift; Tom, Mr. Sharp! I can't wait any longer! The meat and potatoes will be spoiled!" "I s'pose we'd better go in," remarked Mr. Sharp, with something of a sigh. "We can finish to-morrow." The shop, where certain parts of the airship were being made, was doubly locked, and Jackson, the engineer, who was also a sort of watchman, was bidden to keep good guard, for the fear of the gang of unscrupulous men, who had escaped from jail during a great storm, was still in the minds of Mr. Swift and his son. "And give an occasional look in the shed, where the aeroplane is," advised Mr. Sharp. "It wouldn't take much to damage that, now." "I'll pay particular attention to it," promised the engineer. "Don't worry, Mr. Sharp." After supper the three gathered around the table on which were spread out sheets of paper, covered with intricate figures and calculations, which Mr. Swift and the balloonist went over with care. Tom was examining some blue prints, which gave a sectional view of the proposed ship, and was making some measurements when the bell rang, and Mrs. Baggert ushered in Ned Newton, the most particular chum of the young inventor. "Hello, Ned!" exclaimed Tom. "I was wondering what had become of you. Haven't seen you in a dog's age." "That's right," admitted Ned. "We've been working late nights at the bank. Getting ready for the regular visit of the examiner, who usually comes along about this time. Well, how are things going; and how is the airship?" for, of course, Ned had heard of that. "Oh, pretty good. Had another explosion to-day, I s'pose you heard." "No, I hadn't." "I thought everyone in town had, for Andy Foger and his two cronies were on hand, and they usually tell all they know." "Oh, Andy Foger! He makes me sick! He was scooting up the street in his auto just as I was coming in, 'honking-honking' his horn to beat the band! You'd think no one ever had an auto but him. He certainly was going fast." "Wait until I get in our airship," predicted Tom. "Then I'll show you what speed is!" "Do you really think it will go fast?" "Of course it will! Fast enough to catch Anson Morse and his crowd of scoundrels if we could get on their track." "Why, I thought they were in jail," replied Ned, in some surprise. "Weren't they arrested after they stole your boat?" "Yes, and put in jail, but they managed to get out, and now they're free to make trouble for us again." "Are you sure they're out of jail?" asked Ned, and Tom noted that his chum's face wore an odd look. "Sure? Of course I am. But why do you ask?" Ned did not answer for a moment. He glanced at Tom's father, and the young inventor understood. Mr. Swift was getting rather along in age, and his long years of brain work had made him nervous. He had a great fear of Morse and his gang, for they had made much trouble for him in the past. Tom appreciated his chum's hesitancy, and guessed that Ned had something to say that he did not want Mr. Swift to hear. "Come on up to my room, Ned. I've got something I want to show you," exclaimed Tom, after a pause. The two lads left the room, Tom glancing apprehensively at his father. But Mr. Swift was so engrossed, together with the aeronaut, in making some calculations regarding wind pressure, that it is doubtful if either of the men were aware that the boys had gone. "Now what is it, Ned?" demanded our hero, when they were safe in his apartment. "Something's up. I can tell by your manner. What is it?" "Maybe it's nothing at all," went on his chum. "If I had known, though that those men had gotten out of jail, I would have paid more attention to what I saw to-night, as I was leaving the bank to come here." "What did you see?" demanded Tom, and his manner, which had been calm, became somewhat excited. "Well, you know I've been helping the paying-teller straighten up his books," went on the young bank employee, "and when I came out to-night, after working for several hours, I was glad enough to hurry away from the 'slave-den,' as I call it. I almost ran up the street, not looking where I was going, when, just as I turned the corner, I bumped into a man." "Nothing suspicious or wonderful in that," commented Tom. "I've often run into people." "Wait," advised Ned. "To save myself from falling I grabbed the man's arm. He did the same to me, and there we stood, for a moment, right under a gas lamp. I looked down at his hands, and I saw that on the little finger of the left one there was tattooed a blue ring, and--" "Happy Harry--the tramp!" exclaimed Tom, now much excited. "That's where he wears a tattooed ring!" "That's what I thought you had told me," resumed Ned, "but I didn't pay any attention to it at the time, as I had no idea that the men were out of jail." "Well, what else happened?" inquired Tom "Not much more. I apologized to the man, and he to me, and we let go of each other." "Are you sure about the ring on his finger?" "Positive. His hand was right in the light. But wait, that isn't all. I hurried on, not thinking much about it, when, I saw another man step out of the dark shadows of Peterby's grocery, just beyond the bank. The man must have mistaken me for some one else, for he spoke to me." "What did he say?" "He asked me a question. It was: 'Is there any chance to-night?'" "What did you tell him?" "Well, I was so surprised that I didn't know what to say, and, before I could get my wits together the man had seen his mistake and hurried on. He joined the man I had collided with, and the two skipped off in the darkness. But not before a third man had come across the street, from in front of the bank, and hurried off with them." "Well?" asked Tom, as his chum paused. "I don't know what to think," resumed Ned. "These men were certainly acting suspiciously, and, now that you tell me the Anson Morse gang is not locked up--well, it makes me feel that these must be some of their crowd." "Of course they are!" declared Tom positively. "That blue ring proves it!" "I wouldn't go so far as to say that," declared Ned. "The man certainly had a blue ring tattooed on his finger--the same finger where you say Happy Harry had his. But what would the men be doing in this neighborhood? They certainly have had a lesson not to meddle with any of your things." "No, I don't believe they are after any of dad's inventions this time. But I tell you what I do believe." "What?" "Those men are planning to rob the Shopton Bank, Ned! And I advise you to notify the officers. That Morse gang is one of the worst in the country," and Tom, much excited, began to pace the room, while Ned, who had not dreamed of such an outcome to his narrative, looked startled. Chapter 3 Whitewashed "Let's tell your father, Tom," suggested Ned, after a pause. "He'll know what to do." "No, I'd rather not," answered the young inventor quickly. "Dad has had trouble enough with these fellows, and I don't want him to worry any more. Besides, he is working on a new invention, and if I tell him about the Happy Harry gang it will take his attention from it." "What invention is he planning now?" "I don't know, but it's something important by the way he keeps at it. He hardly spares time to help Mr. Sharp and me on the airship. No, we'll keep this news from dad." "Then I'll inform the bank officials, as you suggest. If the place was robbed they might blame me; if they found out I had seen the men and failed to tell them." "Well, that gang would only be too glad to have the blame fall on some one else." Tom little knew how near the truth he had come in his chance expression, or how soon he himself was to fall under suspicion in connection with this same band of bad men. "I'll telephone to the president on my way home," decided Ned, "and he can notify the watchman at the bank. But do you really expect to have your airship in shape to fly soon?" "Oh, yes. Now that we have found out our mistake about the gas, the rest will be easy." "I think I'd like to take a trip in one myself, if it didn't go too high," ventured Ned. "I'll remember that, when we have ours completed," promised his chum, "and I'll take you for a spin." The boys talked for perhaps an hour longer, mostly about the airship, for it was the latest mechanical affair in which Tom was interested, and, naturally, foremost in his thoughts. Then Ned went home first, however, telephoning from Tom's house to the bank president about having seen the suspicious men. That official thanked his young employee, and said he would take all necessary precautions. The telephone message was not sent until Mr. Swift was out of hearing, as Tom was determined that his father should have no unnecessary worry about the unscrupulous men. As it was, the news that the gang was out of jail had caused the aged inventor some alarm. It was not without some anxiety that Tom arose the next morning, fearing he would hear news that the bank had been broken into, but no such alarming report circulated in Shopton. In fact having made some inquiries that day of Ned, he learned that no trace had been seen of the mysterious men. The police had been on the lookout, but they had seen nothing of them. "Maybe, after all, they weren't the same ones," suggested Ned, when he paid Tom another visit the next night. "Well, of course it's possible that they weren't," admitted the young inventor. "I'd be very glad to think so. Even if they were, your encounter with them may have scared them off; and that would be a good thing." The next two weeks were busy ones for Tom and Mr. Sharp. Aided occasionally by Mr. Swift, and with Garret Jackson, the engineer, to lend a hand whenever needed, the aeronaut and the owner of the speedy Arrow made considerable progress on their airship. "What is your father so busy over?" asked Mr. Sharp one day, when the new aluminum gas holder was about completed. "I don't know," answered Tom, with a somewhat puzzled air. "He doesn't seem to want to talk about it, even to me. He says it will revolutionize travel along a certain line, but whether he is working on an airship that will rival ours, or a new automobile, I can't make out. He'll tell us in good time. But when do you think we will finish the--well, I don't know what to call it--I mean our aeroplane?" "Oh, in about a month now. That's so, though, we haven't a name for it. But we'll christen it after it's completed. Now if you'll tighten up some of those bolts I'll get the gas generating apparatus in readiness for another test." A short description of the new airship may not be out of place now. It was built after plans Mr. Sharp had shown to Tom and his father soon after the thrilling rescue of the aeronaut from the blazing balloon over Lake Carlopa. The general idea of the airship was that of the familiar aeroplane, but in addition to the sustaining surfaces of the planes, there was an aluminum, cigar-shaped tank, holding a new and very powerful gas, which would serve to keep the ship afloat even when not in motion. Two sets of planes, one above the other, were used, bringing the airship into the biplane class. There were also two large propellers, one in front and the other at the rear. These were carefully made, of different layers of wood "built up" as they are called, to make them stronger. They were eight feet in diameter, and driven by a twenty-cylinder, air-cooled, motor, whirled around at the rate of fifteen hundred revolutions a minute. When operated at full speed the airship was capable of making eighty miles an hour, against a moderate wind. But if the use of the peculiarly-shaped planes and the gas container, with the secret but powerful vapor in it were something new in airship construction, so was the car in which the operator and travelers were to live during a voyage. It was a complete living room, with the engine and other apparatus, including that for generating the gas, in a separate compartment, and the whole was the combined work of Tom and Mr. Sharp. There were accommodations for five persons, with sleeping berths, a small galley or kitchen, where food could be prepared, and several easy chairs where the travelers could rest in comfort while skimming along high in the air, as fast as the fastest railroad train. There was room enough to carry stores for a voyage of a week or more, and enough gas could be manufactured aboard the ship, in addition to that taken in the aluminum case before starting, to sustain the ship for two weeks. The engine, steering apparatus, and the gas machine were within easy reach and control of the pilot, who was to be stationed in a small room in the "bow" of the ship. An electric stove served to warm the interior of the car, and also provided means for cooking the food. The airship could be launched either by starting it along the ground, on rubber-tired wheels, as is done in the case of the ordinary aeroplane, or it could be lifted by the gas, just as is done with a balloon. In short there were many novel features about the ship. The gas test, which took place a few days later, showed that the young inventor and Mr. Sharp had made no mistake this time. No explosion followed, the needle valve controlling the powerful vapor perfectly. "Well," remarked Mr. Sharp, one afternoon, "I think we shall put the ship together next week, Tom, and have a trial flight. We shall need a few more aluminum bolts, though, and if you don't mind you might jump on your motor-cycle and run to Mansburg for them. Merton's machine shop ought to have some." Mansburg was the nearest large city to Shopton, and Merton was a machinist who frequently did work for Mr. Swift. "All right," agreed Tom. "I'll start now. How many will you need?" "Oh, a couple of dozen." Tom started off, wheeling his cycle from the shed where it was kept. As he passed the building where the big frame of the airship, with the planes and aluminum bag had been assembled, he looked in. "We'll soon be flying through the clouds on your back," he remarked, speaking to the apparatus as if it could understand. "I guess we'll smash some records, too, if that engine works as well when it's installed as it does now." Tom had purchased the bolts, and was on his way back with them, when, as he passed through one of the outlying streets of Mansburg, something went wrong with his motor-cycle. He got off to adjust it, finding that it was only a trifling matter, which he soon put right, when he was aware of a man standing, observing him. Without looking up at the man's face, the young inventor was unpleasantly aware of a sharp scrutiny. He could hardly explain it, but it seemed as if the man had evil intentions toward him, and it was not altogether unexpected on Tom's part, when, looking up, he saw staring at him, Anson Morse, the leader of the gang of men who had caused such trouble for him. "Oh, it's you; is it?" asked Morse, an ugly scowl on his face. "I thought I recognized you." He moved nearer to Tom, who straightened up, and stood leaning on his wheel. "Yes; it's me," admitted the lad. "I've been looking for you," went on Morse. "I'm not done with you yet, nor your father, either." "Aren't you?" asked Tom, trying to speak coolly, though his heart was beating rather faster than usual. Morse had spoken in a threatening manner, and, as the youth looked up and down the street he saw that it was deserted; nor were there any houses near. "No, I'm not," snapped the man. "You got me and my friends in a lot of trouble, and--" "You didn't get half what you deserved!" burst out Tom, indignant at the thought of what he and his father had suffered at the hands of the gang. "You ought to be in jail now, instead of out; and if I could see a policeman, I'd have you arrested for threatening me! That's against the law!" "Huh! I s'pose you think you know lots about the law," sneered Morse. "Well, I tell you one thing, if you make any further trouble for me, I'll--" "I'll make all the trouble I can!" cried Tom, and he boldly faced the angry man. "I'm not afraid of you!" "You'd better be!" and Morse spoke in a vindictive manner. "We'll get even with you yet, Tom Swift. In fact I've a good notion now to give you a good thrashing for what you've done." Before Tom was aware of the man's intention, Morse had stepped quickly into the street, where the lad stood beside his wheel, and grasped him by the shoulder. He gave Tom a vicious shake. "Take your hand off me!" cried Tom, who was hampered by having to hold up his heavy machine. "I will when I've given you what I owe you!" retorted the scoundrel. "I'm going to have satisfaction now if I never--" At that instant there came from down the street the sound of a rattling and bumping. Tom looked up quickly, and saw approaching a rattletrap of a wagon, drawn by a big, loose-jointed mule, the large ears of which were flapping to and fro. The animal was advancing rapidly, in response to blows and words from the colored driver, and, before the uplifted fist of Morse could fall on Tom's head, the outfit was opposite them. "Hold on dar, mistah! Hold on!" cried the colored man in the wagon. "What are yo' doin' to mah friend, Mistah Swift?" "None of your business!" snapped Morse. "You drive on and let me manage this affair if you don't want trouble! Who are you anyhow?" "Why doan't yo' know me?" asked the colored man, at whom Tom looked gratefully. "I's Eradicate Sampson, an' dish yeah am mah mule, Boomerang. Whoa, Boomerang! I reckon yo' an' I better take a hand in dish yeah argument." "Not unless you want trouble!" cried Morse. "I doan't mind trouble, not in de leastest," answered Eradicate cheerfully. "Me an' Boomerang has had lots of trouble. We's used to it. No, Mistah Man, you'd better let go ob mah friend, Mistah Swift, if yo' doan't want trouble yo' ownse'f." "Drive on, and mind your business!" cried Morse, now unreasoningly angry. "This is my affair," and he gave Tom a shake. Our hero was not going to submit tamely, however. He had one hand free, and raised to strike Morse, but the latter, letting go his hold on the lad's shoulder, grasped with that hand, the fist which the young inventor had raised. Then, with his other hand, the scoundrel was about to hit Tom. "Break away four him, Mistah Swift!" directed the colored man. "Yo' can fight him, den!" "I guess he'll have his own troubles doing that," sneered Morse. "Not ef I help him," answered Eradicate promptly, as he climbed back off the seat, into the body of his ramshackle vehicle. "Don't you interfere with me!" stormed the man. An instant later Tom broke away from his tormentor, and laid his motor-cycle on the ground, in order to have both hands free for the attack he felt would follow. "Ha! You think you're going to escape, do you?" cried Morse, as he started toward Tom, his eyes blazing. "I'll show you who you're dealing with!" "Yes, an' I reckon I'll show yo' suffin yo' ain't lookin' fer!" suddenly cried Eradicate. With a quick motion he picked up a pail of white-wash from his wagon, and, with sure aim, emptied the contents of the bucket over Morse, who was rushing at Tom. The white fluid spread over the man from head to foot, enveloping him as in a white shroud, and his advance was instantly checked. "Dar! I reckon dat's de quickest white-washin' job I done in some time!" chuckled Eradicate, as he grasped his long handled brush, and clambered down from the wagon, ready for a renewal of the hostilities on the part of Morse. "De bestest white-washin' job I done in some time; yais, sah!" Chapter 4 A Trial Trip There was no fear that Anson Morse would return to the attack. Blinded by the whitewash which ran in his eyes, but which, being slaked, did not burn him, he grouped blindly about, pawing the air with his outstretched hands. "You wait! You wait! You'll suffer for this!" he spluttered, as soon as he could free his mouth from the trickling fluid. Then, wiping it from his face, with his hands, as best he could, he shook his fist at Tom. "I'll pay you and that black rascal back!" he cried. "You wait!" "I hopes yo' pays me soon," answered Eradicate, "'case as how dat whitewash was wuff twenty-five cents, an' I got t' go git mo' to finish doin' a chicken coop I'm wurkin' on. Whoa, dar Boomerang. Dere ain't goin' t' be no mo' trouble I reckon." Morse did not reply. He had been most unexpectedly repulsed, and, with the white-wash dripping from his garments, he turned and fairly ran toward a strip of woodland that bordered the highway at that place. Tom approached the colored man, and held out a welcoming hand. "I don't know what I'd done if you hadn't come along, Rad," the lad said. "That fellow was desperate, and this was a lonely spot to be attacked. Your whitewash came in mighty handy." "Yais, sah, Mistah Swift, dat's what it done. I knowed I could use it on him, ef he got too obstreperous, an' dat's what he done. But I were goin' to fight him wif mah bresh, ef he'd made any more trouble." "Oh, I fancy we have seen the last of him for some time," said Tom, but he looked worried. It was evident that the Happy Harry gang was still hanging around the neighborhood of Shopton, and the fact that Morse was bold enough to attack our hero in broad day-light argued that he felt little fear of the authorities. "Ef yo' wants t' catch him, Mistah Swift," went on Eradicate, "yo' kin trace him by de whitewash what drops offen him," and he pointed to a trail of white drops which showed the path Morse had taken. "No, the less I have to do with him the better I like it," answered the lad. "But I can't thank you enough, Rad. You have helped me out of difficulties several times now. You put me on the trail of the men in the deserted mansion, you warned me of the log Andy Foger placed across the road, and now you have saved me from Morse." "Oh, dat's nuffin, Mistah Swift. Yo' has suah done lots fo' me. 'Sides, mah mule, Boomerang, am entitled t' de most credit dish yeah time. I were comin' down de street, on mah way t' a whitewashin' job, when I seen yo', an yo' lickitysplit machine," for so Eradicate designated a motorcycle. "I knowed it were yo', an' I didn't laik de looks ob dat man. Den I see he had hold ob you, an' I t'ought he were a burglar. So I yelled t' Boomerang t' hurry up. Now, mostly, when I wants Boomerang t' hurry, he goes slow, an' when I wants him t' go slow, he runs away. But dish yeah time he knowed he were comin' t' help yo', an' he certainly did leg it, dat's what he done! He run laik he were goin' home t' a stable full ob oats, an' dat's how I got heah so quick. Den I t'ought ob de whitewash, an' I jest used it." "It was the most effective weapon you could have used," said Tom, gratefully. "Deed no, Mistah Swift, I didn't hab no weapon," spoke Eradicate earnestly. "I ain't eben got mah razor, 'case I left it home. I didn't hab no weapon at all. I jest used de whitewash, laik yo' seen me." "That's what I meant," answered Tom, trying not to laugh at the simple negro's misunderstanding. "I'm ever so much obliged to you, just the same, and here's a half dollar to pay for the whitewash." "Oh, no, Mistah Swift, I doan't want t' take it. I kin make mo' whitewash." But Tom insisted, and picked up his machine to sprint for home. Eradicate started to tell over again, how he urged Boomerang on, but the lad had no time to listen. "But I didn't hab no weapon, Mistah Swift, no indeedy, none at all, not even mah razor," repeated Eradicate. "Only de pail ob whitewash. That is, lessen yo' calls mah bresh a weapon." "Well, it's a sort of one," admitted Tom, with a laugh as he started his machine. "Come around next week, Rad. We have some dirt eradicating for you to attend to." "Deed an' I will, Mistah Swift. Eradicate is mah name, an' I eradicates de dirt. But dat man such did look odd, wif dat pail ob whitewash all ober him. He suah did look most extraordinarily. Gidap, Boomerang. See if yo' can break some mo' speed records now." But the mule appeared to be satisfied with what he had done, and, as he rode off, Tom looked back to see the colored man laboring to get the sleepy, animal started. The lad did not tell his father of the adventure with Morse, but he related the occurrence to Mr. Sharp. "I'd like to get hold of that scoundrel, and the others in the gang!" exclaimed the balloonist. "I'd take him up in the airship, and drop him down into the lake. He's a bad man. So are the others. Wonder what they want around here?" "That's what's puzzling me," admitted Tom. "I hope dad doesn't hear about them or he will be sure to worry; and maybe it will interfere with his new ideas." "He hasn't told you yet what he's engaged in inventing; has he?" "No, and I don't like to ask him. He said the other day, though, that it would rival our airship, but in a different way." "I wonder what he meant?" "It's hard to say. But I don't believe he can invent anything that will go ahead of our craft, even if he is my own father, and the best one in the world," said Tom, half jokingly. "Well, I got the bolts, now let's get to work. I'm anxious for a trial trip." "No more than I am. I want to see if my ideas will work out in practice as well as they do in theory." For a week or more Tom and Mr. Sharp labored on the airship, with Mr. Jackson to help them. The motor, with its twenty cylinders, was installed, and the big aluminum holder fastened to the frame of the planes. The rudders, one to control the elevation and depression of the craft, and the other to direct its flight to the right or left, were attached, and the steering wheel, as well as the levers regulating the motor were put in place. "About all that remains to be done now," said the aeronaut one night, as he and Tom stood in the big shed, looking at their creation, "is to fit up the car, and paint the machine." "Can't we make a trial trip before we fit up the car ready for a long flight?" asked the young inventor. "Yes, but I wouldn't like to go out without painting the ship. Some parts of it might rust if we get into the moist, cloudy, upper regions." "Then let's paint it to-morrow, and, as soon as it's dry we'll have a test." "All right. I'll mix the paint the first thing in the morning." It took two days to paint the machine, for much care had to be used, and, when it was finished Tom looked admiringly up at it. "We ought to name it," suggested Mr. Sharp, as he removed a bit of paint from the end of the nose. "To be sure," agreed Tom. "And hold on, I have the very name for it--Red Cloud!" "Red Cloud?" questioned Mr. Sharp. "Yes!" exclaimed Tom, with enthusiasm. "It's painted red--at least the big, aluminum gas container is--and we hope to go above the clouds in it. Why not Red Cloud?" "That's what it shall be!" conceded the balloonist. "If I had a bottle of malted milk, or something like that, I'd christen it." "We ought to have a young lady to do that part," suggested Tom. "They always have young ladies to name ships." "Were you thinking of any particular young lady?" asked Mr. Sharp softly, and Tom blushed; as he replied: "Oh no--of course that is--well--Oh, hang it, christen it yourself, and let me alone," he finished. "Well, in the absence of Miss Mary Nestor, who, I think, would be the best one for the ceremony," said Mr. Sharp, with a twinkle in his eyes, "I christen thee Red Cloud," and with that he sprinkled some water on the pointed nose of the red aluminum gas bag, for the aeronaut and Tom were on a high staging, on a level with the upper part of the airship. "Red Cloud it is!" cried Tom, enthusiastically. "Now, to-morrow we'll see what it can do." The day of the test proved all that could be desired in the way of weather. The fact that an airship was being constructed in the Swift shops had been kept as secret as possible, but of course many in Shopton knew of it, for Andy Foger had spread the tidings. "I hope we won't have a crowd around to see us go up," said Tom, as he and Mr. Sharp went to the shed to get the Red Cloud in readiness for the trial. "I shouldn't want to have them laugh at us, if we fail to rise." "Don't worry. We'll go up all right," declared Mr. Sharp. "The only thing I'm at all worried about is our speed. I want to go fast, but we may not be able to until our motor gets 'tuned-up'. But we'll rise." The gas machine had already been started, and the vapor was hissing inside the big aluminum holder. It was decided to try to go up under the lifting power of the gas, and not use the aeroplane feature for sending aloft the ship, as there was hardly room, around the shops, for a good start. When enough of the vapor had been generated to make the airship buoyant, the big doors of the shed were opened, and Tom and Mr. Sharp, with the aid of Garret and Mr. Swift, shoved it slowly out. "There it is! There she comes!" cried several voices outside the high fence that surrounded the Swift property. "They're going up!" "Andy Foger is in that bunch," remarked Tom with a grim smile. "I hope we don't fail." "We won't. Don't worry," advised Mr. Sharp. The shouts outside the fence increased. It was evident that quite a crowd of boys, as well as men, had collected, though it was early in the morning. Somehow, news of the test had leaked out. The ship continued to get lighter and lighter as more gas was generated. It was held down by ropes, fastened to stakes driven in the ground. Mr. Sharp entered the big car that was suspended, below the aeroplanes. "Come on, Tom," the aeronaut called. "We're almost ready to fly. Will you come too, Mr. Swift, and Garret?" "Some other time," promised the aged inventor. "It looks as though you were going to succeed, though. I'll wait, however, until after the test before I venture." "How about you, Garret?" asked Tom of the engineer, as the young inventor climbed into the car. "The ground is good enough for me," was the answer, with a smile. "Broken bones don't mend so easily when you're past sixty-five." "But we're not going to fall!" declared Mr. Sharp. "All ready, Tom. Cast off! Here we go!" The restraining ropes were quickly cast aside. Slowly at first, and then with a rush, as though feeling more and more sure of herself, the Red Cloud arose in the air like a gigantic bird of scarlet plumage. Up and up it went, higher than the house, higher than the big shed where it had been built, higher, higher, higher! "There she is!" cried the shrill voices of the boys in the meadow, and the hoarser tones of the men mingled with them. "Hurrah!" called Tom softly to the balloonist. "We're off!" and he waved his hand to his father and Garret. "I told you so," spoke Mr. Sharp confidently. "I'm going to start the propellers in a minute." "Oh, dear me, goodness sakes alive!" cried Mrs. Baggert, the housekeeper, running from the house and wringing her hands. "I'm sure they'll fall!" She looked up apprehensively, but Tom only waved his hand to her, and threw her a kiss. Clearly he had no fears, though it was the first time he had ever been in an airship. Mr. Sharp was as calm and collected as an ocean captain making his hundredth trip across the Atlantic. "Throw on the main switch," he called to our hero, and Tom, moving to amidships in the car, did as directed. Mr. Sharp pulled several levers, adjusted some valves, and then, with a rattle and bang, the huge, twenty-cylinder motor started. Waiting a moment to see that it was running smoothly, Mr. Sharp grasped the steering wheel. Then, with a quick motion he threw the two propellers in gear. They began to whirl around rapidly. "Here we go!" cried Tom, and, sure enough, the Red Cloud, now five hundred feet in the air, shot forward, like a boat on the water, only with such a smooth, gliding, easy motion, that it seemed like being borne along on a cloud. "She works! She works!" cried the balloonist. "Now to try our elevation rudder," and, as the Red Cloud gathered speed, he tilted the small planes which sent the craft up or down, according to the manner in which they were tilted. The next instant the airship was pointed at an angle toward the clouds, and shooting along at swift speed, while, from below came the admiring cheers of the crowd of boys and men. Chapter 5 Colliding With A Tower "She seems to work," observed Tom, looking from where he was stationed near some electrical switches, toward Mr. Sharp. "Of course she does," replied the aeronaut. "I knew it would, but I wasn't so sure that it would scoot along in this fashion. We're making pretty good speed, but we'll do better when the motor gets to running smoother." "How high up are we?" asked Tom. The balloonist glanced at several gauges near the steering wheel. "A little short of three thousand feet," he answered. "Do you want to go higher?" "No--no--I--I guess not," was Tom's answer. He halted over the works, and his breath came in gasps. "Don't get alarmed," called Mr. Sharp quickly, noting that his companion was in distress because of the high altitude. "That always happens to persons who go into a thin air for the first time; just as if you had climbed a high mountain. Breathe as slowly as you can, and swallow frequently. That will relieve the pressure on your ear drums. I'll send the ship lower." Tom did as he was advised, and the aeronaut, deflecting the rudder, sent the Red Cloud on a downward slant. Tom at once felt relieved, both because the action of swallowing equalized the pressure on the ear drums, and because the airship was soon in a more dense atmosphere, more like that of the earth. "How are you now?" asked the man of the lad, as the craft was again on an even keel. "All right," replied Tom, briskly. "I didn't know what ailed me at first." "I was troubled the same way when I first went up in a balloon," commented Mr. Sharp. "We'll run along for a few miles, at an elevation of about five hundred feet, and then we'll go to within a hundred feet of the earth, and see how the Red Cloud behaves under different conditions. Take a look below and see what you think of it." Tom looked low, through one of several plate glass windows in the floor of the car. He gave a gasp of astonishment. "Why! We're right over Lake Carlopa!" he gasped. "Of course," admitted Mr. Sharp with a laugh. "And I'm glad to say that we're better off than when I was last in the air over this same body of water," and he could scarcely repress a shudder as he thought of his perilous position in the blazing balloon, as related in detail in "Tom Swift and His Motor-Boat." The lake was spread out below the navigators of the air like some mirror of silver in a setting of green fields. Tom could see a winding river, that flowed into the lake, and he noted towns, villages, and even distant cities, interspersed here and there with broad farms or patches of woodlands, like a bird's-eye view of a stretch of country. "This is great!" he exclaimed, with enthusiasm. "I wouldn't miss this for the world!" "Oh, you haven't begun to see things yet," replied Mr. Sharp. "Wait until we take a long trip, which we'll do soon, as this ship is behaving much better than I dared to hope. Well, we're five hundred feet high now, and I'll run along at that elevation for a while." Objects on the earth became more distinct now, and Tom could observe excited throngs running along and pointing upward. They were several miles from Shopton, and the machinery was running smoothly; the motor, with its many cylinders purring like a big cat. "We could have lunch, if we'd brought along anything to eat," observed Tom. "Yes," assented his companion. "But I think we'll go back now. Your father may be anxious. Just come here, Tom, and I'll show you how to steer. I'm going down a short distance." He depressed the rudder, and the Red Cloud shot earthward. Then, as the airship was turned about, the young inventor was allowed to try his hand at managing it. He said, afterward, that it was like guiding a fleecy cloud. "Point her straight for Shopton," counseled Mr. Sharp, when he had explained the various wheels and levers to the lad. "Straight she is," answered the lad, imitating a sailor's reply. "Oh, but this is great! It beats even my motor-boat!" "It goes considerably faster, at all events," remarked Mr. Sharp. "Keep her steady now, while I take a look at the engine. I want to be sure it doesn't run hot." He went aft, where all the machinery in the car was located, and Tom was left alone in the small pilot house. He felt a thrill as he looked down at the earth beneath him, and saw the crowds of wonder-gazers pointing at the great, red airship flying high over their heads. Rapidly the open fields slipped along, giving place to a large city. "Rocksmond," murmured Tom, as he noted it. "We're about fifty miles from home, but we'll soon be back in the shed at this rate. We certainly are slipping along. A hundred and fifty feet elevation," he went on, as he looked at a gauge. "I wonder if I'll ever get used to going several miles up in the air?" He shifted the rudder a bit, to go to the left. The Red Cloud obeyed promptly, but, the next instant something snapped. Tom, with a startled air, looked around. He could see nothing wrong, but a moment later, the airship dipped suddenly toward the earth. Then it seemed to increase its forward speed, and, a few seconds later, was rushing straight at a tall, ornamental tower that rose from one corner of a large building. "Mr. Sharp! Mr. Sharp!" cried the lad. "Something has happened! We're heading for that tower!" "Steer to one side!" called the balloonist. Tom tried, but found that the helm had become jammed. The horizontal rudder would not work, and the craft was rushing nearer and nearer, every minute, to the pile of brick and mortar. "We're going to have a collision!" shouted Tom. "Better shut off the power!" The two propellers were whirling around so swiftly that they looked like blurs of light. Mr. Sharp came rushing forward, and Tom relinquished the steering wheel to him. In vain did the aeronaut try to change the course of the airship. Then, with a shout to Tom to disconnect the electric switch, the man turned off the power from the motor. But it was too late. Straight at the tower rushed the Red Cloud, and, a moment later had hit it a glancing blow, smashing the forward propeller, and breaking off both blades. The nose of the aluminum gas container knocked off a few bricks from the tower, and then, the ship losing way, slowly settled to the flat roof of the building. "We're smashed!" cried Tom, with something like despair in his voice. "That's nothing! Don't worry! It might be worse! Not the first time I've had an accident. It's only one propeller, and I can easily make another," said Mr. Sharp, in his quick, jerky sentences. He had allowed some of the gas to escape from the container, making the ship less buoyant, so that it remained on the roof. The aeronaut and Tom looked from the windows of the car, to note if any further damage had been done. They were just congratulating themselves that the rudder marked the extent, when, from a scuttle in the roof there came a procession of young ladies, led by an elderly matron, wearing spectacles and having a very determined, bristling air. "Well, I must say, this is a very unceremonious proceeding!" exclaimed the spectacled woman. "Pray, gentlemen, to what are we indebted for this honor?" "It was an accident, ma'am," replied Mr. Sharp, removing his hat, and bowing. "A mere accident!" "Humph! I suppose it was an accident that the tower of this building was damaged, if not absolutely loosened at the foundations. You will have to pay the damages!" Then turning, and seeing about two score of young ladies behind her on the flat roof, each young lady eying with astonishment, not unmixed with admiration, the airship, the elderly one added: "Pupils! To your rooms at once! How dare you leave without permission?" "Oh, Miss Perkman!" exclaimed a voice, at the sound of which Tom started. "Mayn't we see the airship? It will be useful in our natural philosophy study!" Tom looked at the young lady who had spoken. "Mary Nestor!" he exclaimed. "Tom--I mean Mr. Swift!" she rejoined. "How in the world did you get here?" "I was going to ask you the same question," retorted the lad. "We flew here." "Young ladies! Silence!" cried Miss Perkman, who was evidently the principal of the school. "The idea of any one of you daring to speak to these--these persons--without my permission, and without an introduction! I shall make them pay heavily for damaging my seminary," she added, as she strode toward Mr. Sharp, who, by this time, was out of the car. "To your rooms at once!" Miss Perkman ordered again, but not a young lady moved. The airship was too much of an attraction for them. Chapter 6 Getting Off The Roof For a few minutes Mr. Sharp was so engrossed with looking underneath the craft, to ascertain in what condition the various planes and braces were, that he paid little attention to the old maid school principal, after his first greeting. But Miss Perkman was not a person to be ignored. "I want pay for the damage to the tower of my school," she went on. "I could also demand damages for trespassing on my roof, but I will refrain in this case. Young ladies, will you go to your rooms?" she demanded. "Oh, please, let us stay," pleaded Mary Nestor, beside whom Tom now stood. "Perhaps Professor Swift will lecture on clouds and air currents and--and such things as that," the girl went on slyly, smiling at the somewhat embarrassed lad. "Ahem! If there is a professor present, perhaps it might be a good idea to absorb some knowledge," admitted the old maid, and, unconsciously, she smoothed her hair, and settled her gold spectacles straighter on her nose. "Professor, I will delay collecting damages on behalf of the Rocksmond Young Ladies Seminary, while you deliver a lecture on air currents," she went on, addressing herself to Mr. Sharp. "Oh, I'm not a professor," he said quickly. "I'm a professional balloonist, parachute jumper. Give exhibitions at county fairs. Leap for life, and all that sort of thing. I guess you mean my friend. He's smart enough for a professor. Invented a lot of things. How much is the damage?" "No professor?" cried Miss Perkman indignantly. "Why I understood from Miss Nestor that she called some one professor." "I was referring to my friend, Mr. Swift," said Mary. "His father's a professor, anyhow, isn't he, Tom? I mean Mr. Swift!" "I believe he has a degree, but he never uses it," was the lad's answer. "Ha! Then I have been deceived! There is no professor present!" and the old maid drew herself up as though desirous of punishing some one. "Young ladies, for the last time, I order you to your rooms," and, with a dramatic gesture she pointed to the scuttle through which the procession had come. "Say something, Tom--I mean Mr. Swift," appealed Mary Nestor, in a whisper, to our hero. "Can't you give some sort of a lecture? The girls are just crazy to hear about the airship, and this ogress won't let us. Say something!" "I--I don't know what to say," stammered Tom. But he was saved the necessity for just then several women, evidently other teachers, came out on the roof. "Oh, an airship!" exclaimed one. "How lovely! We thought it was an earthquake, and we were afraid to come up for quite a while. But an airship! I've always wanted to see one, and now I have an opportunity. It will be just the thing for my physical geography and natural history class. Young ladies, attention, and I will explain certain things to you." "Miss Delafield, do you understand enough about an airship to lecture on one?" asked Miss Perkman smartly. "Enough so that my class may benefit," answered the other teacher, who was quite pretty. "Ahem! That is sufficient, and a different matter," conceded Miss Perkman. "Young ladies, give your undivided attention to Miss Delafield, and I trust you will profit by what she tells you. Meanwhile I wish to have some conversation concerning damages with the persons who so unceremoniously visited us. It is a shame that the pupils of the Rocksmond Seminary should be disturbed at their studies. Sir, I wish to talk with you," and the principal pointed a long, straight finger at Mr. Sharp. "Young ladies, attention!" called Miss Delafield. "You will observe the large red body at the top, that is--" "I'd rather have you explain it," whispered Mary Nestor to Tom. "Come on, slip around to the other side. May I bring a few of my friends with me? I can't bear Miss Delafield. She thinks she knows everything. She won't see us if we slip around." "I shall be delighted," replied Tom, "only I fear I may have to help Mr. Sharp out of this trouble." "Don't worry about me, Tom," said the balloonist, who overheard him. "Let me do the explaining. I'm an old hand at it. Been in trouble before. Many a time I've had to pay damages for coming down in a farmer's corn field. I'll attend to the lady principal, and you can explain things to the young ones," and, with a wink, the jolly aeronaut stepped over to where Miss Perkman, in spite of her prejudice against the airship, was observing it curiously. Glad to have the chance to talk to his young lady friend, Tom slipped to the opposite side of the car with her and a few of her intimate friends, to whom she slyly beckoned. There Tom told how the Red Cloud came to be built, and of his first trip in the air, while, on the opposite side, Miss Delafield lectured to the entire school on aeronautics, as she thought she knew them. Mr. Sharp evidently did know how to "explain" matters to the irate principal, for, in a short while, she was smiling. By this time Tom had about finished his little lecture, and Miss Delafield was at the end of hers. The entire school of girls was grouped about the Red Cloud, curiously examining it, but Mary Nestor and her friends probably learned more than any of the others. Tom was informed that his friend had been attending the school in Rocksmond since the fall term opened. "I little thought, when I found we were going to smash into that tower, that you were below there, studying," said the lad to the girl. "I'm afraid I wasn't doing much studying," she confessed. "I had just a glimpse of the airship through the window, and I was wondering who was in it, when the crash came. Miss Perkman, who is nothing if not brave, at once started for the roof, and we girls all followed her. However, are you going to get the ship down?" "I'm afraid it is going to be quite a job," admitted Tom ruefully. "Something went wrong with the machinery, or this never would have happened. As soon as Mr. Sharp has settled with your principal we'll see what we can do." "I guess he's settled now," observed Miss Nestor. "Here he comes." The aeronaut and Miss Perkman were approaching together, and the old maid did not seem half so angry as she had been. "You see," Mr. Sharp was saying, "it will be a good advertisement for your school. Think of having the distinction of having harbored the powerful airship, Red Cloud, on your roof." "I never thought of it in that light," admitted the principal. "Perhaps you are right. I shall put it in my next catalog." "And, as for damages to the tower, we will pay you fifty dollars," continued the balloonist. "Do you agree to that, Mr. Swift?" he asked Tom. "I think your father, the professor, would call that fair." "Oh, as long as this airship is partly the property of a professor, perhaps I should only take thirty-five dollars," put in Miss Perkman. "I am a great admirer of professors--I mean in a strictly educational sense," she went on, as she detected a tendency on the part of some of the young ladies to giggle. "No, fifty dollars will be about right," went on Mr. Sharp, pulling out a well-filled wallet. "I will pay you now." "And if you will wait I will give you a receipt," continued the principal, evidently as much appeased at the mention of a professor's title, as she was by the money. "We're getting off cheap," the balloonist whispered to Tom, as the head of the seminary started down the scuttle to the class-rooms below. "Maybe it's easier getting out of that difficulty than it will be to get off the roof," replied the lad. "Don't worry. Leave that to me," the aeronaut said. It took considerable to ruffle Mr. Sharp. With a receipt in full for the damage to the tower, and expressing the hope that, some day, in the near future, Professor Swift would do the seminary the honor of lecturing to the young lady pupils, Miss Perkman bade Mr. Sharp and Tom good-by. "Young ladies, to your rooms!" she commanded. "You have learned enough of airships, and there may be some danger getting this one off the roof." "Wouldn't you like to stay and take a ride in it?" Tom asked Miss Nestor. "Indeed I would," she answered daringly. "It's better than a motor-boat. May I?" "Some day, when we get more expert in managing it," he replied, as he shook hands with her. "Now for some hard work," went on the young inventor to Mr. Sharp, when the roof was cleared of the last of the teachers and pupils. But the windows that gave a view of the airship in its odd position on the roof were soon filled with eager faces, while in the streets below was a great crowd, offering all manner of suggestions. "Oh, it's not going to be such a task," said Mr. Sharp. "First we will repair the rudder and the machinery, and then we'll generate some more gas, rise and fly home." "But the broken propeller?" objected Tom. "We can fly with one, as well as we can with two, but not so swiftly. Don't worry. We'll come out all right," and the balloonist assumed a confident air. It was not so difficult a problem as Tom had imagined to put the machinery in order, a simple break having impaired the working of the rudder. Then the smashed propeller was unshipped and the gas machine started. With all the pupils watching from windows, and a crowd observing from the streets and surrounding country, for word of the happening had spread, Tom and his friend prepared to ascend. They arose as well as they had done at the shed at home, and in a little while, were floating over the school. Tom fancied he could observe a certain hand waving to him, as he peered from the window of the car--a hand in one of the school casements, but where there were so many pretty girls doing the same thing, I hardly see how Tom could pick out any certain one, though he had extraordinarily good eyesight. However, the airship was now afloat and, starting the motor, Mr. Sharp found that even with one propeller the Red Cloud did fairly well, making good speed. "Now for home, to repair everything, and we'll be ready for a longer trip," the aeronaut said to the young inventor, as they turned around, and headed off before the wind, while hundreds below them cheered. "We ought to carry spare propellers if we're going to smash into school towers," remarked Tom. "I seem to be a sort of hoodoo." "Nonsense! It wasn't your fault at all," commented Mr. Sharp warmly. "It would have happened to me had I been steering. But we will take an extra propeller along after this." An hour later they arrived in front of the big shed and the Red Cloud was safely housed. Mr. Swift was just beginning to get anxious about his son and his friend, and was glad to welcome them back. "Now for a big trip, in about a week!" exclaimed Mr. Sharp enthusiastically. "You'll come with us, won't you, Mr. Swift?" The inventor slowly shook his head. "Not on a trip," he said. "I may go for a trial spin with you, but I've got too important a matter under way to venture on a long trip," and he turned away without explaining what it was. But Tom and Mr. Sharp were soon to learn. Chapter 7 Andy Tries a Trick Without loss of time the young inventor and the aeronaut began to repair the damage done to the Red Cloud by colliding with the tower. The most important part to reconstruct was the propeller, and Mr. Sharp decided to make two, instead of one, in order to have an extra one in case of future accidents. Tom's task was to arrange the mechanism so that, hereafter, the rudder could not become jammed, and so prevent the airship from steering properly. This the lad accomplished by a simple but effective device which, when the balloonist saw it, caused him to compliment Tom. "That's worth patenting," he declared. "I advise you to take out papers on that." "It seems such a simple thing," answered the youth. "And I don't see much use of spending the money for a patent. Airships aren't likely to be so numerous that I could make anything off that patent." "You take my advice," insisted Mr. Sharp. "Airships are going to be used more in the future than you have any idea of. You get that device patented." Tom did so, and, not many years afterward he was glad that he had, as it brought him quite an income. It required several days' work on the Red Cloud before it was in shape for another trial. During the hours when he was engaged in the big shed, helping Mr. Sharp, the young inventor spent many minutes calling to mind the memory of a certain fair face, and I think I need not mention any names to indicate whose face it was. "She promised to go for a ride with me," mused the lad. "I hope she doesn't back out. But I'll want to learn more about managing the ship before I venture with her in it. It won't do to have any accidents then. There's Ned Newton, too. I must take him for a skim in the clouds. Guess I'll invite him over some afternoon, and give him a private view of the machine, when we get it in shape again." About a week after the accident at the school Mr. Sharp remarked to Tom one afternoon: "If the weather is good to-morrow, we'll try another flight. Do you suppose your father will come along?" "I don't know," answered the lad. "He seems much engrossed in something. It's unusual, too, for he most generally tells me what he is engaged upon. However, I guess he will say something about it when he gets ready." "Well, if he doesn't feel just like coming, don't argue him. He might be nervous, and, while the ship is new, I don't want any nervous passengers aboard. I can't give them my attention and look after the running of the machinery." "I was going to propose bringing a friend of mine over to see us make the trip to-morrow," went on the young inventor. "Ned Newton, you know him. He'd like a ride." "Oh, I guess Ned's all right. Let him come along. We won't go very high to-morrow. After a trial rise by means of the gas, I'm going to lower the ship to the ground, and try for an elevation by means of the planes. Oh, yes, bring your friend along." Ned Newton was delighted the next day to receive Tom's invitation, and, though a little dubious about trusting himself in an airship for the first time, finally consented to go with his chum. He got a half holiday from the bank, and, shortly after dinner went to Tom's house. "Come on out in the shed and take a look at the Red Cloud," proposed the young inventor. "Mr. Sharp isn't quite ready to start yet, and I'll explain some things to you." The big shed was deserted when the lads entered, and went to the loft where they were on a level with the big, red aluminum tank. Tom began with a description of the machinery, and Ned followed him with interest. "Now we'll go down into the car or cabin," continued the young navigator of the air, "and I'll show you what we do when we're touring amid the clouds." As they started to descend the flight of steps from the loft platform, a noise on the ground below attracted their attention. "Guess that's Mr. Sharp coming," said Ned. Tom leaned over and looked down. An instant later he grasped the arm of his chum, and motioned to him to keep silent. "Take a look," whispered the young inventor. "Andy Foger!" exclaimed Ned, peering over the railing. "Yes, and Sam Snedecker and Pete Bailey are with him. They sneaked in when I left the door open. Wonder what they want?" "Up to some mischief, I'll wager," commented Ned. "Hark! They're talking." The two lads on the loft listened intently. Though the cronies on the ground below them did not speak loudly, their voices came plainly to the listeners. "Let's poke a hole in their gas bag," proposed Sam. "That will make them think they're not so smart as they pretend." "Naw, we can't do that," answered Andy. "Why not?" declared Pete. "Because the bag's away up in the top part of the shed, and I'm not going to climb up there." "You're afraid," sneered Sam. "I am not! I'll punch your face if you say that again! Besides the thing that holds the gas is made of aluminum, and we can't make a hole in it unless we take an axe, and that makes too much noise." "We ought to play some sort of a trick on Tom Swift," proposed Pete. "He's too fresh!" Tom shook his fist at the lads on the ground, but of course they did not see him. "I have it!" came from Andy. "What?" demanded his two cronies. "We'll cut some of the guy wires from the planes and rudders. That will make the airship collapse. They'll think the wires broke from the strain. Take out your knives and saw away at the wires. Hurry, too, or they may catch us." "You're caught now," whispered Ned to Tom. "Come on down, and give 'em a trouncing." Tom hesitated. He looked quickly about the loft, and then a smile replaced the frown of righteous anger on his face. "I have a better way," he said. "What is it?" "See that pile of dirt?" and he pointed to some refuse that had been swept up from the floor of the loft. Ned nodded. "It consists of a lot of shavings, sawdust and, what's more, a lot of soot and lampblack that we used in mixing some paint. We'll sweep the whole pile down on their heads, and make them wish they'd stayed away from this place." "Good!" exclaimed Ned, chuckling. "Give me a broom. There's another one for you." The two lads in the loft peered down. The red-headed, squint-eyed bully and his chums had their knives out, and were about to cut some of the important guy wires, when, at a signal from Tom, Ned, with a sweep of his broom, sent a big pile of the dirt, sawdust and lampblack down upon the heads of the conspirators. The young inventor did the same thing, and for an instant the lower part of the shed looked as if a dirtstorm had taken place there. The pile of refuse went straight down on the heads of the trio, and, as they were looking up, in order to see to cut the wires, they received considerable of it in their faces. In an instant the white countenances of the lads were changed to black--as black as the burnt-cork performers in a minstrel show. Then came a series of howls. "Wow! Who did that!" "I'm blinded! The shed is falling down!" "Run fellows, run!" screamed Andy. "There's been an explosion. We'll be killed!" At that moment the big doors of the shed were thrown open, and Mr. Sharp came in. He started back in astonishment at the sight of the three grotesque figures, their faces black with the soot, and their clothes covered with sawdust and shavings, rushing wildly around. "That will teach you to come meddling around here. Andy Foger!" cried Tom. "I--I--you--you--Oh, wait--I--you--" spluttered the bully, almost speechless with rage. Sam and Pete were wildly trying to wipe the stuff from their faces, but only made matters worse. They were so startled that they did not know enough to run out of the opened doors. "Wish we had some more stuff to put on 'em," remarked Ned, who was holding his sides that ached from laughter. "I have it!" cried Tom, and he caught up a bucket of red paint, that had been used to give the airship its brilliant hue. Running to the end of the loft Tom stood for an instant over the trio of lads who were threatening and imploring by 'turns. "Here's another souvenir of your visit," shouted the young inventor, as he dashed the bucket of red paint down on the conspirators. This completed the work of the dirt and soot, and a few seconds later, each face looking like a stage Indian's ready for the war-path, the trio dashed out. They shed shavings, sawdust and lampblack at every step, and from their clothes and hands and faces dripped the carmine paint. "Better have your pictures taken!" cried Ned, peering from an upper window. "Yes, and send us one," added Tom, joining his chum. Andy looked up at them. He dug a mass of red paint from his left ear, removed a mass of soot from his right cheek, and, shaking his fist, which was alternately striped red and black, cried out in a rage: "I'll get even with you yet, Tom Swift!" "You only got what was coming to you," retorted the young inventor. "The next time you come sneaking around this airship, trying to damage it, you'll get worse, and I'll have you arrested. You've had your lesson, and don't forget it." The red-haired bully, doubly red-haired now, had nothing more to say. There was nothing he could say, and, accompanied by his companions, he made a bee-line for the rear gate in the fence, and darted across the meadow. They were all sorry enough looking specimens, but solely through their own fault. Chapter 8 Winning a Prize "Well, Tom, what happened?" asked Mr. Sharp, as he saw the trio running away. "Looks as if you had had an exciting time here." "No, those fellows had all the excitement," declared Ned. "We had the fun." And the two lads proceeded to relate what had taken place. "Tried to damage the airship, eh?" asked Mr. Sharp. "I wish I'd caught them at it; the scoundrels! But perhaps you handled them as well as I could have done." "I guess so," assented Tom. "I must see if they did cut any of the wires." But the young inventor and his chum had acted too quickly, and it was found that nothing had been done to the Red Cloud. A little later the airship was taken out of the shed, and made ready for a trip. The gas ascension was first used, and Ned and Mr. Swift were passengers with Tom and Mr. Sharp. The machine went about a thousand feet up in the air, and then was sent in various directions, to the no small delight of a large crowd that gathered in the meadow back of the Swift property; for it only required the sight of the airship looming its bulk above the fence and buildings, to attract a throng. It is safe to say this time, however, that Andy Foger and his cronies were not in the audience. They were probably too busy removing the soot and red paint. Although it was the first time Mr. Swift had ever been in an airship, he evinced no great astonishment. In fact he seemed to be thinking deeply, and on some subject not connected with aeronautics. Tom noticed the abstraction of his father, and shook his head. Clearly the aged inventor was not his usual self. As for Ned Newton his delight knew no bounds, At first he was a bit apprehensive as the big ship went higher and higher, and swung about, but he soon lost his fear, and enjoyed the experience as much as did Tom. The young inventor was busy helping Mr. Sharp manage the machinery, rudders-planes and motor. A flight of several miles was made, and Tom was wishing they might pay another visit to the Rocksmond Seminary, but Mr. Sharp, after completing several evolutions, designed to test the steering qualities of the craft, put back home. "We'll land in the meadow and try rising by the planes alone," he said. In this evolution it was deemed best for Mr. Swift and Ned to alight, as there was no telling just how the craft would behave. Tom's father was very willing to get out, but Ned would have remained in, only for the desire of his friend. With the two propellers whirring at a tremendous speed, and all the gas out of the aluminum container, the Red Cloud shot forward, running over the level ground of the meadow, where a starting course had been laid out. "Clear the track!" cried Mr. Sharp, as he saw the crowd closing up in front of him. The men, boys, several girls and women made a living lane. Through this shot the craft, and then, when sufficient momentum had been obtained, Tom, at a command from the aeronaut, pulled the lever of the elevation rudder. Up into the air shot the nose of the Red Cloud as the wind struck the slanting surface of the planes, and, a moment later it was sailing high above the heads of the throng. "That's the stuff!" cried Mr. Sharp. "It works as well that way as it does with the gas!" Higher and higher it went, and then, coming to a level keel, the craft was sent here and there, darting about like a bird, and going about in huge circles. "Start the gas machine, and we'll come to rest in the air," said the balloonist, and Tom did so. As the powerful vapor filled the container the ship acquired a buoyancy, and there was no need of going at high speed in order to sustain it. The propellers were stopped, and the Red Cloud floated two thousand feet in the air, only a little distance below some fleecy, white masses from which she took her name. The demonstration was a great success. The gas was again allowed to escape, the propellers set in motion, and purely as an aeroplane, the ship was again sent forward. By means of the planes and rudders a perfect landing was made in the meadow, a short distance from where the start had been made. The crowd cheered the plucky youth and Mr. Sharp. "Now I'm ready to go on a long trip any time you are, Tom," said the aeronaut that night. "We'll fit up the car and get ready," agreed the 'youth. "How about you, dad?" "Me? Oh, well--er--that is, you see; well, I'll think about it," and Mr. Swift went to his own room, carrying with him a package of papers, containing intricate calculations. Tom shook his head, but said nothing. He could not understand his father's conduct. Work was started the next day on fitting up the car, or cabin, of the airship, so that several persons could live, eat and sleep in it for two weeks, if necessary. The third day after this task had been commenced the mail brought an unusual communication to Tom and Mr. Sharp. It was from an aero club of Blakeville, a city distant about a hundred miles, and stated that a competition for aeroplanes and dirigible balloons was to be held in the course of two weeks. The affair was designed to further interest in the sport, and also to demonstrate what progress had been made in the art of conquering the air. Prizes were to be given, and the inventors of the Red Cloud, the achievements of which the committee of arrangements had heard, were invited to compete. "Shall we go in for it, Tom?" asked the balloonist. "I'm willing if you are." "Then let's do it. We'll see how our craft shows up alongside of others. I know something of this club. It is all right, but the carnival is likely to be a small one. Once I gave a balloon exhibition for them. The managers are all right. Well, we'll have a try at it. Won't do us any harm to win a prize. Then for a long trip!" As it was not necessary to have the car, or cabin, completely fitted up in order to compete for the prize, work in that direction was suspended for the time being, and more attention was paid to the engine, the planes and rudders. Some changes were made and, a week later the Red Cloud departed for Blakeville. As the rules of the contest required three passengers, Ned Newton was taken along, Mr. Swift having arranged with the bank president so that the lad could have a few days off. The Red Cloud arrived at the carnival grounds in the evening, having been delayed on the trip by a broken cog wheel, which was mended in mid-air. As the three navigators approached, they saw a small machine flying around the grounds. "Look!" cried Ned excitedly. "What a small airship." "That's a monoplane," declared Tom, who was getting to be quite an expert. "Yes, the same kind that was used to cross the English Channel," interjected Mr. Sharp. "They're too uncertain for my purposes, though; they are all right under certain conditions." Hardly had he spoken than a puff of wind caused the daring manipulator of the monoplane to swerve to one side. He had to make a quick descent--so rapid was it, in fact, that the tips of one of his planes was smashed. "It'll take him a day to repair that," commented the aeronaut dryly. The Red Cloud created a sensation as she slowly settled down in front of the big tent assigned to her. Tom's craft was easily the best one at the carnival, so far, though the managers said other machines were on the way. The exhibition opened the next day, but no flights were to be attempted until the day following. Two more crafts arrived, a large triplane, and a dirigible balloon. There were many visitors to the ground, and Tom, Ned and Mr. Sharp were kept busy answering questions put by those who crowded into their tent. Toward the close of the day a fussy little Frenchman entered, and, making his way to where Tom stood, asked: "Air you ze ownair of zis machine?" "One of them," replied the lad. "Ha! Sacre! Zen I challenge you to a race. I have a monoplane zat is ze swiftest evaire! One thousand francs will I wager you, zat I can fly higher and farther zan you." "Shall we take him up, Mr. Sharp?" asked Tom. "We'll race with him, after we get through with the club entries," decided the aeronaut. "But not for money. It's against my principles, and I don't believe your father would like it. Racing for prizes is a different thing." "Well, we will devote ze money to charity," conceded the Frenchman. This was a different matter, and one to which Mr. Sharp did not object, so it was arranged that a trial should take place after the regular affairs. That night was spent in getting the Red Cloud in shape for the contests of the next day. She was "groomed" until every wire was taut and every cog, lever and valve working perfectly. Ned Newton helped all he could. So much has appeared in the newspapers of the races at Blakeville that I will not devote much space here to them. Suffice it to say that the Red Cloud easily distanced the big dirigible from which much was expected. It was a closer contest with the large triplane, but Tom's airship won, and was given the prize, a fine silver cup. As the carnival was a small one, no other craft in a class with the Red Cloud had been entered, so Tom and Mr. Sharp had to be content with the one race they won. There were other contests among monoplanes and biplanes, and the little Frenchman won two races. "Now for ze affaire wis ze monstaire balloon of ze rouge color!" he cried, as he alighted from his monoplane while an assistant filled the gasolene tank. "I will in circles go around you, up and down, zis side zen ze ozzer, and presto! I am back at ze starting place, before you have begun. Zen charity shall be ze richair!" "All right, wait and see," said Tom, easily. But, though he showed much confidence he asked Mr. Sharp in private, just before the impromptu contest: "Do you think we can beat him?" "Well," said the aeronaut, shrugging his shoulders, "you can't tell much about the air. His machine certainly goes very fast, but too much wind will be the undoing of him, while it will only help us. And I think," he added, "that we're going to get a breeze." It was arranged that the Red Cloud would start from the ground, without the use of the gas, so as to make the machines more even. At the signal off they started, the motors making a great racket. The monoplane with the little Frenchman in the seat got up first. "Ah, ha!" he cried gaily, "I leave you in ze rear! Catch me if you can!" "Don't let him beat us," implored Ned. "Can't you speed her up any more?" inquired Tom of Mr. Sharp. The aeronaut nodded grimly, and turned more gasolene into the twenty-cylindered engine. Like a flash the Red Cloud darted forward. But the Frenchman also increased his speed and did, actually, at first, circle around the bigger machine, for his affair was much lighter. But when he tried to repeat that feat he found that he was being left behind. "That's the stuff! We're winning!" yelled Tom, Ned joining in the shout. Then came a puff of wind. The monoplane had to descend, for it was in danger of turning turtle. Still the navigator was not going to give up. He flew along at a lower level. Then Mr. Sharp opened up the Red Cloud's engine at full speed, and it was the big machine which now sailed around the other. "I protest! I protest!" cried the Frenchman, above the explosions of his motor. "Ze wind is too strong for me!" Mr. Sharp said nothing, but, with a queer smile on his face he sent the airship down toward the earth. A moment later he was directly under the monoplane. Then, quickly rising, he fairly caught the Frenchman's machine on top of a square platform of the gas container, the bicycle wheels of the monoplane resting on the flat surface. And, so swiftly did the Red Cloud fly along that it carried the monoplane with it, to the chagrin of the French navigator. "A trick! A trick!" he cried. "Eet is not fair!" Then, dropping down, Mr. Sharp allowed the monoplane to proceed under its own power, while he raced on to the finish mark, winning, of course, by a large margin. "Ha! A trick! I race you to-morrow and again to-morrow!" cried the beaten Frenchman as he alighted. "No, thanks," answered Tom. "We've had enough. I guess charity will be satisfied." The little Frenchman was a good loser, and paid over the money, which was given to the Blakeville Hospital, the institution receiving it gladly. At the request of the carnival committee, Mr. Sharp and Tom gave an exhibition of high and long flights the next day, and created no little astonishment by their daring feats. "Well, I think we have reason to be proud of our ship," remarked Mr. Sharp that night. "We won the first contest we were ever in, and beat that speedy monoplane, which was no small thing to do, as they are very fast." "But wait until we go on our trip," added Tom, as he looked at the cup they had won. He little realized what danger they were to meet with in the flight that was before them. Chapter 9 The Runaway Auto Had the inventors of the Red Cloud desired, they could have made considerable money by giving further exhibitions at the Blakeville Aero Carnival, and at others which were to be held in the near future at adjoining cities. The fame of the new machine had spread, and there were many invitations to compete for prizes. But Tom and Mr. Sharp wished to try their skill in a long flight, and at the close of the Blakeville exhibition they started for Shopton, arriving there without mishap, though Tom more than half hoped that they might happen to strike the tower of a certain school. I needn't specify where. The first thing to be done was to complete the fitting-up of the car, or cabin. No berths had, as yet, been put in, and these were first installed after the Red Cloud was in her shed. Then an electrical heating and cooking apparatus was fitted in; some additional machinery, tanks for carrying water, and chemicals for making the gas, boxes of provisions, various measuring instruments and other supplies were put in the proper places, until the cabin was filled almost to its capacity. Of course particular attention had been paid to the ship proper, and every portion was gone over until Mr. Sharp was sure it was in shape for a long flight. "Now the question is," he said to Tom one evening, "who shall we take with us? You and I will go, of course, but I'd like one more. I wonder if your father can't be induced to accompany us? He seemed to like the trial trip." "I'll ask him to-morrow," said the lad. "He's very busy to-night. If he doesn't care about it, maybe Garret Jackson will go." "I'm afraid not. He's too timid." "I'd like to take Ned Newton, but he can't get any more time away from the bank. I guess we'll have to depend on dad." But, to the surprise of Tom and Mr. Sharp, the aged inventor shook his head when the subject was broached to him next day. "Why won't you go, dad?" asked his son. "I'll tell you," replied Mr. Swift. "I was keeping it a secret until I had made some advance in what I am engaged upon. But I don't want to go because I am on the verge of perfecting a new apparatus for submarine boats. It will revolutionize travel under the water, and I don't want to leave home until I finish it. There is another point to be considered. The government has offered a prize for an under-water boat of a new type, and I wish to try for it." "So that's what you've been working on, eh, dad?" asked his son. "That's it, and, much as I should like to accompany you, I don't feel free to go. My mind would be distracted, and I need to concentrate myself on this invention. It will produce the most wonderful results, I'm sure. Besides, the government prize is no small one. It is fifty thousand dollars for a successful boat." Mr. Swift told something more about his submarine, but, as I expect to treat of that in another book, I will not dwell on it here, as I know you are anxious to learn what happened on the trip of the Red Cloud. "Well," remarked Mr. Sharp, somewhat dubiously, "I wonder who we can get to go? We need someone besides you and I, Tom." "I s'pose I could get Eradicate Sampson, and his mule Boomerang," replied the lad with a smile. "Yet I don't know--" At that instant there was a tremendous racket outside. The loud puffing of an automobile could be heard, but mingled with it was the crash of wood, and then the whole house seemed jarred and shaken. "Is it an earthquake?" exclaimed Mr. Swift, springing to his feet, and rushing to the library windows. "Something's happened!" cried Tom. "Maybe an explosion of the airship gas!" yelled Mr. Sharp, making ready to run to the balloon shed. But there was no need. The crashing of wood ceased, and, above the puffing of an auto could be heard a voice exclaiming: "Bless my very existence! Bless my cats and dogs! Good gracious! But I never meant to do this!" Tom, his father and Mr. Sharp rushed to the long, low windows that opened on the veranda. There, on the porch, which it had mounted by way of the steps, tearing away part of the railing, was a large touring car; and, sitting at the steering wheel, in a dazed sort of manner, was Mr. Wakefield Damon. "Bless my shirt studs!" he went on feebly. "But I have done it now!" "What's the matter?" cried Tom, hastening up to him. "What happened? Are you hurt?" "Hurt? Not a bit of it! Bless my moonstone! It's the most lucky escape I ever had! But I've damaged your porch, and I haven't done my machine any good. Do you see anything of another machine chasing me?" Tom looked puzzled, but glanced up and down the road. Far down the highway could be discerned a cloud of dust, and, from the midst of it came a faint "chug-chug." "Looks like an auto down there," he said. "Thank goodness! Bless my trousers, but I've escaped 'em!" cried the eccentric man from whom Tom had purchased his motor-cycle. "Escaped who?" asked Mr. Swift. "Those men. They were after me. But I may as well get out and explain. Dear me! However will I ever get my car off your porch?" and Mr. Damon seemed quite distressed. "Never mind," answered Tom. "We can manage that. Tell us what happened." "Exactly," replied Mr. Damon, growing calmer, "Bless my shoe buttons, but I had a fright, two of them, in fact. "You see," he went on, "I was out partly on pleasure and partly on business. The pleasure consisted in riding in my auto, which my physician recommended for my health. The business consisted in bringing to the Shopton Bank a large amount of cash. Well, I deposited it all right, but, as I came out I saw some men hanging around. I didn't like their looks, and I saw them eyeing me rather sharply. I thought I had seen them before and, sure enough I had. Two of the men belonged to that Happy Harry gang!" Tom made a quick motion of a caution, pointing to his father, but it was not necessary, as Mr. Swift was absently-mindedly calculating on a piece of paper he had taken from his pocket, and had not heard what Mr. Damon said. The latter, however, knew what Tom meant, and went on. "Well, I didn't like the looks of these men, and when I saw them sizing me up, evidently thinking I had drawn money out instead of putting it in, I decided to give them the slip. I got in my auto, but I was startled to see them get in their car. I headed for here, as I was coming to pay you a visit, anyhow, and the mysterious men kept after me. It became a regular race. I put on all the speed I could and headed for your house, Tom, for I thought you would help me. I went faster and faster, and so did they. They were almost up to me, and I was just thinking of slowing down to turn in here, when I lost control of my machine, and--well, I did turn in here, but not exactly as I intended. Bless my gaiters! I came in with rather more of a rush than I expected. It was awful--positively awful, I assure you. You've no idea how nervous I was. But I escaped those scoundrels, for they rushed on when they saw what I had done--smashed the porch railing." "Probably they thought you'd smash them," observed Tom with a laugh. "But why did they follow you?" "Can't imagine! Haven't the least idea. Bless my spark-plug, but they might have imagined I had money. Anyhow I'm glad I escaped them!" "It's lucky you weren't hurt," said Mr. Sharp. "Oh, me? Bless my existence! I'm always having narrow escapes." Mr. Damon caught sight of the Red Cloud which was out in front of the big shed. "Bless my heart! What's that?" he added. "Our new airship," answered Tom proudly. "We are just planning a long trip in it, but we can't find a third member of the party to go along." "A third member!" exclaimed Mr. Damon. "Do you really mean it?" "We do." "Bless my shoe laces! Will you take me along?" "Do you mean that?" asked Tom in turn, foreseeing a way out of their difficulties. "I certainly do," answered the eccentric man. "I am much interested in airships, and I might as well die up in the clouds as any other way. Certainly I prefer it to being smashed up in an auto. Will you take me?" "Of course!" cried Tom heartily, and Mr. Sharp nodded an assent. Then Tom drew Mr. Damon to one side. "We'll arrange the trip in a few minutes," the lad said. "Tell me more about those mysterious men, please." Chapter 10 A Bag of Tools Wakefield Damon glanced at Mr. Swift. The inventor was oblivious to his surroundings, and was busy figuring away on some paper. He seemed even to have forgotten the presence of the eccentric autoist. "I don't want father to hear about the men," went on Tom, in a low tone. "If he hears that Happy Harry and his confederates are in this vicinity, he'll worry, and that doesn't agree with him. But are you sure the men you saw are the same ones who stole the turbine model?" "Very certain," replied Mr. Damon. "I had a good view of them as I came from the bank, and I was surprised to see them, until I remembered that they were out of jail." "But why do you think they pursued you?" "Bless my eyes! I can't say. Perhaps they weren't after me at all. I may have imagined it, but they certainly hurried off in their auto as soon as I left the bank, after leaving my money there. I'm glad I deposited it before I saw them. I was so nervous, as it was, that I couldn't steer straight. It's too bad, the way I've damaged your house." "That doesn't matter. But how about the trip in the airship? I hope you meant it when you said you would go." "Of course I did. I've never traveled in the air, but it can't be much worse than my experience with my motor-cycle and the auto. At least I can't run up any stoop, can I?" and Mr. Damon looked at Mr. Sharp. "No," replied the aeronaut, as he scratched his head, "I guess you'll be safe on that score. But I hope you won't get nervous when we reach a great height." "Oh, no. I'll just calm myself with the reflection that I can't die but once," and with this philosophical reflection Mr. Damon went back to look at the auto, which certainly looked odd, stuck up on the veranda. "Well, you'd better make arrangements to go with us then," went on Tom. "Meanwhile I'll see to getting your car down. You'll want to send it home, I suppose?" "No, not if you'll keep it for me. The fact is that all my folks are away, and will be for some time. I don't have to go home to notify them, and it's a good thing, as my wife is very nervous, and might object, if she heard about the airship. I'll just stay here, if you've no objection, until the Red Cloud sails, if sails is the proper term." "'Sails' will do very well," answered Mr. Sharp. "But, Tom, let's see if you and I can't get that car down. Perhaps Mr. Damon would like to go in the house and talk to your father," for Mr. Swift had left the piazza. The eccentric individual was glad enough not to be on hand when his car was eased down from the veranda and disappeared into the house. Tom and Mr. Sharp, with the aid of Garret Jackson, then released the auto from its position. They had to take down the rest of the broken railing, and their task was easy enough. The machine was stored in a disused shed, and Mr. Damon had no further concern until it was time to undertake the trip through the air. "It will fool those men if I mysteriously disappear," he said, with a smile. "Bless my hat band, but they'll wonder what became of me. We'll just slip off in the Red Cloud, and they'll never be the wiser." "I don't know about that," commented Tom. "I fancy they are keeping pretty close watch in this vicinity, and I don't like it. I'm afraid they are up to some mischief. I should think the bank authorities would have them locked upon suspicion. I think I'll telephone Ned about it." He did so, and his chum, in turn, notified the bank watchman. But the next day it was reported that no sign of the men had been seen, and, later it was learned that an auto, answering the description of the one they were in, had been seen going south, many miles from Shopton. The work of preparing the Red Cloud for the long trip was all but completed. It had been placed back in the shed while a few more adjustments were made to the machinery. "Bless my eyelashes!" exclaimed Mr. Damon, a few days before the one set for the start, "but I haven't asked where we are bound for. Where are we going, anyhow, Mr. Sharp?" "We're going to try and reach Atlanta, Georgia," replied the balloonist. "That will make a fairly long trip, and the winds at this season are favorable in that direction." "That suits me all right," declared Mr. Damon. "I'm all ready and anxious to start." It was decided to give the airship a few more trials around Shopton before setting out, to see how it behaved with the car heavier loaded than usual. With this in view a trip was made to Rocksmond, with Mr. Swift, Mr. Damon and Ned, in addition to Mr. Sharp and Tom, on board. Then, at Tom's somewhat blushing request, a stop was made near the Seminary, and, when the pupils came trooping out, the young inventor asked Miss Nestor if she didn't want to take a little flight. She consented, and with two pretty companions climbed rather hesitatingly into the car. No great height was attained, but the girls were fully satisfied and, after their first alarm really enjoyed the spin in the air, with Tom proudly presiding at the steering wheel, which Mr. Sharp relinquished to the lad, for he understood Tom's feelings. Three days later all was in readiness for the trip to Atlanta. Mr. Swift was earnestly invited to undertake it, both Tom and Mr. Sharp urging him, but the veteran inventor said he must stay at home, and work on his submarine plans. The evening before the start, when the aeronaut and Tom were giving a final inspection to the craft in the big shed, Mr. Sharp exclaimed "I declare Tom, I believe you'll have to take a run into town." "What for?" "Why to get that kit of special tools I ordered, which we might need to make repairs. There are some long-handled wrenches, some spare levers, and a couple of braces and bits. Harrison, the hardware dealer, ordered them for me from New York, and they were to be ready this afternoon, but I forgot them. Take an empty valise with you, and you can carry them on your motorcycle. I'm sorry to have forgotten it, but--" "That's all right, Mr. Sharp, I'd just as soon go as not. It will make the time pass more quickly. I'll start right off." An hour later, having received the tools, which made quite a bundle, the lad put them in the valise, and started back toward home. As he swung around the corner on which the bank was located--the same bank in which Ned Newton worked--one of the valves on the motor-cycle began to leak. Tom dismounted to adjust it, and had completed the work, being about to ride on, when down the street came Andy Foger and Sam Snedecker. They started at the sight of our hero. "There he is now!" exclaimed Sam, as if he and the red-haired bully had been speaking of the young inventor. "Let's lick him!" proposed Andy. "Now's our chance to get even for throwing that paint and soot on us." Tom heard their words. He was not afraid of both the lads, for, though each one matched him in size and strength, Tom knew they were cowards. "If you're looking for anything I guess I can accommodate you," he said, coolly. "Come on, Andy," urged Sam. But, somehow Andy hung back. Perhaps he didn't like the way Tom squared off. The young inventor had let down the rear brace of his motor-cycle, and was not obliged to hold it, so he had both hands free. "We ought to lick him good and proper," growled the squint-eyed lad. "Well, why don't you?" invited Tom. He moved to one side, so as not to be hampered by his wheel. As he did so he knocked from the handle bars the valise of tools. They fell with a clatter and a thud to the pavement, and the satchel came open. It was under a gas lamp, and the glitter of the long-handled wrenches and other implements caught the eyes of Andy and his crony. "Huh! If we fought you, maybe you'd use some of them on us," sneered Andy, glad of an excuse not to fight. Tom quickly picked up his valise, shutting it, but he was aware of the close scrutiny of the two vindictive lads. "I don't fight with such things," he said, somewhat annoyed, and he hung the tools back on the handle bars. "What you doing around the bank at this hour?" asked Sam, as if to change the subject. "First thing you know the watchman will order you to move on. He might think you were a suspicious character." "The same to you," retorted Tom, "but I'm going to ride on now, unless you want to have a further argument with me." "You'd better be careful how you hang around a bank," added Andy. "The police are on the lookout here. There's been some mysterious men seen about." Tom did not care to go into that, and, seeing that the two bullies had lost all desire to attack him, he put up the brace and mounted his wheel. "Good-by," he called to Andy and Sam, as he rode off, the tools rattling and jingling in the valise, but it was a sarcastic farewell, and the two cronies did not reply. "I hope I didn't damage any of the tools when I let them fall that time," mused the young inventor. "My, the way Sam and Andy stared at them it would make it seem as if I had a lot of weapons in the bag! They certainly took good note of them." The time was to come, and very shortly, when Andy's and Sam's observation of the tools was to prove disastrous for our hero. As Tom turned the corner he looked back, and saw, still standing in front of the bank, the two cronies. Chapter 11 The Red Cloud Departs "Well, dad, I wish you were going along with us," said Tom to his father next morning. "You don't know what you're going to miss. A fine trip of several hundred miles through the air, seeing strange sights, and experiencing new sensations." "Yes, I wish you would reconsider your determination, and accompany us," added Mr. Damon. "I would enjoy your company." "There's plenty of room. We can carry six persons with ease," said Mr. Sharp. Mr. Swift shook his head, and smiled. "I have too much work to do here at home," he replied. "Perhaps I may astonish you with something when you come back. I have nearly perfected my latest invention." There was no combating such a resolution as this, and Tom and the others considered the decision of the aged inventor as final. The airship was ready for the start, and every one had arisen earlier than usual on this account. The bag of tools, for which Tom had gone to town, were put in their proper place, the last of the supplies were taken abroad, final tests were made of the various apparatus, the motor had been given a trial spin, disconnected from the propellers, and then the balloonist announced: "Well, Tom and Mr. Damon, you had better begin to think of starting. We've had breakfast here, but there's no telling where we will eat dinner." "Bless my soul! Don't you talk that way!" exclaimed Mr. Damon. "You make me exceedingly nervous. Why shouldn't we know where we are going to eat dinner?" "Oh, I meant we couldn't tell over just what part of the United States we would be when dinner time came," explained the aeronaut. "Oh, that's different. Bless my pocket knife, but I thought you meant we might be dashed to pieces, and incapable of eating any dinner." "Hardly," remarked Mr. Sharp. "The Red Cloud is not that kind of an airship, I hope. But get aboard, if you please." Tom and Mr. Damon entered the car. It was resting on the ground, on the small wheels used to start the airship when the gas inflation method was not used. In this case, however, it had been decided to rise in the air by means of the powerful vapor, and not to use the wings and planes until another time. Consequently the ship was swaying slightly, and tugging at the restraining cables. As Tom and Mr. Damon entered the cabin there drove into the Swift yard a dilapidated wagon, drawn by a bony mule, and it did not need the addition of a colored man's voice, calling: "Whoa, dar, Boomerang!" to tell Tom that his friend Eradicate Sampson was on hand. As for Eradicate, as soon as he saw the great airship, which he had never before beheld fully rigged, all ready for a flight, his eyes became big with wonder. "Is dat yo' flyin' machine, Mistah Swift?" he asked. "That's it, Rad," answered Tom. "Don't you want to come and take a ride with us?" "Me? Good land a' massy! No indeedy, Mistah Swift," and the whitewasher, who had descended from his wagon, edged away, as if the airship might suddenly put out a pair of hands and grab him. "No indeedy I doant! I come t' do a little whitewashin' an' when I do dat I'se gwine on mah way. But dat's a pow'ful fine ship; it suah am!" "Better come and try a flight, Rad," added Mr. Damon. "I'll look after you." "No, sah, an' I doan't take it kind ob yo' all t' tempt me dat way, nuther," spoke Eradicate. But, when he saw that the craft was stationary, he ventured to approach closer. Gingerly he put out one hand and touched the framework of the wheels, just forward of the cabin. The negro grasped the timber, and lifted it slightly. To his astonishment the whole front of the airship tilted up, for it was about ready to fly, and a child might have lifted it, so buoyant was it. But Eradicate did not know this. Wonderingly he looked at the great bulk of the ship, looming above him, then he glanced at his arm. Once more, noting that the attention of his friends was elsewhere, he lifted the craft. Then he cried "Look yeah, Mistah Swift! Look yeah! No wonder day calls me Sampson. I done lifted dis monstrousness airship wif one hand, See, I kin do it! I kin do it!" Once more he raised the Red Cloud slightly, and a delighted grin, not unmixed with a look of awe, spread over his honest countenance. "I suppose you'll give up whitewashing and join a circus as a strong man, now," observed Mr. Sharp, with a wink at his companions. "Days what I will!" announced Eradicate proudly. "I neber knowed I was dat strong, but ob course I allers knowed I had some muscle. Golly, I must hab growed strong ober night! Now, Boomerang, yo' suah has got t' look out fo' yo' sef. No mo' ob yo' cuttin' up capers, or I'll jest lift you up, an' sot yo' down on yo' back, I suah will," and the negro feeling of his biceps walked over to where the mule stood, with its eyes closed. "I guess you can cast off, Tom," called Mr. Sharp, as he entered the car, having seen that everything was all right. "We'll not go up very far at first, until Mr. Damon gets used to the thin air." "Bless my soul, I believe I'm getting nervous," announced the eccentric man. "Bless my liver, but I hope nothing happens." "Nothing will happen," Mr. Sharp assured him. "Just keep calm, when it feels as if the bottom was dropping out of everything and you'll soon get over it. Are you casting off those ropes, Tom? Is all clear?" "All but the bow and stern lines." "You attend to the bow line, and I'll go to the stern," and, going over to the gas generator, Mr. Sharp started it so as to force more vapor into the red aluminum container. This had the effect of rendering the airship more buoyant, and it tugged and strained harder than ever at the ropes. "Good-by, Tom," called Mr. Swift, reaching up to shake hands with his son. "Drop me a line when you get a chance." "Oh, Tom, do be careful," implored Mrs. Baggert, her kind face showing her anxiety. "May I kiss you good-by?" "Of course," answered the young inventor, though the motherly housekeeper had not done this since he was a little chap. She had to stand on a soap box, which Eradicate brought in order to reach Tom's face, and, when she had kissed him she said: "Oh, I'm so worried! I just know you'll be killed, risking your lives in that terrible airship!" "Ha! Not a very cheerful view to take, madam," observed Mr. Damon. "Don't hold that view, I beg of you. Bless my eyelashes, but you'll see us coming home, covered with glory and star dust." "I'm sure I hope so," answered Mrs. Baggert, laughing a little in spite of herself. The last ropes were cast off. Good-bys were shouted as the airship shot into the air, and Mr. Sharp started the motor, to warm it up before the propellers were thrown into gear. The twenty cylinders began exploding with a terrific racket, as the muffler was open, and Tom, looking down, saw Boomerang awaken with a jump. The mule was so frightened that he started off on a dead run, swinging the rickety, old wagon along behind him. Eradicate Sampson, who had been feeling his muscle since he discovered what he thought was his marvelous strength, saw what was happening. "Whoa, dar, Boomerang!" he shouted. Then, as the tailboard of the wagon swung past him, he reached out and grabbed it. Perhaps he thought he could bring the runaway mule up standing, but, if he did, he was grievously disappointed. Boomerang pulled his master along the gravel walk, and kept running in spite of Eradicate's command to "whoa, dar!" It might have gone hard with him, had not Garret Jackson, the engineer, running in front of Boomerang, caught the animal. Eradicate picked himself up, and gazed sadly at his arms. The navigators of the air could not hear what he said, but what he thought was evident to them. Then, as Mr. Sharp deadened the explosions of the powerful motor. Tom, looking at a gauge, noted that their height was seven hundred feet. "High enough!" called Mr. Sharp, and it was time, for Mr. Damon, in spite of his resolution, was getting pale. The gas was shut off, the propellers thrown into gear, and, with a rush the Red Cloud shot toward the south, passing over the Swift homestead, and high above the heads of the crowd that had gathered to witness the start. The eventful voyage of the air had begun. Chapter 12 Some Startling News "Well, there they go," remarked Mrs. Baggert to Mr. Swift, as she strained her eyes toward the sky, against the blue of which the airship was now only a large, black ball. "Yes, and a fine start they made," replied the inventor. "I almost wish I had accompanied them, but I must not stop work on my submarine invention." "I do hope nothing will happen to them," went on the housekeeper. "I declare, though, I feel just as if something was going to happen." "Nervousness, pure nervousness," commented Mr. Swift. "Better take a little--er--I suppose catnip tea would be good." "Catnip tea! The very idea!" exclaimed Mrs. Baggert. "That shows how much you know about nervousness, Mr. Swift," and she seemed a little indignant. "Ha! Hum! Well, maybe catnip tea wouldn't be just the thing. But don't worry about Tom. I'm sure he can look after himself. As for Mr. Sharp he has made too many ascensions to run into any unnecessary danger." "Nervous!" went on the housekeeper, who seemed to resent this state being applied to her. "I'm sure I'm not half as nervous as that Mr. Damon. He gives me the fidgets." "Of course. Well, I must get back to my work," said the inventor. "Ah, are you hurt, Eradicate?" he went on, as the colored man came back, driving Boomerang, who had been stopped just before reaching the road. "No, Mistah Swift, I ain't exactly damaged, but mah feelin's am suah hurted." "How's that?" "Well, I thought I had growed strong in de night, when I lifted dat airship, but when I went to stop mah mule I couldn't do it. He won't hab no respect fo' me now." "Oh, I wouldn't let that worry me," commented Mr. Swift, and he explained to Eradicate how it was that he had so easily lifted the end of the buoyant ship, which weighed very little when filled with gas. The colored man proceeded with his work of whitewashing, the inventor was in his library, puzzling over tables of intricate figures, and Mrs. Baggert was in the kitchen, sighing occasionally as she thought of Tom, whom she loved almost as a son, high in the air, when two men came up the walk, from the street, and knocked at the side door. Mrs. Baggert, who answered the summons, was somewhat surprised to see Chief of Police Simonson and Constable Higby. "They probably came to see the airship start," she thought, "but they're too late." "Ah, good morning, Mrs. Baggert," greeted the chief. "Is Mr. Swift and his son about this morning?" "Mr. Swift is in his library, but Tom is gone." "He'll be back though, won't he?" asked Constable Higby quickly--anxiously, Mrs. Baggert thought. "Oh, yes," she replied. "He and--" "Just take us to see Mr. Swift," interrupted the chief, with a look of caution at his aide. "We'll explain matters to him." Wondering what could be the mission of the two officers, Mrs. Baggert led them to the library. "It's queer," she thought, "that they don't ask something about the airship. I suppose that was what they came for. But maybe it's about the mysterious men who robbed Mr. Swift." "Ah, gentlemen, what can I do for you?" asked the inventor, as he rose to greet the officials. "Ahem, Mr. Swift. Ahem--er--that is--well, the fact is, Mr. Swift," stammered the chief, "we have come upon a very painful errand." "What's that?" cried Tom's father. "I haven't been robbed again, have I?' "There has been a robbery committed," spoke the constable quickly. "But you are not the victim," interposed the chief. "I'm glad of that," said Mr. Swift. "Where is your son, Tom?" asked the head of the Shopton police force, sharply. "What do you want with him?" inquired the inventor, struck by some strange tone in the other's voice. "Mr. Swift," went on the chief, solemnly, "I said we came upon a very painful errand. It is painful, as I have known Tom since he was a little lad. But I must do my duty, no matter how painful it is. I have a warrant for the arrest of your son, Thomas Swift, and I have come to serve it. I need not tell you that it is your duty to give him up to us--the representatives of the law. I call upon you to produce your son." Mr. Swift staggered to his feet. "My son! You have come to arrest my son?" he stammered. The chief nodded grimly. "Upon what charge?" faltered the father. "On a charge of breaking into the Shopton National Bank last night, and stealing from the vault seventy-five thousand dollars in currency!" "Seventy-five thousand dollars! Tom accused of robbing the bank!" faltered Mr. Swift. "That is the charge, and we've come to arrest him," broke in Constable Higby. "Where is he?" added the chief. "This charge is false! Absolutely false!" shouted the aged inventor. "That may be," admitted the chief shaking his head. "But the charge has been made, and we hold the warrant. The courts will settle it. We must now arrest Tom. Where is he?" "He isn't here!" cried Mr. Swift, and small blame to him if there was a note of triumph in his voice. "Tom sailed away not half an hour ago in the airship Red Cloud! You can't arrest him!" "He's escaped!" shouted the constable. "I told you, chief, that he was a slippery customer, and that we'd better come before breakfast!" "Dry up!" commanded the chief testily. "So he's foiled us, eh? Run away when he knew we were coming? I think that looks like guilt, Mr. Swift." "Never!" cried the inventor. "Tom would never think of robbing the bank. Besides, he has all the money he wants. The charge is preposterous! I demand to be confronted with the proof." "You shall be," answered Chief Simonson vindictively. "If you will come to the bank you can see the rifled vault, and hear the testimony of a witness who saw your son with burglar tools in his possession last night. We also have a warrant for Mr. Wakefield Damon. Do you know anything of him?" "He has gone with my son in the airship." "Ha! The two criminals with their booty have escaped together!" cried the chief. "But we'll nab them if we have to scour the whole country. Come on, Higby! Mr. Swift, if you'll accompany me to the bank, I think I can give you all the proof you want," and the officials, followed by the amazed and grief-stricken inventor, left the house. Chapter 13 Mr. Damon In Danger The sensations of the voyagers in the airship, who meanwhile, were flying along over the country surrounding Shopton, were not very different than when they had undertaken some trial flights. In fact Mr. Damon was a little disappointed after they had waved their farewells to Mr. Swift and Mrs. Baggert. "I declare I'm not at all nervous," he remarked, as he sat in an easy chair in the enclosed car or cabin, and looked down at the earth through the plate-glass windows in the floor. "I thought you'd be all right once we got started," commented Mr. Sharp. "Do you think you can stand going a trifle higher?" "Try it," suggested the eccentric man. "Bless my watch chain, but, as I said, I might as well die this way as any other. Hitting a cloud-bank is easier than trying to climb a tree on a motorcycle, eh, Tom?" "Very much so, Mr. Damon," conceded the young inventor, with a laugh. "Oh, we'll not attempt any cloud heights for a day or two," went on Mr. Sharp. "I want you, to gradually get used to the rarefied atmosphere, Mr. Damon. Tom and I are getting to be old hands at it. But, if you think you can stand it, I'll go up about a thousand feet higher." "Make it two thousand, while you're at it," proposed the odd character. "Might as well take a long fall as a short one." Accordingly, the elevation rudder was used to send the Red Cloud to a greater height while she was still skimming along like some great bird. Of course the desired elevation could have been obtained by forcing more gas from the machine into the big, red container overhead, but it was decided to be as sparing of this vapor as possible, since the voyagers did not want to descend to get more material, in case they used up what they had. It was just as easy to rise by properly working the rudders, when the ship was in motion, and that was the method now employed. With the great propellers, fore and aft, making about a thousand revolutions a minute the craft slanted up toward the sky. The ship was not being run at top speed as Mr. Sharp did not care to force it, and there was no need for haste. Long distance, rather than high speed was being aimed at on this first important flight. Tom was at the steering wheel, and, with his hand on the lever controlling the elevation rudder, kept watch of the face of Mr. Damon, occasionally noting what height the hand on the gauge registered. He fancied he saw the cheeks of his friend growing pale, and, when a height of thirty-five hundred feet was indicated, with a yank the young inventor put the airship on a level keel. "Are you distressed, Mr. Damon?" he asked. "Ye--yes, I--I have--some--some difficulty in breathing," was the answer. Tom gave his friend the same advice the aeronaut had given the lad on his first trip, and the eccentric man soon felt better. "Bless my buttons!" he ventured to explain. "But I feel as if I had lost several pounds of flesh, and I'm glad of it." Mr. Sharp was busy with the motor, which needed some slight adjustments, and Tom was in sole charge of navigating the airship. He had lost the nervous feeling that first possessed him, and was becoming quite an expert at meeting various currents of wind encountered in the upper regions. Below, the voyagers could see the earth spread out like a great map. They could not tell their exact location now, but by calculating their speed, which was about thirty miles an hour, Tom figured out that they were above the town of Centreford, near where he had been attacked once by the model thieves. For several hours the airship kept on her way, maintaining a height of about a mile, for when it was found that Mr. Damon could accommodate himself to thirty-five hundred feet the elevation rudder was again shifted to send the craft upward. By using glasses the travelers could see crowds on the earth watching their progress in the air, and, though airships, dirigible balloons and aeroplanes are getting fairly common now, the appearance of one as novel and as large as the Red Cloud could always be depended upon to attract attention. "Well, what do you say to something to eat?" proposed Mr. Sharp, coming into the main cabin, from the motor compartment. "It's twelve o'clock, though we can't hear the factory whistles up, here." "I'm ready, any time you are," called Tom, from the pilot house. "Shall I cook grub, Mr. Sharp?" "No, you manage the ship, and I'll play cook. We'll not get a very elaborate meal this time, as I shall have to pay occasional visits to the motor, which isn't running just to suit me." The electrical stove was set going, and some soup and beefsteak from among the stores, was put on the fire. In spite of the fact that the day was a warm one in October, it was quite cool in the cabin, until the stove took off the chill. The temperature of the upper regions was several degrees below that of the earth. At times the ship passed through little wisps of vapor-clouds in the making. "Isn't this wonderful!" exclaimed Mr. Damon, as he sat in an easy chair, partaking of some of the food. "To think that I have lived to see the day when I can take my lunch a mile in the air, with a craft flying along like a bird. Bless my knife and fork but it certainly is wonderful." Mr. Sharp relieved Tom at the wheel, while the young inventor ate, and then, with the airship heading southwest, the speed was increased a trifle, the balloonist desiring to see what the motor could accomplish under a heavy load. A drop of several hundred feet was made about an hour later, and, as this made it warmer, Mr. Damon, who was a great lover of fresh air, decided to go out on the platform in front of the cabin. This platform, and a similar one at the rear, was railed about, to prevent accidents. A fine view could be had from them much better than through the floor windows of the car. "Be careful of the propeller," advised Tom, as his friend went outside. "I don't believe you're tall enough to be hit by the blades, but don't take any chances of standing on your tiptoes." "Bless my pocket handkerchief, indeed I'll not," came the answer. "But I think I shall wrap up my throat in the scarf I brought along. I am subject to neuralgia, and the breeze may bring on an attack of it." Wrapping a long, woolen scarf about his neck, the eccentric man ventured out on the open platform. About the middle of it, but sufficiently high to be above a person's head, was the forward propeller, whirring around at swift speed. Tom, with his eye on the various gauges and the compass, was steering the airship. He glanced at Mr. Damon, who appeared to be enjoying the view from the platform. For an instant the eyes of the lad were taken from the form of his friend. He looked back suddenly, however, his attention attracted by a smothered cry. He was horrified by what he saw. Mr. Damon was leaning far over the edge of the railing, with nothing between him and the earth a thousand feet below. He seemed to have lost his balance and had toppled forward, being doubled up on the iron pipe railing, his hands hanging limply over. Then, as Tom cried to Mr. Sharp to shut off the motor, the lad saw that, hanging to the blade of the propeller, and being whirled around in its revolutions, was a part of Mr. Damon's red scarf. "Hurry! Hurry, Mr. Sharp!" yelled Tom, not daring to let go the steering wheel, for fear the ship would encounter a treacherous current and tilt. "Hurry to Mr. Damon!" "What's the matter?" asked the balloonist. "He's dead--or unconscious--hanging over the railing. He seems to be slipping! Hurry, or it will be too late!" Chapter 14 Andy Gives The Clue When Mr. Swift followed the chief of police and the constable to the town hall his mind was filled with many thoughts. All his plans for revolutionizing submarine travel, were, of course, forgotten, and he was only concerned with the charge that had been made against his son. It seemed incredible, yet the officers were not ones to perpetrate a joke. The chief and constable had driven from town in a carriage, and they now invited the inventor to ride back with them. "Do you mean to tell me a warrant has actually been sworn out against my son, Chief?" asked the father, when they were near the town hall. "That's just what I mean to say, Mr. Swift, and, I'm sorry, on your account, that I have to serve it." "Hub! Don't look like you was goin' to serve it," remarked the constable. "He's skipped out." "That's all right, Higby," went on the chief. "I'll catch em both. Even if they have escaped in an airship with their booty, I'll nab 'em. I'll have a general alarm out all over the country in less than an hour. They can't stay up in the air forever." "A warrant for Tom--my son," murmured Mr. Swift, as if he could not believe it. "Yes, and for that Damon man, too," added the chief. "I want him as well as Tom, and I'll get 'em." "Would you mind letting me see the warrants?" asked the inventor, and the official passed them over. The documents were made out in regular form, and the complaints had been sworn to by Isaac Pendergast, the bank president. "I can't understand it," went on Tom's father. "Seventy-five thousand dollars. It's incredible! Why!" he suddenly exclaimed, "it can't be true. Just before he left, Mr. Damon--" "Yes, what did he do?" asked the chief eagerly, thinking he might secure some valuable evidence. "I guess I'll say nothing until I have seen the bank president," replied Mr. Swift, and the official was obviously disappointed. The inventor found Mr. Pendergast, and some other bank officials in the town hall. The financiers were rather angry when they learned that the accused persons had not been caught, but the chief said he would soon have them in custody. "In the meanwhile will you kindly explain, what this means?" asked Mr. Swift of the president. "You may come and look at the looted vault, if you like, Mr. Swift," replied Mr. Pendergast. "It was a very thorough job, and will seriously cripple the bank." There was no doubt that the vault had been forced open, for the locks and bars were bent and twisted as if by heavy tools. Mr. Swift made a careful examination, and was shown the money drawers that had been smashed. "This was the work of experts," he declared. "Exactly what we think," said the president. "Of course we don't believe your son was a professional bank robber, Mr. Swift. We have a theory that Mr. Damon did the real work, but that Tom helped him with the tools he had. There is no doubt about it." "What right have you to accuse my son?" burst out the aged inventor. "Why have you any more cause to suspect him than any other lad in town? Why do you fix on him, and Mr. Damon? I demand to know." "Mr. Damon's eccentric actions for a few days past, and his well-known oddity of character make him an object of suspicion," declared the president in judicial tones. "As for Tom, we have, I regret to say, even better evidence against him." "But what is it? What? Who gave you any clues to point to my son?" "Do you really wish to know?" "I certainly do," was the sharp reply. Mr. Swift, the police and several bank officials were now in the president's office. The latter pressed an electric bell, and, when a messenger answered, he said: "Send young Foger here." At the mention of this name, Mr. Swift started. He well knew the red-haired bully was an enemy of his son. Andy entered, walking rather proudly at the attention he attracted. "This is Mr. Swift," said the president. "Aw, I know him," blurted out Andy. "You will please tell him what you told us," went on Mr. Pendergast. "Well, I seen Tom Swift hanging around this bank with burglar tools in his possession last night, just before it was robbed," exclaimed the squint-eyed lad triumphantly. "Hanging around the bank last night with burglar tools?" repeated Mr. Swift, in dazed tones. "That's right," from Andy. "How do you know they were burglar tools?" "Because I saw 'em!" cried Andy. "He had 'em in a valise on his motor-cycle. He was standing at the corner, waiting for a chance to break into the bank, and when me and Sam Snedecker saw him, he pretended to be fixin' his machine. Then the bag of burglar tools fell off, the satchel came open, and I seen 'em! That's how I know." "And you're sure they were burglar tools?" asked the chief, for he depended on Andy to be his most important witness. "Sure I am. I seen a picture of burglar tools once, and the ones Tom had was just like 'em. Long-handled wrenches, brace an' bits, an' all. He tried to hide 'em, but me an' Sam was too quick for him. He wanted to lick me, too." "No doubt you deserved it," murmured Mr. Swift. "But how do you know my son was waiting for a chance to break into the bank?" "'Cause, wasn't it robbed right after he was hangin' around here with the burglar tools?" inquired Andy, as if that was unanswerable. "What were you hanging around here for?" Mr. Swift demanded quickly. "Me? Oh, well, me an' Sam Snedecker was out takin' a walk. That's all." "You didn't want to rob the bank, did you?" went on the inventor, keenly. "Of course not," roared the bully, indignantly. "I ain't got no burglar tools." Andy told more along the same line, but his testimony of having seen Tom near the bank, with a bag of odd tools could not be shaken. In fact it was true, as far as it went, but, of course, the tools were only those for the airship; the same ones Mr. Sharp had sent the lad after. Sam Snedecker was called in after Andy, and told substantially the same story. Mr. Swift could not understand it, for he knew nothing of Tom being sent for the tools, and had not heard any talk at home of the bag of implements ordered by the balloonist. Still, of course, he knew Tom had nothing to do with the robbery, and he knew his son had been at home all the night previous. Still this was rather negative evidence. But the inventor had one question yet to ask. "You say you also suspect Mr. Damon of complicity in this affair?" he went on, to the chief of police. "We sure do," replied Mr. Simonson. "Then can you explain?" proceeded the inventor, "how it is that Mr. Damon has on deposit in this bank a large sum. Would he rob the bank where his own funds were?" "We are prepared for that," declared the president. "It is true that Mr. Damon has about ten thousand dollars in our bank, but we believe he deposited it only as a blind, so as to cover up his tracks. It is a deep-laid scheme, and escaping in the airship is part of it. I am sorry, Mr. Swift, that I have to believe your son and his accomplice guilty, but I am obliged to. Chief, you had better send out a general alarm. The airship ought to be easy to trace." "I'll telegraph at once," said the official. "And you believe my son guilty, solely on the testimony of these two boys, who, as is well known, are his enemies?" asked Mr. Swift. "The clue they gave us is certainly most important," said the president. "Andy came to us and told what he had seen, as soon as it became known that the bank had been robbed." "And I'm going to get the reward for giving information of the robbers, too!" cried the bully. "I'm going to have my share!" insisted Sam. "Ah, then there is a reward offered?" inquired Mr. Swift. "Five thousand dollars," answered Mr. Pendergast. "The directors, all of whom are present save Mr. Foger, Andy's father, met early this morning, and decided to offer that sum." "And I'm going to get it," announced the red-haired lad again. Mr. Swift was much downcast. There seemed to be nothing more to say, and, being a man unversed in the ways of the world, he did not know what to do. He returned hone. When Mrs. Baggert was made acquainted with the news, she waxed indignant. "Our Tom a thief!" she cried. "Why don't they accuse me and Mr. Jackson and you? The idea! You ought to hire a lawyer, Mr. Swift, and prosecute those men for slander." "Do you think it would be a good plan?" "I certainly do. Why they have no evidence at all! What does that mean, sneaking Andy Foger amount to? Get a lawyer, and have Tom's interests looked after." Mr. Swift, glad to have someone share the responsibility with, felt somewhat better when a well-known Shopton attorney assured him that the evidence against Tom was of such a flimsy character that it would scarcely hold in a court of justice. "But they have warrants for him and Mr. Damon," declared the inventor. "Very true, but it is easy to swear out a warrant against any one. It's a different matter to prove a person guilty." "But they can arrest my son." "Yes--if they catch him. However, we can soon have him released on bail." "It's disgraceful," said Mrs. Baggert. "Not at all, my dear madam, not at all. Good and innocent persons have been arrested." "They are going to send out a general alarm for my son," bewailed Mr. Swift. "Yes, but I fancy it will be some time before they catch him and Mr. Damon, if the airship holds together. I can't think of a better way to keep out of the clutches of the police, and their silly charge," chuckled the lawyer. "Now don't worry, Mr. Swift. It will all come out right." The inventor tried to believe so, but, though he knew his son was innocent, it was rather hard to see, within the next few days, big posters on all the vacant walls and fences, offering a reward of five thousand dollars for the arrest of Tom Swift and Wakefield Damon, who were charged with having flown away in an airship with seventy-five thousand dollars of the bank's money. "I guess Tom Swift will wish he'd been more decent to me when I collect that money for his arrest," said Andy to his crony, Sam, the day the bills were posted. "Yes, but I get my share, don't I?" asked Sam. "Sure," answered the bully. "I wish they'd hurry up and arrest him." Within the next few days the country was covered with posters telling of the robbery and the reward, and police officials in cities large and small, and in towns and villages, were notified by telegraph to arrest and capture, at any cost the occupants of a certain large, red airship. Mr. Swift, on the advice of his lawyer, sent several telegrams to Tom, apprising him of what had happened. The telegraph company was asked to rush the telegrams to the first city when word came in that the Red Cloud had landed. Chapter 15 Fired Upon Tom's excited call to the aeronaut, telling of the mishap to Mr. Damon, was answered immediately. Mr. Sharp jumped forward from the motor compartment, and, passing on his way the electric switch, he yanked it out, stopping the machinery, and the great propellers. Then he leaped out on the platform. But something else happened. Just before the accident to the eccentric man, desiring to give a further test to the planes, the gas had been shut off, making the airship an aeroplane instead of a dirigible balloon. Consequently, as soon as the forward motion ceased the great ship began falling. "We're sinking! We're sinking!" cried Tom, forgetting for a moment that he was not in his motor-boat. "Slant your rudder up, and glide downward as slowly as you can!" directed Mr. Sharp. "I'll start the engine again as soon as I rescue him," for it was risky to venture out on the platform with the propeller whirring, as the dangling piece of scarf might whip around the balloonist and toss him off. Mr. Sharp was soon at Mr. Damon's side. He saw that the man was unconscious, whether from fright or some injury could not then be determined. There was, however, no sign of a wound. It was no easy task to carry, half dragging it, the heavy body of Mr. Damon off the platform, but the aeronaut was a muscular individual, and long hanging from a trapeze, at great heights, stood him in good stead. He brought the unconscious man into the cabin, and then, quickly returning to the platform, he detached the piece of scarf from the propeller blade. Next he started the motor, and also turned on the gas tank, so that the airship, in a few minutes, could float in space without motion. "You needn't steer now, Tom," said the balloonist. "Just give me a hand here." "Is--is he dead?" inquired the lad, his voice faltering. "No, his heart's beating. I can't understand what happened." Mr. Sharp was something of a rough and ready surgeon and doctor, and a small box of medicines had been brought along in case of emergencies. With the Red Cloud now lazily floating in the air, for, once the falling motion had been checked by the engine, the motor had been stopped again, Mr. Sharp set about restoring Mr. Damon to consciousness. It was not long before the man opened his eyes. The color that had left his cheeks came back, and, after a drink of cold water he was able to sit up. "Did I fall?" he asked. "Bless my very existence, but did I tumble off the airship?" "No indeed," replied Tom, "though you came pretty near it. How do you feel? Were you hurt?" "Oh, I'm all right now--just a trifle dizzy. But I thought sure I was a goner when I fell over the platform railing," and Mr. Damon could not repress a shudder. Mr. Sharp administered some more medicine and his patient was soon able to stand, and move about. "How did it happen?" inquired the balloonist. "I hardly know," answered Mr. Damon. "I was out on the platform, looking at the view, and thinking how much better my neuralgia was, with the scarf on. Suddenly the wind whipped loose one end of the scarf, and, before I knew it the cloth had caught on the propeller blade. I was blown, or drawn to one side, tossed against the railing, which I managed to grab, and then I lost my senses. It's a good thing I wasn't whirled around the propeller." "It's a good thing you weren't tossed down to the earth," commented Tom, shivering as he thought of his friend's narrow escape. "I became unconscious, partly because the wind was knocked from me as I hit the platform railing," went on Mr. Damon, "and partly from fright, I think. But I'm all right now, and I'm not going out on that platform again with a loose scarf on." "I wouldn't go out at all again, if I were you, though, of course, I'm used to dizzy heights," spoke Mr. Sharp. "Oh, I'm not so easily frightened," declared Mr. Damon. "If I'm going to be a balloonist, or an aeroplanist I've got to get used to certain things. I'm all right now," and the plucky man was, for the blow to his side did not amount to much. It was some time, however, before Tom got over the fright his friend had caused him. They spent that night moving slowly south, and in the morning found they had covered about a hundred miles, not having run the ship to anything like its maximum speed. Breakfast was served above the clouds, for a change, Mr. Damon finding that he could stand the great height with comfort. It was three days after the start, and the travelers were proceeding slowly along. They were totally unaware, of course, of the sensation which their leaving, conjointly with the bank robbery, had caused, not only in Shopton but in other places. "We're over a good-sized city," announced Tom, on the noon of the third day. "Suppose we drop down, and leave some message? Dad will be anxious to hear from us." "Good idea," commented Mr. Sharp. "Down it is. Shift the rudder." Tom proceeded to do so, and, while Mr. Damon relieved him at the wheel the young inventor prepared a message to his father. It was placed in a weighted envelope, together with a sum of money, and the person picking it up was requested to send the letter as a telegram, retaining some money for his trouble. As the ship got lower and lower over the city the usual crowds could be seen congregating in the streets, pointing and gazing upward. "We're creating quite a stir," observed Tom. "More than usual, it seems," added Mr. Sharp, peering down. "I declare, there seems to be a police parade under way." "That's right," put in Mr. Damon, for, looking down, a squad of uniformed officers, some on horseback, could be seen hurrying along the main street, trying to keep pace with the airship, which was moving slowly. "They're looking at us through telescopes," called Tom. "Guess they never saw a balloon down this way." Nearer and nearer to the city dropped the Red Cloud. Tom was about to let go the weighted envelope, when, from the midst of the police came several puffs of white smoke. It was followed by vicious, zipping sounds about the cabin of the ship, the windows of which were open. Then came the reports of several rifles. "They're firing at us!" yelled Tom. "So they are!" cried Mr. Sharp. "They must be crazy! Can't they see that we're not a bird." "Maybe they take us for a war balloon," suggested Mr. Damon. Another volley was directed at the airship, and several bullets struck the big aluminum gas holder glancing blows. "Here! Quit that!" yelled Tom, leaning out of the window. "Are you crazy? You'll damage us!" "They can't hear you," called Mr. Sharp. A third volley was fired, and this time several persons other than police officers seemed to be shooting at the airship. Revolvers as well as rifles were being used. "We're got to get out of this!" shouted Mr. Sharp, as a bullet sang uncomfortably close to his head. "I can't imagine what's gotten into the people. Send her up, Tom!" The lad quickly shifted the elevation rudder, and the Red Cloud sailed majestically aloft. The young inventor had not dropped his message, concluding that citizens who would fire on travelers of the air for no reason, would not be likely to accommodate them in the matter of sending messages. The craft mounted rapidly upward, but before it was beyond rifle shot another volley was fired, one bullet sending some splinters flying from the wooden framework. "Whew! That was a narrow escape!" exclaimed Mr. Sharp. "What in the world can those people be up to, anyhow?" Chapter 16 Over a Fiery Furnace Down below, the aeronauts could see the crowd, led by the police, scurrying to and fro. Many individuals beside the officers appeared to be holding weapons, and, from the puffs of smoke that spurted out, it was evident that more shots were being fired. But the bullets could do no harm, and the Red Cloud, under the force of the rapidly revolving propellers, was soon beyond the center of the city. "Well, if that isn't the limit!" cried Tom. "They must have taken us for a German war balloon, about to drop explosives on them." "Bless my liver!" ejaculated Mr. Damon, "I believe you're right. Eh, Mr. Sharp?" The veteran balloonist took a careful look over the craft before replying. Then he spoke: "It couldn't be that," and he shook his head, as if puzzled. "They would know no foreign airship would try any trick like that. Beside, if by some remote possibility they did imagine it, there would be soldiers shooting at us, instead of the police. As it was, the whole population seemed anxious to bring us down." "And they nearly did," added Mr. Damon. "If they had shot a few holes in the gas bag where would we be?" "Right in the air," answered the balloonist. "It would take several volleys of bullets to damage our aluminum container. It is in sections and when one, or even five compartments, for that matter, are pierced, there is enough gas in the others to sustain us. So they could not have damaged us much, even if they had shot a lot of holes in us. Even without the gas container we can keep afloat by constantly moving, for the planes will serve their purpose. Of course they could damage us, and maybe put some of our machinery out of business, and that would be a serious thing. But what puzzles me is why they fired at us at all." "It couldn't be out of pure mischief; could it?" asked the young inventor. "Hardly. If we were in a savage country I could understand the natives firing at some such object as this airship, but the people of that city must have known what our craft was. They probably have read something about it in the news papers, and to deliberately fire on us, with the chance of disabling us, seems worse than barbarous." "Well, we won't give 'em another opportunity," commented Mr. Damon. "No, indeed, not this city, but who knows but what the example may spread? We may be fired at the next town we sail over." "Then steer clear of the towns," advised Tom. "Impossible. We must pass over some, but I'd like to solve this mystery." The day passed without further incident, though they did not go low enough down over any city to drop any messages. It was decided that it would not be safe. "We'll take a chance at night," suggested Tom, and that evening, approaching a good-sized town in the dusk, several of the weighted envelopes were dropped overboard. Doubtless persons walking along the street, who were startled by hearing something fall with a "thud" at their feet, were much startled to look up and see, dimly, a great, ghostly shape moving in the air. But there was no shooting, and, eventually, some of the messages reached Mr. Swift, in Shopton. But he could not answer them for the airship kept on the move. The night was spent floating in the air, with the engine stopped, and the Red Cloud floating lazily this way and that as the gentle winds shifted, for it was calm. The "anchorage" if such it may be called, was above a sparsely settled part of the country, and if the lights of the airship were seen from below, the farmers doubtless took them for some new stars or, possibly, a comet. "Now then for a fast, straight run!" cried Tom, after breakfast had been served, and the big motor, with its twenty cylinders, started. "We'll be able to make the turn to-day, and then make for home, won't we, Mr. Sharp?" "Well, we could do it, Tom," was the answer, "but I like this mode of traveling so that I think I'll lengthen the voyage. Instead of turning at Atlanta, what do you say to making for Key West, and then starting back? That will be something of a trip. The Red Cloud is behaving much better than I hoped she would." "I'm willing to go further if Mr. Damon is." "Oh, bless my shoe strings, I'm game!" exclaimed the eccentric man. "I always did want to go to Key West, anyhow." The craft was speeding along at a fast clip, and dinner that day was served about three miles in the air. Then, desiring to test the gliding abilities of the airship, it was sent down on a long slant, with the propellers stationary, the shifting planes and rudders alone guiding it. As the craft fairly slid down out of the sky, like a sled on a bank of fleecy snow, Tom, who was peering ahead, with his hand on the steering wheel, cried out "I say! It looks as if we were going to run into a thunder storm!" "How's that?" inquired Mr. Sharp, poking his head from the motor compartment. "He says there's a big storm ahead," repeated Mr. Damon, "and I guess he's right. I see a big bank of dark clouds, and there is a roaring in the air." Mr. Sharp, who had been making some adjustments to the motor went forward to take a look. The Red Cloud was swiftly gliding downward on a slant, straight toward a dark mass of vapor, that seemed to be rolling first one way, and then another, while as Mr. Damon had said, there was a low rumbling proceeding from it. "That doesn't seem to be a thunder storm," spoke the balloonist, with a puzzled air. They all regarded the dark mass of vapor intently for a few seconds. Tom had brought the airship to a more level keel, and it was now spinning along under its own momentum, like a flat piece of tin, scaled by some lead. But it was headed for the clouds, if such they were, though losing speed by degrees. "I'll have to start the motor!" exclaimed Mr. Sharp. "We don't want to run into a storm, if we can help it, though I don't ever remember seeing a thunder disturbance like that." "Whew! It's getting warm," suddenly announced the youth, and he let go of the steering wheel for a moment, while he took off his coat. "That's what it is," agreed Mr. Damon, who also divested himself of his garments. "Bless my spark plug, but it's like a July day. No wonder there's a thunderstorm ahead." Then Mr. Sharp uttered a cry. "That's no storm!" he fairly shouted. "It's a big forest fire! That's smoke we see! We must get out of this. Turn around Tom, while I start the engine. We must rise above it!" He fairly leaped for the motor, and Tom and Mr. Damon could hear him turning the levers and wheels, ready to start. But before the explosions came something happened. There was a sound as of some great, siren whistle blowing, and then, with a howl of the on rushing air, the Red Cloud, the propellers of which hung motionless on their shafts, was fairly sucked forward toward the fire, as the current sucks a boat over a water fall. "Start the motor! Start the motor, Mr. Sharp!" cried Tom. "I'm trying to, but something seems to be the matter." "We're being drawn right over the fire!" yelled Mr. Damon. "It's getting hotter every minute! Can't you do something?" "You take the wheel," called the balloonist to Mr. Damon. "Steer around, just as if it was an auto when we start the engine. Tom, come here and give me a hand. The motor has jammed!" The young inventor sprang to obey. Mr. Damon, his face showing some of the fear he felt, grasped the steering wheel. The airship was now about a quarter of a mile high, but instead of resting motionless in the air, sustained by the gas in the container, she was being pulled forward, right toward the heart of the mass of black vapor, which it could now be seen was streaked with bright tongues of flame. "What's making us go ahead, if the motor isn't going?" asked Tom, as he bent over the machine, at which the aeronaut was laboring. "Suction--draught from the fire!" explained Mr. Sharp. "Heated air rises and leaves a vacuum. The cold air rushes in. It's carrying us with it. We'll be right in the fire in a few minutes, if we can't get started with this motor! I don't see what ails it." "Can't we steer to one side, as it is?" "No. We're right in a powerful current of air, and steering won't do any good, until we have some motion of our own. Turn the gasolene lever on a little more, and see if you can get a spark." Tom did so, but no explosion resulted. The twenty cylinders of the big engine remained mute. The airship, meanwhile, was gathering speed, sucked onward and downward as it was by the draught from the fire. The roaring was plainer now, and the crackling of the flames could be heard plainly. The heat, too, grew more intense. Frantically Tom and Mr. Sharp labored over the motor. With the perverseness usual to gas engines, it had refused to work at a critical moment. "What shall I do?" cried Mr. Damon from his position in the pilot house. "We seem to be heading right for the midst of it?" "Slant the elevation rudder," called Tom. "Send the ship up. It will be cooler the higher we go. Maybe we can float over it!" "You'd better go out there," advised Mr. Sharp. "I'll keep at this motor. Go up as high as you can. Turn on more gas. That will elevate us, but maybe not quick enough. The gas doesn't generate well in great heat. I'm afraid we're in for it," he added grimly. Tom sprang to relieve Mr. Damon. The heat was now intense. Nearer and nearer came the Red Cloud to the blazing forest, which seemed to cover several square miles. Great masses of smoke, with huge pieces of charred and blazing wood carried up by the great draught, circled around the ship. The Red Cloud was being pulled into the midst of the fire by the strong suction. Tom yanked over the elevation rudder, and the nose of the craft pointed upward. But it still moved downward, and, a moment later the travelers of the air felt as if they were over a fiery furnace. Chapter 17 "Wanted For Robbery!" Choking and gasping for breath, feeling as if they could not stand the intense heat more than a moment longer, the young inventor and his companions looked at each other. Death seemed ready to reach out and grasp them. The mass of heated air was so powerful that it swung and tossed the Red Cloud about as if it were a wisp of paper. "We must do something!" cried Mr. Damon, beginning to take off his collar and vest. "I'm choking!" "Lie down in the bottom of the car," suggested Mr. Sharp. "The smoke won't trouble you so much there." The eccentric man, too startled, now, to use any of his "blessing" expressions, did so. "Can't you start the motor?" asked Tom frantically, as he stuck to his post, with his hand on the steering wheel, the elevation lever jammed back as far as it would go. "I've done my best," answered the balloonist, gasping as he swallowed some smoke. "I'm afraid--afraid it's all up with us. We should have steered clear of this from the first. My, how it roars!" The crackling and snapping of the flames below them, as they fed on the dry wood, which no rain had wet for weeks, was like the rush of some great cataract. Up swirled the dark smoke-clouds, growing hotter and hotter all the while as the craft came nearer and nearer to the center of the conflagration. "We must rise higher!" cried Tom. "It's our only chance. Turn on the gas machine full power, and fill the container. That will carry us up!" "Yes, it's our only hope," muttered Mr. Sharp. "We must go up, but the trouble is the gas doesn't generate so fast when there's too much heat. We're bound to have to stay over this fiery pit for some time yet." "We're going up a little!" spoke Tom hopefully, as he glanced at a gauge near him. "We're fifteen hundred feet now, and we were only twelve a while ago." "Good! Keep the elevation rudder as it is, and I'll see what I can do with the gas," advised the balloonist. "It's our only hope," and he hurried into the engine room, which, like the other parts of the cabin, was now murky with choking vapor and soot. Suddenly the elevation gauge showed that they were falling. The airship was going down. "What's the matter?" called Mr. Damon, from the cabin floor. "I don't know," answered Tom, "unless the rudder has broken." He peered through the haze. No, the big elevation rudder was still in place, but it seemed to have no effect on the shim. "It's a down draught!" cried Mr. Sharp. "We're being sucked down. It won't last but a few seconds. I've been in 'em before." He seemed to have guessed rightly, for, the next instant the airship was shooting upward again, and relief came to the aeronauts, though it was not much, for the heat was almost unbearable, and they had taken off nearly all their clothing. "Lighten ship!" sung out Mr. Sharp. "Toss over all the things you think we can spare, Tom. Some of the cases of provisions--we can get more--if we need 'em. We must rise, and the gas isn't generating fast enough!" There was no need for the young inventor at the steering wheel now, for the craft simply could not be guided. It was swirled about, now this way, now that, by the currents of heated air. At times it would rise a considerable distance, only to be pulled down again, and, just before Tom began to toss overboard some boxes of food, it seemed that the end had come, for the craft went down so low that the upward leaping tongues of flame almost reached the lower frame. "I'll help you," gasped Mr. Damon, and while he and Tom tossed from the cabin windows some of their stores, Mr. Sharp was frantically endeavoring to make the gas generate faster. It was slow work, but with the lightening of the ship their situation improved. Slowly, so slowly that it seemed an age, the elevation pointer went higher and higher on the dial. "Sixteen hundred feet!" sung out Tom, pausing for a look at the gauge. "That's the best yet!" The heat was felt less, now, and every minute was improving their situation. Slowly the hand moved. The gas was being made in larger quantities now that the heat was less. Ten minutes more of agony, and their danger was over. They were still above the burning area, but sufficiently high so that only stray wisps of smoke enveloped them. "Whew! But that was the worst ever!" cried Tom, as he sank exhausted on a bench, and wiped his perspiring face. "We sure were in a bad way!" "I should say so," agreed Mr. Sharp. "And if we don't get a breeze we may have to stay here for some time." "Why, can't you get that motor to work yet?" asked Mr. Damon. "Bless my gaiters, but I'm all in, as the boys say." "I'll have another try at the machine now," replied Mr. Sharp. "Probably it will work now, after we're out of danger without the aid of it." His guess proved correct, for, in a few minutes, with the aid of Tom, the motor started, the propellers revolved, and the Red Cloud was sent swiftly out of the fire zone. "Now we'd better take account of ourselves, our provisions, and the ship," said Mr. Sharp, when they had flown about twenty miles, and were much refreshed by the cooler atmosphere. "I don't believe the craft is damaged any, except some of the braces may be warped by the heat. As for the provisions, you threw over a lot; didn't you, Tom?" "Well, I had to." "Yes, I guess you did. Well, we'll make a landing." "Do you think it will be safe?" asked Mr. Damon anxiously. "We might be fired upon again." "Oh, there's no danger of that. But I'll take precautions. I don't want a big crowd around when we come down, so we'll pick out a secluded place and land just at dusk. Then in the morning we can look over the ship, and go to the nearest town to buy provisions. After that we can continue our journey, and we'll steer clear of forest fires after this." "And people who shoot at us," added Mr. Damon. "Yes. I wish I knew what that was done for," and once again came that puzzled look to the face of the balloonist. The airship gently descended that evening in a large level field, a good landing being made. Just before the descent Tom took an observation and located, about two miles from the spot they selected for an "anchorage," a good-sized village. "We can get provisions there," he announced. "Yes, but we must not let it be known what they are for," said Mr. Sharp, "or we'll have the whole population out here. I think this will be a good plan: Tom, you and Mr. Damon go into town and buy the things we need. I'll stay here with the airship, and look it all over. You can arrange to have the stuff carted out here in the morning, and left at a point say about a quarter of a mile away. Then we can carry it to the ship. In that way no one will discover us, and we'll not be bothered with curiosity-seekers." This was voted a good idea, and, when the landing had been made, and a hasty examination showed that the ship had suffered no great damage from the passage over the fire, the young inventor and Mr. Damon started off. They soon found a good road, leading to town, and tramped along it in the early evening. The few persons they met paid little attention to them, save to bow in a friendly fashion, and, occasionally wish them good evening. "I wonder where we are?" asked Tom, as they hurried along. "In some southern town, to judge by the voices of the people, and the number of colored individuals we've met," answered Mr. Damon. "Let's ask," suggested Tom. "No, if you do they'll know we're strangers, and they may ask a lot of questions." "Oh, I guess if it's a small place they'll know we're strangers soon enough," commented Tom. "But when we get to the village itself we can read the name on the store windows." A few minutes later found them in the midst of a typical southern town. It was Berneau, North Carolina, according to the signs, they saw. "Here's a restaurant," called Tom, as they passed a neat-appearing one. "Let's go inside and get some supper before we buy our supplies." "Good!" exclaimed Mr. Damon. "Bless my flapjacks, but I am beginning to feel hungry." The eating place was a good one, and Tom's predictions about their being taken for strangers was verified, for, no sooner had they given their orders than the pretty, white girl, who waited on the table remarked: "Ah reckon yo' all are from th' no'th; aren't yo'?" She smiled, as she spoke, and Tom smiled back as he acknowledged it. "Have you a paper--a newspaper I could look at?" he asked. "Ah guess Ah can find one," went on the girl. "Ah reckon yo' all are from N' York. N' Yorkers are so desperant bent on readin' th' news." Her tones were almost like those of a colored person. "Yes, we're from a part of New York," was Tom's reply. When a newspaper was brought to him, after they had nearly finished their meal, the young inventor rapidly scanned the pages. Something on the front sheet, under a heading of big, black type caught his eye. He started as he read it. WANTED FOR ROBBERY! BANK LOOTERS ESCAPE IN RED AIRSHIP--FIRED AT BUT DISAPPEAR "Great Jehosophat!" exclaimed Tom, in a low voice. "What on earth can this mean?" "What?" inquired Mr. Damon. "Has anything happened?" "Happened? I should say there had," was the answer. "Why, we're accused of having robbed the Shopton Bank of seventy-five thousand dollars the night before we left, and to have taken it away in the Red Cloud. There's a general alarm out for us! Why this is awful!" "It's preposterous!" burst out Mr. Damon. "I'll have my lawyers sue this paper. Bless my stocks and bonds, I!" "Hush! Not so loud," cautioned Tom, for the pretty waitress was watching them curiously. "Here, read this, and then we'll decide what to do. But one thing is certain, we must go back to Shopton at once to clear ourselves of this accusation." "Ha!" murmured Mr. Damon, as he read the article rapidly. "Now I know why they fired at us. They hoped to bring us down, capture us, and get the five thousand dollars reward!" Chapter 18 Back For Vindication Tom glanced around the restaurant. There were few persons in it save himself and Mr. Damon. The pretty waitress was still regarding the two curiously. "We ought to take that paper along with us, to show to Mr. Sharp," said Tom, in a low voice to his friend. "I haven't had time to take it all in myself, yet. Let's go. I've had enough to eat, haven't you?" "Yes. My appetite is gone now." As they arose, to pay their checks the girl advanced. "Can you tell me where I can get a copy of this paper?" asked Tom, as he laid down a generous tip on the table, for the girl. Her eyes opened rather wide. "Yo' all are fo'gettin' some of yo' money," she said, in her broad, southern tones. Tom thought her the prettiest girl he ever seen, excepting Mary Nestor. "Oh, that's for you," replied the young inventor. "It's a tip. Aren't you in the habit of getting them down here?" "Not very often. Thank yo' all. But what did yo' all ask about that paper?" "I asked where I could get a copy of it. There is something in it that interests me." "Yes, an' Ah reckon Ah knows what it is," exclaimed the girl. "It's about that airship with th' robbers in it!" "How do you know?" inquired Tom quickly, and he tried to seem cool, though he felt the hot blood mounting to his cheeks. "Oh, Ah saw yo' all readin' it. Everybody down heah is crazy about it. We all think th' ship is comin' down this way, 'cause it says th' robbers was intendin' to start south befo' they robbed th' bank. Ah wish Ah could collect thet five thousand dollars. If Ah could see that airship, I wouldn't work no mo' in this eatin' place. What do yo' all reckon thet airship looks like?" and the girl gazed intently at Tom and Mr. Damon. "Why, bless my--" began the eccentric man, but Tom broke in hurriedly: "Oh, I guess it looks like most any other airship," for he feared that if his companion used any of his odd expressions he might be recognized, since our hero had not had time to read the article in the paper through, and was not sure whether or not a description of himself, Mr. Damon and Mr. Sharp was given. "Well, Ah suah wish I could collect thet reward," went on the girl. "Everybody is on th' lookout. Yo' all ain't see th' airship; have yo' all?" "Where can we get a paper like this?" asked Tom, again, not wanting to answer such a leading question. "Why, yo' all is suah welcome to that one," was the reply. "Ah guess Ah can affo'd to give it to yo' all, after th' generous way yo' all behaved to me. Take it, an' welcome. But are yo' all suah yo' are done eatin'? Yo' all left lots." "Oh, we had enough," replied Tom hurriedly. His sole aim now was to get away--to consult with Mr. Sharp, and he needed the paper to learn further details of the astonishing news. He and his friends accused of looting the bank, and taking away seventy-five thousand dollars in the airship! It was incredible! A reward of five thousand dollars offered for their capture! They might be arrested any minute, yet they could not go on without buying some provisions. What were they to do? Once outside the restaurant, Mr. Damon and Tom walked swiftly on. They came to a corner where there was a street lamp, and there the young inventor paused to scan the paper again. It was the copy of a journal published in the nearby county seat, and contained quite a full account of the affair. The story was told of how the bank had been broken into, the vault rifled and the money taken. The first clue, it said, was given by a youth named Andy Foger, who had seen a former acquaintance hanging around the bank with burglar tools. Tom recognized the description of himself as the "former acquaintance," but he could not understand the rest. "Burglar tools? I wonder how Andy could say that?" he asked Mr. Damon. "Wait until we get back, and we'll ask John Sharp," suggested his companion. "This is very strange. I am going to sue some one for spreading false reports about me! Bless my ledgers, why I have money on deposit in that bank! To think that I would rob it!" "Poor dad!" murmured Tom. "This must be hard for him. But what about ordering food? Maybe if we buy any they will trail us, find the airship and capture it. I don't want to be arrested, even if I am innocent, and I certainly don't want the airship to fall into the hands of the police. They might damage it." "We must go see Mr. Sharp," declared Mr. Damon, and back to where the Red Cloud was concealed they went. To say that the balloonist was astonished is putting it mildly. He was even more excited than was Mr. Damon. "Wait until I get hold of that Andy Foger!" he cried. "I'll make him sweat for this! I see he's already laid claim to the reward," he added, reading further along in the article. "He thinks he has put the police on our trail." "So he seems to have done," added Tom. "The whole country has been notified to look out for us," the paper says. "We're likely to be fired upon whenever we pass over a city or a town." "Then we'll have to avoid them," declared the balloonist. "But we must go back," declared Tom. "Of course. Back to be vindicated. We'll have to give up our trip. My, my! But this is a surprise!" "I don't see what makes Andy say he saw me with burglar tools," commented Tom, with a puzzled air. Mr. Sharp thought for a moment. Then he exclaimed "It was that bag of tools I sent you after--the long wrenches, the pliers, and the brace and bits. You--" "Of course!" cried Tom. "I remember now. The bag dropped and opened, and Andy and Sam saw the tools. But the idea of taking them for burglar tools!" "Well, I suppose the burglars, whoever they were, did use tools similar to those to break open the vault," put in Mr. Damon. "Andy probably thought he was a smart lad to put the police on our track." "I'll put him on the track, when I return," declared Mr. Sharp. "Well, now, what's to be done?" "We've got to have food," suggested Tom. "Yes, but I think we can manage that. I've been looking over the ship, as best I could in the dark. It seems to be all right. We can start early in the morning without anyone around here knowing we paid their town a visit. You and Mr. Damon go back to town, Tom, and order some stuff. Have the man leave it by the roadside early to-morrow morning. Tell him it's for some travelers, who will stop and pick it up. Pay him well, and tell him to keep quiet, as it's for a racing party. That's true enough. We're going to race home to vindicate our reputations. I think that will be all right." "The man may get suspicious," said Mr. Damon. "I hope not," answered the balloonist. "We've got to take a chance, anyhow." The plan worked well, however, the store keeper promising to have the supplies on hand at the time and place mentioned. He winked as Tom asked him to keep quiet about it. "Oh, I know yo' automobile fellers," he said with a laugh. "You want to get some grub on the fly, so you won't have to stop, an' can beat th' other fellow. I know you, fer I see them automobile goggles stickin' out of your pocket." Tom and Mr. Damon each had a pair, to use when the wind was strong, but the young inventor had forgotten about his. They now served him a good turn, for they turned the thoughts of the storekeeper into a new channel. The lad let it go at that, and, paying for such things as he and Mr. Damon could not carry, left the store. The aeronauts passed an uneasy night. They raised their ship high in the air, anchoring it by a rope fast to a big tree, and they turned on no lights, for they did not want to betray their position. They descended before it was yet daylight, and a little later hurried to the place where the provisions were left. They found their supplies safely on hand, and, carrying them into the airship, prepared to turn back to Shopton. As the ship rose high in the air a crowd of negro laborers passing through a distant field, saw it. At once they raised a commotion, shouting and pointing to the wonderful sight. "We're discovered!" cried Tom. "No matter," answered Mr. Sharp. "We'll soon be out of sight, and we'll fly high the rest of this trip." Tom looked down on the fast disappearing little hamlet, and he thought of the pretty girl in the restaurant. Chapter 19 Wrecked With her nose headed north, the Red Cloud swung along through the air. Those on board were thinking of many things, but chief among them was the unjust accusation that had been made against them, by an irresponsible boy--the red-haired Andy Foger. They read the account in the paper again, seeking to learn from it new things at each perusal. "It's just a lot of circumstantial evidence that's what it is," said Tom. "I admit it might look suspicious to anyone who didn't know us, but Andy Foger has certainly done the most mischief by his conclusions. Burglar tools! The idea!" "I think I shall sue the bank for damages," declared Mr. Damon. "They have injured my reputation by making this accusation against me. Anyhow, I'll certainly never do any more business with them, and I'll withdraw my ten thousand dollars deposit, as soon as we get back." "Mr. Sharp doesn't seem to be accused of doing anything at all," remarked Tom, reading the article for perhaps the tenth time. "Oh, I guess I'm a sort of general all-around bad man, who helped you burglars to escape with the booty," answered the balloonist, with a laugh. "I expect to be arrested along with you two." "But must we be arrested?" inquired Tom anxiously. "I don't like that idea at all. We haven't done anything." "This is my plan," went on Mr. Sharp. "We'll get back to Shopton as quickly as we can. We'll arrive at night, so no one will see us, and, leaving the airship in some secluded spot, we'll go to the police and explain matters. We can easily prove that we had nothing to do with the robbery. Why we were all home the night it happened! Mr. Swift, Mr. Jackson and Mrs. Baggert can testify to that." "Yes," agreed Mr. Damon. "I guess they can. Bless my bank book, but that seems a good plan. We'll follow it." Proceeding on the plan which they had decided was the best one, the Red Cloud was sent high into the air. So high up was it that, at times it was above the clouds. Though this caused some little discomfort at first, especially to Mr. Damon, he soon became used to it, as did the others. And it had the advantage of concealing them from the persons below who might be on the lookout. "For we don't want to be shot at again," explained Mr. Sharp. "It isn't altogether healthy, and not very safe. If we keep high up they can't see us; much less shoot at us. They'll take us for some big bird. Then, too, we can go faster." "I suppose there will be another alarm sent out, from those negroes having sighted us," ventured Tom. "Oh, yes, but those colored fellows were so excited they may describe us as having horns, hoofs and a tail, and their story may not be believed. I'm not worrying about them. My chief concern is to drive the Red Cloud for all she is worth. I want to explain some things back there in Shopton." As if repenting of the way it had misbehaved over the forest fire, the airship was now swinging along at a rapid rate. Seated in the cabin the travelers would have really enjoyed the return trip had it not been for the accusation hanging over them. The weather was fine and clear, and as they skimmed along, now and then coming out from the clouds, they caught glimpses below them of the earth above which they were traveling. They had a general idea of their location, from knowing the town where the paper had given them such astounding news, and it was easy to calculate their rate of progress. After running about a hundred miles or so, at high speed Mr. Sharp found it necessary to slow down the motor, as some of the new bearings were heating. Still this gave them no alarm, as they were making good time. They came to a stop that night, and calculated that by the next evening, or two at the latest, they would be back in Shopton. But they did not calculate on an accident. One of the cylinders on the big motor cracked, as they started up next morning, and for some hours they had to hang in the air, suspended by the gas in the container, while Mr. Sharp and Tom took out the damaged part, and put in a spare one, the cylinders being cast separately. It was dusk when they finished, and too late to start up, so they remained about in the same place until the next day. Morning dawned with a hot humidness, unusual at that time of the year, but partly accounted for by the fact that they were still within the influence of the southern climate. With a whizz the big propellers were set in motion, and, with Tom at the wheel, the ship being about three miles in the air, to which height it had risen after the repairs were made, the journey was recommenced. "It's cooler up here than down below," remarked Tom, as he shifted the wheel and rudder a bit, in response to a gust of wind, that heeled the craft over. "Yes, I think we're going to have a storm," remarked Mr. Sharp, eyeing the clouds with a professional air. "We may run ahead of it, or right into it. We'll go down a bit, toward night, when there's less danger of being shot." So far, on their return trip, they had not been low enough, in the day time, to be in any danger from persons who hoped to earn the five thousand dollars reward. The afternoon passed quickly, and it got dark early. There was a curious hum to the wind, and, hearing it, Mr. Sharp began to go about the ship, seeing that everything was fast and taut. "We're going to have a blow," he remarked, "and a heavy one, too. We'll have to make everything snug, and be ready to go up or down, as the case calls for." "Up or down?" inquired Mr. Damon. "Yes. By rising we may escape the blow, or, by going below the strata of agitated air, we may escape it." "How about rain?" "Well, you can get above rain, but you can't get below it, with the law of gravitation working as it does at present. How's the gas generator, Tom?" "Seems to be all right," replied the young inventor, who had relinquished the wheel to the balloonist. They ate an early supper, and, hardly had the dishes been put away, when from the west, where there was a low-flying bank of clouds, there came a mutter of thunder. A little later there was a dull, red illumination amid the rolling masses of vapor. "There's the storm, and she's heading right this way," commented Mr. Sharp. "Can't you avoid it?" asked Mr. Damon, anxiously. "I could, if I knew how high it was, but I guess we'll wait and see how it looks as we get closer." The airship was flying on, and the storm, driven by a mighty wind, was rushing to meet it. Already there was a sighing, moaning sound in the wire and wooden braces of the Red Cloud. Suddenly there came such a blast that it heeled the ship over on her side. "Shift the equilibrium rudders!" shouted Mr. Sharp to Tom, turning the wheel and various levers over to the lad. "I'm going to get more speed out of the motor!" Tom acted just in time, and, after bobbing about like a cork on the water, the ship was righted, and sent forging ahead, under the influence of the propellers worked at top speed. Nor was this any too much, for it needed all the power of the big engine to even partially overcome the force of the wind that was blowing right against the Red Cloud. Of course they might have turned and flown before it, but they wanted to go north, not south--they wanted to face their accusers. Then, after the first fury of the blast had spent itself, there came a deluge of rain, following a dazzling glare of lightning and a bursting crash of thunder. In spite of the gale buffeting her, the airship was making good progress. The skill of Tom and the balloonist was never shown to better advantage. All around them the storm raged, but through it the craft kept on her way. Nothing could be seen but pelting sheets of water and swirling mist, yet onward the ship was driven. The thunder was deafening, and the lightning nearly blinded them, until the electrics were switched on, flooding the cabin with radiance. Inside the car they were snug and dry, though the pitching of the craft was like that of a big liner in the trough of the ocean waves. "Will she weather it, do you think?" called Mr. Damon, in the ear of Mr. Sharp, shouting so as to be heard above the noise of the elements, and the hum of the motor. The balloonist nodded. "She's a good ship," he answered proudly. Hardly had he spoken when there came a crash louder than any that had preceded, and the flash of rosy light that accompanied it seemed to set the whole heavens on fire. At the same time there was violent shock to the ship. "We're hit! Struck by lightning!" yelled Tom. "We're falling!" cried Mr. Damon an instant later. Mr. Sharp looked at the elevation gauge. The hand was slowly swinging around. Down, down dropped the Red Cloud. She was being roughly treated by the storm. "I'm afraid we're wrecked!" said the balloonist in a low voice, scarcely audible above the roar of the tempest. Following the great crash had come a comparatively light bombardment from the sky artillery. "Use the gliding rudder, Tom," called Mr. Sharp, a moment later. "We may fall, but we'll land as easily as possible." The wind, the rain, the lightning and thunder continued. Down, down sank the ship. Its fall was somewhat checked by the rudder Tom swung into place, and by setting the planes at a different angle. The motor had been stopped, and the propellers no longer revolved. In the confusion and darkness it was not safe to run ahead, with the danger of colliding with unseen objects on the earth. They tried to peer from the windows, but could see nothing. A moment later, as they stared at each other with fear in their eyes, there came a shock. The ship trembled from end to end. "We've landed!" cried Tom, as he yanked back on the levers. The airship came to a stop. "Now to see where we are," said Mr. Sharp grimly, "and how badly we are wrecked." Chapter 20 Tom Gets A Clue Out of the cabin of the now stationary airship hurried the three travelers; out into the pelting rain, which was lashed into their faces by the strong wind. Tom was the first to emerge. "We're on something solid!" he cried, stamping his feet. "A rock, I guess." "Gracious, I hope we're not on a rock in the midst of a river!" exclaimed Mr. Damon. "Bless my soul, though! The water does seem to be running around my ankles." "There's enough rain to make water run almost up to our necks," called Mr. Sharp, above the noise of the storm. "Tom, can you make out where we are?" "Not exactly. Is the ship all right?" "I can't see very well, but there appears to be a hole in the gas container. A big one, too, or we wouldn't have fallen so quickly." The plight of the travelers of the air was anything but enviable. They were wet through, for it needed only a few minutes exposure to the pelting storm to bring this about. They could not tell, in the midst of the darkness, where they were, and they almost feared to move for fear they might be on top of some rock or precipice, over which they might tumble if they took a false step. "Let's get back inside the ship," proposed Mr. Damon. "It's warm and dry there, at all events. Bless my umbrella, I don't know when I've been so wet!" "I'm not going in until I find out where we are," declared Tom. "Wait a minute, and I'll go in and get an electric flash lantern. That will show us," for the lightning had ceased with the great crash that seemed to have wrecked the Red Cloud. The rain still kept up, however, and there was a distant muttering of thunder, while it was so black that had not the lights in the cabin of the airship been faintly glowing they could hardly have found the craft had they moved ten feet away from it. Tom soon returned with the portable electric lamp, operated by dry batteries. He flashed it on the surface of where they were standing, and uttered an exclamation. "We're on a roof!" he cried. "A roof?" repeated Mr. Damon. "Yes; the roof of some large building, and what you thought was a river is the rain water running off it. See!" The young inventor held the light down so his companions could observe the surface of that upon which the airship rested. There was no doubt of it. They were on top of a large building. "If we're on a roof we must be in the midst of a city," objected Mr. Damon. "But I can't see any lights around, and we would see them if we were in a city, you know." "Maybe the storm put the lights out of business," suggested Mr. Sharp. "That often occurs." "I know one way we can find out for certain," went on Tom. "How?" "Start up our search lamp, and play it all around. We can't make sure how large this roof is in the dark, and it's risky trying to trace the edges by walking around." "Yes, and it would be risky to start our searchlight going," objected Mr. Sharp. "People would see it, and there'd be a crowd up here in less than no time, storm or no storm. No, we've got to keep dark until I can see what's the matter. We must leave here before daylight." "Suppose we can't?" asked Mr. Damon. "The crowds will be sure to see us then, anyhow." "I am pretty sure we can get away," was the opinion of the balloonist. "Even if our gas container is so damaged that it will not sustain us, we are still an aeroplane, and this roof being flat will make a good place to start from. No, we can leave as soon as this storm lets up a little." "Then I'm going to have a look and find out what sort of a building this is," declared Tom, and, while Mr. Sharp began a survey, as well as he could in the dark, of the airship, the young inventor proceeded cautiously to ascertain the extent of the roof. The rain was not coming down quite so hard now, and Tom found it easier to see. Mr. Damon, finding he could do nothing to help, went back into the cabin, blessing himself and his various possessions at the queer predicament in which they found themselves. Flashing his light every few seconds, Tom walked on until he came to one edge of the roof. It was very large, as he could judge by the time it took him to traverse it. There was a low parapet at the edge. He peered over, and an expanse of dark wall met his eyes. "Must have come to one side," he reasoned. "I want to get to the front. Then, maybe, I can see a sign that will tell me what I want to know." The lad turned to the left, and, presently came to another parapet. It was higher, and ornamented with terra-cotta bricks. This, evidently, was the front. As Tom peered over the edge of the little raised ledge, there flashed out below him hundreds of electric lights. The city illuminating plant was being repaired. Then Tom saw flashing below him one of those large signs made of incandescent lights. It was in front of the building, and as soon as our hero saw the words he knew where the airship had landed. For what he read, as he leaned over, was this: MIDDLEVILLE ARCADE Tom gave a cry. "What's the matter?" called Mr. Sharp. "I've discovered something," answered Tom, hurrying up to his friend. "We're on top of the Middleville Arcade building." "What does that mean?" "It means that we're not so very far from home, and in the midst of a fairly large city. But it means more than that." "What?" demanded the balloonist, struck by an air of excitement about the lad, for, as Tom stood in the subdued glow of the lights from one of the airship's cabin windows, all the others having been darkened as the storm slackened, his, eyes shone brightly. "This is the building where Anson Morse, one of the gang that robbed dad, once had an office," went on Tom eagerly. "That was brought out at the trial. And it's the place where they used to do some of their conspiring. Maybe some of the crowd are here now laying low." "Well, if they are, we don't want anything to do with that gang," said Mr. Sharp. "We can't arrest them. Besides I've found out that our ship is all right, after all. We can proceed as soon as we like. There is only a small leak in the gas container. It was the generator machine that was put out of business by the lightning, and I've repaired it." "I want to see if I can get any trace of the rascals. Maybe I could learn something from the janitor of the Arcade about them. The janitor is probably here." "But why do you want to get any information about that gang?" "Because," answered Tom, and, as Mr. Damon at that moment started to come from the cabin of the airship, the lad leaped forward and whispered the remainder of the sentence into the ear of the balloonist. "You don't mean it!" exclaimed Mr. Sharp, in a tense whisper. Tom nodded vigorously. "But how can you enter the building?" asked the other. "You can't drop over the edge." "Down the scuttle," answered Tom. "There must be one on the roof, for they have to come up here at times. We can force the lock, if necessary. I want to enter the building and see where Morse had his office." "All right. Go ahead. I'll engage Mr. Damon here so he won't follow you. It will be great news for him. Go ahead." Under pretense of wanting the help of the eccentric man in completing the repairs he had started, Mr. Sharp took Mr. Damon back into the cabin. Tom, getting a big screwdriver from an outside toolbox, approached the scuttle on the roof. He could see it looming up in the semidarkness, a sort of box, covering a stairway that led down into the building. The door was locked, but Tom forced it, and felt justified. A few minutes later, cautiously flashing his light, almost like a burglar he thought, he was prowling around the corridors of the office structure. Was it deserted? That was what he wanted to know. He knew the office Morse had formerly occupied was two floors from the top. Tom descended the staircase, trying to think up some excuse to offer, in case he met the watchman or janitor. But he encountered no one. As he reached the floor where he knew Morse and his gang were wont to assemble, he paused and listened. At first he heard nothing, then, as the sound of the storm became less he fancied he heard the murmur of voices. "Suppose it should be some of them?" whispered Tom. He went forward, pausing at almost every other step to listen. The voices became louder. Tom was now nearly at the office, where Morse had once had his quarters. Now he could see it, and his heart gave a great thump as he noticed that the place was lighted. The lad could read the name on the door. "Industrial Development Company." That was the name of a fake concern headed by Morse. As our hero looked he saw the shadows of two men thrown on the ground glass. "Some one's in there!" he whispered to himself. He could now hear the voices much plainer. They came from the room, but the lad could not distinguish them as belonging to any of the gang with whom he had come in contact, and who had escaped from jail. The low murmur went on for several seconds. The listener could make out no words. Suddenly the low, even mumble was broken. Some one cried out "There's got to be a divvy soon. There's no use letting Morse hold that whole seventy-five thousand any longer. I'm going to get what's coming to me, or--" "Hush!" some one else cried. "Be quiet!" "No, I won't! I want my share. I've waited long enough. If I don't get what's coming to me inside of a week, I'll go to Shagmon myself and make Morse whack up. I helped on the job, and I want my money!" "Will you be quiet?" pleaded another, and, at that instant Tom heard some one's hand on the knob. The door opened a crack, letting out a pencil of light. The men were evidently coming out. The young inventor did not wait to hear more. He had a clue now, and, running on tiptoes, he made his way to the staircase and out of the scuttle on the roof. Chapter 21 On The Trail "What's the matter, Tom?" asked Mr. Sharp, as the lad came hurrying along the roof, having taken the precaution to fasten the scuttle door as well as he could. "You seem excited." "So would you, if you had heard what I did." "What? You don't mean that some of the gang is down there?" "Yes, and what's more I'm on the trail of the thieves who robbed the Shopton Bank of the seventy-five thousand dollars!" "No! You don't mean it!" "I certainly do." "Then we'd better tell Mr. Damon. He's in the cabin." "Of course I'll tell him. He's as much concerned as I am. He wants to be vindicated. Isn't it great luck, though?" "But you haven't landed the men yet. Do you mean to say that the same gang--the Happy Harry crowd--robbed the bank?" "I think so, from what I heard. But come inside and I'll tell you all about it." "Suppose we start the ship first? It's ready to run. There wasn't as much the matter with it as I feared. The storm is over now, and we'll be safer up in the air than on this roof. Did you get all the information you could?" "All I dared to. The men were coming out, so I had to run. They were quarreling, and when that happens among thieves--" "Why honest men get their dues, everyone knows that proverb," interrupted Mr. Damon, again emerging from the cabin. "But bless my quotation marks, I should think you'd have something better to do than stand there talking proverbs." "We have," replied Mr. Sharp quickly. "We're going to start the ship, and then we have some news for you. Tom, you take the steering wheel, and I'll start the gas machine. We'll rise to some distance before starting the propellers, and then we won't create any excitement." "But what news are you going to tell me?" asked Mr. Damon. "Bless my very existence, but you get me all excited, and then you won't gratify my curiosity." "In a little while we will," responded Mr. Sharp. "Lively now, Tom. Some one may see this airship on top of the building, as it's getting so much lighter now, after the storm." The outburst of the elements was almost over and Tom taking another look over the edge of the roof, could see persons moving about in the street below. The storm clouds were passing and a faint haze showed where a moon would soon make its appearance, thus disclosing the craft so oddly perched upon the roof. There was need of haste. Fortunately the Red Cloud could be sent aloft without the use of the propellers, for the gas would serve to lift her. It had been found that lightning had struck the big, red aluminum container, but the shock had been a comparatively slight one, and, as the tank was insulated from the rest of the ship no danger resulted to the occupants. A rent was made in two or three of the gas compartments, but the others remained intact, and, when an increased pressure of the vapor was used the ship was almost as buoyant as before. Into the cabin the three travelers hurried, dripping water at every step, for there was no time to change clothes. Then, with Tom and Mr. Sharp managing the machinery, the craft slowly rose. It was well that they had started for, when a few hundred feet above the roof, the moon suddenly shone from behind a bank of clouds and would most certainly have revealed their position to persons in the street. As it was several were attracted by the sight of some great object in the air. They called the attention of others to it, but, by the time glasses and telescopes had been brought to bear, the Red Cloud was far away. "Dry clothes now, some hot drinks, and then Tom will tell us his secret," remarked Mr. Sharp, and, with the great ship swaying high above the city of Middleville Tom told what he had heard in the office building. "They are the thieves who looted the bank, and caused us to be unjustly accused," he finished. "If we can capture them we'll get the reward, and turn a neat trick on Andy Foger and his cronies." "But how can you capture them?" asked Mr. Damon. "You don't know where they are." "Perhaps not where Morse and the men who have the money are. But I have a plan. It's this: We'll go to some quiet place, leave the airship, and then inform the authorities of our suspicions. They can come here and arrest the men who still seem to be hanging out in Morse's office. Then we can get on the trail of this Shagmon, who seems to be the person in authority this time, though I never heard of him before." "He seems to have the money, according to what one of the men in the office said, and he's the man we want." "Shagmon!" exclaimed Mr. Damon. "Yes, Shagmon. The fellow I heard talking 'said he'd go to Shagmon and make Morse whack up. Shagmon may be the real head of the gang." "Ha! I have it!" cried Mr. Damon suddenly. "I wonder I didn't think of it before. Shagmon is the headquarters, not the head of the gang!" "What do you mean?" asked Tom, much excited. "I mean that there's a town called Shagmon about fifty miles from here. That's what the fellow in the office meant. He is going to the town of Shagmon and make Morse whack up. That's where Morse is! That's where the gang is hiding! That's where the money is! Hurrah, Tom, we're on the trail!" Chapter 22 The Sheriff On Board The announcement of Mr. Damon came as a great surprise to Tom and Mr. Sharp. They had supposed that the reference to Shagmon was to a person, and never dreamed that it was to a locality. But Mr. Damon's knowledge of geography stood them in good stead. "Well, what's the first thing to do?" asked Tom, after a pause. "The first thing would be to go to Shagmon, or close to it, I should say," remarked Mr. Sharp. "In what direction is it, Mr. Damon?" "Northwest from where we were. It's a county seat, and that will suit our plans admirably, for we can call on the sheriff for help." "That is if we locate the gang," put in Tom. "I fancy it will be no easy job, though. How are we going about it?" "Let's first get to Shagmon," suggested the balloonist. "We'll select some quiet spot for a landing, and then talk matters over. We may stumble on the gang, just as you did, Tom, on the men in the office." "No such good luck, I'm afraid." "Well, I think we'll all be better for a little sleep," declared the eccentric man. "Bless my eyelids but I'm tired out." As there was no necessity for standing watch, when the airship was so high up as to be almost invisible, they all turned in, and were soon sleeping soundly, though Tom had hard work at first to compose himself, for he was excited at the prospect of capturing the scoundrels, recovering the money for the bank, and clearing his good name, as well as those of his friends. In the morning careful calculations were made to enable the travelers to tell when they had reached a point directly over the small city of Shagmon, and, with the skill of the veteran balloonist to aid them, this was accomplished. The airship was headed in the proper direction, and, about ten o'clock, having made out by using telescopes, that there was plenty of uninhabited land about the city, the craft was sent aloft again, out of a large crowd that had caught sight of it. For it was the intention of the travelers not to land until after dark, as they wanted to keep their arrival quiet. There were two reasons for this. One was that the whole country was eager to arrest them, to claim the reward offered by the bank, and they did not want this to happen. The other reason was that they wanted to go quietly into town, tell the sheriff their story, and enlist his aid. All that day the Red Cloud consorted with the masses of fleecy vapor, several miles above the earth, a position being maintained, as nearly as could be judged by instruments, over a patch of woodland where Mr. Sharp had decided to land, as there were several large clearings in it. Back and forth above the clouds, out of sight, the airship drifted lazily to and fro; sometimes, when she got too far off her course, being brought back to the right spot by means of the propellers. It was tedious waiting, but they felt it was the only thing to do. Mr. Sharp and Tom busied themselves making adjustments to several parts of apparatus that needed it. Nothing could be done toward repairing the hole in the aluminum container until a shop or shed was reached, but the ship really did not need these repairs to enable it to be used. Mr. Damon was fretful, and "blessed" so many things during the course of the day that there seemed to be nothing left. Dinner and supper took up some time, really good meals being served by Tom, who was temporarily acting as cook. Then they anxiously waited for darkness, when they could descend. "I hope the moon isn't too bright," remarked Mr. Sharp, as he went carefully over the motor once more, for he did not want it to balk again. "If it shines too much it will discover us." "But a little light would be a fine thing, and show us a good place to land," argued Tom. Fortune seemed to favor the adventurers. There was a hazy light from the moon, which was covered by swiftly moving dark clouds, now and then, a most effective screen for the airship, as its great, moving shape, viewed from the earth, resembled nothing so much as one of the clouds. They made a good landing in a little forest glade, the craft, under the skillful guidance of Mr. Sharp and Tom, coming down nicely. "Now for a trip to town to notify the sheriff," said Mr. Sharp. "Tom, I think you had better go alone. You can explain matters, and Mr. Damon and I will remain here until you come back. I should say what you had best do, would be to get the sheriff to help you locate the gang of bank robbers. They're in this vicinity and he ought to be able, with his deputies, to find them." "I'll ask him," replied Tom, as he set off. It was rather a lonely walk into the city, from the woods where the airship had landed, but Tom did not mind it, and, reaching Shagmon, he inquired his way to the home of the sheriff, for it was long after office hours. He heard, as he walked along the streets, many persons discussing the appearance of the airship that morning, and he was glad they had planned to land after dark, for more than one citizen was regretting that he had not had a chance to get the five thousand dollars reward offered for the arrest of the passengers in the Red Cloud. Tom found the sheriff, Mr. Durkin by name, a genial personage. At the mention of the airship the official grew somewhat excited. "Are you one of the fellows that looted the bank?" he inquired, when Tom told him how he and his friends had arrived at Shagmon. The young inventor denied the impeachment, and told his story. He ended up with a request for the sheriff's aid, at the same time asking if the officer knew where such a gang as the Happy Harry one might be in hiding. "You've come just at the right time, young man," was the answer of Sheriff Durkin, when he was assured of the honesty of Tom's statements. "I've been on the point, for the last week, of raiding a camp of men, who have settled at a disused summer resort about ten miles from here. I think they're running a gambling game. But I haven't been able to get any evidence, and every time I sent out a posse some one warns the men, and we can find nothing wrong. I believe these men are the very ones you want. If we could only get to them without their suspecting it, I think I'd have them right." "We can do that, Sheriff." "How?" "Go in our airship! You come with us, and we'll put you right over their camp, where you can drop down on their heads." "Good land, I never rode in an automobile even, let alone an airship!" went on the officer. "I'd be scared out of my wits, and so would my deputies." "Send the deputies on ahead," suggested Tom. The sheriff hesitated. Then he slapped his thigh with his big hand. "By golly! I'll go with you!" he declared. "I'll try capturing criminals in an airship for the first time in my life! Lead the way, young man!" An hour later Sheriff Durkin was aboard the Red Cloud, and plans were being talked of for the capture of the bank robbers, or at least for raiding the camp where the men were supposed to be. Chapter 23 On To The Camp "Well, you sure have got a fine craft here," remarked Sheriff Durkin, as he looked over the airship after Tom and his friends had told of their voyage. "It will be quite up-to-date to raid a gang of bank robbers in a flying machine, but I guess it will be the only way we can catch those fellows. Now I'll go back to town, and the first thing in the morning I'll round-up my posse and start it off. The men can surround the camp, and lay quiet until we arrive in this ship. Then, when we descend on the heads of the scoundrels, right out of the sky, so to speak, my men can close in, and bag them all." "That's a good plan," commented Mr. Sharp, "but are you sure these are the men we want? It's pretty vague, I think, but of course the clue Tom got is pretty slim; merely the name Shagmon." "Well, this is Shagmon," went on the sheriff, "and, as I told your young friend, I've been trying for some time to bag the men at the summer camp. They number quite a few, and if they don't do anything worse, they run a gambling game there. I'm pretty sure, if the bank robbers are in this vicinity, they're in that camp. Of course all the men there may not have been engaged in looting the vault, and they may not all know of it, but it won't do any harm to round-up the whole bunch." After a tour of the craft, and waiting to take a little refreshment with his new friends, the sheriff left, promising to come as early on the morrow as possible. "Let's go to bed," suggested Mr. Sharp, after a bit. "We've got hard work ahead of us to-morrow." They were up early, and, in the seclusion of the little glade in the woods, Tom and Mr. Sharp went over every part of the airship. The sheriff arrived about nine o'clock, and announced that he had started off through the woods, to surround the camp, twenty-five men. "They'll be there at noon," Mr. Durkin said, "and will close in when I give the signal, which will be two shots fired. I heard just before I came here that there are some new arrivals at the camp." "Maybe those are the men I overheard talking in the office building," suggested Tom. "They probably came to get their share. Well, we must swoop down on them before they have time to distribute the money." "That's what!" agreed the county official. Mr. Durkin was even more impressed by the airship in the daytime than he had been at night. He examined every part, and when the time came to start, he was almost as unconcerned as any of the three travelers who had covered many hundreds of miles in the air. "This is certainly great!" cried the sheriff, as the airship rose swiftly under the influence of the powerful gas. As the craft went higher and higher his enthusiasm grew. He was not the least afraid, but then Sheriff Durkin was accounted a nervy individual under all circumstances. "Lay her a little off to the left," the officer advised Tom who was at the steering wheel. "The main camp is right over there. How long before we will reach it?" "We can get there in about fifteen minutes, if we run at top speed," answered the lad, his hand on the switch that controlled the motor. "Shall we?" "No use burning up the air. Besides, my men have hardly had time to surround the camp. It's in deep woods. If I were you I'd get right over it, and then rise up out of sight so they can't see you. Then, when it's noon you can go down, I'll fire the signal and the fun will commence--that is, fun for us, but not so much for those chaps, I fancy," and the sheriff smiled grimly. The sheriff's plan was voted a good one, and, accordingly, the ship, after nearing a spot about over the camp, was sent a mile or two into the air, hovering as nearly as possible over one spot. Shortly before twelve, the sheriff having seen to the weapons he brought with him, gave the signal to descend. Down shot the Red Cloud dropping swiftly when the gas was allowed to escape from the red container, and also urged toward the earth by the deflected rudder. "Are you all ready?" cried the sheriff, looking at his watch. "All ready," replied Mr. Sharp. "Then here goes," went on the officer, drawing his revolver, and firing two shots in quick succession. Two shots from the woods below answered him. Faster dropped the Red Cloud toward the camp of the criminals. Chapter 24 The Raid "Look for a good place to land!" cried Mr. Sharp to Tom. "Any small, level place will do. Turn on the gas full power as soon as you feel the first contact, and then shut it off so as to hold her down. Then jump out and take a hand in the fight!" "That's right," cried the sheriff. "Fight's the word! They're breaking from cover now," he added, as he looked over the side of the cabin, from one of the windows. "The rascals have taken the alarm!" The airship was descending toward a little glade in the woods surrounding the old picnic ground. Men, mostly of the tramp sort, could be seen running to and fro. "I hope my deputies close in promptly," murmured the sheriff. "There's a bigger bunch there than I counted on." From the appearance of the gang rushing about it seemed as if there were at least fifty of them. Some of the fellows caught sight of the airship, and, with yells, pointed upward. Nearer and nearer to the earth settled the Red Cloud. The criminals in the camp were running wildly about. Several squads of them darted through the woods, only to come hurriedly back, where they called to their companions. "Ha! My men are evidently on the job!" exclaimed the sheriff. "They are turning the rascals back!" Some of the gang were so alarmed at the sight of the great airship settling down on their camp, that they could only stand and stare at it. Others were gathering sticks and stones, as if for resistance, and some could be seen to have weapons. Off to one side was a small hut, rather better than the rest of the tumbledown shacks in which the tramps lived. Tom noticed this, and saw several men gathered about it. One seemed familiar to the lad. He called the attention of Mr. Damon to the fellow. "Do you know him?" asked Tom eagerly. "Bless my very existence! If it isn't Anson Morse! One of the gang!" cried the eccentric man. "That's what I thought," agreed Tom. "The bank robbers are here," he added, to the sheriff. "If we only recover the money we'll be doing well," remarked Mr. Sharp. Suddenly there came a shout from the fringe of woods surrounding the camp, and an instant later there burst from the bushes a number of men. "My posse!" cried the sheriff. "We ought to be down now!" The airship was a hundred feet above the ground, but Tom, opening wider the gas outlet, sent the craft more quickly down. Then, just as it touched the earth, he forced a mass of vapor into the container, making the ship buoyant so as to reduce the shock. An instant later the ship was stationary. Out leaped the sheriff. "Give it to 'em, men!" he shouted. With a yell his men responded, and fired a volley in the air. "Come on, Tom!" called Mr. Sharp. "We'll make for the hut where you saw Morse." "I'll come too! I'll come too!" cried Mr. Damon, rushing along as fast as he could, a seltzer bottle in either hand. Tom's chief interest was to reach the men he suspected were the bank robbers. The lad dashed through the woods toward the hut near which he had seen Morse. He and Mr. Sharp reached it about the same time. As they came in front of it out dashed Happy Harry, the tramp. He was followed by Morse and the man named Featherton. The latter carried a black valise. "Hey! Drop that!" shouted Mr. Sharp. "Drop nothing!" yelled the man. "Go on! Go on!" urged Morse. "Take to the woods! We'll deal with these fellows!" "Oh, you will, eh?" shouted Tom, and remembering his football days he made a dive between Morse and Happy Harry for the man with the bag, which he guessed contained the stolen money. The lad made a good tackle, and grabbed Featherton about the legs. He went down in a heap, with Tom on top. Our hero was feeling about for the valise, when he felt a stunning blow on the back of his head. He turned over quickly to see Morse in the act of delivering a second kick. Tom grew faint, and dimly saw the leader of the gang reach down for the valise. This gave our hero sudden energy. He was not going to lose everything, when it was just within his grasp. Conquering, by a strong effort, his feeling of dizziness, he scrambled to his feet, and made a grab for Morse. The latter fended him off, but Tom came savagely back at him, all his fighting blood up. The effects of the cowardly blow were passing off. The lad managed to get one hand on the handle of the bag. "Let go!" cried Morse, and he dealt Tom a blow in the face. It staggered the youth, but he held on grimly, and raised his left hand and arm as a guard. At the same time he endeavored to twist the valise loose from Morse's hold. The man raised his foot to kick Tom, but at that moment there was a curious hissing sound, and a stream of frothy liquid shot over the lad's head right into the face of the man, blinding him. "Ha! Take that! And more of it!" shouted Mr. Damon, and a second stream of seltzer squirted into the face of Morse. With a yell of rage he let go his hold of the satchel, and Tom staggered back with it. The lad saw Mr. Damon rushing toward the now disabled leader, playing both bottles of seltzer on him. Then, when all the liquid was gone the eccentric man began to beat Morse over the head and shoulders with the heavy bottles until the scoundrel begged for mercy. Tom was congratulating himself on his success in getting the bag when Happy Harry, the tramp, rushed at him. "I guess I'll take that!" he roared, and, wheeling Tom around, at the same time striking him full in the face, the ugly man made a grab for the valise. His hand had hardly touched it before he went down like a log, the sound of a powerful blow causing Tom to look up. He saw Mr. Sharp standing over the prostrate tramp, who had been cleanly knocked out. "Are you all right, Tom?" asked the balloonist. "Yes--trifle dizzy, that's all--I've got the money!" "Are you sure?" Tom opened the valise. A glance was enough to show that it was stuffed with bills. Happy Harry showed signs of coming to, and Mr. Sharp, with a few turns of a rope he had brought along, soon secured him. Morse was too exhausted to fight more, for the seltzer entering his mouth and nose, had deprived him of breath, and he fell an easy prisoner to Mr. Damon. Morse was soon tied up. The other members of the Happy Harry gang had escaped. Meanwhile the sheriff and his men were having a fight with the crowd of tramps, but as the posse was determined and the criminals mostly of the class known as "hobos," the battle was not a very severe one. Several of the sheriff's men were slightly injured, however, and a few of the tramps escaped. "A most successful raid," commented the sheriff, when quiet was restored, and a number of prisoners were lined up, all tied securely. "Did you get the money?" "Almost all of it," answered Tom, who, now that Morse and Happy Harry were securely tied, had busied himself, with the aid of Mr. Sharp and Mr. Damon, in counting the bills. "Only about two thousand dollars are missing. I think the bank will be glad enough to charge that to profit and loss." "I guess so," added the sheriff. "I'm certainly much obliged to you for the use of your airship. Otherwise the raid wouldn't have been so successful. Well, now we'll get the prisoners to jail." It was necessary to hire rigs from nearby farmers to accomplish this. As for Morse and Happy Harry, they were placed in the airship, and, under guard of the sheriff and two deputies, were taken to the county seat. The criminals were too dazed over the rough treatment they had received, and over their sudden capture, to notice the fact of riding through the air to jail. "Now for home!" cried Tom, when the prisoners had been disposed of. "Home to clear our names and take this money to the bank!" "And receive the reward," added Mr. Sharp, with a smile. "Don't forget that!" "Oh, yes, and I'll see that you get a share too, Mr. Durkin," went on Tom. "Only for your aid we never would have gotten these men and the money." "Oh, I guess we're about even on that score," responded the official. "I'm glad to break up that gang." The next morning Tom and his friends started for home in the Red Cloud. They took with them evidence as to the guilt of the two men--Morse and Happy Harry. The men confessed that they and their pals had robbed the bank of Shopton, the night before Tom and his friends sailed on their trip. In fact that was the object for which the gang hung around Shopton. After securing their booty they had gone to the camp of the tramps at Shagmon, where they hid, hoping they would not be traced. But the words Tom had overheard had been their undoing. The men who arrived at the camp just before the raid were the same ones the young inventor heard talking in the office building. They had come to get their share of the loot, which Morse held, and with which he tried so desperately to get away. Tom's injuries were not serious and did not bother him after being treated by a physician. Chapter 25 Andy Gets His Reward Flying swiftly through the air the young inventor and his two companions were soon within sight of Shopton. As they approached the town from over the lake, and a patch of woods, they attracted no attention until they were near home, and the craft settled down easily in the yard of the Swift property. That the aged inventor was glad to see his son back need not be said, and Mrs. Baggert's welcome was scarcely less warm than that of Mr. Swift. Mr. Sharp and Mr. Damon were also made to feel that their friends were glad to see them safe again. "We must go at once and see Mr. Pendergast, the bank president," declared Mr. Swift. "We must take the money to him, and demand that he withdraw the offer of reward for your arrest." "Yes," agreed Tom. "I guess the reward will go to some one besides Andy Foger." There was considerable surprise on the part of the bank clerks when our hero, and his friends, walked in, carrying a heavy black bag. But they could only conjecture what was in the wind, for the party was immediately closeted with the president. Mr. Pendergast was so startled that he hardly knew what to say when Tom, aided by Mr. Sharp, told his story. But the return of the money, with documents from Sheriff Durkin, certifying as to the arrest of Morse and Happy Harry, soon convinced him of the truth of the account. "It's the most wonderful thing I ever heard," said the president. "Well, what are you going to do about it?" asked Mr. Damon. "You have accused Tom and myself of being thieves, and--" "I apologize--I apologize most humbly!" exclaimed Mr. Pendergast. "I also--" "What about the reward?" went on Mr. Damon. "Bless my bank notes, I don't want any of it, for I have enough, but I think Tom and Mr. Sharp and the sheriff are entitled to it." "Certainly," said the president, "certainly. It will be paid at once. I will call a meeting of the directors. In fact they are all in the bank now, save Mr. Foger, and I can reach him by telephone. If you will just rest yourselves in that room there I will summon you before the board, when it convenes, and be most happy to pay over the five thousand dollars reward. It is the most wonderful thing I ever heard of--most wonderful!" In a room adjoining that of the president, Tom, his father and Mr. Damon waited for the directors to meet. Mr. Foger could be heard entering a little later. "What's this I hear, Pendergast?" he cried, rubbing his hands. "The bank robbers captured, eh? Well, that's good news. Of course we'll pay the reward. I always knew my boy was a smart lad. Five thousand dollars will be a tidy sum for him. Of course his chum, Sam Snedecker is entitled to some, but not much. So they've caught Tom Swift and that rascally Damon, eh? I always knew he was a scoundrel! Putting money in here as a blind!" Mr. Damon heard, and shook his fist. "I'll make him suffer for that," he whispered. "Tom Swift arrested, eh?" went on Mr. Foger. "I always knew he was a bad egg. Who caught them? Where are they?" "In the next room," replied Mr. Pendergast, who loved a joke almost as well as did Tom. "They may come out now," added the president, opening the door, and sending Ned Newton in to summon Tom, Mr. Swift and Mr. Damon, who filed out before the board of directors. "Gentlemen," began the president, "I have the pleasure of presenting to you Mr. Thomas Swift, Mr. Barton Swift and Mr. Wakefield Damon. I also have the honor to announce that Mr. Thomas Swift and Mr. Damon have been instrumental in capturing the burglars who recently robbed our bank, and I am happy to add that young Mr. Swift and Mr. Wakefeld Damon have, this morning, brought to me all but a small part of the money stolen from us. Which money they succeeded, after a desperate fight." "A fight partly with seltzer bottles," interrupted Mr. Damon proudly. "Don't forget them." "Partly with seltzer bottles," conceded the president with a smile. "After a fight they succeeded in getting the money back. Here it is, and I now suggest that we pay the reward we promised." "What? Reward? Pay them? The money back? Isn't my son to receive the five thousand dollars for informing as to the identity of the thief--isn't he?" demanded Mr. Foger, almost suffocating from his astonishment at the unexpected announcement. "Hardly," answered Mr. Pendergast dryly. "Your son's information happened to be very wrong. The tools he saw Tom have in the bag were airship tools, not burglar's. And the same gang that once robbed Mr. Swift robbed our bank. Tom Swift captured them, and is entitled to the reward. It will be necessary for us directors to make up the sum, personally, and I, for one, am very glad to do so." "So am I," came in a chorus from the others seated at the table. "But--er--I understood that my son--" stammered Mr. Foger, who did not at all relish having to see his son lose the reward. "It was all a mistake about your son," commented Mr. Pendergast. "Gentlemen, is it your desire that I write out a check for young Mr. Swift?" They all voted in the affirmative, even Mr. Foger being obliged to do so, much against his wishes. He was a very much chagrined man, when the directors' meeting broke up. Word was sent at once, by telegraph, to all the cities where reward posters had been displayed, recalling the offer, and stating that Tom Swift and Mr. Damon were cleared. Mr. Sharp had never been really accused. "Well, let's go home," suggested Tom when he had the five-thousand-dollar check in his pocket. "I want another ride in the Red Cloud as soon as it's repaired." "So do I!" declared Mr. Damon. The eccentric man and Mr. Swift walked on ahead, and Tom strolled down toward the dock, for he thought he would take a short trip in his motor-boat. He was near the lake, not having met many persons, when he saw a figure running up from the water. He knew who it was in an instant Andy Foger. As for the bully, at the sight of Tom he hesitated, than came boldly on. Evidently he had not heard of our hero's arrival. "Ha!" exclaimed the red-haired lad, "I've been looking for you. The police want you, Tom Swift." "Oh, do they?" asked the young inventor gently. "Yes; for robbery. I'm going to get the reward, too. You thought you were smart, but I saw those burglar tools in your valise. I sent the police after you. So you've come back, eh? I'm going to tell Chief Simonson. You wait." "Yes," answered Tom, "I'll wait. So the police want me, do they?" "That's what they do," snarled Andy. "I told you I'd get even with you, and I've done it." "Well," burst out Tom, unable to longer contain himself, as he thought of all he had suffered at the hands of the red-haired bully, "I said I'd get even with you, but I haven't done it yet. I'm going to now. Take off your coat, Andy. You and I are going to have a little argument." "Don't you dare lay a finger on me!" blustered the squint-eyed one. Tom peeled off his coat. Andy, who saw that he could not escape, rushed forward, and dealt the young inventor a blow on the chest. That was all Tom wanted, and the next instant he went at Andy hammer and tongs. The bully tried to fight, but he had no chance with his antagonist, who was righteously angry, and who made every blow tell. It was a sorry-looking Andy Foger who begged for mercy a little later. Tom had no desire to administer more than a deserved reward to the bully, but perhaps he did add a little for interest. At any rate Andy thought so. "You just wait!" he cried, as he limped off. "I'll make you sorry for this." "Oh, don't go to any trouble on my account," said Tom gently, as he put on his coat. But Andy did go to considerable trouble to be revenged on the young inventor, and whether he succeeded or not you may learn by reading the fourth book of this series, to be called "Tom Swift and His Submarine Boat; or, Under the Ocean for Sunken Treasure," in which I shall relate the particulars of a voyage that was marvelous in the extreme. Tom reached home in a very pleasant frame of mind that afternoon. Things had turned out much better than he thought they would. A few weeks later the two bank robbers, who were found guilty, were sentenced to long terms, but their companions were not captured. Tom sent Sheriff Durkin a share of the reward, and the lad invested his own share in bank stock, after giving some to Mr. Sharp. Mr. Damon refused to accept any. As for Mr. Swift, once he saw matters straightened out, and his son safe, he resumed his work on his prize submarine boat, his son helping him. As for Tom, he alternated his spare time between trips in the airship and his motor-boat, and frequently a certain young lady from the Rocksmond Seminary was his companion. I think you know her name by this time. Now, for a while, we will take leave of Tom Swift and his friends, trusting to meet them again. 
3777	----	TOM SWIFT AND HIS ELECTRIC RIFLE OR Daring Adventures in Elephant Land by VICTOR APPLETON CONTENTS I TOM WANTS EXCITEMENT II TRYING THE NEW GUN III A DIFFICULT TEST IV BIG TUSKS WANTED V RUSH WORK VI NEWS FROM ANDY VII THE BLACK HAWK FLIES VIII OFF FOR AFRICA IX ATTACKED BY A WHALE X OFF IN THE AIRSHIP XI ANCHORED TO EARTH XII AMONG THE NATIVES XIII ON THE ELEPHANT TRAIL XIV A STAMPEDE XV LIONS IN THE NIGHT XVI SEEKING THE MISSIONARIES XVII SHOTS FROM ABOVE XVIII NEWS OF THE RED PYGMIES XIX AN APPEAL FOR HELP XX THE FIGHT XXI DRIVEN BACK XXII A NIGHT ATTACK XXIII THE RESCUE XXIV TWO OTHER CAPTIVES XXV THE ROGUE ELEPHANT--CONCLUSION CHAPTER I TOM WANTS EXCITEMENT "Have you anything special to do to-night, Ned?" asked Tom Swift, the well-known inventor, as he paused in front of his chum's window, in the Shopton National Bank. "No, nothing in particular," replied the bank clerk, as he stacked up some bundles of bills. "Why do you ask?" "I wanted you to come over to the house for a while." "Going to have a surprise party, or something like that?" "No, only I've got something I'd like to show you." "A new invention?" "Well, not exactly new. You've seen it before, but not since I've improved it. I'm speaking of my new electric rifle. I've got it ready to try, now, and I'd like to see what you think of it. There's a rifle range over at the house, and we can practice some shooting, if you haven't anything else to do." "I haven't, and I'll be glad to come. What are you doing in the bank, anyhow; putting away more of your wealth, Tom?" "Yes, I just made a little deposit. It's some money I got from the government for the patents on my sky racer, and I'm salting it down here until Dad and I can think of a better investment." "Good idea. Bring us all the money you can," and the bank clerk, who held a small amount of stock in the financial institution, laughed, his chum joining in with him. "Well, then. I'll expect you over this evening," went on the youthful inventor, as he turned to leave the bank. "Yes, I'll be there. Say, Tom, have you heard the latest about Andy Foger?" "No, I haven't heard much since he left town right after I beat him in the aeroplane race at Eagle Park." "Well, he's out of town all right, and I guess for a long time this trip. He's gone to Europe." "To Europe, eh? Well, he threatened to go there after he failed to beat me in the race, but I thought he was only bluffing." "No, he's really gone this time." "Well, I, for one, am glad of it. Did he take his aeroplane along?" "Yes, that's what he went for. It seems that this Mr. Landbacher, the German who really invented it, and built it with money which Mr. Foger supplied, has an idea he can interest the German or some other European government in the machine. Andy wanted to go along with him, and as Mr. Foger financed the scheme, I guess he thought it would be a good thing to have some one represent him. So Andy's gone." "Then he won't bother me. Well, I must get along. I'll expect you over to-night," and with a wave of his hand Tom Swift hurried from the bank. The young inventor jumped into his electric runabout which stood outside the institution, and was about to start off when he saw a newsboy selling papers which had just come in from New York, on the morning train. "Here, Jack, give me a TIMES," called Tom to the lad, and he tossed the newsboy a nickel. Then, after glancing at the front page, and noting the headings, Tom started off his speedy car, in which, on one occasion, he had made a great run, against time. He was soon at home. "Well, Dad, I've got the money safely put away," he remarked to an aged gentleman who sat in the library reading a book. "Now we won't have to worry about thieves until we get some more cash in." "Well, I'm glad it's coming in so plentifully," said Mr. Swift with a smile. "Since my illness I haven't been able to do much, Tom, and it all depends on you, now." "Don't let that worry you, Dad. You'll soon be as busy as ever," for, following a serious operation for an ailment of the heart, Mr. Swift, who was a veteran inventor, had not been able to do much. But the devices of his son, especially a speedy monoplane, which Tom invented, and sold to the United States Government, were now bringing them in a large income. In fact with royalties from his inventions and some gold and diamonds which he had secured on two perilous trips, Tom Swift was quite wealthy. "I'll never be as busy as I once was," went on Mr. Swift, a little regretfully, "but I don't know that I care as long as you continue to turn out new machines, Tom. By the way, how is the electric rifle coming on? I haven't heard you speak of it lately." "It's practically finished, Dad. It worked pretty well the time I took it when we went on the trip to the caves of ice, but I've improved it very much since then. In fact I'm going to give it a severe test to-night. Ned Newton is coming over, and it may be that then we'll find out something about it that could be bettered. But I think not. It suits me as it is." "So Ned is coming over to see it; eh? You ought to have Mr. Damon here to bless it a few times." "Yes, I wish I did. And he may come along at any moment, as it is. You never can tell when he is going to turn up. Mrs. Baggert says you were out walking while I was at the bank, Dad. Do you feel better after it?" "Yes, I think I do, Tom. Oh, I'm growing stronger every day, but it will take time. But now tell me something about the electric gun." Thereupon the young inventor related to his father some facts about the improvements he had recently made to the weapon. It was dinner time when he had finished, and, after the meal Tom went out to the shed where he built his aeroplanes and his airships, and in which building he had fitted up a shooting gallery. "I'll get ready for the trial to-night," he said "I want to see what it will do to a dummy figure. Guess I'll make a sort of scarecrow and stuff it with straw. I'll get Eradicate to help me. Rad! I say, Rad! Where are you?" "Heah I is, Massa Tom! Heah I is," called a colored man as he came around the corner of a small stable where he kept his mule Boomerang. "Was yo'-all callin' me?" "Yes, Rad, I want you to help make a scarecrow." "A scarecrow, Massa Tom! Good land a' massy! What fo' yo' want ob a scarecrow? Yo'-all ain't raisin' no corn, am yo'?" "No, but I want something to shoot at when Ned Newton comes over to-night." "Suffin t' shoot at? Why Massa Tom! Good land a' massy! Yo'-all ain't gwine t' hab no duel, am yo'?" "No, Rad, but I want a life-size figure on which to try my new electric gun. Here are some old clothes, and if you will stuff them with rags and straw and fix them so they'll stand up, they'll do first-rate. Have it ready by night, and set it up at the far end of the shooting gallery." "All right, Massa Tom. I'll jest do dat, fo' yo'," and leaving the colored man to stuff the figure, after he had showed him how, Tom went back into the house to read the paper which he had purchased that morning. He skimmed over the news, thinking perhaps he might see something of the going abroad of Andy Foger with the German aeroplane, but there was nothing. "I almost wish I was going to Europe," sighed Tom. "I will certainly have to get busy at something, soon. I haven't had any adventure since I won the prize at the Eagle Park aviation meet in my sky racer. Jove! That was some excitement! I'd like to do that over again, only I shouldn't want to have Dad so sick," for just before the race, Tom had saved his father's life by making a quick run in the aeroplane, to bring a celebrated surgeon to the invalid's aid. "I certainly wish I could have some new adventures," mused Tom, as he turned the pages of the paper. "I could afford to take a trip around the earth after them, too, with the way money is coming in now. Yes, I do wish I could have some excitement. Hello, what's this! A big elephant hunt in Africa. Hundreds of the huge creatures captured in a trap--driven in by tame beasts. Some are shot for their tusks. Others will be sent to museums." He was reading the headlines of the article that had attracted his attention, and, as he read, he became more and more absorbed in it. He read the story through twice, and then, with sparkling eyes, he exclaimed: "That's just what I want. Elephant shooting in Africa! My! With my new electric rifle, and an airship, what couldn't a fellow do over in the dark continent! I've a good notion to go there! I wonder if Ned would go with me? Mr. Damon certainly would. Elephant shooting in Africa! In an airship! I could finish my new sky craft in short order if I wanted to. I've a good notion to do it!" CHAPTER II TRYING THE NEW GUN While Tom Swift is thus absorbed in thinking about a chance to hunt elephants, we will take the opportunity to tell you a little more about him, and then go on with the story. Many of you already know the young inventor, but those who do not may be interested in hearing that he is a young American lad, full of grit and ginger, who lives with his aged father in the town of Shopton, in New York State. Our hero was first introduced to the public in the book, "Tom Swift and His Motorcycle." In that volume it was related how Tom bought a motor-cycle from a Mr. Wakefield Damon, of Waterford. Mr. Damon was an eccentric individual, who was continually blessing himself, some one else, or something belonging to him. His motor-cycle tried to climb a tree with him, and that was why he sold it to Tom. The two thus became acquainted, and their friendship grew from year to year. After many adventures on his motor-cycle Tom got a motor-boat, and had some exciting times in that. One of the things he and his father and his chum, Ned Newton, did, was to rescue, from a burning balloon that had fallen into Lake Carlopa, an aeronaut named John Sharp. Later Tom and Mr. Sharp built an airship called the Red Cloud, and with Mr. Damon and some others had a series of remarkable fights. In the Red Cloud they got on the track of some bank robbers, and captured them, thus foiling the plans of Andy Foger, a town bully, and one of Tom's enemies, and putting to confusion the plot of Mr. Foger, Andy's father. After many adventures in the air Tom and his friends, in a submarine boat, invented by Mr. Swift, went under the ocean for sunken treasure and secured a large part of it. It was not long after this that Tom conceived the idea of a powerful electric car, which proved, to be the speediest of the road, and in it he won a great race, and saved from ruin a bank in which his father and Mr. Damon were interested. The sixth book of the series, entitled "Tom Swift and His Wireless Message," tells how, in testing a new electric airship, which a friend of Mr. Damon's had invented, Tom, the inventor and Mr. Damon were lost on an island in the middle of the ocean. There they found some castaways, among whom were Mr. and Mrs. Nestor, parents of Mary Nestor of Shopton, a girl of whom Tom was quite fond. Tom Swift, after his arrival home, went on an expedition among a gang of men known as the "Diamond Makers" who were hidden in the Rocky Mountains. He was accompanied by Mr. Barcoe Jenks, one of the castaways of Earthquake Island. They found the diamond makers, and had some surprising adventures, barely escaping with their lives. This did not daunt Tom, however, and he once more started off on an expedition in his airship the Red Cloud to Alaska, amid the caves of ice. He was searching for a valley of gold, and though he and his friends found it, they came to grief. The Fogers, father and son, tried to steal the gold from them, and, failing in that, incited the Eskimos against our friends. There was a battle, but the forces of nature were even more to be dreaded than the terrible savages. The ice cave, in which the Red Cloud was stored, collapsed, crushing the gallant craft, and burying it out of sight forever under thousand of tons of the frozen bergs. After a desperate journey Tom and his friends reached civilization, with a large supply of gold. Tom regretted very much the destruction of the airship, but he at once set to work on another--a monoplane this time, instead of a combined aeroplane and dirigible balloon. This new craft he called the Humming-Bird and it was a "sky racer" of terrific speed. In it, as we have said, Tom brought a specialist to operate on his father, when, because of a broken railroad bridge, the physician could not otherwise have gotten to Shopton. He and Tom traveled through the air at the rate of over one hundred miles an hour. Later, Tom took part in a big race for a ten-thousand-dollar prize, and won, defeating Andy Foger, and a number of well-known "bird-men" who used biplanes and monoplanes of a more or less familiar type. The government became interested in Tom's craft, the Humming-Bird, and, as told in the ninth book of this series, Tom Swift and His Sky Racer, they secured some rights in the invention. And now Tom, who had done nothing for several months following the great race--that is, nothing save to work on his new rifle--Tom, we say, sighed for new adventures. "Well, Tom, what is on your mind?" asked his father at the supper table that evening. "What is worrying you?" "Nothing is worrying me, Dad." "You are thinking of something. I can see that. Are you afraid your electric rifle won't work as well as you hope, when Ned comes over to try it?" "No, it isn't that, Dad. But I may as well tell you, I guess. I've been reading in the paper about a big elephant hunt in Africa, and I--" "That's enough, Tom! You needn't say any more," interrupted Mr. Swift. "I can see which way the wind is blowing. You want to go to Africa with your new rifle." "Well, Dad, not exactly--that is--" "Now, Tom, you needn't deny it," and Mr. Swift laughed. "Well, I don't blame you a bit. You have been rather idle of late." "I would like to go, Dad," admitted the young inventor, "only I'd never think of it while you weren't well." "Don't worry about me, Tom. Of course I will be lonesome while you are gone, but don't let that stand in the way. If you want to go to Africa, you may start to-morrow, and take your new rifle with you." "The rifle part would be all right, Dad, but if I went I'd want to take an airship along, and it will take me some little time to finish the Black Hawk, as I have named my new craft." "Well, there's no special hurry, is there?" asked Mr. Swift. "The elephants in Africa are likely to stay there for some time. If you want to go, why don't you get right to work on the Black Hawk and make the trip? I'd like to go myself." "I wish you would, Dad," exclaimed Tom eagerly. "No, son, I couldn't think of it. I want to stay here and get well. Then I am going to resume work on my wireless motor. Perhaps I'll have it finished when you come back from Africa with an airship load of elephants' tusks." "Perhaps," admitted the young inventor. "Well, Dad, I'll think of it. But now I'm going after my rifle, and--" Tom was interrupted by a ring of the front-door bell, and Mrs. Baggert, the housekeeper, who was almost like a mother to the youth, went to answer it. "It's Ned Newton, I guess," murmured Tom, and, a little later, his chum entered the room. "Oh, I guess I'm early," said Ned. "Haven't you had supper yet, Tom?" "Yes, we're just finished. Come on out and we'll try the gun." "And practice shooting elephants," added Mr. Swift with a laugh, as he mentioned to Ned the latest idea of Tom. "Say! That would be great!" cried the bank clerk. "I wish I could go!" "Come along!" invited Tom cordially. "We'll have more fun than we did in the caves of ice," for Ned had gone on the voyage to Alaska. The two youths went out to the shed where the rifle gallery had been built. The new electric weapon was out there, and Eradicate Sampson, the colored man, who was a sort of servant and man-of-all-work about the Swift household, had set up the scarecrow figure at the end of the gallery. "Now we'll try some shots," said Tom, as he took the gun out of the case. "Just turn on a few more lights, will you, Mr. Jackson," and the engineer, who was employed by Tom and his father to aid them in their inventive work, did as requested. The gallery was now brilliantly illuminated, with the reflectors throwing the beams on the big stuffed figure, which, save for a face, looked very much like a human being, standing at the end of the gallery. "I don't suppose you want to go down there and hold it, while I shoot at it; do you, Rad?" asked Tom jokingly, as he prepared the electric rifle for use. "No indeedy, I don't!" cried Eradicate. "Yo'-all will hab t' scuse me, Massa Tom. I think I'll be goin' now." "What's your hurry?" asked Ned, as he saw the colored man hastily preparing to leave the improvised gallery. "I spects I'd better fro' down some mo' straw fo' a bed fo' my mule Boomerang!" exclaimed Eradicate, as he hastily slid out of the door, and shut it after him. "Rad is nervous," remarked Tom. "He doesn't like this gun. Well, it certainly does great execution." "How does it work'" asked Ned, as he looked at the curious gun. The electric weapon was not unlike an ordinary heavy rifle in appearance save that the barrel was a little longer, and the stock larger in every way. There were also a number of wheels, levers, gears and gages on the stock. "It works by electricity," explained Tom. "That is, the force comes from a powerful current of stored electricity." "Oh, then you have storage batteries in the stock?" "Not exactly. There are no batteries, but the current is a sort of wireless kind. It is stored in a cylinder, just as compressed air or gases are stored, and can be released as I need it." "And when it's all gone, what do you do?" "Make more power by means of a small dynamo." "And does it shoot lead bullets?" "Not at all. There are no bullets used." "Then how does it kill?" "By means of a concentrated charge of electricity which is shot from the barrel with great force. You can't see it, yet it is there. It's just as if you concentrated a charge of electricity of five thousand volts into a small globule the size of a bullet. That flies through space, strikes the object aimed at and--well, we'll see what it does in a minute. Mr. Jackson, just put that steel plate up in front of the scarecrow; will you?" The engineer proceeded to put into place a section of steel armor-plate before the stuffed figure. "You don't mean to say you're going to shoot through that, do you?" asked Ned in surprise. "Surely. The electric bullets will pierce anything. They'll go through a brick wall as easily as the x-rays do. That's one valuable feature of my rifle. You don't have to see the object you aim at. In fact you can fire through a house, and kill something on the other side." "I should think that would be dangerous." "It would be, only I can calculate exactly, by means of an automatic arrangement, just how far the charge of electricity will go. It stops short just at the limit of the range, and is not effective beyond that. Otherwise, if I did not limit it and if I fired at the scarecrow, through the piece of steel, and the bullet hit the figure, it would go on, passing through whatever else was in the way, until its power was lost. I use the term 'bullet,' though as I said, it isn't properly one." "By Jove, Tom, it certainly is a dangerous weapon!" "Yes, the range-limit idea is a new one. That's what I've been working on lately. There are other features of the gun which I'll explain later, particularly the power it has to shoot out luminous bars of light. But now we'll see what it will do to the image." Tom took his place at the end of the range, and began to adjust some valves and levers. In spite of the fact that the gun was larger than an ordinary rifle, it was not as heavy as the United States Army weapon. Tom aimed at the armor-plate, and, by means of an arrangement on the rifle, he could tell exactly when he was pointing at the scarecrow, even though he could not see it. "Here she goes!" he suddenly exclaimed. Ned watched his chum. The young inventor pressed a small button at the side of the rifle barrel, about where the trigger should have been. There was no sound, no smoke, no flame and not the slightest jar. Yet as Ned watched he saw the steel plate move slightly. The next instant the scarecrow figure seemed to fly all to pieces. There was a shower of straw, rags and old clothes, which fell in a shapeless heap at the end of the range. "Say. I guess you did for that fellow, all right!" exclaimed Ned. "It looks so," admitted Tom, with a note of pride in his voice. "Now we'll try another test." As he laid aside his rifle in order to help Mr. Jackson shift the steel plate there was a series of yells outside the shed. "What's that?" asked Tom, in some alarm. "Sounds like some one calling," answered Ned. "It is," agreed Mr. Jackson. "Perhaps Eradicate's mule has gotten loose. I guess we'd better--" He did not finish, for the shouts increased in volume, and Tom and Ned could hear some one yelling: "I'll have the law on you for this! I'll have you arrested, Tom Swift! What do you mean by trying to kill me? Where are you? Don't try to hide away, now. You were trying to shoot me, and I'm not going to have it!" Some one pounded on the door of the shed. "It's Barney Moker!" exclaimed Tom. "I wonder what can have happened?" CHAPTER III A DIFFICULT TEST Tom Swift opened the door of the improvised rifle gallery and looked out. By the light of a full moon, which shone down from a cloudless sky, he saw a man standing at the portal. The man's face was distorted with rage, and he shook his fist at the young inventor. "What do you mean by shooting at me?" he demanded. "What do you mean, I say? The idea of scaring honest folks out of their wits, and making 'em think the end of the world has come! What do you mean by it? Why don't you answer me? I say, Tom Swift, why don't you answer me?" "Because you don't give me a chance, Mr. Moker," replied our hero. "I want to know why you shot at me? I demand to know!" and Mr. Moker, who was a sort of miserly town character, living all alone in a small house, just beyond Tom's home, again shook his fist almost in the lad's face. "Why don't you tell me? Why don't you tell me?" he shouted. "I will, if you give me a chance!" fairly exploded Tom. "If you can be cool for five minutes, and come inside and tell me what happened I'll be glad to answer any of your questions, Mr. Moker. I didn't shoot at you." "Yes, you did! You tried to shoot a hole through me!" "Tell me about it?" suggested Tom, as the excited man calmed down somewhat. "Are you hurt?" "No, but it isn't your fault that I'm not. You tried hard enough to hurt me. Here I am, sitting at my table reading, and, all at once something goes through the side of the house, whizzes past my ear, makes my hair fairly stand up on end, and goes outside the other side of the house. What kind of bullets do you use, Tom Swift? that's what I want to know. They went through the side of my house, and never left a mark. I demand to know what kind they are." "I'll tell you, if you'll only give me a chance," went on Tom wearily. "How do you know it was me shooting?" "How do I know? Why, doesn't the end of this shooting gallery of yours point right at my house? Of course it does; you can't deny it!" Tom did not attempt to, and Mr. Moker went on: "Now what do you mean by it?" "If any of the bullets from my electric gun went near you, it was a mistake, and I'm sorry for it," said Tom. "Well, they did, all right," declared the excited man. "They went right past my ear." "I don't see how they could," declared Tom. "I was trying my new electric rifle, but I had the limit set for two hundred feet, the length of the gallery. That is, the electrical discharge couldn't go beyond that distance." "I don't know what it was, but it went through the side of my house all the same," insisted Mr. Moker. "It didn't make a hole, but it scorched the wall paper a little." "I don't see how it could," declared Tom. "It couldn't possibly have gone over two hundred feet with the gage set for that distance." He paused suddenly, and hurried over to where he had placed his gun. Catching up the weapon he looked at the gage dial. Then he uttered an exclamation. "I'm sorry to admit that you are right, Mr. Moker!" he said finally. "I made a mistake. The gage is set for a thousand feet instead of two hundred. I forgot to change it. The charge, after passing through the steel plate, and the scarecrow figure, destroying the latter, went on, and shot through the side of your house." "Ha! I knew you were trying to shoot me!" exclaimed the still angry man. "I'll have the law on you for this!" "Oh, that's all nonsense!" broke in Ned Newton. "Everybody knows Tom Swift wouldn't try to shoot you, or any one else, Mr. Moker." "Then why did he shoot at me?" "That was a mistake," explained Tom, "and I apologize to you for it." "Humph! A lot of good that would do me, if I'd been killed!" muttered the miser. "I'm going to sue you for this. You might have put me in my grave." "Impossible!" exclaimed Tom. "Why impossible?" demanded the visitor. "Because I had so set the rifle that almost the entire force of the electrical bullet was expended in blowing apart the scarecrow figure I made for a test," explained Tom. "All that passed through your house was a small charge, and, if it HAD hit you there would have been no more than a little shock, such as you would feel in taking hold of an electric battery." "How do I know this?" asked the man cunningly. "You say so, but for all I know you may have wanted to kill me." "Why?" asked Tom, trying not to laugh. "Oh, so you might get some of my money. Of course I ain't got none," the miser went on quickly, "but folks thinks I've got a lot, and I have to be on the lookout all the while, or they'd murder me for it." "I wouldn't," declared the young inventor. "It was a mistake. Only part of the spent charge passed near you. Why, if it had been a powerful charge you would never have been able to come over here. I set the main charge to go off inside the scarecrow, and it did so, as you can see by looking at what's left of it," and he pointed to the pile of clothes and rags. "How do I know this?" insisted the miser with a leer at the two lads. "Because if the charge had gone off either before or after it passed through the figure, it would not have caused such havoc of the cloth and straw," explained Tom. "First the charge would have destroyed the steel plate, which it passed through without even denting it. Why, look here, I will now fire the rifle at short range, and set it to destroy the plate. See what happens." He quickly adjusted the weapon, and aimed it at the plate, which, had again been set up on the range. This time Tom was careful to set the gage so that even a small part of the spent charge would not go outside the gallery. The young inventor pressed the button, and instantly the heavy steel plate was bent, torn and twisted as though a small sized cannon ball had gone through it. "That's what the rifle will do at short range," said Tom. "Don't worry, Mr. Moker, you didn't have a narrow escape. You were in no danger at all, though I apologize for the fright I caused you." "Humph! That's an easy way to get out of it!" exclaimed the miser. "I believe I could sue you for damages, anyhow. Look at my scorched wall paper." "Oh, I'll pay for that," said Tom quickly, for he did not wish to have trouble with the unpleasant man. "Will ten dollars be enough?" He knew that the whole room could be repapered for that, and he did not believe the wall-covering was sufficiently damaged for such work to be necessary. "Well, if you'll make it twelve dollars, I won't say anything more about it," agreed the miser craftily, "though it's worth thirteen dollars, if it is a penny. Give me twelve dollars, Tom Swift, and I won't prosecute you." "All right, twelve dollars it shall be," responded the young inventor, passing over the money, and glad to be rid of the unpleasant character. "And after this, just fire that gun of yours the other way," suggested Mr. Moker as he went out, carefully folding the bills which Tom had handed him. "Hum! that was rather queer," remarked Ned, after a pause. "It sure was," agreed his chum. "This rifle will do more than I thought it would. I'll have to be more careful. I was sure I set the gage for two hundred feet. I'll have to invent some automatic attachment to prevent it being discharged when the gage is set wrong." Let us state here that Tom did this, and never had another accident. "Well, does this end the test?" asked Ned. "No, indeed. I want you to try it, while I look on," spoke Tom. "We haven't any more stuffed figures to fire at, but I'll set up some targets. Come on, try your luck at a shot." "I'm afraid I might disturb Mr. Moker, or some of the neighbors." "No danger. I've got it adjusted right now. Come on, see if you can shatter this steel target," and Tom set up a small one at the end of the range. Then, having properly fixed the weapon, Tom handed it to his chum, and, taking his place in a protected part of the gallery, prepared to watch the effect of the shot. "Let her go!" cried Tom, and Ned pressed the button. The effect was wonderful. Though there was no noise, smoke nor flame, the steel plate seemed to crumple up, and collapse as if it had been melted in the fire. There was a jagged hole through the center, but some frail boards back of it were not even splintered. "Good shot!" cried Tom enthusiastically. "I had the distance gage right that time." "You sure did," agreed Ned. "The electric bullet stopped as soon as it did its work on the plate. What's next?" "I'm going to try a difficult test," explained Tom. "You know I said the gun would shoot luminous charges?" "Yes." "Well, I'm going to try that, now. I wish we had another image to shoot at, but I'll take a big dry-goods box, and make believe it's an elephant. Now, this is going to be a hard test, such as we'd meet with, if we were hunting in Africa. I want you to help me." "What am I to do?" asked Ned. "I want you to go outside," explained Tom, "set up a dry-goods box against the side of the little hill back of the shed, and not tell me where you put it. Then I'll go out, and, by means of the luminous charge, I'll locate the box, set the distance gage, and destroy it." "Well, you can see it anyhow, in the moonlight," objected Ned. "No, the moon is under a cloud now," explained Tom, looking out of a window. "It's quite dark, and will give me just the test I want for my new electric rifle." "But won't it be dangerous, firing in the dark? Suppose you misjudge the distance, and the bullet, or charge, files off and hits some one?" "It can't. I'll set the distance gage before I shoot. But if I should happen to make a mistake the charge will go into the side of the hill, and spend itself there. There is no danger. Go ahead, and set up the box, and then come and tell me. Mr. Jackson will help you." Ned and the engineer left the gallery. As Tom had said, it was very dark now, and if Tom could see in the night to hit a box some distance away, his weapon would be all that he claimed for it. "This will do," said the engineer, as he pointed to a box, one of several piled up outside the shed. The two could hardly see to make their way along, carrying it to the foot of the hill, and they stumbled several times. But at last it was in position, and then Ned departed to call Tom, and have him try the difficult test--that of hitting an object in the dark. CHAPTER IV BIG TUSKS WANTED "Well, are you all ready for me?" asked the young inventor, as he took up his curious weapon, and followed Ned out into the yard. It was so dark that they had fairly to stumble along. "Yes, we're ready," answered Ned. "And you'll be a good one, Tom, if you do this stunt. Now stand here," he went on, as he indicated a place as well as he could in the dark. "The box is somewhere in that direction," and he waved his hand vaguely. "I'm not going to tell you any more, and let's see you find it." "Oh, I will, all right--or, rather, my electric rifle will," asserted Tom. The inventor of the curious and terrible weapon took his position. Behind him stood Ned and Mr. Jackson, and just before Tom was ready to fire, his father came stalking through the darkness, calling to them. "Are you there, Tom?" "Yes Dad, is anything the matter?" "No, but I thought I'd like to see what luck you have. Rad was saying you were going to have a test in the dark." "I'm about ready for it," replied Tom. "I'm going to blow up a box that I can't see. You know how it's done, Dad, for you helped me in perfecting the luminous charge, but it's going to be something of a novelty to the others. Here we go, now!" Tom raised his rifle, and aimed it in the dark. Ned Newton, straining his eyes to see, was sure the young inventor was pointing the gun at least twenty feet to one side of where the box was located, but he said nothing, for from experiences in the past, he realized that Tom knew what he was doing. There was a little clicking sound, as the youth moved some gear wheel on his gun. Then there came a faint crackling noise, like some distant wireless apparatus beginning to flash a message through space. Suddenly a little ball of purplish light shot through the darkness and sped forward like some miniature meteor. It shed a curious illuminating glow all about, and the ground, and the objects on it were brought into relief as by a lightning flash. An instant later the light increased in intensity, and seemed to burst like some piece of aerial fireworks. There was a bright glare, in which Ned and the others could see the various buildings about the shed. They could see each other's faces, and they looked pale and ghastly in the queer glow. They could see the box, brought into bold relief, where Ned and the engineer had placed it. Then, before the light had died away, they witnessed a curious sight. The heavy wooden box seemed to dissolve, to collapse and to crumple up like one of paper, and ere the last rays of the illuminating bullet faded, the watchers saw the splinters of wood fall back with a clatter in a little heap on the spot where the dry-goods case had been. A silence followed, and the darkness was all the blacker by contrast with the intense light. At length Tom spoke, and he could not keep from his voice a note of triumph. "Well, did I do it?" he asked. "You sure did!" exclaimed Ned heartily. "Fine!" cried Mr. Swift. "Golly! I wouldn't gib much fo' de hide ob any burglar what comed around heah!" muttered Eradicate Sampson. "Dat box am knocked clean into nuffiness, Massa Tom." "That's what I wanted to do," explained the lad. "And I guess this will end the test for tonight." "But I don't exactly understand it," spoke Ned, as they all moved toward the Swift home, Eradicate going to the stable to see how his mule was. "Do you have two kinds of bullets, Tom, one for night and one for the daytime?" "No," answered Tom, "there is only one kind of bullet, and, as I have said, that isn't a bullet at all. That is, you can't see it, or handle it, but you can feel it. Strictly speaking, it is a concentrated discharge of wireless electricity directed against a certain object. You can't see it any more than you can see a lightning bolt, though that is sometimes visible as a ball of fire. My electric rifle bullets are similar to a discharge of lightning, except that they are invisible." "But we saw the one just now," objected Ned. "No, you didn't see the bullet," said Tom. "You saw the illuminating flash which I send out just before I fire, to reveal the object I am to hit. That is another part of my rifle and is only used at night." "You see I shoot out a ball of electrical fire which will disclose the target, or the enemy at whom I am firing. As soon as that is discharged the rifle automatically gets ready to shoot the electric charge, and I have only to press the proper button, and the 'bullet,' as I call it, follows on the heels of the ball of light. Do you see?" "Perfectly," exclaimed Ned with a laugh. "What a gun that would be for hunting, since most all wild beasts come out only at night." "That was one object in making this invention," said Tom. "I only hope I get a chance to use it now." "I thought you were going to Africa after elephants," spoke Mr. Swift. "Well, I did think of it," admitted Tom, "but I haven't made any definite plans. But come into the house, Ned, and I'll show you more in detail how my rifle works." Thereupon the two chums spent some time going into the mysteries of the new weapon. Mr. Swift and Mr. Jackson were also much interested, for, though they had seen the gun previously and had helped Tom perfect it, they had not yet tired of discussing its merits. Ned stayed quite late that night, and promised to come over the next day, and watch Tom do some more shooting. "I'll show you how to use it, too," promised the young inventor, and he was as good as his word, initiating Ned into the mysteries of the electric rifle, and showing him to store the charges of death-dealing electricity in the queer-looking stock. For a week after that Tom and Ned practiced with the terrible gun, taking care not to have any more mishaps like the one that had marked the first night. They were both good shots with ordinary weapons and it was not long before they had equaled their record with the new instrument. It was one warm afternoon, when Tom was out in the meadow at one side of his house, practicing with his rifle on some big boxes he had set up for targets, that he saw an elderly man standing close to the fence watching him. When Tom blew to pieces a particularly large packing-case, standing a long distance away from it, the stranger called to the youth. "I beg your pardon," he said, "but is that a dynamite gun you are using?" "No, it's an electric rifle," was the answer. "Would you mind telling me something about it?" went on the elderly man, and as Tom's weapon was now fully protected by patents, the young inventor cordially invited the stranger to come nearer and see how it worked. "That's the greatest thing I ever saw!" exclaimed the man enthusiastically when Tom had blown up another box, and had told of the illumination for night firing. "The most wonderful weapon I ever heard of! What a gun it would be in my business." "What is your trade?" asked Tom curiously, for he had noted that the man, while aged, was rugged and hearty, and his skin was tanned a leathery brown, showing that he was much in the open air. "I'm a hunter," was the reply, "a hunter of big game, principally elephants, hippos and rhinoceroses. I've just finished a season in Africa, and I'm going back there again soon. I came on to New York to get a new elephant gun. I've got a sister living over in Waterford, and I've been visiting her. I went out for a stroll to-day, and I came farther than I intended. That's how I happened to be passing here." "A sister in Waterford, eh?" mused Tom, wondering whether the elephant hunter had met Mr. Damon. "And how soon are you going hack to Africa, Mr.--er--" and Tom hesitated. "Durban is my name, Alexander Durban," said the old man. "Why, I am to start back in a few weeks. I've got an order for a pair of big elephant tusks--the largest I can get for a wealthy New York man,--and I'm anxious to fulfil the contract. The game isn't what it once was. There's more competition and the elephants are scarcer. So I've got to hustle." "I got me a new gun. But my! it's nothing to what yours is. With that weapon I could do about as I pleased. I could do night hunting, which is hard in the African jungle. Then I wouldn't have any trouble getting the big tusks I'm after. I could get a pair of them, and live easy the rest of my life. Yes, I wouldn't ask anything better than a gun like yours. But I s'pose they cost like the mischief?" He looked a question at Tom. "This is the only one there is," was the lad's answer. "But I am very glad to have met you, Mr. Durban. Won't you come into the house? I'm sure my father will be glad to see you, and I have something I'd like to talk to you about," and Tom, with many wild ideas in his head, led the old elephant hunter toward the house. The dream of the young inventor might come true after all. CHAPTER V RUSH WORK Mr. Swift made the African hunter warmly welcome, and listened with pride to the words of praise Mr. Durban bestowed on Tom regarding the rifle. "Yes, my boy has certainly done wonders along the inventive line," said Mr. Swift. "Not half as much as you have, Dad," interrupted the lad, for Tom was a modest youth. "You should see his sky racer," went on the old inventor. "Sky racer? What's that?" asked Mr. Durban. "Is it another kind of gun or cannon?" "It's an aeroplane--an airship," explained Mr. Swift. "An airship!" exclaimed the old elephant hunter. "Say, you don't mean that you make balloons, do you?" "Well, they're not exactly balloons," replied Tom, as he briefly explained what an aeroplane was, for Mr. Durban, having been in the wilds of the jungle so much, had had very little chance to see the wonders and progress of civilization. "They are better than balloons," went on Tom, "for they can go where you want them to." "Say! That's the very thing!" cried the old hunter enthusiastically. "If there's one thing more than another that is needed in hunting in Africa it's an airship. The travel through the jungle is something fierce, and that, more than anything else, interferes with my work. I can't cover ground enough, and when I do get on the track of a herd of elephants, and they get away, it's sometimes a week before I can catch up to them again." "For, in spite of their size, elephants can travel very fast, and once they get on the go, nothing can stop them. An airship would be the very thing to hunt elephants with in Africa--an airship and this electric rifle. I wonder why you haven't thought of going, Tom Swift." "I have thought of it," answered the young inventor, "and that's why I asked you in. I want to talk about it." "Do you mean you want to go?" demanded the old man eagerly. "I certainly do!" "Then I'm your man! Say, Tom Swift, I'd be proud to have you go to Africa with me. I'd be proud to have you a member of my hunting party, and, though I don't like to boast, still if you'll ask any of the big-game people they'll tell you that not every one can accompany Aleck Durban." Tom realized that he was speaking to an authority and a most desirable companion, should he go to Africa, and he was very glad of the chance that had made him acquainted with the veteran hunter. "Will you go with me?" asked Mr. Durban. "You and your electric gun and your airship? Will you come to Africa to hunt elephants, and help me get the big tusks I'm after?" "I will!" exclaimed Tom. "Then we'll start at once. There's no need of delaying here any longer." "Oh, but I haven't an airship ready," said the young inventor. The face of the old hunter expressed his disappointment. "Then we'll have to give up the scheme," he said ruefully. "Not at all," Tom told him. "I have all the material on hand for building a new airship. I have had it in mind for some time, and I have done some work on it. I stopped it to perfect my electric rifle, but, now that is done, I'll tackle the Black Hawk again, and rush that to completion." "The Black Hawk?" repeated Mr. Durban, wonderingly. "Yes, that's what I will name my new craft. The RED CLOUD was destroyed, and so I thought I'd change the color this time, and avoid bad luck." "Good!" exclaimed the hunter. "When do you think you can have it finished?" "Oh, possibly in a month--perhaps sooner, and then we will go to Africa and hunt elephants!" "Bless my ivory paper cutter!" exclaimed a voice in the hall just outside the library. "Bless my fingernails! But who's talking about going to Africa?" The old hunter looked at Tom and his father in surprise, but the young inventor laughing and going to the door, called out: "Come on in, Mr. Damon. I didn't hear you ring. There is some one here from your town." "Is it my wife?" asked the odd gentleman who was always blessing something. "She said she was going to her mother's to spend a few weeks, and so I thought I'd come over here and see if you had anything new on the program. The first thing I hear is that you are going to Africa. And so there's some one from Waterford in there, eh? Is it my wife?" "No," answered Tom with another laugh. "Come on in Mr. Damon." "Bless my toothpick!" exclaimed the odd gentleman, as he saw the grizzled elephant hunter sitting between Tom and Mr. Swift. "I have seen you somewhere before, my dear sir." "Yes," admitted Mr. Durban, "if you're from Waterford you have probably seen me traveling about the streets there. I'm stopping with my sister, Mrs. Douglass, but I can't stand it to be in the house much, so I'm out of doors, wandering about a good bit of the time. I miss my jungle. But we'll soon be in Africa, Tom Swift and me." "Is it possible, Tom?" asked Mr. Damon. "Bless my diamond mines! but what are you going to do next?" "It's hard to say," was the answer. "But you came just in time. Mr. Damon. I'm going to rush work on the Black Hawk, my newest airship, and we'll leave for elephant land inside of a month, taking my new electric rifle along. Will you come?" "Bless my penknife! I never thought of such a thing. I--I--guess--no, I don't know about it--yes, I'll go!" he suddenly exclaimed. "I'll go! Hurrah for the elephants!" and he jumped up and shook hands in turn with Mr. Durban, to whom he had been formally introduced, and with Tom and Mr. Swift. "Then it's all settled but the details," declared the youth, "and now I'll call in Mr. Jackson, and we'll talk about how soon we can have the airship ready." "My, but you folks are almost as speedy as a herd of the big elephants themselves!" exclaimed Mr. Durban, and with the advent of the engineer the talk turned to things mechanical among Tom and Mr. Jackson and Mr. Damon, while Mr. Durban told Mr. Swift hunting stories which the old inventor greatly enjoyed. The next day Tom engaged two machinists who had worked for him building airships before, and in the next week rush work began on the new Black Hawk. Meanwhile Mr. Durban was a frequent visitor at Tom's home, where he learned to use the new rifle, declaring it was even more wonderful than he had at first supposed. "That will get the elephants!" he exclaimed. It did, as you shall soon learn, and it also was the means of saving several lives in the wilds of the African jungle. CHAPTER VI NEWS FROM ANDY Tom Swift's former airship, the Red Cloud, had been such a fine craft, and had done such good service that he thought, in building a successor, that he could do no better than to follow the design of the skyship which had been destroyed in the ice caves. But, on talking with the old elephant hunter, and learning something of the peculiarities of the African jungle the young inventor decided on certain changes. In general the Black Hawk would be on the lines of the Red Cloud but it would be smaller and lighter and would also be capable of swifter motion. "You want it so that it will rise and descend quickly and at sharp angles," said Mr. Durban. "Why," inquired Tom. "Because in Africa, at least in the part where we will go, there are wide patches of jungle and forest, with here and there big open places. If you are skimming along close to the ground, in an open place, in pursuit of a herd of elephants and they should suddenly plunge into the forest, you would want to be able to rise above the trees quickly." "That's so," admitted Tom. "Then I'll have to use a smaller gas bag than we had on the other ship, for the air resistance to that big one made us go slowly at times." "Will it be as safe with a small bag?" Mr. Damon wanted to know. "Yes, for I will use a more powerful gas, so that we will be more quickly lifted," said the young inventor. "I will also retain the aeroplane feature, so that the Black Hawk will be a combined biplane and dirigible balloon. But it will have many new features. I have the plans all drawn for a new style of gas generating apparatus, and I think it can be made in time." There were busy days about the Swift home. Mrs. Baggert, the housekeeper, was in despair. She said the good meals she got ready were wasted, because no one would come to table when they were ready. She would ring the bell, and announce that dinner would be served in five minutes. Then Tom would shout from his workshop that he could not leave until he had inserted a certain lever in place. Mr. Jackson would positively decline to sit down until he had screwed fast some part of a machine. Even Mr. Swift, who, because of his recent illness, was not allowed to do much, would often delay his meal to test some new style of gears. As for Mr. Damon, it was to be expected that he would be eccentric as he always was. He was not an expert mechanic, but he knew something of machinery and was of considerable help to Tom in the rush work on the airship. He would hear the dinner bell ring, and would exclaim: "Bless my napkin ring! I can't come now. I have to fix up this electrical register first." And so it would go. Eradicate and Boomerang, his mule, were the only ones who ate regularly, and they always insisted on stopping at exactly twelve o'clock to partake of the noonday meal. "'Cause ef I didn't," explained the colored man, "dat contrary mule ob mine would lay down in de dust ob de road an' not move a step, lessen' he got his oats. So dat's why we has t' eat, him an' me." "Well, I'm glad there's some one who's got sense," murmured Mrs. Baggert. Eradicate and Boomerang were of great service in the hurried work that followed, for the colored man in his cart brought from town, or from the freight depot, many things that Tom needed. The young inventor was very enthusiastic about his proposed trip, and at night, after a hard day's work in the shop, he would read books on African hunting, or he would sit and listen to the stories told by Mr. Durban. And the latter knew how to tell hunting tales, for he had been long in his dangerous calling, and had had many narrow escapes. "And there are other dangers than from elephants and wild beasts in Africa," he said. "Bless my toothbrush!" exclaimed Mr. Damon. "Do you mean cannibals, Mr. Durban?" "Some cannibals," was the reply. "But they're not the worst. I mean the red pygmies. I hope we don't get into their clutches." "Red pygmies!" repeated Tom, wonderingly. "Yes, they're a tribe of little creatures, about three feet high, covered with thick reddish hair, who live in the central part of Africa, near some of the best elephant-hunting ground. They are wild, savage and ferocious, and what they lack individually in strength, they make up in numbers. They're like little red apes, and woe betide the unlucky hunter who falls into their merciless hands. They treat him worse than the cannibals do." "Then we'll look out for them," said Tom. "But I fancy my electric rifle will make them give us a wide berth." "It's a great gun," admitted the old hunter with a shake of his head, "but those red pygmies are terrible creatures. I hope we don't get them on our trail. But tell me, Tom, how are you coming on with the airship? for I don't know much about mechanics, and to me it looks as if it would never be put together. It's like one of those queer puzzles I've seen 'em selling in the streets of London." "Oh, it's nearer ready than it looks to be," said Tom. "We'll have it assembled, and ready for a trial in about two weeks more." Work on the Black Hawk was rushed more than ever in the next few days, another extra machinist being engaged. Then the craft began to assume shape and form, and with the gas bag partly inflated and the big planes stretching out from either side, it began to look something like the ill-fated Red Cloud. "It's going to be a fine ship!" cried Tom enthusiastically, one day, as he went to the far side of the ship to get a perspective view of it. "We'll make good time in this." "Are you going to sail all the way to Africa--across the ocean--in her?" asked Mr. Durban, in somewhat apprehensive tones. "Oh, no," replied Tom. "I believe she would be capable of taking us across the ocean, but there is no need of running any unnecessary risks. I want to get her safely to Africa, and have her do stunts in elephant land." "Then what are your plans?" asked the hunter. "We'll put her together here," said Tom, "give her a good try-out to see that she works well, and then pack her up for shipment to the African coast by steamer. We'll go on the same ship, and when we arrive we'll put the Black Hawk together again, and set sail for the interior." "Good idea," commented Mr. Durban. "Now, if you've no objections, I'm going to do a little practice with the electric rifle." "Go ahead," assented Tom. "There comes Ned Newton; he'll be glad of a chance for a few shots while I work on this new propeller motor. It just doesn't suit me." The bank clerk, who had arranged to go to Africa with Tom, was seen advancing toward the aeroplane shed. In his hand Ned held a paper, and as he saw Tom he called out: "Have you heard the news?" "What news?" inquired the young inventor. "About Andy Foger. He and his aeroplane are lost!" "Lost!" cried Tom, for in spite of the mean way the bully had treated him our hero did not wish him any harm. "Well, not exactly lost," went on Ned, as he held out the paper to Tom, "but he and his sky-craft have disappeared." "Disappeared?" "Yes. You know he and that German, Mr. Landbacher, went over to Europe to give some aviation exhibitions. Well, I see by this paper that they went to Egypt, and were doing a high-flying stunt there, when a gale sprang up, they lost control of the aeroplane and it was swept out of sight." "In which direction; out to sea?" "No, toward the interior of Africa." "Toward the interior of Africa!" cried Tom. "And that's where we're going in a couple of weeks. Andy in Africa!" "'Maybe we'll see him there," suggested Ned. "Well, I certainly hope we do not!" exclaimed Tom, as he turned back to his work, with an undefinable sense of fear in his heart. CHAPTER VII THE BLACK HAWK FLIES It was with no little surprise that the news of the plight that was said to have befallen Andy Foger was received by Tom and his associates. The newspaper had quite an account of the affair, and, even allowing the usual discount for the press dispatches, it looked as if the former bully was in rather distressing circumstances. "He won't have to be carried very far into Africa to be in a bad country," said the old hunter. "Of course, some parts of the continent are all right, and for me, I like it all, where there's hunting to be had. But I guess your young friend Foger won't care for it." "He's no friend of ours," declared Ned, as Tom was reading the newspaper account. "Still, I don't wish him any bad luck, and I do hope he doesn't become the captive of the red pygmies." "So do I," echoed the old hunter fervently. There was no news of Andy in the papers the next day, though there were cable dispatches speculating on what might have happened to him and the airship. In Shopton the dispatches created no little comment, and it was said that Mr. Foger was going to start for Africa at once to rescue his son. This, however, could not be confirmed. Meanwhile Tom and his friends were very busy over the Black Hawk. Every hour saw the craft nearer completion, for the young inventor had had much experience in this sort of work now, and knew just how to proceed. To Mr. Damon were intrusted certain things which he could well attend to, and though he frequently stopped to bless his necktie or his shoelaces, still he got along fairly well. There would be no necessity of purchasing supplies in this country, for they could get all they needed in the African city of Majumba, on the western coast, where they planned to land. There the airship would be put together, stocked with provisions and supplies, and they would begin their journey inland. They planned to head for Buka Meala, crossing the Congo River, and then go into the very interior of the heart of the dark continent. As we have described in detail, in the former books of this series, the construction of Tom Swift's airship, the Red Cloud, and as the Black Hawk was made in a similar manner to that, we will devote but brief space to it now. As the story proceeds, and the need arises for a description of certain features, we will give them to you, so that you will have a clear idea of what a wonderful craft it was. Sufficient to say that there was a gas bag, made of a light but strong material, and capable of holding enough vapor, of a new and secret composition, to lift the airship with its load. This was the dirigible-balloon feature of the craft, and with the two powerful propellers, fore and aft (in which particular the Black Hawk differed from the Red Cloud which had two forward propellers);--with these two powerful wooden screws, as we have said, the new ship could travel swiftly without depending on the wing planes. But as there is always a possibility of the gas bag being punctured, or the vapor suddenly escaping from one cause or another, Tom did not depend on this alone to keep his craft afloat. It was a perfect aeroplane, and with the gas bag entirely empty could be sent scudding along at any height desired. To enable it to rise by means of the wings, however, it was necessary to start it in motion along the ground, and for this purpose wheels were provided. There was a large body or car to the craft, suspended from beneath the gas bag, and in this car were the cabins, the living, sleeping and eating apartments, the storerooms and the engine compartment. This last was a marvel of skill, for it contained besides the gas machine, and the motor for working the propellers, dynamos, gages, and instruments for telling the speed and height, motors for doing various pieces of work, levers, wheels, cogs, gears, tanks for storing the lifting gas, and other features of interest. There were several staterooms for the use of the young captain and the passengers, an observation and steering tower, a living-room, where they could all assemble as the ship was sailing through the air, and a completely equipped kitchen. This last was Mr. Damon's special pride, as he was a sort of cook, and he liked nothing better than to get up a meal when the craft was two or three miles high, and scudding along at seventy-five miles an hour. In addition there were to be taken along many scientific instruments, weapons of defense and offense, in addition to the electric rifle, and various other objects which will be spoken of in due time. "Well," remarked Tom Swift one afternoon, following a hard day's work in the shop, "I think, if all goes well, and we have good weather, I'll give the Black Hawk a trial tomorrow." "Do you think it will fly?" asked Ned. "There is no telling," was the answer of the young inventor. "These things are more or less guesswork, even when you make two exactly alike. As far as I can tell, we have now a better craft than the Red Cloud was, but it remains to be seen how she will behave." They worked late that night, putting the finishing touches on the Black Hawk, and in the morning the new airship was wheeled out of the shed, and placed on the level starting ground, ready for the trial flight. Only the bare machinery was in her, as yet, and the gas bag had not been inflated as Tom wanted to try the plane feature first. But the vapor machine was all ready to start generating the gas whenever it was needed. Nor was the Black Hawk painted and decorated as she would be when ready to be sent to Africa. On the whole, she looked rather crude as she rested there on the bicycle wheels, awaiting the starting of the big propellers. As the stores and supplies were not yet in, Tom took aboard, in addition to Mr. Damon, Ned, his father, Mr. Jackson and Mr. Durban, some bags of sand to represent the extra weight that would have to be carried. "If she'll rise with this load she'll do," announced the young inventor, as he went carefully over the craft, looking to see that everything was in shape. "If she does rise it will be a new experience for me," spoke the old elephant hunter. "I've never been in an airship before. It doesn't seem possible that we can get up in the air with this machine." "Maybe we won't," spoke Tom, who was always a little diffident about a new piece of machinery. "Well, if it doesn't do it the first time, it will the second, or the fifty-second," declared Ned Newton. "Tom Swift doesn't give up until he succeeds." "Stop it! You'll make me blush!" cried the Black Hawk's owner as he tried the different gages and levers to see that they were all right. After what seemed like a long time he gave the word for those who were to make the trial trip to take their places. They did so, and then, with Mr. Jackson, Tom went to the engine room. There was a little delay, due to the fact that some adjustment was necessary on the main motor. But at last it was fixed. "Are you all ready?" called Tom. "All ready," answered Mr. Damon. The old elephant hunter sat in a chair, nervously gripping the arms, and with a grim look on his tanned face. Mr. Swift was cool, as Ned, for they had made many trips in the air. Outside were Eradicate Sampson and Mrs. Baggert. "Here we go!" suddenly cried Tom, and he yanked over the lever that started the main motor and propellers. The Black Hawk trembled throughout her entire length. She shivered and shook. Faster and faster whirled the great wooden screws. The motor hummed and throbbed. Slowly the Black Hawk moved across the ground. Then she gathered speed. Now she was fairly rushing over the level space. Tom Swift tilted the elevation rudder, and with a suddenness that was startling, at least to the old elephant hunter, the new airship shot upward on a steep slant. "The Black Hawk flies!" yelled Ned Newton. "Now for elephant land and the big tusks!" "Yes, and perhaps for the red pygmies, too," added Tom in a low voice. Then he gave his whole attention to the management of his new machine, which was rapidly mounting upward, with a speed rivalling that of his former big craft. CHAPTER VIII OFF FOR AFRICA Higher and higher went the Black Hawk, far above the earth, until the old elephant hunter, looking down, said in a voice which he tried to make calm and collected, but which trembled in spite of himself: "Of course I'm not an expert at this game, Tom Swift, but it looks to me as if we'd never get down. Don't you think we're high enough?" "For the time being, yes," answered the young inventor. "I didn't think she'd climb so far without the use of the gas. She's doing well." "Bless my topknot, yes!" exclaimed Mr. Damon. "She beats the Red Cloud, Tom. Try her on a straight-away course." Which the youth did, pointing the nose of the craft along parallel to the surface of the earth, and nearly a mile above it. Then, increasing the speed of the motor, and with the big propellers humming, they made fast time. The old elephant hunter grew more calm as he saw that the airship did not show any inclination to fall, and he noted that Tom and the others not only knew how to manage it, but took their flight as much a matter of course as if they were in an automobile skimming along on the surface of the ground. Tom put his craft through a number of evolutions, and when he found that she was in perfect control as an aeroplane, he started the gas machine, filled the big black bag overhead, and, when it was sufficiently buoyant, he shut off the motor, and the Black Hawk floated along like a balloon. "That's what we'll do if our power happens to give out when we get over an African jungle, with a whole lot of wild elephants down below, and a forest full of the red pygmies waiting for us," explained Tom to Mr. Durban. "And I guess you'll need to do it, too," answered the hunter. "I don't know which I fear worse, the bad elephants wild with rage, as they get some times, or the little red men who are as strong as gorillas, and as savage as wolves. It would be all up with us if we got into their hands. But I think this airship will be just what we need in Africa. I'd have been able to get out of many a tight place if I had had one on my last trip." While the Black Hawk hung thus, up the air, not moving, save as the wind blew her, Tom with his father and Mr. Jackson made an inspection of the machinery to find out whether it had been strained any. They found that it had worked perfectly, and soon the craft was in motion again, her nose this time being pointed toward the earth. Tom let out some of the gas, and soon the airship was on the ground in front of the shed she had so recently left. "She's all right," decided the young inventor after a careful inspection. "I'll give her a couple more trials, put on the finishing touches and then we'll be ready for our trip to Africa. Have you got everything arranged to go, Ned?" "Sure. I have a leave of absence from the bank, thanks to your father and Mr. Damon, most of my clothes are packed, I've bought a gun and I've got a lot of quinine in case I get a fever." "Good!" cried the elephant hunter. "You'll do all right, I reckon. I'm glad I met you young fellows. Well, I've lived through my first trip in the air, which is more than I expected when I started." They discussed their plans at some length, for, now that the airship had proved all that they had hoped for, it would not be long ere they were under way. In the days that followed Tom put the finishing touches on the craft, arranged to have it packed up for shipment, and spent some time practicing with his electric rifle. He got to be an expert shot, and Mr. Durban, who was a wonder with the ordinary rifle, praised the young inventor highly. "There won't be many of the big tuskers get away from you, Tom Swift," he said. "And that reminds me, I got a letter the other day, from the firm I collect ivory for, stating that the price had risen because of a scarcity, and urging me to hurry back to Africa and get all I could. It seems that war has broken out among some of the central African tribes, and they are journeying about in the jungle, on the war path here and there, and have driven the elephants into the very deepest wilds, where the ordinary hunters can't get at them." "Maybe we won't have any luck, either," suggested Ned. "Oh, yes, we will," declared the hunter. "With our airship, the worst forest of the dark continent won't have any terrors for us, for we can float above it. And the fights of the natives won't have any effect. In a way, this will be a good thing, for with the price of ivory soaring, we can make more money than otherwise. There's a chance for us all to get a lot of money." "Bless my piano keys!" exclaimed Mr. Damon, "if I can get just one elephant, and pull out his big ivory teeth, I'll be satisfied. I want a nice pair of tusks to set up on either side of my fireplace for ornaments." "A mighty queer place for such-like ornaments," said Mr. Durban in a low voice. Then he added: "Well, the sooner we get started the better I'll like it, for I want to get that pair of big tusks for a special customer of mine." "I'll give the Black Hawk one more trial flight, and then take her apart and ship her," decided Tom, and the final flight, a most successful one, took place the following day. Then came another busy season when the airship was taken apart for shipment to the coast of Africa by steamer. It was put into big boxes and crates, and Eradicate and his mule took them to the station in Shopton. "Don't you want to come to Africa with us, Rad?" asked Tom, when the last of the cases had been sent off. "You'll find a lot of your friends there." "No, indeedy, I doan't want t' go," answered the colored man, "though I would like to see dat country." "Then why don't you come?" "Hu! Yo' think, Massa Tom, dat I go anywhere dat I might meet dem little red men what Massa Durban talk about? No, sah, dey might hurt mah mule Boomerang." "Oh, I wasn't going to take the mule along," said Tom, wondering how the creature might behave in the airship. "Not take Boomerang? Den I SUTTINLY ain't goin," and Eradicate walked off, highly offended, to give some oats to his faithful if somewhat eccentric steed. After the airship had been sent off there yet remained much for Tom Swift to do. He had to send along a number of special tools and appliances with which to put the ship together again, and also some with which to repair the craft in case of accident. So that this time was pretty well occupied. But at length everything was in readiness, and with his electric rifle knocked down for transportation, and with his baggage, and that of the others, all packed, they set off one morning to take the train for New York, where they would get a steamer for Africa. Numerous good-bys had been said, and Tom had made a farewell call on Mary Nestor, promising to bring her some trophy from elephant land, though he did not quite know what it would be. Mr. Damon, as the train started, blessed everything he could think of. Mr. Swift waved his hand and wished his son and the others good luck, feeling a little lonesome that he could not make one of the party. Ned was eager with excitement, and anticipation of what lay before him. Tom Swift was thinking of what he could accomplish with his electric rifle, and of the wonderful sights he would see, and, as for the old elephant hunter, he was very glad to be on the move again, after so many weeks of idleness, for he was a very active man. Their journey to New York was uneventful, and they found that the parts of the airship had safely arrived, and had been taken aboard the steamer. The little party went aboard themselves, after a day spent in sight-seeing, and that afternoon the Soudalar, which was the vessel's name, steamed away from the dock at high tide. "Off for Africa!" exclaimed Tom to Ned, as they stood at the rail, watching the usual crowd wave farewells. "Off for Africa, Ned." As Tom spoke, a gentleman who had been standing near him and his chum, vigorously waving his hand to some one on the pier, turned quickly. He looked sharply at the young inventor for a moment, and then exclaimed: "Well, if it isn't Tom Swift! Did I hear you say you were going to Africa?" Tom looked at the gentleman with rather a puzzled air for a moment. The face was vaguely familiar, but Tom could not recall where he had seen it. Then it came to him in a flash. "Mr. Floyd Anderson!" exclaimed our hero. "Mr. Anderson of--" "Earthquake Island!" exclaimed the gentleman quickly, as he extended his hand. "I guess you remember that place, Tom Swift." "Indeed I do. And to think of meeting you again, and on this African steamer," and Tom's mind went back to the perilous days when his wireless message had saved the castaways of Earthquake Island, among whom were Mr. Anderson and his wife. "Did I hear you say you were going to Africa?" asked Mr. Anderson, when he had been introduced to Ned, and the others in Tom's party. "That's where we're bound for," answered the lad. "We are going to elephant land. But where are you going, Mr. Anderson?" "Also to Africa, but not on a trip for pleasure or profit like yourselves. I have been commissioned by a missionary society to rescue two of its workers from the heart of the dark continent." "Rescue two missionaries?" exclaimed Tom, wonderingly. "Yes, a gentleman and his wife, who, it is reported, have fallen into the hands of a race known as the red pygmies, who hold them captives!" CHAPTER IX ATTACKED BY A WHALE Surprise at Mr. Anderson's announcement held Tom silent for a moment. That the gentleman whom he had been the means of rescuing, among others, from Earthquake Island, should be met with so unexpectedly, was quite a coincidence, but when it developed that he was bound to the same part of the African continent as were Tom and his friends, and when he said he hoped to rescue some missionaries from the very red pygmies so feared by the old elephant hunter--this was enough to startle any one. "I see that my announcement has astonished you," said Mr. Anderson, as he noted the look of surprise on the face of the young inventor. "It certainly has! Why, that's where we are bound for, in my new airship. Come down into our cabin, Mr. Anderson, and tell us all about it. Is your wife with you?" "No, it is too dangerous a journey on which to take her. I have little hope of succeeding, for it is now some time since the unfortunate missionaries were captured, but I am going to do my best, and organize a relief expedition when I get to Africa." Tom said nothing at that moment, but he made up his mind that if it was at all possible he would lend his aid, that of his airship, and also get his friends to assist Mr. Anderson. They went below to a special cabin that had been reserved for Tom's party, and there, as the ship slowly passed down New York Bay, Mr. Anderson told his story. "I mentioned to you, when we were on Earthquake Island," he said to Tom, "that I had been in Africa, and had done some hunting. That is not my calling, as it is that of your friend, Mr. Durban, but I know the country pretty well. However, I have not been there in some time." "My wife and I are connected with a church in New York that, several years ago, raised a fund and sent two missionaries, Mr. and Mrs. Jacob Illingway, to the heart of Africa. They built up a little mission there, and for a time all went well, and they did good work among the natives." "They are established in a tribe of friendly black men, of simple nature, and, while the natives did not become Christianized to any remarkable extent, yet they were kind to the missionaries. Mr. and Mrs. Illingway used frequently to write to members of our church, telling of their work. They also mentioned the fact that adjoining the country of the friendly blacks there was a tribe of fierce little red men,--red because of hair of that color all over their bodies." "That's right," agreed Mr. Durban, shaking his head solemnly. "They're red imps, too!" "Mr. Illingway often mentioned in his letters," went on Mr. Anderson, "that there were frequent fights between the pygmies and the race of blacks, but the latter had no great fear of their small enemies. However, it seems that they did not take proper precautions, for not long ago there was a great battle, the blacks were attacked by a large force of the red pygmies, who overwhelmed them by numbers, and finally routed them, taking possession of their country." "What became of the missionaries?" asked Ned Newton. "I'll tell you," said Mr. Anderson. "For a long time we heard nothing, beyond the mere news of the fight, which we read of in the papers. The church people were very anxious about the fate of Mr. and Mrs. Illingway, and were talking of sending a special messenger to inquire about them, when a cablegram came from the headquarters of the society in London." "It seems that one of the black natives, named Tomba, who was a sort of house servant to Mr. and Mrs. Illingway, escaped the general massacre, in which all his friends were killed. He made his way through the jungle to a white settlement, and told his story, relating how the two missionaries had been carried away captive by the pygmies." "A terrible fate," commented Mr. Durban. "Yes, they might better be dead, from all the accounts we can hear," went on Mr. Anderson. "Bless my Sunday hat! Don't say that!" exclaimed Mr. Damon. "Maybe we can save them, Mr. Anderson." "That is what I am going to try to do, though it may be too late. As soon as definite news was received, our church held a meeting, raised a fund, and decided to send me off to find Mr. and Mrs. Illingway, if alive, or give them decent burial, if I could locate their bones. The reason they selected me was because I had been in Africa, and knew the country." "I made hurried arrangements, packed up, said good-by to my wife, and here I am. But to think of meeting you, Tom Swift! And to hear that you are also going to Africa. I wish I could command an airship for the rescue. It might be more easily accomplished!" "That's just what I was going to propose!" exclaimed Tom. "We are going to the land of the red pygmies, and while I have promised to help Mr. Durban in getting ivory, and while I want to try my electric rifle on big game, still we can do both, I think. You can depend on us, Mr. Anderson, and if the Black Hawk can be of any service to you in the rescue, count us in!" "Gosh!" cried the former castaway of Earthquake Island. "This is the best piece of luck I could have! Now tell me all about your plans." which Tom and the others did, listening in turn, to further details about the missionaries. Just how they would go to work to effect the rescue, or how they could locate the particular tribe of little red men who had Mr. and Mrs. Illingway, they did not know. "We may be able to get hold of this Tomba," said Mr. Durban. "If not I guess between Mr. Anderson and myself we can get on the trail, somehow. I'm anxious to get to the coast, see the airship put together again, and start for the interior." "So am I," declared Tom, as he got out his electric rifle, and began to put it together, for he wanted to show Mr. Anderson how it worked. They had a pleasant and uneventful voyage for two weeks. The weather was good, and, to tell the truth, it was rather monotonous for Tom and the others, who were eager to get into activity again. Then came a storm, which, while it was not dangerous, yet gave them plenty to think and talk about for three days. Then came more calm weather, when the Soudalar plowed along over gently heaving billows. They were about a week from their port of destination, which was Majumba, on the African coast, when, one afternoon, as Tom and the others were in their cabin, they heard a series of shouts on deck, and the sound of many feet running to and fro. "Something has happened!" exclaimed the young inventor. Tom raced for the companionway, and was soon on deck, followed by Mr. Durban and the others. They saw a crowd of sailors and passengers leaning over the port rail. "What's the matter?" asked Tom, of the second mate, who was just passing. "Fight between a killer and a whale," was the reply. "The captain has ordered the ship to lay-to so it can be watched." Tom made his way to the rail. About a quarter of a mile away there could be observed a great commotion in the ocean. Great bodies seemed to be threshing about, beating the water to foam, and, with the foam could be seen bright blood mingled. Occasionally two jets of water, as from some small fountain, would shoot upward. "He's blowing hard!" exclaimed one of the sailors. "I guess he's about done for!" "Which one?" asked Tom. "The whale," was the reply. "The killer has the best of the big fellow," and the sailor quickly explained how the smaller killer fish, by the peculiarity of its attack, and its great ferocity, often bested its larger antagonist. The battle was now at its height, and Tom and the others were interested spectators. At times neither of the big creatures could be seen, because of the smother of foam in which they rolled and threshed about. The whale endeavored to sound, or go to the bottom, but the killer stuck to him relentlessly. Suddenly, however, as Tom looked, the whale, by a stroke of his broad tail, momentarily stunned his antagonist. Instantly realizing that he was free the great creature, which was about ninety feet long, darted away, swimming on the surface of the water, for he needed to get all the air possible. Quickly acquiring momentum, the whale came on like a locomotive, spouting at intervals, the vapor from the blowholes looking not unlike steam from some submarine boat. "He looks to be heading this way," remarked Mr. Durban to Tom. "He is," agreed the young inventor, "but I guess he'll dive before he gets here. He only wants to get away from the killer. Look, the other one is swimming this way, too!" "Bless my harpoon, but he sure is!" called Mr. Damon. "They'll renew the fight near here." But he was mistaken, for the killer, after coming a little distance after the whale, suddenly turned, hesitated for a moment, and then disappeared in the depths of the ocean. The whale, however, continued to come on, speeding through the water with powerful strokes. There was an uneasy movement among some of the passengers. "Suppose he strikes the ship," suggested one woman. "Nonsense! He couldn't," said her husband. "The old man had better get under way, just the same," remarked a sailor near Tom, as he looked up at the bridge where the captain was standing. The "old man," or commander, evidently thought the same thing, for, after a glance at the oncoming leviathan, which was still headed directly for the vessel, he shoved the lever of the telegraph signal over to "full speed ahead." Hardly had he done so than the whale sank from sight. "Oh, I'm so glad!" exclaimed the woman who had first spoken of the possibility of the whale hitting the ship, "I am afraid of those terrible creatures." "They're as harmless as a cow, unless they get angry," said her husband. Slowly the great ship began to move through the water. Tom and his friends were about to go back to their cabin, for they thought the excitement over, when, as the young inventor turned from the rail, he felt a vibration throughout the whole length of the steamer, as if it had hit on a sand-bar. Instantly there was a jangling of bells in the engine room, and the Soudalar lost headway. "What's the matter?" asked several persons. They were answered a moment later, for the big whale, even though grievously wounded in his fight with the killer, had risen not a hundred feet away from the ship, and was coming toward it with the speed of an express train. "Bless my blubber!" cried Mr. Damon. "We must have hit the whale, or it hit us under the water and now it's going to attack us!" He had no more than gotten the words out of his mouth ere the great creature of the deep came on full tilt at the vessel, struck it a terrific blow which made it tremble from stem to stern, and careen violently. There was a chorus of frightened cries, sailors rushed to and fro, the engine-room bells rang violently, and the captain and mates shouted hoarse orders. "Here he comes again!" yelled Mr. Durban, as he hurried to the side of the ship. "The whale takes us for an enemy, I guess, and he's going to ram us again!" "And if he does it many times, he'll start the plates and cause a leak that won't be stopped in a hurry!" cried a sailor as he rushed past Tom. The young inventor looked at the oncoming monster for a moment, and then started on the run for his cabin. "Here! Where are you going?" cried Mr. Damon, but Tom did not answer. CHAPTER X OFF IN THE AIRSHIP As Tom Swift hurried down the companionway he again felt the ship careen as the whale struck it a powerful blow, and he was almost knocked off his feet. But he kept on. Below he found some frightened men and women, a number of whom were adjusting life preservers about them, under the impression that the ship had struck a rock and was going down. They had not been up on deck, and did not know of the battle between the killer and the whale, nor what followed. "Oh, I know we're sinking!" cried one timid woman. "What has happened?" she appealed to Tom. "It will be all right in a little while," he assured her. "But what is it? I want to know. Have we had a collision." "Yes, with a whale," replied Tom, as he grabbed up something from his stateroom, and again rushed up on deck. As he reached it the whale came on once more, and struck the ship another terrific blow. Then the monster sank and could be seen swimming back, just under the surface of the water, getting ready to renew the attack. "He's going to ram us again!" cried Mr. Damon. "Bless my machine oil! Why doesn't the captain do something?" At that moment the commander cried from the bridge: "Send a man below, Mr. Laster, to see if we are making any water. Then tell half a dozen of the sailors to get out the rifles, and see if they can't kill the beast. He'll put us in Davy Jones's locker if he keeps this up! Lively now, men!" The first mate, Mr. Laster, called out the order. A sailor went below to see if the ship was leaking much, and the captain rang for full speed ahead. But the Soudalar was slow in getting under way again, and, even at top speed she was no match for the whale, which was again rushing toward the vessel. "Quick with those rifles!" cried the captain. "Fire a volley into the beast!" "There's no need!" suddenly called Mr. Damon, who had caught sight of Tom Swift, and the object which the lad carried. "No need?" demanded the commander. "Why, has the whale sunk, or made off?" "No," answered the eccentric man, "the whale is still coming on, but Tom Swift will fix him. Get there, Tom, and let him have a good one!" "What sort of a gun is that?" demanded the commander as the young inventor took his place at the rail, which was now almost deserted. Tom did not answer. Bracing himself against the rolling and heaving of the vessel, which was now under about half speed, Tom aimed his electric rifle at the oncoming leviathan. He looked at the automatic gage, noted the distance and waiting a moment until the crest of a wave in front of the whale had subsided, he pressed the button. If those watching him expected to hear a loud report, and see a flash of flame, they were disappointed. There was absolutely no sound, but what happened to the whale was most surprising. The great animal stopped short amid a swirl of foam, and the next instant it seemed to disintegrate. It went all to pieces, just as had the dummy figure which Tom on one occasion fired at with his rifle and as had the big packing-cases. The whale appeared to dissolve, as does a lump of sugar in a cup of hot tea, and, five seconds after Tom Swift had fired his electric gun, there was not a sign of the monster save a little blood on the calm sea. "What--what happened?" asked the captain in bewilderment. "Is--is that monster gone?" "Completely gone!" cried Mr. Damon. "Bless my powder horn, Tom, but I knew you could do it!" "Is that a new kind of whale gun, firing an explosive bullet?" inquired the commander, as he came down off the bridge and shook hands with Tom. "If it is, I'd like to buy one. We may be rammed again by another whale." "This is my new, electric rifle," explained the young inventor modestly, "and it fires wireless charges of electricity instead of bullets. I'm sorry I can't let you have it, as it's the only one I have. But I guess no more whales will ram us. That one was evidently crazed by the attack of the killer, and doubtless took us for another of its enemies." Sailors and passengers crowded around Tom, eager to shake his hand, and to hear about the gun. Many declared that he had saved the ship. This was hardly true, for the whale could not have kept up its attacks much longer. Still he might have done serious damage, by causing a leak, and, while the Soudalar was a stanch craft, with many water-tight compartments, still no captain likes to be a week from land with a bad leak, especially if a storm comes up. Then, too, there was the danger of a panic among the passengers, had the attacks been kept up, so, though Tom wanted to make light of his feat, the others would not let him. "You're entitled to the thanks of all on board," declared Captain Wendon, "and I'll see that the owners hear of what you did. Well, I guess we can go on, now. I'll not stop again to see a fight between a killer and a whale." The steamer resumed her way at full speed, and the sailor, who had gone below, came up to report that there was only a slight leak, which need not cause any uneasiness. Little was talked of for the next few days but the killing of the whale, and Tom had to give several exhibitions of his electric rifle, and explain its workings. Then, too, the story of his expedition became known, and also the object of Mr. Anderson's quest, and Tom's offer of aid to help rescue the missionaries, so that, altogether, our hero was made much of during the remainder of the voyage. "Well, if your gun will do that to a whale, what will it do to an elephant?" asked Mr. Durban one morning, when they were within a day's steaming of their port. "I'm afraid it's almost too strong, Tom. It will leave nothing--not even the tusks to pick up." "Oh, I can regulate the power," declared the lad. "I used full force on the whale, just to see what it would do. It was the first time I'd tried it on anything alive. I can so regulate the charge that it will kill even an elephant, and leave scarcely a mark on the beast." "I'd like to see it done," remarked the old hunter. "I'll show you, if we sight any sharks," promised Tom. He was able to keep his word for that afternoon a school of the ugly fish followed the steamer for the sake of the food scraps thrown overboard. Tom took his position in the stern, and gave an exhibition of shooting with his electric gun that satisfied even Mr. Durban, exacting as he was. For the lad, by using his heaviest charges, destroyed the largest sharks so that they seemed to instantly disappear in the water, and from that he toned down the current until he could kill some of the monsters so easily and quickly that they seemed to float motionless on the surface, yet there was no life left in them once the electric charge touched them. "We'll use the light charges when we're killing elephants for their tusks," said Tom, "and the heavy ones when we're in danger from a rush of the beasts." He little knew how soon he would have to put his plan into effect. They arrived safely at Majumba, the African coast city, and for two days Tom was kept busy superintending the unloading of the parts of his airship. But it was safely taken ashore, and he and his friends hired a disused warehouse in which to work at reassembling the Black Hawk. Tom had everything down to a system, and, in less than a week the aircraft was once more ready to be sent aloft. It was given a try-out, much to the astonishment of the natives, and worked perfectly. Then Tom and his friends busied themselves laying in a stock of provisions and stores for the trip into the interior. They made inquiries about the chances of getting ivory and were told that they were good if they went far enough into the jungle and forests, for the big beasts had penetrated farther and farther inland. They also tried to get some news regarding the captive missionaries, but were unsuccessful nor could they learn what had become of Tomba, who had brought the dire news to civilization. "It's too soon to hope for anything yet," said Mr. Anderson. "Wait until we get near the country of the red pygmies." "And then it may be too late," said Tom in a low voice. It was two weeks after their arrival in Majumba that Tom announced that all was in readiness. The airship was in perfect working order, it was well stocked with food, arms, articles and trinkets with which to trade among the natives, spare parts for the machinery, special tools and a good supply of the chemicals needed to manufacture the lifting gas. Of course Tom did not leave behind his electric weapon and Mr. Durban and the others took plenty of ammunition for the ordinary rifles which they carried. One morning, after cabling to his father that they were about to start, Tom gave a last careful look to his airship, tested the motor and dynamos, took a hasty survey of the storeroom, to see that nothing had been forgotten, and gave the word to get aboard. They took their places in the cabin. Outside a crowd of natives, and white traders of many nationalities had gathered. Tom pulled the starting lever. The Black Hawk shot across a specially prepared starting ground, and, attaining sufficient momentum, suddenly arose into the air. There was a cheer from the watching crowd, and several superstitious blacks, who saw the airship for the first time, ran away in terror. Up into the blue atmosphere Tom took his craft. He looked down on the city over which he was flying. Then he pointed the prow of the Black Hawk toward the heart of the dark continent. "Off for the interior!" he murmured. "I wonder if we'll ever get out again?" No one could answer. They had to take their chances with the dangers and terrors of elephant land, and with the red pygmies. Yet Tom Swift was not afraid. CHAPTER XI ANCHORED TO EARTH With the voyage on the steamer, their arrival in Africa, the many strange sights of the city of Majumba, and the refitting of the airship, our friends had hardly had time to catch their breath since Tom Swift's determination to go elephant hunting. Now, as the Black Hawk was speeding into the interior, they felt, for the first time in many weeks, that they "could take it easy," as Ned Newton expressed it. "Thank goodness," said the bank clerk, "I can sit down and look at something for a while," and he gazed out of the main cabin windows down at the wild country over which they were then flying. For, so swiftly had the airship moved that it was hardly any time at all before it had left Majumba far behind, and was scudding over the wilderness. "Bless my camera," exclaimed Mr. Damon, who had brought along one of the picture machines, "bless my camera! I don't call that much to look at," and he pointed to the almost impenetrable forest over which they then were. "No, it isn't much of a view," said the old elephant hunter, "but wait. You'll soon see all you want to. Africa isn't all like this. There are many strange sights before us yet. But, Tom Swift, tell us how the airship is working in this climate. Do you find any difficulty managing it?" "Not at all," answered Tom, who was in the cabin then, having set the automatic steering apparatus in the pilot house, and come back to join the others. "It works as well as it did in good old York State. Of course I can't tell what affect the continual hot and moist air will have on the gas bag, but I guess we'll make out all right." "I certainly hope so," put in Mr. Anderson. "It would be too bad to be wrecked in the middle of Africa, with no way to get out." "Oh, you needn't worry about that," said Ned with a laugh. "If the airship should smash, Tom would build another out of what was left, and we'd sail away as good as before." "Hardly that," answered the young inventor. "But we won't cross a bridge until we hear it coming, as Eradicate would say. Hello, that looks like some sort of native village." He pointed ahead to a little clearing in the forest, where a number of mud and grass huts were scattered about. As they came nearer they could see the black savages, naked save for a loin cloth, running about in great excitement, and pointing upward. "Yes, that's one of the numerous small native villages we'll see from now on," said Mr. Durban. "Many a night have I spent in those same grass huts after a day's hunting. Sometimes, I've been comfortable, and again not. I guess we've given those fellows a scare." It did seem so, for by this time the whole population, including women and children, were running about like mad. Suddenly, from below there sounded a deep booming noise, which came plainly to the ears of the elephant hunters through the opened windows of the airship cabin. "Hark! What's that?" cried Tom, raising his hand for silence. "Bless my umbrella! it sounds like thunder," said Mr. Damon. "No, it's one of their war drums," explained Mr. Durban. "The natives make large ones out of hollow trees, with animal skins stretched over the ends, and they beat them to sound a warning, or before going into battle. It makes a great noise." "Do you think they want to fight us?" asked Ned, looking anxiously at Tom, and then toward where his rifle stood in a corner of the cabin. "No, probably that drum was beaten by some of the native priests," explained the hunter. "The natives are very superstitious, and likely they took us for an evil spirit, and wanted to drive us away." "Then we'll hustle along out of their sight," said Tom, as he went to the pilot house to increase the speed of the airship, for he had been letting it drift along slowly to enable the adventurers to view the country over which they were passing. A few minutes later, under the increased force of the machinery, the Black Hawk left the native village, and the crowd of frightened blacks, far behind. The travelers passed over a succession of wild stretches of forest or jungle, high above big grassy plains, over low but rugged mountain ranges, and big rivers. Now and then they would cross some lake, on the calm surface of which could be made out natives, in big canoes, hollowed out from trees. In each case the blacks showed every appearance of fright at the sight of the airship throbbing along over their heads. On passing over the lake, Ned Newton looked down and cried out excitedly: "Look! Elephants! They're in swimming, and the natives are shooting them! Now's our chance, Tom!" Mr. Anderson and Mr. Durban, after a quick glance, drew back laughing. "Those are hippopotami!" exclaimed the old elephant man. "Good hunting, if you don't care what you shoot, but not much sport in it. It will be some time yet before we see any elephants, boys." Ned was rather chagrined at his mistake, but the African travelers told him that any one, not familiar with the country, would have made it, especially in looking down from a great height. They sailed along about half a mile above the earth, Tom gradually increasing the speed of the ship, as he found the machinery to be working well. Dinner was served as they were crossing a high grassy plateau, over which could be seen bounding a number of antelopes. "Some of those would go good for a meal," said Mr. Durban, after a pause during which he watched the graceful creatures. "Then we'll go down and get some for supper," decided Tom, for in that hot climate it was impossible to carry fresh meat on the airship. Accordingly, the Black Hawk was sent down, and came to rest in a natural clearing on the edge of the jungle. After waiting until the fierce heat of noonday was over, the travelers got out their rifles and, under the leadership of Mr. Durban and Mr. Anderson, who was also an experienced hunter, they set off. Game was plentiful, but as they could only eat a comparatively small quantity, and as it would not keep, they only shot what they needed. Tom had his electric rifle, but hesitated to use it, as Mr. Durban and Mr. Anderson had each already bowled over a fine buck. However, a chance came most unexpectedly, for, as they were passing along the banks of a little stream, which was almost hidden from view by thick weeds and rank grass, there was a sudden commotion in the bushes, and a fierce wild buffalo sprang out at the party. There are few animals in Africa more dreaded by hunters than the wild buffalo, for the beast, with its spreading sharp horns is a formidable foe, and will seldom give up the attack until utterly unable to move. They are fierce and relentless. "Look out!" yelled Mr. Durban. "To cover, everybody! If that beast gets after you it's no fun! You and I will fire at him, Mr. Anderson!" Mr. Durban raised his rifle, and pulled the trigger, but, for some reason, the weapon failed to go off. Mr. Anderson quickly raised his, but his foot slipped in a wet place and he fell. At that moment the buffalo, with a snort of rage, charged straight for the fallen man. "Tom! your electric rifle!" yelled Ned Newton, but he need not have done so, for the young inventor was on the alert. Taking instant aim, and adjusting his weapon for the heaviest charge, Tom fired at the advancing beast. The result was the same as in the case of the whale, the buffalo seemed to melt away. And it was stopped only just in time, too, for it was close to the prostrate Mr. Anderson, who had sprained his ankle slightly, and could not readily rise. It was all over in a few seconds, but it was a tense time while it lasted. "You saved my life again, Tom Swift," said Mr. Anderson, as he limped toward our hero. "Once on Earthquake Island, and again now. I shan't forget it," and he shook hands with the young inventor. The others congratulated Tom on his quick shot, and Mr. Damon, as usual blessed everything in sight, and the electric rifle especially. They went back to the airship, taking the fresh meat with them, but on account of the injury to Mr. Anderson's ankle could not make quick progress, so that it was almost dusk when they reached the craft. "Well, we'll have supper, and then start off," proposed Tom, "I don't think it would be wise to remain on the ground so near the jungle." "No' it's safer in the air," agreed Mr. Durban. The meal was much enjoyed, especially the fresh meat, and, after it was over, Tom took his place in the pilot house to start the machinery, and send the airship aloft. The motor hummed and throbbed, and the gas hissed into the bag, for the ground was not level enough to permit of a running start by means of the planes. Lights gleamed from the Black Hawk and the big search-lantern in front cast a dazzling finger of light into the black forest. "Well, what are you waiting for?" called Ned, who heard the machinery in motion, but who could not feel the craft rising. "Why don't you go up, Tom?" "I'm trying to," answered the young inventor. "Something seems to be the matter." He pulled the speed lever over a few more notches, and increased the power of the gas machine. Still the Black Hawk did not rise. "Bless my handkerchief box!" cried Mr. Damon, "what's the matter?" "I don't know," answered Tom. "We seem to be held fast." He further increased the speed of the propellers, and the gas machine was set to make vapor at its fullest capacity, and force it into the bag. Still the craft was held to the earth. "Maybe the gas has no effect in this climate," called Ned. "It can't be that," replied Tom. "The gas will operate anywhere. It worked all right today." Suddenly she airship moved up a little way, and then seemed to be pulled down again, hitting the ground with a bump. "Something is holding us!" cried Tom. "We're anchored to earth! I must see what it is!" and, catching up his electric rifle, he dashed out of the cabin. CHAPTER XII AMONG THE NATIVES For a moment after Tom's departure the others stared blankly at one another. They could hear the throbbing and hum of the machinery, and feel the thrill of the anchored airship. But they could not understand what the trouble was. "We must help Tom!" cried Ned Newton at length as he caught up his rifle. "Maybe we are in the midst of a herd of elephants, and they have hold of the ship in their trunks." "It couldn't be!" declared Mr. Durban, yet they soon discovered that Ned's guess was nearer the truth then any of them had suspected at the time. "We must help him, true enough!" declared Mr. Anderson, and he and the others followed Ned out on deck. "Where are you Tom?" called his chum. "Here." was the answer. "I'm on the forward deck." "Do you see anything?" "No, it's too dark. Turn the search-light this way." "I will," shouted Mr. Damon, and a moment later the gleam of the powerful lantern brought Tom clearly into view, as he stood on the small forward observation platform in the bow of the Black Hawk. An instant later the young inventor let out a startled cry. "What is it?" demanded Mr. Durban. "An immense snake!" shouted Tom. "It's wound around a tree, and partly twined around the ship! That's why we couldn't go up! I'm going to shoot it." They looked to where he pointed, and there, in the glare of the light, could be seen an immense python, fully twenty-five feet long, the forward part of its fat ugly body circled around the slender prow of the airship, while the folds of the tail were about a big tree. Tom Swift raised his electric rifle, took quick aim, and, having set it to deliver a moderate charge, pressed the button. The result was surprising, for the snake being instantly killed the folds uncoiled and the ship shot upward, only, instead of rising on an even keel, the bow pointed toward the sky, while the stern was still fast to the earth. Tilted at an angle of forty-five degrees the Black Hawk was in a most peculiar position, and those standing on the deck began to slide along it. "There's another snake at the stern!" cried Mr. Damon as he grasped a brace to prevent falling off. "Bless my slippers! it's the mate of the one you killed! Shoot the other one, Tom!" The young inventor needed no urging. Making his way as best he could to the stern of the airship, he killed the second python, which was even larger than the first, and in an instant the Black Hawk shot upward, this time level, and as it should be. Things on board were soon righted, and the travelers could stand upright. High above the black jungle rose the craft, moving forward under the full power of the propellers, until Tom rushed into the engine room, and reduced speed. "Well, talk about things happening!" exclaimed Ned, when they had somewhat recovered from the excitement. "I should say they were beginning with a vengeance!" "That's the way in Africa," declared Mr. Durban. "It's a curious country. Those pythons generally go in pairs, but it's the first time I ever knew them to tackle an airship. They probably stay around here where there is plenty of small game for them, and very likely they merely anchored to our craft while waiting for a supper to come along." "It was a very odd thing," said Tom. "I couldn't imagine what held us. After this I'll see that all is clear before I try to go up. Next time we may be held by a troop of baboons and it strains the machinery to have it pull against dead weight in that way." However, it was found no harm had resulted from this experience, and, after reducing the gas pressure, which was taking them too high, Tom set the automatic rudders. "We'll keep on at slow speed through the night," he explained, "and in the morning we'll be pretty well into the interior. Then we can lay our course for wherever we want to go. Where had we better head for?" "I don't want to interfere with your plans," said Mr. Anderson, "but I would like to rescue those missionaries. But the trouble is, I don't know just where to look for them. We couldn't get much of a line in Majumba on where the country of the red pygmies is located. What do you think about it, Mr. Durban?" "As far as elephant hunting goes we can probably do as well in the pygmy land as anywhere else," answered the veteran, "and perhaps it will be well to head for that place. If we run across any elephant herds in the meanwhile, we can stop, get the ivory, and proceed." They discussed this plan at some length, and agreed that it was the best thing to do. Mr. Durban had a map of the country around the center of Africa, and he marked on it, as nearly as he could, the location of the pygmies' country, while Mr. Anderson also had a chart, showing the location of the mission which had been wiped out of existence. It was in the midst of a wild and desolate region. "We'll do the best we can," declared Tom, "and I think we'll succeed. We ought to be there in about a week, if we have no bad luck." All that night the Black Hawk flew on over Africa, covering mile after mile, passing over jungle, forest, plains, rivers and lakes, and, doubtless, over many native villages, though they could not be seen. Morning found the travelers above a great, grassy plain, dotted here and there with negro settlements which were separated by rivers, lakes or thin patches of forest. "Well, we'll speed up a bit," decided Tom after breakfast, which was eaten to the weird accompaniment of hundreds of native warning-drums, beaten by the superstitious blacks. Tom went to the engine room, and turned on more speed. He was about to go back to the pilot house, to set the automatic steering apparatus to coincide with the course mapped out, when there was a crash of metal, an ominous snapping and buzzing sound, followed by a sudden silence. "What's that?" cried Ned, who was in the motor compartment with his chum. "Something's gone wrong!" exclaimed the young inventor, as he sprang back toward the engine. The propellers had ceased revolving, and as there was no gas in the bag at that time, it having been decided to save the vapor for future needs, the Black Hawk began falling toward the earth. "We're going down!" yelled Ned. "Yes, the main motor has broken!" exclaimed Tom. "We'll have to descend to repair it." "Say!" yelled Mr. Damon, rushing in, "we're right over a big African village! Are we going to fall among the natives?" "It looks that way," admitted Tom grimly, as he hastened to the pilot house to shift the wings so that the craft could glide easily to the ground. "Bless my shoe blacking!" cried the eccentric man as he heard the beating of drums, and the shouts of the savages. A little later the airship had settled into the midst of a crowd of Africans, who swarmed all about the craft. CHAPTER XIII ON AN ELEPHANT TRAIL "Get ready with your guns, everybody!" cried the old elephant hunter, as he prepared to leave the cabin of the Black Hawk. "Tom Swift, don't forget your electric rifle. There'll be trouble soon!" "Bless my cartridge belt!" gasped Mr. Damon. "Why? What will happen?" "The natives," answered Mr. Durban. "They'll attack us sure as fate! See, already they're getting out their bows and arrows, and blowguns! They'll pierce the gas bag in a hundred places!" "If they do, it will be a bad thing for us," muttered Tom. "We can't have that happen." He followed the old elephant hunter outside, and Mr. Anderson, Ned Newton and Mr. Damon trailed after, each one with a gun, while Tom had his electric weapon. The airship rested on its wheels on some level ground, just in front of a large hut, surrounded by a number of smaller ones. All about were the natives, tall, gaunt black men, hideous in their savagery, wearing only the loin cloth, and with their kinky hair stuck full of sticks, bones and other odd objects they presented a curious sight. Some of them were dancing about, brandishing their weapons--clubs spears, bows, and arrows, or the long, slender blowguns, consisting merely of a hollow reed. Women and children there were, too, also dancing and leaping about, howling at the tops of their voices. Above the unearthly din could be heard the noise of the drums and tom-toms, while, as the adventurers drew up in front of their airship, there came a sort of chant, and a line of natives, dressed fantastically in the skins of beasts, came filing out of the large hut. "The witch-doctors!" exclaimed Tom, who had read of them in African travel books. "Are they going to attack us?" cried Ned. "Bless my hymn book! I hope not!" came from Mr. Damon. "We wouldn't have any chance at all in this horde of black men. I wish Eradicate Sampson and his mule Boomerang were here. Maybe he could talk their language, and tell them that we meant no harm." "If there's any talking to be done, I guess our guns will have to do it," said Tom grimly. "I can speak a little of their language," remarked Mr. Durban, "but what in the world are the beggars up to, anyhow? I supposed they'd send a volley of arrows at us, first shot, but they don't seem to be going to do that." "No, they're dancing around us," said Tom. "That's it!" exclaimed Mr. Anderson. "I have it! Why didn't I think of it before? The natives are welcoming us!" "Welcoming us?" repeated Ned. "Yes," went on the missionary seeker. "They are doing a dance in our honor, and they have even called out the witch-doctors to do us homage." "That's right," agreed Mr. Durban, who was listening to the chanting of the natives dressed in animal skins. "They take us for spirits from another land, and are making us welcome here. Listen, I'll see if I can make out what else they are saying." The character of the shouts and chants changed abruptly, and the dancing increased in fervor, even the children throwing themselves wildly about. The witch-doctors ran around like so many maniacs, and it looked as much like an American Indian war dance as anything else. "I've got it!" shouted Mr. Durban, for he had to call loudly to be heard above the din. "They are asking us to make it rain. It seems there has been a dry spell here, and their own rain-makers and witch-doctors haven't been able to get a drop out of the sky. Now, they take it that we have come to help them. They think we are going to bring rain." "And if we don't, what will happen?" asked Tom. "Maybe they won't be quite so glad to see us," was the answer. "Well, if they don't mean war, we might as well put up our weapons," suggested Mr. Anderson. "If they're going to be friendly, so much the better, and if it should happen to rain while we're here, they'd think we brought it, and we could have almost anything we wanted. Perhaps they have a store of ivory hidden away, Mr. Durban. Some of these tribes do." "It's possible, but the chances for rain are very small. How long will we have to stay here, Tom Swift?" asked the elephant hunter anxiously. "Well, perhaps I can get the motor mended in two or three days," answered the young inventor. "Then we'll have to stay here in the meanwhile," decided Mr. Durban. "Well, we'll make the best of it. Ha, here comes the native king to do us honor," and, as he spoke there came toward the airship a veritable giant of a black man, wearing a leopard skin as a royal garment, while on his head was a much battered derby hat, probably purchased at a fabulous price from some trader. The king, if such he could be called, was accompanied by a number of attendants and witch-doctors. In front walked a small man, who, as it developed, was an interpreter. The little cavalcade advanced close to the airship, and came to a halt. The king made a low bow, either to the craft or to the elephant hunters drawn up in front of it. His attendants followed his example, and then the interpreter began to speak. Mr. Durban listened intently, made a brief answer to the little man, and then the elephant hunter's face lighted up. "It's all right," he said to Tom and the others. "The king takes us for wonderful spirits from another land. He welcomes us, says we can have whatever we want, and he begs us to make it rain. I have said we will do our best, and I have asked that some food be sent us. That's always the first thing to do. We'll be allowed to stay here in peace until Tom can mend the ship, and then we'll hit the air trail again." The talk between Mr. Durban and the interpreter continued for some little time longer. Then the king went back to his hut, refusing, as Mr. Durban said, an invitation to come aboard and see how a modern airship was constructed. The natives, too, seemed anxious to give the craft a wide berth. The excitement had quieted down now, and, in a short time a crowd of native women came toward the airship, bearing, in baskets on their heads, food of various kinds. There were bananas, some wild fruits, yams, big gourds of goats' milk, some boiled and stewed flesh of young goats, nicely cooked, and other things, the nature of which could only be guessed at. "Shall we eat this stuff, or stick to Mr. Damon's cooking?" asked Tom. "Oh, you'll find this very good," explained Mr. Durban. "I've eaten native cookery before. Some of it is excellent and as this appears to be very good, Mr. Damon can have a vacation while we are here." The old elephant hunter proved the correctness of his statement by beginning to eat, and soon all the travelers were partaking of the food left by the native women. They placed it down on the ground at a discreet distance from the airship, and hurriedly withdrew. But if the women and men were afraid, the children were not, and they were soon swarming about the ship, timidly touching the sides with their little black fingers, but not venturing on board. Tom, with Ned and Mr. Damon to help him, began work on the motor right after dinner. He found the break to be worse than he had supposed, and knew that it would take at least four days to repair it. Meanwhile the airship continued to be a source of wonder to the natives. They were always about it, save at night, but their admiration was a respectful one. The king was anxious for the rain-making incantations to begin, but Mr. Durban put him off. "I don't want to deceive these simple natives," he said, "and for our own safety we can't pretend to make rain, and fail. As soon as we have a chance we'll slip away from here." But an unexpected happening made a change in their plans. It was on the afternoon of their third day in the native village, and Tom and his assistants were working hard at the motor. Suddenly there seemed to be great excitement in the vicinity of the king's hut. A native had rushed into the village from the jungle, evidently with some news, for presently the whole place was in a turmoil. Once more the king and his attendants filed out toward the airship. Once more the interpreter talked to Mr. Durban, who listened eagerly. "By Jove! here's our chance!" he cried to Tom, when the little man had finished. "What is it?" asked the young inventor. "A runner has just come in with news that a large herd of wild elephants is headed this way. The king is afraid the big beasts will trample down all their crops, as often occurs, and he begs us to go out and drive the animals away. It's just what we want. Come on, Tom, and all of you. The airship will be safe here, for the natives think that to meddle with it would mean death or enchantment for then. We'll get on our first elephant trail!" The old hunter went into the cabin for his big game gun, while Tom hastened to get out his electric rifle. Now he would have a chance to try it on the powerful beasts which he had come to Africa to hunt. Amid the excited and joyous shouts of the natives, the hunters filed out of the village, led by the dusky messenger who had brought the news of the elephants. And, as Tom and the others advanced, they could hear a distant trumpeting, and a crashing in the jungle that told of the near presence of the great animals. CHAPTER XIV A STAMPEDE "Look to your guns, everybody!" cautioned Mr. Durban. "It's no joke to be caught in an elephant herd with an unloaded rifle. Have you plenty of ammunition, Mr. Damon?" "Ammunition? Bless my powder bag, I think I have enough for all the elephants I'll kill. If I get one of the big beasts I'll be satisfied. Bless my piano keys! I think I see them, Tom!" He pointed off through the thick jungle. Surely something was moving there amid the trees; great slate-colored bodies, massive forms and waving trunks! The trumpeting increased, and the crashing of the underbrush sounded louder and nearer. "There they are!" cried Tom Swift joyously. "Now for my first big game!" yelled Ned Newton. "Take it easy," advised Mr. Anderson. "Remember to aim for the spot I mentioned to you as being the best, just at the base of the skull. If you can't make a head shot, or through the eye, try for the heart. But with the big bullets we have, almost any kind of a shot, near a vital spot, will answer." "And Tom can fire at their TOES and put them out of business," declared Ned, who was eagerly advancing. "How about it, Tom?" "Well, I guess the electric rifle will come up to expectations. Say, Mr. Durban, they seem to be heading this way!" excitedly cried Tom, as the herd of big beasts suddenly turned and changed their course. "Yes, they are," admitted the old elephant hunter calmly. "But that won't matter. Take it easy. Kill all you can." "But we don't want to put too many out of business," said Tom, who was not needlessly cruel, even in hunting. "I know that," answered Mr. Durban. "But this is a case of necessity. I've got to get ivory, and we have to kill quite a few elephants to accomplish this. Besides the brutes will head for the village and the natives' grain fields, and trample them down, if they're not headed back. So all together now, we'll give them a volley. This is a good place! There they are. All line up now. Get ready!" He halted, and the others followed his example. The natives had come to a stop some time before, and were huddled together in the jungle back of our friends, waiting to see the result of the white men's shots. Tom, Ned, Mr. Damon, and the two older hunters were on an irregular line in the forest. Before them was the mass of elephants advancing slowly, and feeding on the tender leaves of trees as they came on. They would reach up with their long trunks, strip off the foliage, and stuff it into their mouths. Sometimes, they even pulled up small trees by the roots for the purpose of stripping them more easily. "Jove! There are some big tuskers in that bunch!" cried Mr. Durban. "Aim for the bulls, every one, don't kill the mothers or little ones." Tom now saw that there were a number of baby Elephants in the herd, and he appreciated the hunter's desire to spare them and their mothers. "Here we go!" exclaimed Mr. Durban, as he saw that Tom and the others were ready. "Aim! Fire!" There were thundering reports that awoke the echoes of the jungle, and the sounds of the rifles were followed by shrill trumpets of rage. When the smoke blew away three elephants were seen prostrate, or, rather two, and part of another one. The last was almost blown to pieces by Tom Swift's electric rifle; for the young inventor had used a little too heavy charge, and the big beast had been almost annihilated. Mr. Durban had dropped his bull with a well-directed shot, and Mr. Anderson had a smaller one to his credit. "I guess I missed mine," said Ned ruefully. "Bless my dress-suit case!" exclaimed Mr. Damon. "So did I!" "One of you hit that fellow!" cried Mr. Durban. "He's wounded." He pointed to a fair-sized bull who was running wildly about, uttering shrill cries of anger. The other beasts had gathered in a compact mass, with the larger bulls, or tuskers, on the outside, to protect the females and young. "I'll try a shot at him," said Tom, and raising his electric, gun, he took quick aim. The elephant dropped in his tracks, for this time the young inventor had correctly adjusted the power of the wireless bullet. "Good!" cried Mr. Durban. "Give them some more! This is some of the best ivory I've seen yet!" As he spoke he fired, and bowled over another magnificent specimen. Ned Newton, determined to make a record of at least one, fired again, and to his delight, saw a big fellow drop. "I got him!" he yelled. Mr. Anderson also got another, and then Mr. Damon, blessing something which his friends could not make out, fired at one of the largest bulls in the herd. "You only nipped him!" exclaimed Mr. Durban when the smoke had drifted away. "I guess I'll put him out of his misery!" He raised his weapon and pulled the trigger but no report followed. He uttered an exclamation of dismay. "The breech-action has jammed!" he exclaimed. "Drop him, Tom. He's scented us, and is headed this way. The whole herd will follow in a minute." Already the big brute wounded by Mr. Damon had trumpeted out a cry of rage and defiance. It was echoed by his mates. Then, with upraised trunk, he darted forward, followed by a score of big tuskers. But Tom had heard and understood. The leading beast had not taken three steps before he dropped under the deadly and certain fire of the young inventor. "Bless my wishbone!" cried Mr. Damon when he saw how effective the electric weapon was. There was a shout of joy from the natives in the rear. They saw the slain creatures and knew there would be much fresh meat and feasting for them for days to come. Suddenly Mr. Durban cried out: "Fire again, Tom! Fire everybody! The whole herd is coming this way. If we don't stop them they'll overrun the fields and village, and may smash the airship! Fire again!" Almost as he spoke, the rush, which had been stopped momentarily, when Tom dropped the wounded elephant, began again. With shrill menacing cries the score of bulls in the lead came on, followed this time by the females and the young. "It's a stampede!" yelled Mr. Anderson, firing into the midst of the herd. Mr. Durban was working frantically at his clogged rifle. Ned and Mr. Damon both fired, and Tom Swift, adjusting his weapon to give the heaviest charges, shot a fusillade of wireless bullets into the center of the advancing elephants, who were now wild with fear and anger. "It's a stampede all right!" said Tom, when he saw that the big creatures were not going to stop, in spite of the deadly fire poured into them. CHAPTER XV LIONS IN THE NIGHT Shouting, screaming, imploring their deities in general, and the white men in particular for protection, the band of frightened natives broke and ran through the jungle, caring little where they went so long as they escaped the awful terror of the pursuing herd of maddened elephants. Behind them came Tom Swift and the others, for it were folly to stop in the path of the infuriated brutes. "Our only chance is to get on their flank and try to turn them!" yelled Mr. Durban. "We may beat them in getting to the clearing, for the trail is narrow. Run, everybody!" No one needed his excited advice to cause them to hurry. They scudded along, Mr. Damon's cap falling off in his haste. But he did not stop to pick it up. The hunters had one advantage. They were on a narrow but well-cleared trail through the jungle, which led from the village where they were encamped, to another, several miles away. This trail was too small for the elephants, and, indeed, had to be taken in single file by the travelers. But it prevented the elephants making the same speed as did our friends, for the jungle, at this point, consisted of heavy trees, which halted the progress of even the strongest of the powerful beasts. True, they could force aside the frail underbrush and the small trees, but the others impeded their progress. "We'll get there ahead of them!" cried Tom. "Have you got your rifle in working order yet, Mr. Durban?" "No, something has broken, I fear. We'll have to depend on your electric gun, Tom. Have you many charges left?" "A dozen or so. But Ned and the others have plenty of ammunition." "Don't count--on--me!" panted Mr. Damon, who was well-nigh breathless from the run. "I--can't--aim--straight--any--more!" "I'll give 'em a few more bullets!" declared Mr. Anderson. The fleeing natives were now almost lost to sight, for they could travel through the jungle, ignoring the trail, at high speed. They were almost like snakes or animals in this respect. Their one thought was to get to their village, and, if possible, protect their huts and fields of grain from annihilation by the elephants. Behind our friends, trumpeting, bellowing and crashing came the pachyderms. They seemed to be gaining, and Tom, looking back, saw one big brute emerge upon the trail, and follow that. "I've got to stop him, or some of the others will do the same," thought the young inventor. He halted and fired quickly. The elephant seemed to melt away, and Tom with regret, saw a pair of fine tusks broken to bits. "I used too heavy a charge," he murmured, as he took up the retreat again. In a few minutes the party of hunters, who were now playing more in the role of the hunted, came out into the open. They could hear the natives beating on their big hollow tree drums, and on tom-toms, while the witch-doctors and medicine men were chanting weird songs to drive the elephants away. But the beasts came on. One by one they emerged from the jungle, until the herd was gathered together again in a compact mass. Then, under the leadership of some big bulls, they advanced. It seemed as if they knew what they were doing, and were determined to revenge themselves by trampling the natives' huts under their ponderous feet. But Tom and the others were not idle. Taking a position off to one side, the young inventor began pouring a fusillade of the electric bullets into the mass of slate-colored bodies. Mr. Anderson was also firing, and Ned, who had gotten over some of his excitement, was also doing execution. Mr. Durban, after vainly trying to get his rifle to work, cast it aside. "Here! Let me take your gun!" he cried to Mr. Damon, who, panting from the run, was sitting beneath a tree. "Bless my cartridge belt! Take it and welcome!" assented the eccentric man. It still had several shots in the magazine, and these the old hunter used with good effect. At first it seemed as if the elephants could not be turned back. They kept on rushing toward the village, which was not far away, and Tom and the others followed at one side, as best they could, firing rapidly. The electric rifle did fearful execution. Emboldened by the fear that all their possessions would be destroyed a body of the natives rushed out, right in front of the elephants, and beat tom-toms and drums, almost under their feet, at the same time singing wild songs. "I'm afraid we can't stop them!" muttered Mr. Anderson. "We'd better hurry to the airship, and protect that, Tom." But, almost as he spoke, the tide of battle turned. The elephants suddenly swung about, and began a retreat. They could not stand the hot fire of the four guns, including Tom's fearful weapon. With wild trumpetings they fled back into the jungle, leaving a number of their dead behind. "A close call," murmured Tom, as he drew a breath of relief. Indeed this was true, for the tide had turned when the foremost elephants were not a hundred feet away from the first rows of native huts. "I should say it was," agreed Ned Newton, wiping his face with his handkerchief. He, as well as the others, was an odd-looking sight. They were blackened by powder smoke, scratched by briars, and red from exertion. "But we got more ivory in this hour than I could have secured in a week of ordinary hunting," declared Mr. Durban. "If this keeps up we won't have to get much more, except that I don't think any of the tusks to-day are large enough for the special purpose of my customer." "The sooner we get enough ivory the quicker we can go to the rescue of the missionaries," said Mr. Anderson. "That's so," remarked Tom. "We must not forget the red pygmies." The natives were now dancing about, wild in delight at the prospect of unlimited eating, and also thankful for what the white men had done for them. Alone, the blacks would never have been able to stop the stampede. They were soon busy cutting up the elephants ready for a big feast, and runners were sent to tell neighboring tribes, in adjoining villages, of the delights awaiting them. Mr. Durban gave instructions about saving the ivory tusks, and the valuable teeth, each pair worth about $1,000, were soon cut out and put away for our friends. Some had been lost by the excessive power of Tom's gun, but this could not be helped. It was necessary to stop the rush at any price. There was soon a busy scene at the native village, and with the arrival of other tribesmen it seemed as if Bedlam had broken loose. The blacks chattered like so many children as they prepared for the feast. "Do white men ever eat elephant meat?" asked Mr. Damon, as the adventurers were gathered about the airship. "Indeed they do," declared Mr. Durban. "Baked elephant foot is a delicacy that few appreciate. I'll have the natives cook some for us." He gave the necessary orders, and the travelers had to admit that it was worth coming far to get. For the next few days and nights there was great feasting in that African village, and the praises of the white men, and power of Tom Swift's electric rifle, were sung loud and long. Our friends had resumed work on repairing the airship, and the young inventor declared, one night, that they could proceed the next day. They were seated around a small campfire, watching the dancing and antics of some natives who were at their usual work of eating meat. All about our friends were numerous blazes for the cooking of the feasts, and some were on the very edge of the jungle. Suddenly, above the uncouth sounds of the merry-making, there was heard a deep vibration and roar, not unlike the distant rumble of thunder or the hum of a great steamer's whistle heard afar in the fog. "What's that?" cried Ned. "Lions," said Mr. Durban briefly. "They have been attracted by the smell of cooking." At that moment, and instantly following a very loud roar, there was an agonized scream of pain and terror. It sounded directly in back of the airship. "A lion!" cried Mr. Anderson. "One of the brutes has grabbed a native!" Tom Swift caught up his rifle, and darted off toward the dark jungle. CHAPTER XVI SEEKING THE MISSIONARIES "Here! Come back!" yelled Mr. Damon and Mr. Anderson, in the same breath, while the old elephant hunter cried out: "Don't you know you're risking your life, Tom to go off in the dark, to trail a lion?" "I can't stand it to let the native be carried off!" Tom shouted back. "But you can't see in the dark," objected Mr. Anderson. He had probably forgotten the peculiar property of the electric rifle. Tom kept on, and the others slowly followed. The natives had at once ceased their merrymaking at the roaring of the lions, and now all were gathered close about the campfires, on which more wood had been piled, to drive away the fearsome brutes. "There must be a lot of them," observed Mr. Durban, as menacing growls and roars came from the jungle, along the edge of which Tom and the others were walking just then. "There are so many of the brutes that they are bold, and they must be hungry, too. They came close to our fire, because it wasn't so bright as the other blazes, and that native must have wandered off into the forest. Well, I guess it's all up with him." "He's screaming yet," observed Ned. Indeed, above the rumbling roars of the lions, and the crackling of the campfires, could be heard the moaning cries of the unfortunate black. "He's right close here!" suddenly called Tom. "He's skirting the jungle. I think I can get him!" "Don't take any risks!" called Mr. Durban, who had caught up his own rifle, that was now in working order again. Tom Swift was not in sight. He had now penetrated into the jungle--into the black forest where stalked the savage lions, intent on getting other prey. Mr. Durban and Mr. Anderson vainly tried to pierce the darkness to see something at which to shoot. Ned Newton had eagerly started to follow his chum, but could not discern where Tom was. A nameless fear clutched at the lad's heart. Mr. Damon was softly blessing everything of which he could think. Once more came that pitiful cry from the native, who was, as they afterward learned, being dragged along by the lion, who had grabbed him by the shoulder. Suddenly in the dense jungle there shone a purple-bluish light. It illuminated the scene like some great sky-rocket for an instant, and in that brief time Ned and the others caught sight of a great, tawny form, bounding along. It was a lion, with head held high, dragging along a helpless black man. A second later, and before the intense glare had died away, the watchers saw the lion gently sink down, as though weary. He stopped short in his tracks, his head rolled back, the jaws relaxed and the native, who was unconscious now, toppled to one side. "Tom's killed him with the electric rifle!" cried Mr. Durban. "Bless my incandescent lamp! so he has," agreed Mr. Damon. "Bless my dynamo! but that's a wonderful gun, it's as powerful as a thunderbolt, or as gentle as a summer shower." Mr. Durban seeing that the lion was dead, in that brief glance he had had of the brute, called to some of the natives to come and get their tribesman. They came, timidly enough at first, carrying many torches, but when they understood that the lion was dead, they advanced more boldly. They carried the wounded black to a hut, where they applied their simple but effective remedies for the cruel bite in his shoulder. After Tom had shot several other of the illuminated charges into the jungle, to see if he could discover any more lions, but failed to do so, he and his friends returned to the anchored airship, amid the murmured thanks of the Africans. Bright fires were kept blazing all the rest of the night, but, though lions could be heard roaring in the jungle, and though they approached alarmingly close to the place where our friends were encamped, none of the savage brutes ventured within the clearing. With the valuable store of ivory aboard the Black Hawk, which was now completely repaired, an early start was made the next morning. The Africans besought Tom and his companions to remain, for it was not often they could have the services of white men in slaying elephants and lions. "But, we've got to get on the trail," decided Tom, when the natives had brought great stores of food, and such simple presents as they possessed, to induce the travelers to remain. "Every hour may add to the danger of the missionaries in the hands of the red pygmies." "Yes," said Mr. Anderson gravely, "it is our duty to save them." And so the airship mounted into the air, our friends waving farewells to the simple-hearted blacks, who did a sort of farewell war-dance in their honor, shouting their praises aloud, and beating the drums and tom-toms, so that the echoes followed for some time after the Black Hawk had begun to mount upward toward the sky. The craft was in excellent shape, due to the overhauling Tom had given it while making the repairs. With the propellers beating the air, and the rudder set to hold them about two thousand feet high, the travelers moved rapidly over clearings, forests and jungles. It was agreed that now, when they had made such a good start in collecting ivory, that they would spend the next few days in trying to get on the trail of the red pygmies. It might seem a simple matter, after knowing the approximate location of the land of these fierce little natives, to have proceeded directly to it. But Africa is an immense continent, and even in an airship comparatively little of the interior can be seen at a time. Besides, the red pygmies had a habit of moving from place to place, and they were so small, and so wild, capable of living in very tiny huts or caves, and so primitive, not building regular villages as the other Africans do, that as Ned said, they were as hard to locate as the proverbial flea. Our friends had a general idea of where to look for them, but on nearing that land, and making inquiries of several friendly tribes, they learned that the red pygmies had suddenly disappeared from their usual haunts. "I guess they heard that we were after them," said Tom, with a grim smile one day, as he sent the airship down toward the earth, for they were over a great plain, and several native villages could be seen dotted on its surface. "More likely they are in hiding because they have as captives two white persons," said Mr. Anderson. "They are fierce and fearless, but, nevertheless, they have, in times past, felt the vengeance of the white man, and perhaps they dread that now." They made a descent, and spent several days making inquiries from the friendly blacks about the race of little men. But scarcely anything was learned. Some of the negro tribes admitted having heard of the red pygmies, and others, with superstitious incantations and imprecations, said they had never heard of them. One tribe of very large negroes had heard a rumor to the effect that the band of the pygmies was several days' journey from their village, across the mountains, and when Tom sent his airship there, the searchers only found an impenetrable jungle, filled with lions and other wild beasts, but not a sign of the pygmies, and with no elephants to reward their search. "But we're not going to give up," declared Tom, and the others agreed with him. Forward went the Black Hawk in the search for the imprisoned ones, but, as the days passed, and no news was had, it seemed to grow more and more hopeless. "I'm afraid if we do find them now," remarked Mr. Anderson at length, "that we'll only recover the bodies of the missionaries." "Then we'll avenge them," said Tom quietly. They had stopped at another native village to make inquiries, but without result, and were about to start off again that night when a runner came in to announce that a herd of big elephants was feeding not many miles away. "Well, we'll stay over a day or so, and get some more ivory," decided Mr. Durban and that night they got ready for what was to prove a big hunt. CHAPTER XVII SHOTS FROM ABOVE "There they are!" "My, what a lot of big ones!" "Jove! Mr. Anderson, see those tusks!" "Yes, you ought to get what you want this time, Mr. Durban." "Bless my hatband! There must be two hundred of them!" exclaimed Mr. Damon. "I'm glad I recharged my rifle last night!" exclaimed Tom Swift. "It's fully loaded now." Then followed exulting cries and shouts of the natives, who were following our friends, the elephant hunters, who had given voice to the remarks we have just quoted. It was early in the morning, and the hunt was about to start, for the news brought in by the runner the night before had been closely followed by the brutes themselves, and at dawn our friends were astir, for scouts brought in word that the elephants, including many big ones, were passing along only a few miles from the African village. Cautiously approaching, with the wind blowing from the elephants to them, the white hunters made their way along. Mr. Durban was in the lead, and when he saw a favorable opportunity he motioned for the others to advance. Then, when he noticed the big bull sentinels of the herd look about as if to detect the presence of enemies, he gave another signal and the hunters sank out of sight in the tall grass. As for the natives, they were like snakes, unseen but ever present, wriggling along on their hands and knees. They were awaiting the slaughter, when there would be fresh meat in abundance. At length the old elephant hunter decided that they were near enough to chance some shots. As a matter of fact, Tom Swift, with his electric rifle, had been within range some time before, but as he did not want to spoil the sport for the others, by firing and killing, and so alarming the herd, he had held back. Now they could all shoot together. "Let her go!" suddenly cried Mr. Durban, and they took aim. There was a fusillade of reports and several of the big brutes toppled over. "Bless my toothbrush!" cried Mr. Damon, "that's the time I got one!" "Yes, and a fine specimen, too!" added Mr. Durban, who had only succeeded in downing a small bull, with an indifferent pair of tusks. "A fine specimen, Mr. Damon, I congratulate you!" As for Tom Swift, he had killed two of the largest elephants in the herd. But now the hunters had their work cut out for them, since the beasts had taken fright and were charging away at what seemed an awkward gait, but which, nevertheless, took them rapidly over the ground. "Come on!" cried Mr. Durban. "We must get some more. Some of the finest tusks I have ever seen are running away from us!" He began to race after the retreating herd, but it is doubtful if he would have caught up to them had not a band of natives, who had crept up and surrounded the beasts, turned them by shouts and the beating of tom-toms. Seeing an enemy in front of them, the elephants turned, and our friends were able to get in several more shots. Tom Swift picked out only those with immense tusks, and soon had several to his credit. Ned Newton also bagged some prizes. But finally the elephants, driven to madness by the firing and the yells of the natives, broke through the line of black men, and charged off into the jungle, where it was not only useless but dangerous to follow them. "Well, we have enough," said Mr. Durban, and when the tusks had been collected it was found that indeed a magnificent and valuable supply had been gathered. "But I have yet to get my prize ones," said the old hunter with a sigh. "Maybe we'll find the elephant with them when we locate the red pygmies." "If we do, we'll have our work cut out for us," declared Tom. As on the other occasion after the hunt, there was a great feast for the natives, who invited tribes from miles around, and for two days, while the tusks were being cut out and cleaned, there were barbeques on every side. It was one afternoon, when they were seated in the shade of the airship, cleaning their guns, and discussing the plans they had best follow next, that our travellers suddenly heard a great commotion amongst the Africans, who had for the past hour been very quiet, most of them sleeping after the feasts. They yelled and shouted, and began to beat their drums. "Something is coming," said Ned. "Perhaps there's going to be a fight," suggested Tom. "Maybe it's the red pygmies," said Mr. Damon. "Bless my--" But what he was going to bless he did not say, for at that instant it seemed as if every native in sight suddenly disappeared, almost like magic. They sank down into the grass, darted into their huts, or hid in the tall grass. "What can it be?" cried Tom, as he looked to see that his rifle was in working order. "Some enemy," declared Mr. Anderson. "There they are!" cried Ned Newton, and as he spoke there burst into view, coming from the tall grass that covered the plain about the village, a herd of savage, wild buffaloes. On rushed the shaggy creatures, their long, sharp horns seeming like waving spears as they advanced. "Here's more sport!" cried Tom. "No! Not sport! Danger!" yelled Mr. Durban. "They're headed right for us!" "Then we'll stop them," declared the young inventor, as he raised his gun. "No! No!" begged the old hunter. "It's as much as our lives are worth to try to stop a rush of wild buffaloes. You couldn't do it with Gatling guns. We can kill a few, but the rest won't stop until they've finished us and the aeroplane too." "Then what's to be done?" demanded Mr. Anderson. "Get into the airship!" cried Mr. Durban. "Send her up. It's the only way to get out of their path. Then we can shoot them from above, and drive them away!" Quickly the adventurers leaped into the craft. On thundered the buffaloes. Tom feared he could not get the motor started quickly enough. He did not dare risk rising by means of the aeroplane feature, but at once started the gas machine. The big bag began to fill. Nearer came the wild creatures, thundering over the ground, snorting and bellowing with rage. "Quick, Tom!" yelled Ned, and at that instant the Black Hawk shot upward, just as the foremost of the buffaloes passed underneath, vainly endeavoring to gore the craft with their sweeping horns. The air-travelers had risen just in time. "Now it's our turn!" shouted Ned, as he began firing from above into the herd of infuriated animals below him. Tom, after seeing that the motor was working well, sent the airship circling about, while standing in the steering tower, he guided his craft here and there, meanwhile pouring a fusillade of his wireless bullets into the buffaloes. Many of them dropped in their tracks, but the big herd continued to rush here and there, crashing into the frail native huts, tearing them down, and, whenever a black man appeared, chasing after him infuriatedly. "Keep at it!" cried Mr. Durban, as he poured more lead into the buffaloes. "If we don't kill enough of them, and drive the others away, there won't be anything left of this village." CHAPTER XVIII NEWS OF THE RED PYGMIES Seldom had it been the lot of Tom and his companions to take part in such a novel hunting scene as that in which they were now participating. With the airship moving quickly about, darting here and there under the guidance of the young inventor, the erratic movements hither and thither of the buffaloes could be followed exactly. Wherever the mass of the herd went the airship hovered over them. "Want any help, Tom?" called Ned, who was firing as fast as his gun could be worked. "I guess not," answered the steersman of the Black Hawk, who was dividing his attention between managing the craft and firing his electric rifle. The others, too, were kept busy with their weapons, shooting down on the infuriated animals. It seemed like a needless slaughter, but it was not. Had it not been for the white men, the native village, which consisted of only frail huts, would have been completely wiped out by the animals. As it was they were kept "milling" about in a circle in an open space, just as stampeded cattle on the western ranges are kept from getting away, by being forced round and round. Not a native was in sight, all being hidden away in the jungle or dense grass. The white hunters in their airship had matters to themselves. At last the firing proved even too much for the buffaloes which, as we have said, are among the most dreaded of African beasts. With bellows of fear, the leading bulls of the herd unable to find the enemy above their heads, darted off into the forest the way they had come. "There they go!" yelled Mr. Durban. "Yes, and I'm glad to see the last of them," added Mr. Anderson, with a breath of relief. "Score another victory for the electric rifle," exclaimed Ned. "Oh, you did as much execution as I did," declared the inventor of the weapon. "Bless my ramrod!" cried Mr. Damon. "I never shot so much in all my life before." "Yes, there is enough food to last the natives for a week," observed Mr. Durban, as Tom adjusted the deflecting rudder to send the airship down. "It won't last much longer at the rate they eat," spoke the young inventor with a laugh. "I never saw such fellows for appetites! They seem to eat in their sleep." There were many dead buffaloes, but there was no fear that the meat, which was much prized by the Africans, would be wasted. Already the natives were coming from their hiding places, knowing that the danger was over. Once more they sang the praises of the mighty white hunters, and the magical air craft in which they moved about. With the elephants previously killed, the buffaloes provided material for a great feast, preparations for which were at once gotten under way, in spite of the fact that the blacks had hardly stopped eating since the big hunt began. But it was about all they had to do. Some of the buffaloes were very large, and there were a number of pairs of fine horns. Tom and Ned had some of the blacks cut them off for trophies, and they were stored in the airship together with the ivory. Becoming rather tired of seeing so much feasting, our friends bade the Africans farewell the next day, and once more resumed their quest. They navigated through the air for another week, stopping at several villages, and scanning the jungles and plains by means of powerful telescopes, for a sight of the red pygmies. They also asked for news of the sacking of the missionary settlement, but, beyond meager facts, could learn nothing. "Well, we've got to keep on, that's all," decided Mr. Durban. "We may find them most unexpectedly." "I'm sorry if I have taken you away from your work of gathering ivory," spoke Mr. Anderson. "Perhaps you had better let me go, and I'll see if I can't organize a band of friendly blacks, and search for the red dwarfs myself." "Not much!" exclaimed Tom warmly. "I said we'd help rescue those missionaries, and we'll do it, too!" "Of course," declared the old elephant hunter. "We have quite a lot of ivory and, while we need more to make it pay well, we can look for it after we rescue the missionaries as well as before. Perhaps there will be a lot of elephants in the pygmies' land." "I was only thinking that we can't go on forever in the airship." said Mr. Anderson. "You'll have to go back to civilization soon, won't you, Tom, to get gasolene?" "No, we have enough for at least a month," answered the young inventor. "I took aboard an unusually large supply when we started." "What would happen if we ran out of it in the jungle?" asked Ned. "Bless my pocketbook! What an unpleasant question!" exclaimed Mr. Damon. "You are almost as cheerful, Ned, as was my friend Mr. Parker, the gloomy scientist, who was always predicting dire happenings." "Well, I was only wondering," said Ned, who was a little abashed by the manner in which his inquiry was received. "Oh, it would be all right," declared Tom. "We would simply become a balloon, and in time the wind would blow us to some white settlement. There is plenty of material for making the lifting gas." This was reassuring, and, somewhat easier in mind, Ned took his place in the observation tower which looked down on the jungle over which they were passing. It was a dense forest. At times there could be seen, in the little clearings, animals darting along. There were numbers of monkeys, an occasional herd of buffaloes were observed, sometimes a solitary stray elephant was noted, and as for birds, there were thousands of them. It was like living over a circus, Ned declared. They had descended one day just outside a large native village to make inquiries about elephants and the red pygmies. Of the big beasts no signs had been seen in several months, the hunters of the tribe told Mr. Durban. And concerning the red pygmies, the blacks seemed indisposed to talk. Tom and the others could not understand this, until a witch-doctor, whom the elephant hunter had met some time ago, when he was on a previous expedition, told him that the tribe had a superstitious fear of speaking of the little men. "They may be around us--in the forest or jungle at any minute," the witch-doctor said. "We never speak of them." "Say, do you suppose that can be a clew?" asked Tom eagerly. "They may be nearer at hand than we think." "It's possible." admitted the hunter. "Suppose we stay here for a few days, and I'll see if I can't get some of the natives to go off scouting in the woods, and locate them, or at least put us on the trail of the red dwarfs." This was considered good advice, and it was decided to adopt it. Accordingly the airship was put in a safe place, and our friends prepared to spend a week, if necessary, in the native village. Their presence with the wonderful craft was a source of wonder, and by means of some trinkets judiciously given to the native king, and also to his head subjects, and to the witch-doctors (who were a power in the land), the good opinion of the tribe was won. Then, by promising rewards to some of the bolder hunters, Mr. Durban finally succeeded in getting them to go off scouting in the jungle for a clew to the red pygmies. "Now we'll have to wait," said Mr. Anderson, "and I hope we get good news." Our friends spent their time observing some of the curious customs of the natives, and in witnessing some odd dances gotten up in their honor. They also went hunting, and got plenty of game, for which their hosts were duly grateful. Tom did some night stalking and found his illuminating bullets a great success. One hot afternoon Tom and Mr. Damon strolled off a little way into the jungle, Tom with his electric weapon, in case he saw any game. But no animals save a few big monkeys where to be seen, and the young inventor scorned to kill them. It seemed too much like firing at a human being he said, though the natives stated that some of the baboons and apes were fierce, and would attack one on the slightest provocation. "I believe I'll sit down here and rest," said Tom, after a mile's tramp, as he came to a little clearing in the woods. "Very well, I'll go on," decided Mr. Damon. "Mr. Durban said there were sometimes rare orchids in these jungles, and I am very fond of those odd flowers. I'm going to see if I can get any." He disappeared behind a fringe of moss-grown trees, and Tom sat down, with his rifle across his knees. He was thinking of many things, but chiefly of what yet lay before them--the discovery of the red dwarfs and the possible rescue of the missionaries. He might have been thus day-dreaming for perhaps a half hour, when he suddenly heard great commotion in the jungle, in the direction in which Mr. Damon had vanished. It sounded as though some one was running rapidly. Then came the report of the odd man's gun. "He's seen some game!" exclaimed Tom, jumping up, and preparing to follow his friend. But he did not have the chance. An instant later Mr. Damon burst through the bushes with every appearance of fright, his gun held above his head with one hand, and his pith helmet swaying to and fro in the other. "They're coming!" he cried to Tom. "Who, the red pygmies?" "No, but a couple of rhinoceroses are after me. I wounded one, and he and his mate are right behind. Don't let them catch me, Tom!" Mr. Damon was very much alarmed, and there was good occasion for it, as Tom saw a moment later, for two fierce rhinoceroses burst out of the jungle almost on the heels of the fleeing man. Thought was not quicker than Tom Swift. He raised his deadly rifle, and pressed the button. A charge of wireless electricity shot toward the foremost animal, and it was dropped in its tracks. The other came on woofing and snorting with rage. It was the one Mr. Damon had slightly wounded. "Come on!" yelled the young inventor, for his friend was in front of the beast, and in range with the rifle. "Jump to one side, Mr. Damon." Mr. Damon tried, but his foot slipped, and there was no need for jumping. He fell and rolled over. The rhinoceros swerved toward him, with the probable intention of goring the prostrate man with the formidable horn, but it had no chance. Once more the young inventor fired, this time with a heavier charge, and the animal instantly toppled over dead. "Are you hurt?" asked Tom anxiously, as he ran to his friend. Mr. Damon got up slowly. He felt all over himself, and then answered: "No, Tom, I guess I'm not hurt, except in my dignity. Never again will I fire at a sleeping rhinoceros unless you are with me. I had a narrow escape," and he shook Tom's hand heartily. "Did you see any orchids?" asked the lad with a smile. "No, those beasts didn't give me a chance! Bless my tape measure! but they're big fellows!" Indeed they were fine specimens, and there was the usual rejoicing among the natives when they brought in the great bodies, pulling them to the village with ropes made of vines. After this Mr. Damon was careful not to go into the jungle alone, nor, in fact, did any of our friends so venture. Mr. Durban said it was not safe. They remained a full week in the native village, and received no news. In fact, all but one of the hunters came back to report that there was no sign of the red pygmies in that neighborhood. "Well, I guess we might as well move on, and see what we can do ourselves," said Mr. Durban. "Let's wait until the last hunter comes back," suggested Tom. "He may bring word." "Some of his friends think he'll never come back," remarked Mr. Anderson. "Why not?" asked Ned. "They think he has been killed by some wild beast." But this fear was ungrounded. It was on the second day after the killing of the rhinoceroses that, as Tom was tinkering away in the engine-room of the airship, and thinking that perhaps they had better get under way, that a loud shouting was heard among the natives. "I wonder what's up now?" mused the young inventor as he went outside. He saw Mr. Durban and Mr. Anderson running toward the ship. Behind them was a throng of blacks, led by a weary man whom Tom recognized as the missing hunter. The lad's heart beat high with hope. Did the African bring news? On came Mr. Durban, waving his hands to Tom. "We've located 'em!" he shouted. "Not the red pygmies?" asked Tom eagerly. "Yes; this hunter has news of them. He has been to the border of their country, and narrowly escaped capture. Then he was attacked by a lion, and slightly wounded. But, Tom, now we can get on the trail!" "Good!" cried the young inventor. "That's fine news!" and he rejoiced that once more there would be activity, for he was tired of remaining in the African camp, and then, too, he wanted to proceed to the rescue. Already it might be too late to save the unfortunate missionaries. CHAPTER XIX AN APPEAL FOR HELP The African hunter's story was soon told. He had gone on farther than had any of his companions, and, being a bold and brave man, had penetrated into the very fastness of the jungle where few would dare to venture. But even he had despaired of getting on the trail of the fierce little red men, until one afternoon, just at dusk he had heard voices in the forest. Crouching behind a fallen tree, he waited and saw passing by some of the pygmy hunters, armed with bows and arrows, and blowguns. They had been out after game. Cautiously the hunter followed them, until he located one of their odd villages, which consisted of little mud huts, poorly made. The black hunter remained in the vicinity of the pygmies all that night, and was almost caught, for some wild dogs which hung around the village smelled him out, and attracted to him the attention of the dwarf savages. The hunter took to a tree, and so escaped. Then, carefully marking the trail, he came away in the morning. When near home, a lion had attacked him, but he speared the beast to death, after a hand-to-hand struggle in which his leg was torn. "And do you think we can find the place?" asked Ned, when Mr. Durban had finished translating the hunter's story. "I think so," was the reply. "But is this the settlement where the missionaries are?" asked Tom anxiously. "That is what we don't know," said Mr. Anderson. "The native scout could not learn that. But once we get on the trail of the dwarfs, I think we can easily find the particular tribe which has the captives." "At any rate, we'll get started and do something," declared Tom, and the next day, after the African hunter had described, as well as he could, where the place was, the Black Hawk was sent up into the air, good-bys were called down, and once more the adventurers were under way. It was decided that they had better proceed cautiously, and lower the airship, and anchor it, sometime before getting above the place where the pygmy village was. "For they may see us, and, though they don't know what our craft is, they may take the alarm and hide deeper in the jungle with the prisoners, where we can't find them," said Tom. His plan was adopted, and, while it had taken the native hunter several days to reach the borders of the dwarfs' land, those in the airship made the trip in one day. That is, they came as far toward it as they thought would be safe, and one night, having located a landmark which Mr. Durban said was on the border, the nose of the Black Hawk was pointed downward, and soon they were encamped in a little clearing in the midst of the dense jungle which was all about them. With his electric rifle, Tom noiselessly killed some birds, very much like chicken, of which an excellent meal was made and then, as it became dark very early, and as nothing could be done, they lighted a campfire, and retired inside their craft to pass the night. It must have been about midnight that Tom, who was a light sleeper at times, was awakened by some noise outside the window near which his stateroom was. He sat up and listened, putting out his hand to where his rifle stood in the corner near his bunk. The lad heard stealthy footsteps pattering about on the deck of the airship. There was a soft, shuffling sound, such as a lion or a tiger makes, when walking on bare boards. In spite of himself, Tom felt the hair on his head beginning to creep, and a shiver ran down his back. "There's something out there!" he whispered. "I wonder if I'd better awaken the others? No, if it's a sneaking lion, I can manage to kill him, but--" He paused as another suggestion came to him. The red pygmies! They went barefoot! Perhaps they were swarming about the ship which they might have discovered in the darkness. Tom Swift's heart beat rapidly. He got softly out of his bunk, and, with his rifle in hand made his way to the door opening on deck. On his way he gently awakened Ned and Mr. Durban, and whispered to them his fear. "If the red pygmies are out there we'll need all our force," said the old elephant hunter. "Call Mr. Damon and Mr. Anderson, Ned, and tell them to bring their guns." Soon they were all ready, fully armed. They listened intently. The airship was all in darkness, for lights drew a horde of insects. The campfire had died down. The soft footsteps could still be heard moving about the deck. "That sounds like only one person or animal," whispered Ned. "It does," agreed Tom. "Wait a minute, I'll fire an illuminating charge, and we can see what it is." The others posted themselves at windows that gave a view of the deck. Tom poked his electric rifle out of a crack of the door, and shot forth into the darkness one of the blue illuminations. The deck of the craft was instantly lighted up brilliantly, and in the glare, crouched on the deck, could be seen a powerful black man, nearly naked, gazing at the hunters. "A black!" gasped Tom, as the light died out. "Maybe it is one from the village we just left. What do you want? Who are you?" called the lad, forgetting that the Africans spoke only their own language. To the surprise of all, there came his reply in broken English: "Me Tomba! Me go fo' help for Missy Illingway--fo' Massy Illingway. Me run away from little red men! Me Christian black man. Oh, if you be English, help Missy Illingway--she most die! Please help. Tomba go but Tomba be lost! Please help!" CHAPTER XX THE FIGHT Surprise, for the moment, held Tom and the others speechless. To be answered in English, poor and broken as it was, by a native African, was strange enough, but when this same African was found aboard the airship, in the midst of the jungle, at midnight, it almost passed the bounds of possibility. "Tomba!" mused Tom, wondering where he had heard that name before. "Tomba?" "Of course!" cried Mr. Anderson, suddenly. "Don't you remember? That's the name of the servant of Mr. and Mrs. Illingway, who escaped and brought news of their capture by the pygmies. That's who Tomba is." "Yes, but Tomba escaped," objected Mr. Durban. "He went to the white settlements with the news. How comes he here?" "We'll have to find out," said Tom, simply. "Tomba, are you there?" he called, as he fired another illuminating charge. It disclosed the black man standing up on the deck, and looking at them appealingly. "Yes, Tomba here," was the answer. "Oh, you be English, Tomba know. Please help Missy and Massy Illingway. Red devils goin' kill 'em pretty much quick." "Come in!" called Tom, as he turned on the electric lights in the airship. "Come in and tell us all about it. But how did you get here?" "Maybe there are two Tombas," suggested Ned. "Bless my safety razor!" cried Mr. Damon "perhaps Ned is right!" But he wasn't, as they learned when they had questioned the African, who came inside the airship, looking wonderingly around at the many strange things he saw. He was the same Tomba who had escaped the massacre, and had taken news of the capture of his master and mistress to the white settlement. In vain after that he had tried to organize a band to go back with him to the rescue, but the whites in the settlement were too few, and the natives too timid. Then Tomba, with grief in his heart, and not wanting to live while the missionaries whom he had come to care for very much, were captives, he went back into the jungle, determined, if he could not help them, that at least he would share their fate, and endeavor to be of some service to them in their captivity. After almost unbelievable hardships, he had found the red pygmies, and had allowed himself to be captured by them. They rejoiced greatly in the possession of the big black man, and for some strange reason had not killed him. He was allowed to share the captivity of his master and mistress. Time went on, and the pygmies did not kill their prisoners. They even treated them with some kindness but were going to sacrifice them at their great annual festival, which was soon to take place. Mr. and Mrs. Illingway, Tomba told our friends in his broken English, had urged him to escape at the first opportunity. They knew if he could get away he would travel through the jungle. They could not, even if they had not been so closely guarded that escape was out of the question. But Tomba refused to go until Mr. Illingway had said that perhaps he might get word to some white hunters, and so send help to the captives. This Tomba consented to do, and, watching his chance, he did escape. That was several nights ago, and he had been traveling through the jungle ever since. It was by mere accident that he came upon the anchored airship, and his curiosity led him to board her. The rest is known. "Well, of all queer yarns, this is the limit!" exclaimed Tom, when the black had finished. "What had we better do about it?" "Get ready to attack the red pygmies at once!" decided Mr. Durban. "If we wait any longer it may be too late!" "My idea, exactly," declared Mr. Anderson. "Bless my bowie-knife!" cried Mr. Damon. "I'd like to get a chance at the red imps! Come on, Tom! Let's start at once." "No, we need daylight to fight by," replied Tom, with a smile at his friend's enthusiasm. "We'll go forward in the morning." "In the airship?" asked Mr. Damon. "I think so," answered Tom. "There can be no advantage now in trying to conceal ourselves. We can move upon them from where we are so quickly that they won't have much chance to get away. Besides it will take us too long to make our way through the jungle afoot. For, now that the escape of Tomba must be known, they may kill the captives at once to forestall any rescue." "Then we'll move forward in the morning," declared Mr. Durban. They took Tomba with them in the airship the next day, though he prayed fervently before he consented to it. But they needed him to point out the exact location of the pygmies' village, since it was not the one the hunter-scout had been near. The Black Hawk sailed through the air. On board eager eyes looked down for a first sight of the red imps. Tomba, who was at Tom's side in the steering tower, told him, as best he could, from time to time, how to set the rudders. "Pretty soon by-em-by be there," said the black man at length. "Pass ober dat hill, den red devils live." "Well, we'll soon be over that hill," announced Tom grimly. "I guess we'd better get our rifles ready for the battle." "Are you going to attack them at once?" asked Mr. Damon. "Well," answered the young inventor, "I don't believe we ought to kill any of them if we can avoid it. I don't like to do such a thing but, perhaps we can't help ourselves. My plan is to take the airship down, close to the hut where the missionaries are confined. Tomba can point it out to us. If we can rescue them without bloodshed, so much the better. But we'll fight if we have to." Grimly they watched as the airship sailed over the hill. Then suddenly there came into view a collection of mud huts on a vast plain, surrounded by dense jungle on every side. As the travelers looked, they could see little creatures running wildly about. Even without a glass it could be noted that their bodies were covered with a curious growth of thick sandy hair. "The red pygmies!" cried Tom. "Now for the rescue!" Eagerly Tomba indicated the hut where his master and mistress were held. Telling his friends to have their weapons in readiness, Tom steered the airship toward the rude shelter whence he hoped to take the missionaries. Down to the ground swiftly shot the Black Hawk. Tom checked her with a quick movement of the deflecting rudder, and she landed gently on the wheels. "Mr. Illingway! Mrs. Illingway! We have come to rescue you!" yelled the young inventor, as he stepped out on the deck, with his electric rifle in his hand. "Where are you? Can you come out?" The door of the hut was burst open, and a white man and woman, recognizable as such, even in the rude skins that clothed them, rushed out. Wonder spread over their faces as they saw the great airship. They dropped on their knees. The next instant a swarm of savage little red men surrounded them, and rudely bore them, strugglingly, back into the hut. "Come on!" cried Tom, about to leap to the ground. "It's now or never! We must save them!" Mr. Durban pulled him back, and pointed to a horde of the red-haired savages rushing toward the airship. "They'd tear you to pieces in a minute!" cried the old hunter. "We must fight them from the ship." There was a curious whistling sound in the air. Mr. Durban looked up. "Duck, everybody!" he yelled. "They're firing arrows at us! Get under shelter, for they may be poisoned!" Tom and the others darted into the craft. The arrows rattled on deck in a shower, and hundreds of the red imps were rushing up to give battle. Inside the hut where the missionaries were, it was now quiet. Tom Swift wondered if they still lived. "Give 'em as good as they send!" cried Mr. Durban. "We will have to fire at them now. Open up with your electric rifle, Tom!" As he spoke the elephant hunter fired into the midst of the screaming savages. The battle had begun. CHAPTER XXI DRIVEN BACK What the travelers had heard regarding the fierceness and courage of the red pygmies had not been one bit exaggerated. Never had such desperate fighting ever taken place. The red dwarfs, scarcely one of whom was more than three feet high, were strongly built, and there were so many of them, and they battled together with such singleness of purpose, that they were more formidable than a tribe of ordinary-sized savages would have been. And their purpose was to utterly annihilate the enemy that had so unexpectedly come upon them. It did not matter to them that Tom and the others had arrived in an airship. The strange craft had no superstitious terror for them, as it had for the simpler blacks. "Bless my multiplication tables!" cried Mr. Damon. "What a mob of them!" "Almost too many!" murmured Tom Swift, who was rapidly firing his electric rifle at them. "We can never hope to drive them back, I'm afraid." Indeed from every side of the plain, and even from the depths of the jungle the red dwarfs were now pouring. They yelled most horribly, screaming in rage, brandishing their spears and clubs, and keeping up an incessant fire of big arrows from their bows, and smaller ones from the blowguns. As yet none of our friends had been hit, for they were sheltered in the airship, and as the windows were covered with a mesh of wire, to keep out insects, this also served to prevent the arrows from entering. There were loopholes purposely made to allow the rifles to be thrust out. Mercifully, Tom and the others fired only to disable, and not to kill the red pygmies. Wounded in the arms or legs, the little savages would be incapable of fighting, and this plan was followed. But so fierce were they that some, who were wounded twice, still kept up the attack. Tom's electric rifle was well adapted for this work, as he could regulate the charge to merely stun, no matter at what part of the body it was directed. So he could fire indiscriminantly, whereas the others had to aim carefully. And Tom's fire was most effective. He disabled scores of the red imps, but scores of others sprang up to take their places. After their first rush the pygmies had fallen back before the well-directed fire of our friends, but as their chiefs and head men urged them to the attack again, they came back with still fiercer energy. Some, more bold than the others, even leaped to the deck of the airship, and tried to tear the screens from the windows. They partly succeeded, and in one casement from which Ned was firing they made a hole. Into this they shot a flight of arrows, and one slightly wounded the bank clerk on the arm. The wound was at once treated with antiseptics, after the window had been barricaded, and Ned declared that he was ready to renew the fight. Tom, too, got an arrow scratch on the neck, and one of the barbs entered Mr. Durban's leg, but the sturdy elephant hunter would not give up, and took his place again after the wound had been bandaged. From time to time as he worked his electric gun, which had been charged to its utmost capacity, Tom glanced at the hut where the missionaries were prisoners. There was no movement noticed about it, and no sound came from it. Tom wondered what had happened inside--he wondered what was happening as the battle progressed. Fiercely the fight was kept up. Now the red imps would be driven back, and again they would swarm about the airship, until it seemed as if they must overwhelm it. Then the fire of the white adventurers was redoubled. The electric rifle did great work, and Tom did not have to stop and refill the magazine, as did the others. Suddenly, above the noise of the conflict, Tom Swift heard an ominous sound. It was a hissing in the air, and well he knew what it was. "The gas bag!" he cried. "They've punctured it! The vapor is escaping. If they put too many holes in the bag it will be all up with us!" "What's to be done?" asked Mr. Durban. "If we can't drive them back we must retreat ourselves!" declared Tom desperately. "Our only hope is to keep the airship safe from harm." Once more came a rush of the savages. They had discovered that the gas bag was vulnerable, and were directing their arrows against that. It was punctured in several more places. The gas was rapidly escaping. "We've got to retreat!" yelled Tom. He hurried to the engine-room, and turned on the power. The great propellers revolved, and sent the Black Hawk scudding across the level plain. With yells of surprise the red dwarfs scattered and made way for it. Up into the air it mounted on the broad wings. For the time being our friends has been driven back, and the missionaries whom they had come to rescue were still in the hands of the savages. CHAPTER XXII A NIGHT ATTACK "Well, what's to be done?" Tom Swift asked that question. "Bless my percussion cap! They certainly are the very worst imps for fighting that I ever heard of," commented Mr. Damon helplessly. "Is the gas bag much punctured?" asked Ned Newton. "Wait a minute," resumed the young inventor, as he pulled the speed lever a trifle farther over, thereby sending the craft forward more swiftly, "I think my question ought to be answered first. What's to be done? Are we going to run away, and leave that man and woman to their fate?" "Of course not!" declared Mr. Durban stoutly, "but we couldn't stay there, and have them destroy the airship." "No, that's so," admitted Tom, "if we lost the airship it would be all up with us and our chances of rescuing the missionaries. But what can we do? I hate to retreat!" "But what else is there left for us?" demanded Ned. "Nothing, of course. But we've got to plan to get the best of those red pygmies. We can't go back in the airship, and give them open battle. There are too many of them, and, by Jove! I believe more are coming every minute!" Tom and the others looked down. From all sides of the plain, hastening toward the village of mud huts, from which our friends were retreating, could be seen swarms of the small but fierce savages. They were coming from the jungle, and were armed with war clubs, bows and arrows and the small but formidable blowguns. "Where are they coming from?" asked Mr. Damon. "From the surrounding tribes," explained Mr. Durban. "They have been summoned to do battle against us." "But how did the ones we fought get word to the others so soon?" Ned demanded. "Oh, they have ways of signaling," explained Mr. Anderson. "They can make the notes of some of their hollow-tree drums carry a long distance, and then they are very swift runners, and can penetrate into the jungle along paths that a white man would hardly see. They also use the smoke column as a signal, as our own American Indians used to do. Oh, they can summon all their tribesmen to the fight, and they probably will. Likely the sound of our guns attracted the imps, though if we all had electric rifles like Tom's they wouldn't make any noise." "Well, my rifle didn't appear to do so very much good this time," observed the young inventor, as he stopped the forward motion of the ship now, and let it hover over the plain in sight of the village, the gas bag serving to sustain the craft, and there was little wind to cause it to drift. "Those fellows didn't seem to mind being hurt and killed any more than if mosquitoes were biting them." "The trouble is we need a whole army, armed with electric rifles to make a successful attack," said Mr. Durban. "There are swarms of them there now, and more coming every minute. I do hope Mr. and Mrs. Illingway are alive yet." "Yes," added Mr. Anderson solemnly, "we must hope for the best. But, like Tom Swift, I ask, what's to be done?" "Bless my thinking cap!" exclaimed Mr. Damon. "It seems to me if we can't fight them openly in the daytime, there's only one other thing to do." "What's that?" asked Tom. "Go away? I'll not do it!" "No, not go away," exclaimed Mr. Damon, "but make a night attack. We ought to be able to do something then, and with your illuminating rifle, Tom, we'd have an advantage! What do you say?" "I say it's the very thing!" declared Tom, with sudden enthusiasm. "We'll attack them to-night, when they're off their guard, and we'll see if we can't get the missionaries out of that hut. And to better fool the savages, we'll just disappear now, and make 'em believe we've flown away." "Then the missionaries will think we're deserting them," objected Mr. Anderson. But there was no help for it, and so Tom once more turned on the power and the craft sailed away. Tomba, the faithful black, begged to be allowed to go down, and tell his master and mistress that help would soon be at hand again, even though it looked like a retreat on the part of the rescuers, but this could not be permitted. "They'd tear you in pieces as soon as you got among those red imps," said Tom. "You stay here, Tomba, and you can help us to-night." "A'right, me glad help lick red fellows," said the black, with as cheerful a grin as he could summon. The Black Hawk circled around, with Tom and the others looking for a good place to land. They were out of sight of the village now but did not doubt but that they were observed by the keen eyes of the little men. "We want to pick out a place where they won't come upon us as we descend," declared Tom. "We've got to mend some leaks in the gas bag, for, while they are not serious, if we get any more punctures they may become so. So we've got to pick out a good place to go down." Finally, by means of powerful glasses, a desolate part of the jungle was selected. No files of the red dwarfs, coming from their scattered villages to join their tribesmen, had been noted in the vicinity picked out, and it was hoped that it would answer. Slowly the airship settled to earth, coming to rest in a thick grove of trees, where there was an opening just large enough to allow the Black Hawk to enter. Our friends were soon busy repairing the leaks in the bag, while Mr. Damon got a meal ready. As they ate they talked over plans for the night attack. It was decided to wait until it was about two o'clock in the morning, as at that hour the dwarfs were most generally asleep, Tomba said. They always stayed up quite late, sitting around camp-fires, and eating the meat which the hunters brought in each day. But their carousings generally ended at midnight, the black said, and then they fell into a heavy sleep. They did not post guards, but since they knew of the presence of the white men in the airship, they might do it this time. "Well, we've got to take our chance," decided Tom. "We'll start off from here about one o'clock, and I'll send the ship slowly along. We'll get right over the hut where the captives are, if possible, and then descend. I'll manage the ship, and one of you can work the electric rifle if they attack us. We'll make a dash, get Mr. and Mrs. Illingway from the hut, and make a quick get-away." It sounded good, and they were impatient to put it into operation. That afternoon Tom and his friends went carefully over every inch of their craft, to repair it and have it in perfect working order. Guns were cleaned, and plenty of ammunition laid out. Then, shortly after one o'clock in the morning the ship was sent up, and with the searchlight ready to be turned on instantly, and with his electric rifle near at hand, Tom Swift guided his craft on to the attack. Soon they could see the glow of dying fires in the dwarfs' village, but no sound came from the sleeping hordes of red imps. CHAPTER XXIII THE RESCUE "Can you make out the hut, Tom?" asked Ned, as he stood at his chum's side in the steering tower, and gazed downward on the silent village. "Not very clearly. Suppose you take a look through the night-glasses. Maybe you'll have better luck." Ned peered long and earnestly. "No, I can't see a thing." he said. "It all looks to be a confused jumble of huts. I can't tell one from the other. We'll have to go lower." "I don't want to do that," objected Tom. "If this attack succeeds at all, it will have to be sharp and quick. If we go down where they can spot us, and work our way up to the hut where the captives are, we'll run the chance of an attack that may put us out of business." "Yes, we ought to get right over the hut, and then make a sudden swoop down," admitted Ned, "but if we can't see it--" "I have it!" cried Tom suddenly. "Tomba! That African can see in the dark like a cat. Why, just before we started I dropped a wrench, and I didn't have any matches handy to look for it. I was groping around in the dark trying to get my hands on it, and you know it was pretty black in the jungle. Well, along come Tomba. And he spotted it at once and picked it up. We'll call him here and get him to point out the hut. He can tell me how to steer." "Good!" cried Ned, and the black was soon standing in the pilot house. He comprehended what was wanted of him, and peered down, seeking to penetrate the darkness. "Shall I go down a little lower?" asked Tom. For a moment Tomba did not answer. Then he uttered an exclamation of pleasure. "Me see hut!" he said, clutching Tom's arm. "Down dere!" He pointed, but neither Tom nor Ned could see it. However, as Tomba was now giving directions, telling Tom when to go to the left or the right, as the wind currents deflected they were certain of soon reaching the place where Mr. and Mrs. Illingway were concealed, if they were still alive. The Black Hawk was moving slowly, and was not under as good control as if she had been making ninety miles an hour. As it was desired to proceed as quietly as possible, the craft was being used as a dirigible balloon, and the propellers were whirled around by means of a small motor, worked by a storage battery. While not much power was obtained this way, there was the advantage of silence, which was very necessary. Slowly the Black Hawk sailed on through the night. In silence the adventurers waited for the moment of action. They had their weapons in readiness. Mr. Durban was to work the electric rifle, as all Tom's attention would be needed at the machinery. As soon as the craft had made a landing he was to leap out, carrying a revolver in either hand, and, followed by Tomba, would endeavor to gain entrance to the hut, break through the flimsy grass-woven curtain over the doorway, and get Mr. and Mrs. Illingway out. Ned, Mr. Damon and the other two men would stand by to fire on the red pygmies as soon as they commenced the attack, which they would undoubtedly do as soon as the guards of the captives raised the alarm. The airship was in darkness, for it would have been dangerous to show a light. Some wakeful dwarf might see the moving illumination in the sky, and raise a cry. "Mos' dere," announced Tomba at length. And then, for the first time, Ned and Tom had a glimpse of the hut. It stood away from the others, and was easy to pick out in daylight, but even the darkness offered no handicap to Tomba. "Right over him now," he suddenly called, as he leaned out of the pilot house window, and looked down. "Right over place. Oh, Tomba glad when he see Missy an' Massy!" "Yes, I hope you do see them," murmured Tom, as he pulled the lever which would pump the gas from the inflated bag, and compress it into tanks, until it was needed again to make the ship rise. Slowly the Black Hawk sank down. "Get ready!" called Tom in a low voice. It was a tense moment. Every one of the adventurers felt it, and all but Tom grasped their weapons with tighter grips. They were ready to spring out as soon as a landing was made. Tom managed the machinery in the dark, for he knew every wheel, gear and lever, and could have put his hand on any one with his eyes shut. The two loaded revolvers were on a shelf in front of him. The side door of the pilot house was ajar, to allow him quick egress. Tomba, armed with a big club he had picked up in the jungle, was ready to follow. The black was eager for the fray to begin, though how he and the others would fare amid the savages was hard to say. Still not a sound broke the quiet. It was very dark, for nearly all the camp fires, over which the nightly feast had been prepared, were out. The hut could be dimly made out, however. Suddenly there was a slight tremor through the ship. She seemed to shiver, and bound upward a little. "We've landed!" whispered Tom. "Now for it! Come on, Tomba!" The big black glided after the lad like a shadow. With his two weapons held in readiness our hero went out on deck. The others, with cocked rifles, stood ready for the attack to open. It had been decided that as soon as the first alarm was given by the dwarfs, which would probably be when Tom broke into the hut, the firing would begin. "Open!" called Tom to Tomba, and the big black dashed his club through the grass curtain over the doorway of the hut. He fairly leaped inside, with a cry of battle on his lips. "Mr. Illingway! Mrs. Illingway!" called Tom, "We've come to save you. Hurry out. The airship is just outside!" He fired one shot through the roof of the hut, so that the flash would reveal to him whether or not the two missionaries were in the place. He saw two forms rise up in front of him, and knew that they were the white captives he had observed daring the former attack. "Oh, what is it?" he heard the woman ask. "A rescue! Thank the dear Lord!" answered her husband fervently. "Oh, whoever you are, God bless you!" "Come quickly!" cried Tom, "we haven't a moment to lose!" He was speaking to absolute blackness now, for it was darker immediately following the revolver flash than before. But he felt a man's hand thrust about his arm, and he knew it was Mr. Illingway. "Take your wife's hand, and follow me," ordered Tom. "Come, Tomba! Are there any of the red pygmies in here?" He had not seen any at the weapon's flash, but his question was answered a moment later, for there arose from within and without the hut a chorus of wild yells. At the same time Tom felt small arms grasp him about the legs. "Come on!" he yelled. "They're awake and after us!" The din outside increased. Tom heard the rifles of his friends crack. He saw, through the torn door curtain, the flashes of fire. Then came a blue glare, and Tom knew that Mr. Durban was using the electric weapon. By these intermittent gleams Tom managed to see sufficiently to thrust Mr. and Mrs. Illingway ahead of him. Tomba was at their side. The yells inside the hut were almost deafening. All the red dwarfs left to guard the captives had awakened, and they could see well enough to attack Tom. Fortunately they had no weapons, but they fairly threw themselves upon the sturdy lad, trying to pull him down. "Go on! Go on!" he yelled to the captives, fairly pushing them along. Then, knowing they were out of the way, he turned and fired his two revolvers as fast as he could pull the triggers, into the very faces of the red imps who were seeking to drag him down. Again and again he fired, until he had emptied both cylinders of his weapons. He felt the grasps of the fiendish little men relax one by one. Tom finally dragged himself loose, and staggered out of the hut. The captives and Tomba were right in front of him. At the airship, which loomed up in the flashes from the guns and electric rifle, Tom's friends were giving battle. About them swarmed the hordes of savages, with more of the imps pouring in every moment. "Get aboard!" cried Tom to the missionaries. "Get on the airship, and we'll move out of this!" He felt a stinging pain in his neck, where an arrow struck him. He tore the arrow out, and rushed forward. Fairly pushing Mr. and Mrs. Illingway up on deck before him, Tom followed. Tomba was capering about his master and mistress, and he swung his big club savagely. He had not been idle, and many a red imp had gone down under his blows. "Rescued! Rescued!" murmured Mr. Illingway, as Tom hastened to the pilot house to start the motor. CHAPTER XXIV TWO OTHER CAPTIVES But the rescue was not yet accomplished. Those on the airship were still in danger, and grave peril, for all about them were the red savages, shouting, howling, yelling and capering about, as they were now thoroughly aroused, and realized that their captives had been taken away from them. They determined to get them back, and were rallying desperately to battle. Nearly all of them were armed by this time, and flight after flight of spears and arrows were thrown or shot toward the airship. Fortunately it was too dark to enable the pygmies to take good aim. They were guided, to an extent, by the flashes of fire from the rifles, but these were only momentary. Still some of our friends received slight wounds, for they stood on the open deck of the craft. "Bless my eye-glasses!" suddenly exclaimed Mr. Damon. "I'm stuck!" "Don't mind that!" advised Ned. "Keep on pouring lead into them. We'll soon be away from here!" "Don't fire any more!" called Mr. Durban. "The gun-flashes tell them where to shoot. I'll use the electric rifle. It's better." They followed his advice, and put aside their weapons. By means of the electric flash, which he projected into the midst of the savages, without the glare coming on the airship, Mr. Durban was able to tell where to aim. Once he had a mass of red pygmies located, he could keep on shooting charge after charge into their midst. "Use it full power!" called Tom, as he opened the gas machine to its widest capacity, so the bag would quickly fill, and the craft be sent forward, for it was so dark, and the ground near the huts so uneven, that the Black Hawk could not rise as an aeroplane. The elephant hunter turned on full strength in the electric gun and the wireless bullets were sent into the midst of the attackers. The result was surprising. They were so closely packed together that when one was hit the electrical shock was sent through his nearly naked body into the naked bodies of his tribesmen who pressed on every side of him. In consequence whole rows of the savages went down at a time, disabled from fighting any more. Meanwhile Tom was working frantically to hasten the rising of the airship. His neck pained him very much where the arrow had struck him, but he dared not stop now to dress the wound. He could feel the blood running down his side, but he shut his teeth grimly and said nothing. The two missionaries, scarcely able to believe that they were to be saved, had been shown into an inner cabin by Tomba, who had become somewhat used to the airship by this time, and who could find his way about well in the dark, for no lights had yet been turned on. Hundreds of pygmies had been disabled, yet still others came to take their places. The gas bag was again punctured in several places, but the rents were small, and Tom knew that he could make the gas faster than it could escape, unless the bag was ripped open. "They're climbing up the sides!" suddenly called Ned Newton, for he saw several of the little men clambering up. "What shall we do?" "Pound their fingers!" called Mr. Anderson. "Get clubs and whack them!" It was good advice. Ned remembered on one occasion when he and Tom were looking at Andy Foger's airship, how this method had been proposed when the bank clerk hung on the back fence. As he grabbed up a stick, and proceeded to pound the hands and bare arms of the savages who were clinging to the railing, Ned found himself wondering what had become of the bully. He was to see Andy sooner than he expected. Suddenly in the midst of the fighting, which was now a hand-to-hand conflict, there was a tremor throughout the length of the airship. "She's going up!" yelled Ned. "Bless my check-book!" cried Mr. Damon, "if we don't look out some of these red imps will go up with us, too!" As he spoke he whacked vigorously at the hands of several of the pygmies, who dropped off with howls of anguish. The craft quickly shot upward. There were yells of terror from a few of the red savages who remained clinging to different parts of the Black Hawk and then, fearing they might be taken to the clouds, they, too, dropped off. The rescuers and rescued mounted higher and higher, and, when they were far enough up so that there was no danger from the spears or arrows, Tom switched on the lights, and turned the electric current into the search-lantern, the rays of which beamed down on the mass of yelling and baffled savages below. "A few shots for them to remember us by!" cried Mr. Durban, as he sent more of the paralyzing electric currents into the red imps. Their yell of rage had now turned to shouts of terror, for the gleaming beam of light frightened them more than did the airship, or the bullets of the white men. The red pygmies fled to their huts. "I guess we gave them a lesson," remarked Tom, as he started the propellers and sent the ship on through the night. "Why, Tom! You're hurt!" cried Ned, who came into the pilot house at that moment, and saw blood on his chum. "Only a scratch," the young inventor declared. "It's more than that," said Mr. Durban who looked at it a little later. "It must be bound up, Tom." And, while Ned steered the ship back to the jungle clearing whence they had come to make the night attack, Tom's wound was dressed. Meanwhile the two missionaries had been well taken care of. They were given other garments, even some dresses being provided for Mrs. Illingway, for when the voyage was begun Tom had considered the possibility of having a woman on board, and had bought some ladies' garments. Then, having cast down to earth the ill-smelling skins which formed their clothes while captives, Mr. and Mrs. Illingway, decently dressed, thanked Tom and the others over and over again. "We had almost given up hope," said the lady, "when we saw them drive you back after the first attack. Oh, it is wonderful to think how you saved us, and in an airship!" and she and her husband began their thanks over again. A good meal was prepared by Mr. Damon, for the rescuers and rescued ones were hungry, and since they had been held prisoners the two missionaries had not been given very good food. "Oh, it hardly seems possible that we are eating with white men again," said Mr. Illingway, as he took a second cup of coffee, "hardly possible!" "And to see electric lights, instead of a camp-fire," added his wife. "What a wonderful airship you have, Tom Swift." "Yes, it's pretty good," he admitted. "It came in useful to-night, all right." They were now far enough from the savages, and the pygmies' fires, which had been set aglow anew when the attack began, could no longer be observed. "We'll land at the place where we camped before," said Tom, who had again assumed charge of the ship, "and in the morning we'll start for civilization." "No can get two other white men?" suddenly asked Tomba, who had been sitting, gazing at his recovered master and mistress. "Fly-ship go back, an' leave two white mans here?" the black asked. "What in the world does he mean?" demanded Tom. "Of course we're not going to leave any of our party behind!" "Let me question him," suggested Mr. Illingway, and he began to talk to the African in his own tongue. A rapid conversation followed, and a look of amazement spread over the faces of the two missionaries, as they listened. "What is it?" asked Mr. Durban. "What does Tomba say?" "Why the pygmies have two other white men in captivity," said Mr. Illingway. "They were brought in yesterday, after you were driven away. Two white men, or, rather a white man and a youth, according to Tomba. They are held in one of the huts near where we were, but tied so they couldn't escape in the confusion." "How does Tomba know this?" asked Mr. Damon. "He says," translated Mr. Illingway, after more questioning of the black, "that he heard the red pygmies boasting of it after we had escaped. Tomba says he heard them say that, though we were gone, and could not be killed, or sacrificed, the other two captives would meet that horrible fate." "Two other white captives in the hands of the red imps!" murmured Tom. "We must rescue them!" "You're not going to turn back now, are you?" asked Mr. Durban. "No, but I will as soon as I look the ship over. We'll come back to-morrow. And we'll have to make a day attack or it will be too late to save them. Two other white captives! I wonder who they can be." There was a big surprise in store for Tom Swift. CHAPTER XXV THE ROGUE ELEPHANT--CONCLUSION Early the next day the airship was again afloat. The night, what little of darkness remained after the rescue, had been spent in the clearing in the dense jungle. Some slight repairs had been made to the craft, and it was once more in readiness to be used in battle against the relentless savages. "We can't wait for darkness," declared Tom. "In the first place there isn't time, and again, we don't know in what part of the village the other captives are. We'll have to hunt around." "And that means going right down into the midst of the imps and fighting them hand to hand," said Ned. "That's what it means," assented Tom grimly, "but I guess the powder bombs will help some." Before starting they had prepared a number of improvised bombs, filled with powder, which could be set off by percussion. It was the plan to drop these down from the airship, into the midst of the savages. When the bomb struck the ground, or even on the bodies of the red dwarfs, it would explode. It was hoped that these would so dismay the little men that they would desert the village, and leave the way clear for a search to be made for the other captives. On rushed the Black Hawk. There was to be no concealment this time, and Tom did not care how much noise the motors made. Accordingly he turned on full speed. It was not long before the big plain was again sighted. Everything was in readiness, and the bombs were at hand to be dropped overboard. Tom counted on the natives gathering together in great masses as soon as they sighted the airship, and this would give him the opportunity wanted. But something different transpired. No sooner was the craft above the village, than from all the huts came pouring out the little red men. But they did not gather together--at least just then. They ran about excitedly, and it could be seen that they were bringing from the huts the rude household utensils in which they did their primitive cooking. The women had their babies, and some, not so encumbered, carried rolls of grass matting. The men had all their weapons. "Bless my wagon wheel!" cried Mr. Damon. "What's going on?" "It looks like moving day," suggested Ned Newton. "That's just what it is!" declared Mr. Durban. "They are going to migrate. Evidently they have had enough of us, and they're going to get out of the neighborhood before we get a chance to do any more damage. They're moving, but where are the white captives?" He was answered a moment later, for a crowd of the dwarfs rushing to a certain hut, came out leading two persons by means of bark ropes tied about their necks. It was too far off to enable Tom or the others to recognize them, but they could tell by the clothing that they were white captives. "We've got to save them!" exclaimed the young inventor. "How?" asked Mr. Damon. And, indeed, it did seem a puzzle for, even as Tom looked, the whole tribe of red imps took up the march into the jungle, dragging the white persons with them. The captives looked up, saw the airship, and made frantic motions for help. It was too far off, yet, to hear their voices. But the distance was lessening every moment, for Tom had speeded the motor to the highest pitch. "What are you going to do?" demanded Ned. "I'll show you," answered his chum. "Take some of those bombs, and be ready to drop them overboard when I give the word." "But we may kill those white people," objected Ned. "Not the way I'm going to work it. You drop them when I give the word." Tom steered the airship toward the head of the throng of blacks. The captives were in the rear, and the van of the strange procession was near the edge of the jungle now. Once the red dwarfs got into the tangle of underbrush they could never be found, and their captives would die a miserable death. "We've got to stop them," murmured Tom. "Are you ready, Ned?" "Ready!" "Then drop the bombs!" Ned dropped them. A sharp explosion was heard, and the head of the procession was blown apart and thrown into confusion. The throng halted. "Drop more!" cried Tom, sending the ship about in a circle, and hovering it over the middle of the press of savages. More of the deadly bombs exploded. The pygmies were running about wildly. Tom, who was closely watching the rear of the cavalcade, suddenly called out: "Now's our chance! They've let their captives go, and are running into the jungle. We must swoop down, and get the prisoners!" It was no sooner said than the nose of the Black Hawk was pointed downward. Onward it flew, the two captives wildly waving their hands to the rescuers. There was no more danger from the red savages. They had been thrown into panic and confusion, and were rapidly disappearing into the forest. The terrible weapons of the whites had been too much for them. "Quick! Get on board!" called Tom, as he brought the machinery to a stop. The airship now rested on the ground, close to the former captives. "Get in here!" shouted the young inventor. "They may change their minds and come back." The two white persons ran toward the Black Hawk. Then one of them--the smaller--halted and cried out: "Why, it's Tom Swift!" Tom turned and glanced at the speaker. A look of astonishment spread over his face. "Andy Foger--here!" gasped Tom. "How in the world--?" "I dink besser as ve git on der board, und dalk aftervard!" exclaimed Andy's companion, who spoke with a strong German accent. "I like not dose red little mans." In another minute the two rescued ones were safe on Tom Swift's airship, and it had arisen high enough to be out of all danger. "How in the world did you ever get here?" asked Tom of the lad who had so often been his enemy. "I'll tell you soon," spoke Andy, "but first, Tom, I want to ask your forgiveness for all I've done to you, and to thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for saving us. I thought we were going to be killed by those dwarfs; didn't you, Herr Landbacher?" "Sure I did. But ve are all right now. Dis machine is efen besser as mine vot vos lost. Is dere anyt'ing to eats, on board, if you vill excuse me for being so bolt as to ask?" "Plenty to eat," said Tom, laughing, "and while you eat you can tell us your story. And as for you, Andy, I hope we'll be friends from now on," and Tom held out his hand. There was not much to tell that the reader has not already guessed. Andy and the German, as has been explained, went abroad to give airship flights. They were in the lower part of Egypt, and a sudden gale drove them into Africa. For a long time they sailed on, and then their fuel gave out, and they had to descend into the jungle. They managed to fall in with some friendly blacks, who treated them well. The airship was useless without gasolene, and it was abandoned. Andy and the German inventor were planning to walk to some white settlement, when the tribe they were with was attacked by the red dwarfs and vanquished. Andy and his friend were taken prisoners, and carried to the very village where the missionaries were, just before the latter's rescue. Then came the fight, and the saving of Andy and the German, almost at the last minute. "Well, you certainly had nearly as many adventures as we did," said Tom. "But I guess they're over now." But they were not. For several days the airship sailed on over the jungles without making a descent. Mr. and Mrs. Illingway wished to be landed at a white settlement where they had other missionary friends. Tom would go with them. This was done, and Tom and the others spent some time in this place, receiving so many kinds of thanks that they had to protest. Andy and Herr Landbacher asked to be taken back to the coast, where they could get a steamer to America. Andy was a very different lad now, and not the bully of old. "Well, hadn't we better be thinking of getting back home?" asked Tom one day. "Not until we get some more ivory," declared Mr. Durban. "I think we'll have to have another elephant hunt." They did, about a week later, and got some magnificent tusks. Tom's electric rifle did great work, to the wonder of Andy and Mr. Landbacher, who had never before seen such a curious weapon. They also did some night hunting. "But we haven't got that pair of extra large tusks that I want," said the old hunter, as he looked at the store of ivory accumulated after the last hunt. "I want those, and then I'll be satisfied. There is one section of the country that we have not touched as yet, and I'd like to visit that." "Then let's go," proposed Tom, so, good-bys having been said to the missionaries, who sent greetings to their friends in America, and to the church people who had arranged for their rescue, the airship was once more sent to the deepest part of a certain jungle, where Mr. Durban hoped to get what he wanted. They had another big hunt, but none of the elephants had any remarkable tusks, and the hunter was about to give up in despair, and call the expedition over, when one afternoon, as they were sailing along high enough to merely clear the tops of the trees, Tom heard a great crashing down below. "There's something there," he called to Mr. Durban. "Perhaps a small herd of elephants. Shall we go down?" Before Mr. Durban could answer there came into view, in a small clearing, an elephant of such size, and with such an enormous pair of tusks, that the young inventor and the old hunter could not repress cries of astonishment. "There's your beast!" said Tom. "I'll go down and you can pot him," and, as he spoke, Tom stopped the propellers, so that the ship hung motionless in the air above where the gigantic brute was. Suddenly, as though possessed by a fit of rage, the elephant rushed at a good-sized tree and began butting it with his head. Then, winding his trunk around it he pulled it up by the roots, and began trampling on it out of a paroxysm of anger. "A rogue elephant!" exclaimed Mr. Durban. "Don't go down if you value your life, or the safety of the airship. If we attacked that brute on the ground, we would be the hunted instead of the hunters. That's a rogue elephant of the worst kind, and he's at the height of his rage." This was indeed so, for the beast was tearing about the clearing like mad, breaking off trees, and uprooting them in sheer wantonness. Tom knew what a "rogue" elephant was. It is a beast that goes away from the herd, and lives solitary and alone, attacking every living thing that comes in his way. It is a species of madness, a disease which attacks elephants and sometimes passes away. More often the afflicted creature gives battle to everything and every animal he meets until he is killed or carried off by his malady. It was such an elephant that Tom now saw, and he realized what the hunter said about attacking one, as he saw the brute's mad rushes. "Well, if it's dangerous to attack him on the ground, we'll kill him from up above," said the young inventor. "Here is the electric rifle, Mr. Durban. I'll let you have the honor of getting those tusks. My! But they're whoppers! Better use almost a full charge. Don't take any chances on merely wounding him, and having him rush off to the jungle." "I won't," said the old hunter, and he adjusted the electric rifle which Tom handed him. As the great beast was tearing around, trumpeting shrilly and breaking off trees Mr. Durban fired. The creature sank down, instantly killed, and was out of his misery, for often it is great pain which makes an otherwise peaceable elephant become a "rogue." "He's done for," said Ned. "I guess you have the tusks you want now, Mr. Durban." "I think so," agreed the hunter, and when the airship was sent down, and the ivory cut out, it was found that the tusks were even larger than they had supposed. "It is a prize worth having," said Mr. Durban. "I'm sure my customer will think so, too. Now I'm ready to head for the coast." Tom Swift went to the engine room, while the last big tusks were being stored away with the other ivory. Several parts of the motor needed oiling, and Ned was assisting in this work. "Going to start soon?" asked Mr. Durban, appearing in the doorway. "Yes; why?" inquired Tom, who noted an anxious note in the voice of the hunter. "Well, I don't like staying longer in this jungle than I can help. It's not healthy in the first place, and then it's a wild and desolate place, where all sorts of wild beasts are lurking, and where wandering hands of natives may appear at any time." "You don't mean that the red pygmies will come back; do you?" asked Ned. "There's no telling," replied Mr. Durban with a shrug of his shoulders. "Only, as long as we've got what we're after, I'd start off as soon as possible." "Yes, don't run any chances with those little red men," begged Andy Foger, who had given himself up for lost when he and his companion fell into their hands. "Radder vould I be mit cannibals dan dose little imps!" spoke the German fervently. "We'll start at once," declared Tom. "Are you all aboard, and is everything loaded into the airship?" "Everything, I guess." answered Mr. Anderson. Tom looked to the motor, saw that it was in working order, and shoved over the lever of the gas machine to begin the generating of the lifting vapor. To his surprise there was no corresponding hiss that told of the gas rushing into the bag. "That's odd," he remarked. "Ned, see if anything is wrong with that machine. I'll pull the lever again." The bank clerk stood beside the apparatus, while Tom worked the handle, but whatever was the matter with it was too intricate or complicated for Ned to solve. "I can't see what ails it," he called to his chum. "You better have a peep." "All right, I'll look if you work the handle." The passengers on the airship, which now rested in a little clearing in the dense jungle, gathered at the engine room door, looking at Tom and Ned as they worked over the machine. "Bless my pulley wheel!" exclaimed Mr. Damon "I hope nothing has gone wrong." "Well something has!" declared the young inventor in a muffled voice, for he was down on his hands and knees peering under the gas apparatus. "One of the compression cylinders has cracked," he added dubiously. "It must have snapped when we landed this last time. I came down too heavily." "What does that mean?" asked Mr. Durban, who did not know much about machinery. "It means that I've got to put a new cylinder in," went on Tom. "It's quite a job, too, but we can't make gas without it!" "Well, can't you do it just as well up in the air as down here?" asked Mr. Durban. "Make an ascension, Tom, and do the repairs up above, where we've got good air, and where--" He paused suddenly, and seemed to be listening. "What is it?" asked the young inventor quickly. There was no need to answer, for, from the jungle without, came the dull booming of the war drums of some natives. "That's what I was afraid of!" cried the old elephant hunter, catching up his gun. "Some black scout has seen us and is summoning his tribesmen. Hurry, Tom, send up the ship, and we'll take care of the savages." "But I CAN'T send her up!" cried Tom. "You can't? Why not?" "Because the gas machine won't work until I put in a new cylinder, and that will take at least a half a day." "Go up as an aeroplane then!" cried Mr. Damon. "Bless my monkey wrench, Tom, you've often done it before." For answer Tom waved his hand toward the thick jungle all about them. "We haven't room to get a running start of ten feet." he said, "and without a start the airship can never rise as a mere aeroplane. The only way we can get up from the jungle is like a balloon, and without the gas--" He paused significantly. The sound of the war drums became louder, and to it was added a weird singing chant. "The natives!" cried Mr. Anderson. "They're coming right this way! We must fight them off if they attack us!" "Where's the electric rifle?" asked Ned. "Get that out, Tom!" "Wait!" suggested Mr. Durban. "This is serious! It looks as if they were going to attack us, and they have us at a disadvantage. Our only safety is in flight, but as Tom says we can't go up until the gas machine is fixed, he will have to attend to that part of it while we keep off the black men. Tom, we can't spare you to fight this time! You repair the ship as soon as you can, and we'll guard her from the natives. And you've got to work lively!" "I will!" cried the young inventor. "It's luck we have a spare cylinder!" Suddenly there was a louder shout in the jungle and it was followed by a riot of sound. War drums were beaten, tom-toms clashed and the natives howled. "Here they are!" cried Mr. Anderson. "Bless my suspenders!" shouted Mr. Damon. "Where is my gun?" "Here, you take mine, and I'll use the electric rifle," answered the elephant hunter. As he spoke there was a hissing sound in the air and a flight of spears passed over the airship. The defenders slipped outside, while Tom, with Ned to help him, worked feverishly to repair the break. They were in a serious strait, for with the airship practically helpless they were at the mercy of the natives. And as Tom glanced momentarily from the window, he saw scores of black, half-naked forms slipping in and out among the trees and trailing vines. Soon the rifles of his friends began to crack, and the yells of the natives were changed to howls of anguish. The electric weapon, though it made no noise, did great execution. "I only hope they don't puncture the gas bag," murmured Tom, as he began taking the generating machine apart so as to get out the cracked cylinder. "If they do, it's all up with us," murmured Ned. After their first rush, finding that the white men were on the alert, the blacks withdrew some distance, where their spears and arrows were not so effective. Our friends, including Andy Foger, and the German, kept up a hot fire whenever a skulking black form could be seen. But, though the danger from the spears and arrows was less, a new peril presented itself. This was from the blow guns. The curious weapons shot small arrows, tipped with tufts of a cottony substance in place of feathers, and could be sent for a long distance. The barbs were not strong enough to pierce the tough fabric of the gas bag, as a spear or arrow would have done, but there was more danger from them to our friends who were on deck. "Those barbs may be poisoned," said Mr. Durban, "and in case any one is wounded, the wound, though it be but a scratch, must be treated with antiseptics. I have some." This course was followed, the elephant hunter being wounded twice, and Andy Foger and Mr. Damon once each. There was not a native to be seen now, for they were hiding behind the trees of the jungle, but every now and then a blowgun barb would whizz out of the forest. Finally Mr. Durban suggested that they erect improvised shelters, behind which they could stand with their rifle, and breastworks were made out of packing boxes. Then our friends were comparatively safe. But they had to be on the alert, and it was nervous work, for they could not tell what minute the blacks would rush from the jungle, and, in spite of the fire from the electric rifle and other guns, overwhelm the ship. It was very trying to Tom and Ned, for they had to work hard and rapidly in the close engine room. The sweat dripped down off them, but they kept at it. It was three hours before the broken cylinder was removed, and it was no light task to put in the other, for the valves had to be made very tight to prevent leakage. The two lads stopped to get something to eat, while the guards kept sharp watch against a surprise. At intervals came a flight of barbs, and occasionally a black form could be seen, when it was instantly fired at. Several times the barbaric noise of the tom-toms and war drums, with which the shouts of the natives mingled, broke out deafeningly. "Think you can repair it by night?" asked Mr. Durban anxiously of Tom. "I hope so," was the response. "Because if we have to stay here after dark--well, I don't want to do it if I can help it," finished the hunter. Neither did the young inventor, and he redoubled his efforts to make the repairs. It was getting dark when the last belt was in place, and it was high time, too, for the natives were getting bolder, creeping up through the forest to within shooting distance with their arrows and spears. "There!" cried Tom at length. "Now we'll see if she works!" Once more he pulled the starting lever, and this time there was the welcome hiss of the gas. "Hurrah!" cried Ned. The young inventor turned the machine on at full power. In a few minutes the Black Hawk trembled through her length. "She's going up! Bless my balloon basket! She's going up!" cried Mr. Damon. The natives must have suspected that something unusual was going on, for they made a sudden rush, yelling and beating their drums. Mr. Durban and the others hurried out on deck and fired at them, but there was little more need. With a bound the airship left the earth, being rapidly carried up by the gas. The blacks sent a final shower of spears after her, but only one was effective, slightly wounding the German. Then Tom started the motor, the propellers whizzed, and the Black Hawk was once more under way, just as night settled over the jungle, and upon the horde of black and howling savages that rushed around, maddened over the escape of their intended victims. No further accidents marred the trip to the coast, which was reached in due time, and very glad our friends were to be away from the jungle and the land of the red pygmies. A division was made of the ivory, and Tom's share was large enough to provide him with a substantial amount. Ned and Mr. Damon were also given a goodly sum from the sale of the tusks. The big ones, from the "rogue," were shipped to the man who had commissioned Mr. Durban to secure them for him. "Well, now for home," said Tom, when the airship had been taken apart for shipment. "I guess you'll be glad to get back to the United States, won't you, friends?" "That's what," agreed Andy Foger. "I think I'm done with airships. Ugh! When I think of those red dwarfs I can't sleep nights!" "Yah, dot iss so!" agreed the German. "Well, I'm going to settle down for a time," declared Tom. "I've had enough adventures for a while, but those in elephant land--" "They certainly put it all over the things that happen to some people!" interrupted Ned with a laugh. "Bless my fish-line, that's so!" agreed Mr. Damon. But Tom Swift was not done with adventures, and what farther happened to him may be learned by reading the next volume of this series, which will be entitled, "Tom Swift in the City of Gold; or, Marvelous Adventures Underground." They all made a safe and pleasant voyage home, and as news of the rescue of the missionaries had been cabled to America, Tom and his friends were met, as they left the steamer, by a crowd of newspaper reporters, who got a good story of the battle with the red pygmies, though Tom was inclined to make light of his part in the affair. "Now for Shopton, home, Dad, Eradicate Sampson and his mule!" exclaimed Tom, as they boarded a train in New York. "And somebody else, too, I guess; eh?" asked Ned of his chum, with a laugh. "That's none of your affair!" declared Tom, as he blushed, and then he, too, joined in the merriment. And now, for a time, we will say good-by to the young inventor and his friends. 
4227	----	TOM SWIFT AND HIS WIRELESS MESSAGE OR THE CASTAWAYS OF EARTHQUAKE ISLAND BY VICTOR APPLETON AUTHOR OF "TOM SWIFT AND HIS MOTOR-CYCLE," "TOM SWIFT AND HIS MOTOR BOAT," "TOM SWIFT AND HIS AIRSHIP," "TOM SWIFT AND HIS SUBMARINE BOAT," "TOM SWIFT AND HIS ELECTRIC RUNABOUT," ETC. ILLUSTRATED BOOKS BY VICTOR APPLETON THE TOM SWIFT SERIES TOM SWIFT AND HIS MOTOR-CYCLE Or Fun and Adventures on the Road TOM SWIFT AND HIS MOTOR-BOAT Or the Rivals of Lake Carlopa TOM SWIFT AND HIS AIRSHIP Or the Stirring Cruise of the Red Cloud TOM SWIFT AND HIS SUBMARINE BOAT Or Under the Ocean for Sunken Treasure TOM SWIFT AND HIS ELECTRIC RUNABOUT Or the Speediest Car on the Road TOM SWIFT AND HIS WIRELESS MESSAGE Or the Castaways of Earthquake Island TOM SWIFT AMONG THE DIAMOND MAKERS Or the Secret of Phantom Mountain TOM SWIFT IN THE CAVES OF ICE Or the Wreck of the Airship TOM SWIFT AND HIS SKY RACER Or the Quickest Flight on Record TOM SWIFT AND HIS ELECTRIC RIFLE Or Daring Adventures in Elephant Land (Other Volumes in Preparation) TOM SWIFT AND HIS WIRELESS MESSAGE CONTENTS I. AN APPEAL FOR AID II. MISS NESTOR'S NEWS III. TOM KNOCKS OUT ANDY IV. MR. DAMON WILL GO ALONG V. VOL-PLANING TO EARTH VI. THE NEW AIRSHIP VII. MAKING SOME CHANGES VIII. ANDY FOGER'S REVENGE IX. THE WHIZZER FLIES X. OVER THE OCEAN XI. A NIGHT OF TERROR XII. A DOWNWARD GLIDE XIII. ON EARTHQUAKE ISLAND XIV. A NIGHT IN CAMP XV. THE OTHER CASTAWAY XVI. AN ALARMING THEORY XVII. A MIGHTY SHOCK XVIII. MR. JENKS HAS DIAMONDS XIX. SECRET OPERATIONS XX. THE WIRELESS PLANT XXI. MESSAGES INTO SPACE XXII. ANXIOUS DAYS XXIII. A REPLY IN THE DARK XXIV. "WE ARE LOST!" XXV. THE RESCUE-CONCLUSION CHAPTER I AN APPEAL FOR AID Tom Swift stepped from the door of the machine shop, where he was at work making some adjustments to the motor of his airship, and glanced down the road. He saw a cloud of dust, which effectually concealed whatever was causing it. "Some one must be in a hurry this morning," the lad remarked, "Looks like a motor speeding along. MY! but we certainly do need rain," he added, as he looked up toward the sky. "It's very dusty. Well, I may as well get back to work. I'll take the airship out for a flight this afternoon, if the wind dies down a bit." The young inventor, for Tom Swift himself had built the airship, as well as several other crafts for swift locomotion, turned to re-enter the shop. Something about the approaching cloud of dust, however, held his attention. He glanced more intently at it. "If it's an automobile coming along," he murmured, "it's moving very slowly, to make so much fuss. And I never saw a motor-cycle that would kick up as much sand, and not speed along more. It ought to be here by now. I wonder what it can be?" The cloud of highway dirt rolled along, making some progress toward Tom's house and the group of shops and other buildings surrounding it. But, as the lad had said, the dust did not move at all quickly in comparison to any of the speedy machines that might be causing it. And the cloud seemed momentarily to grow thicker and thicker. "I wonder if it could be a miniature tornado, or a cyclone or whirlwind?" and Tom spoke aloud, a habit of his when he was thinking, and had no one to talk to. "Yet it can hardly be that." he went on. "Guess I'll watch and see what it is." Nearer and nearer came the dust cloud. Tom peered anxiously ahead, a puzzled look on his face. A few seconds later there came from the midst of the obscuring cloud a voice, exclaiming: "G'lang there now, Boomerang! Keep to' feet a-movin' an' we sho' will make a record. 'Tain't laik we was a autermobiler, er a electricity car, but we sho' hab been goin' sence we started. Yo' sho' done yo'se'f proud t'day, Boomerang, an' I'se gwine t' keep mah promise an' gib yo' de bestest oats I kin find. Ah reckon Massa Tom Swift will done say we brought dis yeah message t' him as quick as anybody could." Then there followed the sound of hoofbeats on the dusty road, and the rattle of some many-jointed vehicle, with loose springs and looser wheels. "Eradicate Sampson!" exclaimed Tom. "But who would ever think that the colored man's mule could get up such speed as that cloud of dust indicates. His mule's feet must be working overtime, but he goes backward about as often as he moves forward. That accounts for it. There's lots of dust, but not much motion." Once more, from the midst of the ball-like cloud of dirt came the voice of the colored man: "Now behave yo'se'f, Boomerang. We'm almost dere an' den yo' kin sit down an' rest if yo' laik. Jest keep it up a little longer, an' we'll gib Massa Tom his telephone. G'lang now, Boomerang." The tattoo of hoofbeats was slowing up now, and the cloud of dust was not so heavy. It was gradually blowing away. Tom Swift walked down to the fence that separated the house, grounds and shops from the road. As he got there the sounds of the mule's progress, and the rattle of the wagon, suddenly ceased. "G'lang! G'lang! Don't yo' dare t' stop now, when we am most dere!" cried Eradicate Sampson. "Keep a-movin', Boomerang!" "It's all right, Eradicate. I'm here," called Tom, and when the last of the dust had blown away, the lad waved his hand to an aged colored man, who sat upon the seat of perhaps the most dilapidated wagon that was ever dignified by such a name. It was held together with bits of wire, rope and strings, and each of the four wheels leaned out at a different angle. It was drawn by a big mule, whose bones seemed protruding through his skin, but that fact evidently worried him but little, for now the animal was placidly sleeping, while standing up, his long ears moving slowly to and fro. "Am dat yo', Massa Tom?" asked Eradicate, ceasing his task of jerking on the lines, to which operation the mule paid not the least attention. "Yes, I'm here, Rad," replied Tom, smiling. "I came out of my shop to see what all the excitement was about. How did you ever get your mule to make so much dust?" "I done promise him an extra helpin' ob oats ef he make good time," said the colored man. "An' he done it, too. Did yo' see de dust we made?" "I sure did, but you didn't do much else. And you didn't make very good time. I watched you, and you came along like an ice wagon after a day's work on the Fourth of July. You were going fast, but moving slow." "I 'spects we was, Massa Tom," was the colored man's answer. "But Boomerang done better dan I 'spected he would. I done tole him yo'd be in a hurry t' git yo' telephone, an' he sho' did trot along." "My telephone?" repeated Tom, wonderingly. "What have you and your mule Boomerang to do with my telephone? That's up in the house." "No, it ain't! it's right yeah in mah pocket," chuckled Eradicate, opening a ragged coat, and reaching for something. "I got yo' telephone right yeah." he went on. "De agent at de station see me dribin' ober dis way, an' he done ast he t' deliber it. He said as how he ain't got no messenger boy now, 'cause de one he done hab went on a strike fo' five cents mo' a day. So I done took de telephone," and with that the colored man pulled out a crumpled yellow envelope. "Oh, you mean a telegram," said Tom, with a laugh, as he took the message from the odd colored man. "Well, maybe it's telegraf, but I done understood de agent t' say telephone. Anyhow, dere it is. An' I s'pects we'd better git along, Boomerang." The mule never moved, though Eradicate yanked on the reins, and used a splintered whip with energy. "I said as how we'd better git along, Boomerang," went on the darkey, raising his voice, "Dinnah am mos' ready, an' I'm goin' t' giv yo' an extra helpin' ob oats." The effect of these words seemed magical. The mule suddenly came to life, and was about to start off. "I done thought dat would cotch yo', Boomerang," chuckled Eradicate. "Wait a minute, Rad," called Tom, who was tearing open the envelope of the telegram. "I might want to send an answer back by you. I wonder who is wiring me now?" He read the message slowly, and Eradicate remarked: "'Taint no kind ob use, Massa Tom, fo' t' send a message back wif me." "Why not?" asked the young inventor, looking up from the sheet of yellow paper. "'Case as how I done promised Boomerang his airman, an' he won't do nothin' till he has it. Ef I started him back t' town now he would jest lay down in de road. I'll take de answer back fo' you dis arternoon." "All right, perhaps that will do," assented Tom. "I haven't quite got the hang of this yet. Drop around this afternoon, Rad," and as the colored man, who, with his mule Boomerang, did odd jobs around the village, started off down the highway, in another cloud of dust, Tom Swift resumed the reading of the message. "Hum, this is rather queer," he mused, when having read it once, he began at it again. "It must have cost him something to send all this over the wire. He could just as well have written it. So he wants my help, eh? Well, I never heard of him, and he may be all right, but I had other plans, and I don't know whether I can spare the time to go to Philadelphia or not. I'll have to think it over. An electric airship, eh? He's sort of following along the lines of my inventions. Wants my aid--hum--well, I don't know--" Tom's musings were suddenly cut short by the approach of an elderly gentleman, who was walking slowly down the path that led from the house to the country highway which ran in front of it. "A telegram, Tom?" asked the newcomer. "Yes, dad," was the reply. "I was just coming in to ask your advice about it. Eradicate brought it to me." "What, with his mule, Boomerang?" and the gentleman seemed much amused. "How did he ever get up speed enough to deliver a telegram?" "Oh, Eradicate has some special means he uses on his mule when he's in a hurry. But listen to this message, dad. It's from a Mr. Hosmer Fenwick, of Philadelphia. He says:" "'Tom Swift--Can you come on to Philadelphia at once and aid me in perfecting my new electric airship? I want to get it ready for a flight before some government experts who have promised to purchase several if it works well. I am in trouble, and I can't get it to rise off the ground. I need help. I have heard about your airship, and the other inventions you and your father have perfected, and I am sure you can aid me. I am stuck. Can you hurry to the Quaker City? I will pay you well. Answer at once!'" "Well?" remarked Mr. Swift, questioningly, as his son finished reading the telegram. "What are you going to do about it, Tom?" "I don't exactly know, dad. I was going to ask your advice. What would you do? Who is this Mr. Fenwick?" "Well, he is an inventor of some note, but he has had many failures. I have not heard of him in some years until now. He is a gentleman of wealth, and can be relied upon to do just as he says. We are slightly acquainted. Perhaps it would be well to aid him, if you can spare the time. Not that you need the money, but inventors should be mutually helpful. If you feel like going to Philadelphia, and aiding him in getting his electric airship in shape, you have my permission." "I don't know," answered Tom, doubtfully. "I was just getting my monoplane in shape for a little flight. It was nothing particular, though. Dad, I think I WILL take a run to Philadelphia, and see if I can help Mr. Fenwick. I'll wire him that I am coming, to-morrow or next day." "Very well," assented Mr. Swift, and then he and his son went into one of the shops, talking of a new invention which they were about to patent. Tom little knew what a strange series of adventures were to follow his decision to go to the Quaker City, nor the danger involved in aiding Mr. Fenwick to operate his electric airship. CHAPTER II MISS NESTOR'S NEWS "When do you think you will go to Philadelphia, Tom?" asked Mr. Swift, a little later, as the aged inventor and his son were looking over some blueprints which Garret Jackson, an engineer employed by them, had spread out on a table. "I don't exactly know," was the answer. "It's quite a little run from Shopton, because I can't get a through train. But I think I'll start tomorrow." "Why do you go by train?" asked Mr. Jackson. "Why--er--because--" was Tom's rather hesitating reply. "How else would I go?" "Your monoplane would be a good deal quicker, and you wouldn't have to change cars," said the engineer. "That is if you don't want to take out the big airship. Why don't you go in the monoplane?" "By Jove! I believe I will!" exclaimed Tom. "I never thought of that, though it's a wonder I didn't. I'll not take the RED CLOUD, as she's too hard to handle alone. But the BUTTERFLY will be just the thing," and Tom looked over to where a new monoplane rested on the three bicycle wheels which formed part of its landing frame. "I haven't had it out since I mended the left wing tip," he went on, "and it will also be a good chance to test my new rudder. I believe I WILL go to Philadelphia by the BUTTERFLY." "Well, as long as that's settled, suppose you give us your views on this new form of storage battery," suggested Mr. Swift, with a fond glance at his son, for Tom's opinion was considered valuable in matters electrical, as those of you, who have read the previous books in this series, well know. The little group in the machine shop was soon deep in the discussion of ohms, amperes, volts and currents, and, for a time, Tom almost forgot the message calling him to Philadelphia. Taking advantage of the momentary lull in the activities of the young inventor, I will tell my readers something about him, so that those who have no previous introduction to him may feel that he is a friend. Tom Swift lived with his father, Barton Swift, a widower, in the village of Shopton, New York. There was also in the household Mrs. Baggert, the aged housekeeper, who looked after Tom almost like a mother. Garret Jackson, an engineer and general helper, also lived with the Swifts. Eradicate Sampson might also be called a retainer of the family, for though the aged colored man and his mule Boomerang did odd work about the village, they were more often employed by Tom and his father than by any one else. Eradicate was so called because, as he said, he "eradicated" the dirt. He did whitewashing, made gardens, and did anything else that was needed. Boomerang was thus named by his owner, because, as Eradicate said, "yo' nebber know jest what dat mule am goin' t' do next. He may go forward or he may go backward, jest laik them Australian boomerangs." There was another valued friend of the family, Wakefield Damon by name, to whom the reader will be introduced in due course. And then there was Mary Nestor, about whom I prefer to let Tom tell you himself, for he might be jealous if I talked too much about her. In the first book of this series, called "Tom Swift and His Motor-Cycle," there was told how he became possessed of the machine, after it had nearly killed Mr. Damon, who was learning to ride it. Mr. Damon, who had a habit of "blessing" everything from his collar button to his shoe laces, did not "bless" the motor-cycle after it tried to climb a tree with him; and he sold it to Tom very cheaply. Tom repaired it, invented some new attachments for it, and had a number of adventures on it. Not the least of these was trailing after a gang of scoundrels who tried to get possession of a valuable patent model belonging to Mr. Swift. Our second book, called "Tom Swift and His Motor-Boat," related some exciting times following the acquisition by the young inventor of a speedy craft which the thieves of the patent model had stolen. In the boat Tom raced with Andy Foger, a town bully, and beat him. Tom also took out on pleasure trips his chum, Ned Newton, who worked in a Shopton bank, and the two had fine times together. Need I also say that Mary Nestor also had trips in the motor-boat? Besides some other stirring adventures in his speedy craft Tom rescued, from a burning balloon that fell into the lake, the aeronaut, John Sharp. Later Mr. Sharp and Tom built an airship, called the RED CLOUD, in which they had some strenuous times. Their adventures in this craft of the air form the basis for the third book of the series, entitled "Tom Swift and His Airship." In the RED CLOUD, Tom and his friends, including Mr. Damon, started to make a record flight. They left Shopton the night when the bank vault was blown open, and seventy-five thousand dollars stolen. Because of evidence given by Andy Foger, and his father, suspicion pointed to Tom and his friends as the robbers, and they were pursued. But they turned the tables by capturing the real burglars, and defeating the mean plans of the Fogers. Not satisfied with having mastered the air Tom and his father turned their attention to the water. Mr. Swift perfected a new type of craft, and in the fourth book of the series, called "Tom Swift and His Submarine," you may read how he went after a sunken treasure. The party had many adventures, and were in no little danger from their enemies before they reached the wreck with its store of gold. The fifth book of the series, named "Tom Swift and His Electrical Runabout," told how Tom built the speediest car on the road, and won a prize with it, and also saved a bank from ruin. Tom had to struggle against odds, not only in his inventive work, but because of the meanness of jealous enemies, including Andy Foger, who seemed to bear our hero a grudge of long standing. Even though Tom had, more than once, thrashed Andy well, the bully was always seeking a chance to play some mean trick on the young inventor. Sometimes he succeeded, but more often the tables were effectually turned. It was now some time since Tom had won the prize in his electric car and, in the meanwhile he had built himself a smaller airship, or, rather, monoplane, named the BUTTERFLY. In it he made several successful trips about the country, and gave exhibitions at numerous aviation meets; once winning a valuable prize for an altitude flight. In one trip he had met with a slight accident, and the monoplane had only just been repaired after this when he received the message summoning him to Philadelphia. "Well, Tom," remarked his father that afternoon, "if you are going to the Quaker City, to see Mr. Fenwick to-morrow, you'd better be getting ready. Have you wired him that you will come?" "No, I haven't, dad," was the reply. "I'll get a message ready at once, and when Eradicate comes back I'll have him take it to the telegraph office." "I wouldn't do that, Tom." "Do what?" "Trust it to Eradicate. He means all right, but there's no telling when that mule of his may lie down in the road, and go to sleep. Then your message won't get off, and Mr. Fenwick may be anxiously waiting for it. I wouldn't like to offend him, for, though he and I have not met in some years, yet I would be glad if you could do him a favor. Why not take the message yourself?" "Guess I will, dad. I'll run over to Mansburg in my electric car, and send the message from there. It will go quicker, and, besides, I want to get some piano wire to strengthen the wings of my monoplane." "All right, Tom, and when you telegraph to Mr. Fenwick, give him my regards, and say that I hope his airship will be a success. So it's an electric one, eh? I wonder how it works? But you can tell me when you come back." "I will, dad. Mr. Jackson, will you help me charge the batteries of my car? I think they need replenishing. Then I'll get right along to Mansburg." Mansburg was a good-sized city some miles from the village of Shopton, and Tom and his father had frequent business there. The young inventor and the engineer soon had the electric car in readiness for a swift run, for the charging of the batteries could be done in much less than the time usual for such an operation, owing to a new system perfected by Tom. The latter was soon speeding along the road, wondering what sort of an airship Mr. Fenwick would prove to have, and whether or not it could be made to fly. "It's easy enough to build an airship," mused Tom, "but the difficulty is to get them off the ground, and keep them there." He knew, for there had been several failures with his monoplane before it rose like a bird and sailed over the tree-tops. The lad was just entering the town, and had turned around a corner, twisting about to pass a milk wagon, when he suddenly saw, darting out directly in the path of his car, a young lady. "Look out!" yelled Tom, ringing his electric gong, at the same time shutting off the current, and jamming on the powerful brakes. There was a momentary scream of terror from the girl, and then, as she looked at Tom, she exclaimed: "Why, Tom Swift! What are you trying to do? Run me down?" "Mary--Miss Nestor!" ejaculated our hero, in some confusion. He had brought his car to a stop, and had thrown open the door, alighting on the crossing, while a little knot of curious people gathered about. "I didn't see you," went on the lad. "I came from behind the milk wagon, and--" "It was my fault," Miss Nestor hastened to add. "I, too, was waiting for the milk wagon to pass, and when it got out of my way, I darted around the end of it, without looking to see if anything else was coming. I should have been more careful, but I'm so excited that I hardly know what I'm doing." "Excited? What's the matter?" asked Tom, for he saw that his friend was not her usual calm self. "Has anything happened, Mary?" "Oh, I've such news to tell you!" she exclaimed. "Then get in here, and we'll go on." advised Tom. "We are collecting a crowd. Come and take a ride; that is if you have time." "Of course I have," the girl said, with a little blush, which Tom thought made her look all the prettier. "Then we can talk. But where are you going?" "To send a message to a gentleman in Philadelphia, saying that I will help him out of some difficulties with his new electric airship. I'm going to take a run down there in my monoplane, BUTTERFLY, to-morrow, and--" "My! to hear you tell it, one would think it wasn't any more to make an airship flight than it was to go shopping," interrupted Mary, as she entered the electric car, followed by Tom, who quickly sent the vehicle down the street. "Oh, I'm getting used to the upper air," he said. "But what is the news you were to tell me?" "Did you know mamma and papa had gone to the West Indies?" asked the girl. "No! I should say that WAS news. When did they go? I didn't know they intended to make a trip." "Neither did they; nor I, either. It was very sudden. They sailed from New York yesterday. Mr. George Hosbrook, a business friend of papa's, offered to take them on his steam yacht, RESOLUTE. He is making a little pleasure trip, with a party of friends, and he thought papa and mamma might like to go." "He wired to them, they got ready in a rush, caught the express to New York, and went off in such a hurry that I can hardly realize it yet. I'm left all alone, and I'm in such trouble!" "Well, I should say that was news," spoke Tom. "Oh, you haven't heard the worst yet," went on Mary. "I don't call the fact that papa and mamma went off so suddenly much news. But the cook just left unexpectedly, and I have invited a lot of girl friends to come and stay with me, while mamma and papa are away; and now what shall I do without a cook? I was on my way down to an intelligence office, to get another servant, when you nearly ran me down! Now, isn't that news?" "I should say it was--two kinds," admitted Tom, with a smile. "Well, I'll help you all I can. I'll take you to the intelligence office, and if you can get a cook, by hook or by crook, I'll bundle her into this car, and get her to your house before she can change her mind. And so your people have gone to the West Indies?" "Yes, and I wish I had the chance to go." "So do I," spoke Tom, little realizing how soon his wish might be granted. "But is there any particular intelligence office you wish to visit?" "There's not much choice," replied Mary Nestor, with a smile, "as there's only one in town. Oh. I do hope I can get a cook! It would be dreadful to have nothing to eat, after I'd asked the girls to spend a month with me; wouldn't it?" Tom agreed that it certainly would, and they soon after arrived at the intelligence office. CHAPTER III TOM KNOCKS OUT ANDY "Do you want me to come in and help you?" asked the young inventor, of Miss Nestor. "Do you know anything about hiring a cook?" she inquired, with an arch smile. "I'm afraid I don't," the lad was obliged to confess. "Then I'm a little doubtful of your ability to help me. But I'm ever so much obliged to you. I'll see if I can engage one. The cook who just left went away because I asked her to make some apple turnovers. Some of the girls who are coming are very fond of them." "So am I," spoke Tom, with a smile. "Are you, indeed? Then, if the cook I hope to get now will make them, I'll invite you over to have some, and--also meet my friends." "I'd rather come when just you, and the turnovers and the cook are there," declared Tom, boldly, and Mary, with a blush, made ready to leave the electric car. "Thank you," she said, in a low voice. "If I can't help you select a cook," went on Tom, "at least let me call and take you home when you have engaged one." "Oh, it will be too much trouble," protested Miss Nestor. "Not at all. I have only to send a message, and get some piano wire, and then I'll call back here for you. I'll take you and the new cook back home flying." "All right, but don't fly so fast. The cook may get frightened, and leave before she has a chance to make an apple turnover." "I'll go slower. I'll be back in fifteen minutes," called Tom, as he swung the car out away from the curb, while Mary Nestor went into the intelligence office. Tom wrote and sent this message to Mr. Hostner Fenwick, of Philadelphia: "Will come on to-morrow in my aeroplane, and aid you all I can. Will not promise to make your electric airship fly, though. Father sends regards." "Just rush that, please," he said to the telegraph agent, and the latter, after reading it over, remarked: "It'll rush itself, I reckon, being all about airships, and things like that," and he laughed as Tom paid him. Selecting several sizes of piano wire of great strength, to use as extra guy-braces on the Butterfly, Tom re-entered his electric car, and hastened back to the intelligence office, where he had left his friend. He saw her standing at the front door, and before he could alight, and go to her, Miss Nestor came out to meet him. "Oh, Tom!" she exclaimed, with a little tragic gesture, "what do you think?" "I don't know," he answered good-naturedly. "Does the new cook refuse to come unless you do away with apple turnovers?" "No, it isn't that. I have engaged a real treasure, I'm sure, but as soon as I mentioned that you would take us home in the electric automobile, she flatly refused to come. She said walking was the only way she would go. She hasn't been in this country long. But the worst of it is that a rich woman has just telephoned in for a cook, and if I don't get this one away, the rich lady may induce her to come to her house, and I'll be without one! Oh, what shall I do?" and poor Mary looked quite distressed. "Humph! So she's afraid of electric autos; eh?" mused Tom. "That's queer. Leave it to me, Mary, and perhaps I can fix it. You want to get her away from here in a hurry; don't you?" "Yes, because servants are so scarce, that they are engaged almost as soon as they register at the intelligence office. I know the one I have hired is suspicious of me, since I have mentioned your car, and she'll surely go with Mrs. Duy Puyster when she comes. I'm sorry I spoke of the automobile." "Well, don't worry. It's partly my fault, and perhaps I can make amends. I'll talk to the new cook," decided the young inventor. "Oh, Tom, I don't believe it will do any good. She won't come, and all my girl friends will arrive shortly." Miss Nestor was quite distressed. "Leave it to me," suggested the lad, with an assumed confidence he did not feel. He left the car, and walked toward the office. Entering it, with Miss Nestor in his wake, he saw a pleasant-faced Irish girl, sitting on a bench, with a bundle beside her. "And so you don't want to ride in an auto?" began Tom. "No, an' it's no use of the likes of you askin' me, either," answered the girl, but not impudently. "I am afeered of thim things, an' I won't work in a family that owns one." "But we don't own one," said Mary. The girl only sniffed. "It is the very latest means of traveling," Tom went on, "and there is absolutely no danger. I will drive slowly." "No!" snapped the new cook. Tom was rather at his wits' ends. At that moment the telephone rang, and Tom and Mary, listening, could hear the proprietress of the intelligence office talking to Mrs. Duy Puyster over the wire. "We must get her away soon," whispered Mary, with a nod at the Irish girl, "or we'll lose her." Tom was thinking rapidly, but no plan seemed to come to him. A moment later one of the assistants of the office led out from a rear room another Irish girl,--who, it seems, had just engaged herself to work in the country. "Good-by, Bridget," said this girl, to the one Mary Nestor had hired. "I'm off now. The carriage has just come for me. I'm goin' away in style." "Good luck, Sarah," wished Bridget. Tom looked out of the window. A dilapidated farm wagon, drawn by two rusty-looking horses, just drawing up at the curb. "There is your employer, Sarah," said the proprietress of the office. "You will have a nice ride to the country and I hope you will like the place." A typical country farmer alighted from the wagon, leaving a woman, evidently his wife, or the seat. He called out: "I'll git th' servant-gal, 'Mandy, an' we'll drive right out hum. Then you won't have such hard work any more." "An' so that's the style you was tellin' me of; eh, Sarah?" asked the cook whom Miss Nestor had engaged. "That's queer style, Sarah." Sarah was blushing from shame and mortification. Tom was quick to seize the advantage thus offered. "Bridget, if YOU appreciate style," he said, "you will come in the automobile. I have one of the very latest models, and it is very safe. But perhaps you prefer a farm wagon." "Indade an' I don't!" was the ready response. "I'll go wid you now if only to show Sarah Malloy thot I have more style than her! She was boastin' of the fine place she had, an' th' illigant carriage that was comin' t' take her to the counthry. If that's it I want none of it! I'll go wid you an' th' young gintleman. Style indade!" and, gathering up her bundle she followed Tom and Mary to the waiting auto. They entered it and started off, just as Mrs. Duy Puyster drove up in her elegantly appointed carriage, while Sarah, with tears of mortification in her eyes, climbed up beside the farmer and his wife. "You saved the day for me, Tom," whispered Miss Nestor, as the young inventor increased the speed of his car. "It was only just in time." "Don't forget the apple turnovers," he whispered back. Once she had made the plunge, the new cook seemed to lose her fears of the auto, and enjoyed the ride. In a short time she had been safely delivered at Miss Nestor's home, while that young lady repeated her thanks to Tom, and renewed her invitation for him to come and sample the apple turnovers, which Tom promised faithfully to do, saying he would call on his return from Philadelphia. Musing on the amusing feature of his trip, Tom was urging his auto along at moderate speed, when, as he turned down a country road, leading to his home, he saw, coming toward him, a carriage, drawn by a slow-moving, white horse, and containing a solitary figure. "Why, that looks like Andy Foger," spoke Tom, half aloud. "I wonder what he's doing out driving? His auto must be out of commission. But that's not strange, considering the way he abuses the machine. It's in the repair shop half the time." He slowed down still more, for he did not know but that Andy's horse might be skittish. He need have no fears, however, for the animal did not seem to have much more life than did Eradicate's mule, Boomerang. As Tom came nearer the carriage, he was surprised to see Andy deliberately swing his horse across the road, blocking the highway by means of the carriage and steed. "Well, Andy Foger, what does that mean?" cried Tom, indignantly, as he brought his car to a sudden stop. "Why do you block the road?" "Because I want to," snarled the bully, taking out a notebook and pencil, and pretending to make some notes about the property in front of which he had halted. "I'm in the real estate business now," went on Andy, "and I'm getting descriptions of the property I'm going to sell. Guess I've got a right to stop in the road if I want to!" "But not to block it up," retorted Tom. "That's against the law. Pull over and let me pass!" "Suppose I don't do it?" "Then I'll make you!" "Huh! I'd like to see you try it!" snapped Andy. "If you make trouble for me, it will be the worse for you." "If you pull to one side, so I can pass, there'll be no trouble," said Tom, seeing that Andy wished to pick a quarrel. "Well, I'm not going to pull aside until I finish putting down this description," and the bully continued to write with tantalizing slowness. "Look here!" exclaimed Tom Swift, with sudden energy. "I'm not going to stand for this! Either you pull to one side and let me pass, or--" "Well, what will you do?" demanded the bully. "I'll shove you to one side, and you can take the consequences!" "You won't dare to!" "I won't, eh? Just you watch." Tom threw forward the lever of his car. There was a hum of the motor, and the electric moved ahead. Andy had continued to write in the book, but at this sound he glanced up. "Don't you dare to bunk into me!" yelled Andy. "If you do I'll sue you for damages!" "Get out of the way, or I'll shove you off the road!" threatened Tom, calmly. "I'll not go until I get ready." "Oh, yes you will," responded our hero quietly. He sent his car ahead slowly but surely. It was within a few feet of the carriage containing Andy. The bully had dropped his notebook, and was shaking his fist at Tom. As for the young inventor he had his plans made. He saw that the horse was a quiet, sleepy one, that would not run away, no matter what happened, and Tom only intended to gently push the carriage to one side, and pass on. The front of his auto came up against the other vehicle. "Here, you stop!" cried Andy, savagely. "It's too late now," answered Tom, grimly. Andy reached for the horsewhip. Tom put on a little more power, and the carriage began to slide across the road, but the old horse never opened his eyes. "Take that!" cried Andy, raising his whip, with the intention of slashing Tom across the face, for the front of the auto was open. But the blow never fell, for, the next instant, the carriage gave a lurch as one of the wheels slid against a stone, and, as Andy was standing up, and leaning forward, he was pitched head first out into the road. "By Jove! I hope I haven't hurt him!" gasped Tom, as he leaped from his auto, which he had brought to a stop. The young inventor bent over the bully. There was a little cut on Andy's forehead, and his face was white. He had been most effectually knocked out entirely by his own meanness and fault, but, none the less, Tom was frightened. He raised up Andy's head on his arm, and brushed back his hair. Andy was unconscious. CHAPTER IV MR. DAMON WILL GO ALONG At first Tom was greatly frightened at the sight of Andy's pale face. He feared lest the bully might be seriously hurt. But when he realized that the fall from the carriage, which was a low one, was not hard, and that Andy had landed on his outstretched hands before his head came in contact with the earth, our hero was somewhat reassured. "I wish I had some water, with which to bathe his head," Tom murmured, and he looked about in vain for some. But it was not needed, for, a moment later, Andy opened his eyes, and, when he saw Tom bending over, and holding him, the bully exclaimed: "Here! You let me go! Don't you hit me again, Tom Swift, or I'll punch you!" "I didn't hit you," declared Tom, while Andy tore himself away, and struggled to his feet. "Yes, you did, too, hit me!" "I did not! You tried to strike me with your whip, as I was shoving your carriage out of the way, which I had a perfect right to do, as you were blockading the highway. You lost your balance and fell. It was your own fault." "Well, you'll suffer for it, just the same, snarled Andy, and then, putting his hand to his head, and bringing it away, with some drops of blood on it, he cried out:" "Oh, I'm hurt! I'm injured! Get a doctor, or maybe I'll bleed to death!" He began blubbering, for Andy, like all bullies, was a coward. "You're not hurt," asserted Tom, trying not to laugh. "It's only a scratch. Next time don't try to blockade the whole street, and you won't get into trouble. Are you able to drive home; or shall I take you in my car?" "I wouldn't ride in your car!" snapped the ugly lad. "You go on, and mind your business now, and I'll pay you back for this, some day. I could have you arrested!" "And so could I have you locked up for obstructing traffic. But I'll not. Your rig isn't damaged, and you'd better drive home." The old white horse had not moved, and was evidently glad of the rest. A glance satisfied Tom that the carriage had not been damaged, and, getting into his car, while Andy was brushing the dust from his clothes, our hero started the motor. There was now room enough to pass around the obstructing carriage, and soon Tom was humming down the road, leaving a much discomfited bully behind him. "Tom Swift is too smart--thinking he can run everybody, and everything, to suit himself," growled Andy, as he finished dusting off his clothes, and wiping the blood from his face. As Tom had said, the wound was but a scratch, though the bully's head ached, and he felt a little dizzy. "I wish I'd hit him with the horsewhip," he went on, vindictively. "I'll get square with him some day." Andy had said this many times, but he had never yet succeeded in permanently getting the best of Tom. Pondering on some scheme of revenge the rich lad--for Mr. Foger, his father, was quite wealthy--drove on. Meanwhile Tom, rather wishing the little encounter had not taken place, but refusing to blame himself for what had occurred, was speeding toward home. "Let's see," he murmured, as he drove along in his powerful car. "I've got quite a lot to do if I make an early start for Philadelphia, in my airship, to-morrow. I want to tighten the propeller on the shaft a trifle, and give the engine a good try-out. Then, too, I think I'd better make the landing springs a little stiffer. The last time I made a descent the frame was pretty well jarred up. Yes, if I make that air trip to-morrow I'll have to do some tall hustling when I get home." The electric runabout swung into the yard of the Swift house, and Tom brought it to a stop opposite the side door. He looked about for a sight of his father, Mrs. Baggert or Garret Jackson. The only person visible was Eradicate Sampson, working in the garden. "Hello, Rad," called Tom. "Anybody home?" "Yais, Massa Tom," answered the colored man. "Yo' dad an' anodder gen'mans hab jest gone in de house." "Who's the other gentleman, Rad?" asked Tom, and the negro, glad of an excuse to cease the weeding of the onion bed, came shuffling forward. "It's de gen'mans what is allers saying his prayers," he answered. "Saying his prayers?" repeated Tom. "Yep. Yo' knows what I means, Massa Tom. He's allers askin' a blessin' on his shoes, or his rubbers, or his necktie." "Oh, you mean Mr. Wakefield Damon." "Yais, sah, dat's who I done means. Mr. Wakefull Lemon--dat's sho' him." At that moment there sounded, within the house, the voices of Mr. Swift, and some one else in conversation. "And so Tom has decided to make a run to the Quaker City in the BUTTERFLY, to-morrow," Mr. Swift was saying, "and he's going to see if he can be of any service to this Mr. Fenwick." "Bless my watch chain!" exclaimed the other voice. "You don't say so! Why I know Mr. Fenwick very well--he and I used to go to school together, but bless my multiplication tables--I never thought he'd amount to anything! And so he's built an airship; and Tom is going to help him with it? Why, bless my collar button, I've a good notion to go along and see what happens. Bless my very existence, but I think I will!" "That's Mr. Damon all right," observed Tom, with a smile, as he advanced toward the dining-room, whence the voices proceeded. "Dat's what I done tole you!" said Eradicate, and, with slow and lagging steps he went back to weed the onion bed. "How are you, Mr. Damon," called our hero, as he mounted the steps of the porch. "Why, it's Tom--he's back!" exclaimed the eccentric man. "Why, bless my shoe laces, Tom! how are you? I'm real glad to see you. Bless my eyeglasses, but I am! I just returned from a little western trip, and I thought I'd rUn over and see how you are. I came in my car--had two blowouts on the way, too. Bless my spark plug, but the kind of tires one gets now-a-days are a disgrace! However, I'm here, and your father has just told me about you going to Philadelphia in your monoplane, to help a fellow-inventor with his airship. It's real kind of you. Bless my topknot if it isn't! Do you know what I was just saying?" "I heard you mention that you knew Mr. Fenwick," replied Tom, with a smile, as he shook hands with Mr. Damon. "So I do, and, what's more, I'd like to see his airship. Will your BUTTERFLY carry two passengers?" "Easily, Mr. Damon." "Then I'll tell you what I'm going to do. If you'll let me I'll take that run to Philadelphia with you!" "Glad to have you come along," responded Tom, heartily. "Then I'll go, and, what's more, if Fenwick's ship will rise, I'll go with you in that--bless my deflection rudder if I don't, Tom!" and puffing up his cheeks, as he exploded these words, Mr. Damon fairly raised himself on his tiptoes, and shook Tom's hand again. CHAPTER V VOL-PLANING TO EARTH For a moment after Mr. Damon's announcement Tom did not reply. Mr. Swift, too, seemed a little at a loss for something to say. They did not quite know how to take their eccentric friend at times. "Of course I'll be glad of your company, Mr. Damon," said Tom: "but you must remember that my BUTTERFLY is not like the RED CLOUD. There is more danger riding in the monoplane than there is in the airship. In the latter, if the engine happens to stop, the sustaining gas will prevent us from falling. But it isn't so in an aeroplane. When your engine stops there--" "Well, what happens?" asked Mr. Damon, impatiently, for Tom hesitated. "You have to vol-plane back to earth." "Vol-plane?" and there was a questioning note in Mr. Damon's voice. "Yes, glide down from whatever height you are at when the engine stalls. Come down in a series of dips from the upper currents. Vol-planing, the French call it, and I guess it's as good a word as any." "Have you ever done it?" asked the odd character. "Oh, yes, several times." "Then, bless my fur overcoat! I can do it, too, Tom. When will you be ready to start?" "To-morrow morning. Now you are sure you won't get nervous and want to jump, if the engine happens to break down?" "Not a bit of it. I'll vol-plane whenever you are ready," and Mr. Damon laughed. "Well, we'll hope we won't have to," went on Tom. "And I'll be very glad of your company. Mr. Fenwick will, no doubt, be pleased to see you. I've never met him, and it will be nice to have some one to introduce me. Suppose you come out and see what sort of a craft you are doomed to travel in to-morrow, Mr. Damon. I believe you never saw my new monoplane." "That's right, I haven't, but I'd be glad to. I declare, I'm getting to be quite an aviator," and Mr. Damon chuckled. A little later, Tom, having informed his father of the sending of the message, took his eccentric friend out to the shop, and exhibited the BUTTERFLY. As many of you have seen the ordinary monoplane, either on exhibition or in flight, I will not take much space to describe Tom's. Sufficient to say it was modeled after the one in which Bleriot made his first flight across the English channel. The body was not unlike that of a butterfly or dragon fly, long and slender, consisting of a rectangular frame with canvas stretched over it, and a seat for two just aft of the engine and controlling levers. Back of the seat stretched out a long framework, and at the end was a curved plane, set at right angles to it. The ends of the plane terminated in flexible wings, to permit of their being bent up or down, so as to preserve the horizontal equilibrium of the craft. At the extreme end was the vertical rudder, which sent the monoplane to left or right. Forward, almost exactly like the front set of wings of the dragon fly, was the large, main plane, with the concave turn toward the ground. There was the usual propeller in front, operated by a four cylinder motor, the cylinders being air cooled, and set like the spokes of a wheel around the motor box. The big gasolene tank, and other mechanism was in front of the right-hand operator's seat, where Tom always rode. He had seldom taken a passenger up with him, though the machine would easily carry two, and he was a little nervous about the outcome of the trip with Mr. Damon. "How do you like the looks of it?" asked the young inventor, as he wheeled the BUTTERFLY out of the shed, and began pumping up the tires of the bicycle wheels on which it ran over the ground, to get impetus enough with which to rise. "It looks a little frail, compared to the big RED CLOUD, Tom," answered the eccentric man, "but I'm going up in her just the same; bless my buttons if I'm not." Tom could not but admire the grit of his friend. The rest of the day was busily spent making various adjustments to the monoplane, putting on new wire stays, changing the rudder cables, and tuning up the motor. The propeller was tightened on the shaft, and toward evening Tom announced that all was in readiness for a trial flight. "Want to come, Mr. Damon?" he asked. "I'll wait, and see how it acts with you aboard," was the answer. "Not that I'm afraid, for I'm going to make the trip in the morning, but perhaps it won't work just right now." "Oh, I guess it will," ventured Tom, and in order to be able to know just how his BUTTERFLY was going to behave, with a passenger of Mr. Damon's weight, the young inventor placed a bag of sand on the extra seat. The monoplane was then wheeled to the end of the starting ground. Tom took his place in the seat, and Mr. Jackson started the propeller. At first the engine failed to respond, but suddenly with a burst of smoke, and a spluttering of fire the cylinders began exploding. The hat of Mr. Damon, who was standing back of the machine, was blown off by the wind created by the propeller. "Bless my gaiters!" he exclaimed, "I never thought it was as strong as that!" "Let go!" cried Tom to Mr. Jackson and Eradicate, who were holding back the monoplane from gliding over the ground. "All right," answered the engineer. An instant later the explosions almost doubled, for Tom turned on more gasolene. Then, like some live thing, the BUTTERFLY rushed across the starting ground. Faster and faster it went, until the young inventor, knowing that he had motion enough, tilted his planes to catch the wind. Up he went from earth, like some graceful bird, higher and higher, and then, in a big spiral, he began ascending until he was five hundred feet in the air. Up there he traveled back and forth, in circles, and in figure eights, desiring to test the machine in various capacities. Suddenly the engine stopped, and to those below, anxiously watching, the silence became almost oppressive, for Tom had somewhat descended, and the explosions had been plainly heard by those observing him. But now they ceased! "His engine's stalled!" cried Garret Jackson. Mr. Swift heard the words, and looked anxiously up at his son. "Is he in any danger?" gasped Mr. Damon. No one answered him. Like some great bird, disabled in mid flight, the monoplane swooped downward. A moment later a hearty shout from Tom reassured them. "He shut off the engine on purpose," said Mr. Jackson. "He is vol-planing back to earth!" Nearer and nearer came the BUTTERFLY. It would shoot downward, and then, as Tom tilted the planes, would rise a bit, losing some of the great momentum. In a series of maneuvers like this, the young inventor reached the earth, not far from where his father and the others stood. Down came the BUTTERFLY, the springs of the wheel frame taking the shock wonderfully well. "She's all right--regular bird!" cried Tom, in enthusiasm, when the machine had come to a stop after rolling over the ground, and he had leaped out. "We'll make a good flight to-morrow, Mr. Damon, if the weather holds out this way." "Good!" cried the eccentric man. "I shall be delighted." They made the start early the next morning, there being hardly a breath of wind. There was not a trace of nervousness noticeable about Mr. Damon, as he took his place in the seat beside Tom. The lad had gone carefully over the entire apparatus, and had seen to it that, as far as he could tell, it was in perfect running order. "When will you be back, Tom?" asked his father. "To-night, perhaps, or to-morrow morning. I don't know just what Mr. Fenwick wants me to do. But if it is anything that requires a long stay, I'll come back, and let you know, and then run down to Philadelphia again. I may need some of my special tools to work with. I'll be back to-night perhaps." "Shall I keep supper for you?" asked Mrs. Baggert, the housekeeper. "I don't know," answered Tom, with a laugh. "Perhaps I'll drop down at Miss Nestor's, and have some apple turnovers," for he had told them or the incident of hiring the new cook. "Well," he went on to Mr. Damon, "are you all ready?" "As ready as I ever shall be. Do you think we'll have to do any vol-planing, Tom?" "Hard to say, but it's not dangerous when there's no wind. All right, Garret. Start her off." The engineer whirled the big wooden, built-up propeller, and with a rattle and roar of the motor, effectually drowning any but the loudest shouts, the BUTTERFLY was ready for her flight. Tom let the engine warm up a bit before calling to his friends to let go, and then, when he had thrown the gasolene lever forward, he shouted a good-by and cried: "All right! Let go!" Forward, like a hound from the leash, sprang the little monoplane. It ran perhaps for five hundred feet, and then, with a tilting of the wings, to set the air currents against them, it sprang into the air. "We're off!" cried Mr. Damon, waving his hand to those on the ground below. "Yes, we're off," murmured Tom. "Now for the Quaker City!" He had mapped out a route for himself the night before, and now, picking out the land-marks, he laid as straight a course as possible for Philadelphia. The sensation of flying along, two thousand feet high, in a machine almost as frail as a canoe, was not new to Tom. It was, in a degree, to Mr. Damon, for, though the latter had made frequent trips in the large airship, this mode of locomotion, as if he was on the back of some bird, was much different. Still, after the first surprise, he got used to it. "Bless my finger ring!" he exclaimed, "I like it!" "I thought you would," said Tom, in a shout, and he adjusted the oil feed to send more lubricant into the cylinders. The earth stretched out below them, like some vari-colored relief map, but they could not stop to admire any particular spot long, for they were flying fast, and were beyond a scene almost as quickly as they had a glimpse of it. "How long will it take us?" yelled Mr. Damon into Tom's ear. "I hope to do it in three hours," shouted back the young inventor. "What! Why it takes the train over five hours." "Yes, I know, but we're going direct, and it's only about two hundred and fifty miles. That's only about eighty an hour. We're doing seventy-five now, and I haven't let her out yet." "She goes faster than the RED CLOUD," cried Mr. Damon. Tom nodded. It was hard work to talk in that rush of air. For an hour they shot along, their speed gradually increasing. Tom called out the names of the larger places they passed over. He was now doing better than eighty an hour as the gage showed. The trip was a glorious one, and the eyes of the young inventor and his friend sparkled in delight as they rushed forward. Two hours passed. "Going to make it?" fairly howled Mr. Damon. Tom nodded again. "Be there in time for dinner," he announced in a shout. It lacked forty minutes of the three hours when Tom, pointing with one hand down below, while with the other he gripped the lever of the rudder, called: "North Philadelphia!" "So soon?" gasped Mr. Damon. "Well, we certainly made speed! Where are you going to land?" "I don't know," answered the young inventor, "I'll have to pick out the best place I see. It's no fun landing in a city. No room to run along, after you're down." "What's the matter with Franklin Field?" cried Mr. Damon. "Out where they play football." "Good! The very thing!" shouted Tom. "Mr. Fenwick lives near there," went on Mr. Damon, and Tom nodded comprehendingly. They were now over North Philadelphia, and, in a few minutes more were above the Quaker City itself. They were flying rather low, and as the people in the streets became aware of their presence there was intense excitement. Tom steered for the big athletic field, and soon saw it in the distance. With a suddenness that was startling the motor ceased its terrific racket. The monoplane gave a sickening dip, and Tom had to adjust the wing tips and rudder quickly to prevent it slewing around at a dangerous angle. "What's the matter?" cried Mr. Damon, "Did you shut it off on purpose?" "No!" shouted Tom, "Something's gone wrong!" "Gone wrong! Bless my overshoes! Is there any danger?" "We'll have to vol-plane to earth," answered Tom, and there was a grim look on his face. He had never executed this feat with a passenger aboard. He was wondering how the BUTTERFLY would behave. But he would know very soon, for already the tiny monoplane was shooting rapidly toward the big field, which was now swarming with a curious crowd. CHAPTER VI THE NEW AIRSHIP For a brief instant after the stopping of the motor, and the consequent sudden dropping toward the earth of the monoplane, Tom glanced at Mr. Damon. The latter's face was rather pale, but he seemed calm and collected. His lips moved slightly, and Tom, even in those tense moments, wondered if the odd gentleman was blessing anything in particular, or everything in general. Tom threw up the tilting plane, to catch more air beneath it, and bring the BUTTERFLY in a more parallel position to the earth. This, in a manner, checked the downward flight, and they glided along horizontally for a hundred feet or more. "Is--is there any great danger, Tom?" asked Mr. Damon. "I think not," answered the young inventor, confidently. "I have done this same thing before, and from greater heights. The only thing that bothers me is that there are several cross-currents of air up here, which make it difficult to manage the planes and wing tips. But I think we'll make a good landing." "Bless my overcoat!" exclaimed Mr. Damon "I certainly hope so." Conversation was more easily carried on now, as the motor was not spitting fire and throbbing like a battery of Gatling guns. Tom thought perhaps it might start on the spark, as the propeller was slowly swinging from the force of air against it. He tried, but there was no explosion. He had scarcely hoped for it, as he realized that some part of the mechanism must have broken. Down they glided, coming nearer and nearer to the earth. The crowd in the big athletic field grew larger. Shouts of wonder and fear could be heard, and people could be seen running excitedly about. To Tom and Mr. Damon they looked like dolls. Reaching the limit of the parallel glide the monoplane once more shot down on an incline toward the earth with terrible speed. The ground seemed to rush up to meet Mr. Damon. "Look out!" he cried to Tom. "We're going to hit something!" "Not yet," was the calm answer "I'm going to try a new stunt. Hold fast!" "What are you going to do?" "Some spirals. I think that will let us down easier, but the craft is likely to tilt a bit, so hold on." The young inventor shifted the movable planes and rudder, and, a moment later, the BUTTERFLY swung violently around, like a polo pony taking a sudden turn after the ball. Mr. Damon slid to one side of his seat, and made a frantic grab for one of the upright supports. "I made too short a turn!" cried Tom, easing off the craft, which righted itself in an instant. "The air currents fooled me." Under his skillful guidance, the monoplane was soon slowly approaching the earth in a series of graceful curves. It was under perfect control, and a smile of relief came on the face of the young inventor. Seeing it Mr. Damon took courage, and his hands, which had grasped the uprights with such firmness that his knuckles showed white with the strain, were now removed. He sat easily in his seat. "We're all right now," declared Tom. "I'll take a couple of forward glides now, and we'll land." He sent the machine straight ahead. It gathered speed in an instant. Then, with an upward tilt it was slackened, almost as if brakes had been applied. Once more it shot toward the earth, and once more it was checked by an up-tilted plane. Then with a thud which shook up the occupants of the two seats, the BUTTERFLY came to the ground, and ran along on the three bicycle wheels. Swiftly it slid over the level ground. A more ideal landing place would have been hard to find. Scores of willing hands reached out, and checked the momentum of the little monoplane, and Tom and Mr. Damon climbed from their seats. The crowd set up a cheer, and hundreds pressed around the aviators. Several sought to reach, and touch the machine, for they had probably never been so close to one before, though airship flights are getting more and more common. "Where did you come from?" "Are you trying for a record?" "How high did you get?" "Did you fall, or come down on purpose?" "Can't you start your motor in mid-air?" These, and scores of other questions were fairly volleyed at Tom and Mr. Damon. The young inventor good-naturedly answered them as best he could. "We were coming down anyhow," he explained, "but we did not calculate on vol-planing. The motor was stalled, and I had to glide. Please keep away from the machine. You might damage it." The arrival of several policemen, who were attracted by the crowd, served to keep the curious ones back away from the BUTTERFLY, or the men, boys and women (for there were a number of the latter in the throng) might have caused serious trouble. Tom made a hasty examination of the motor, and, having satisfied himself that only a minor difficulty had caused it to stop, he decided to put the monoplane in some safe place, and proceed to Mr. Fenwick's house. The lad was just asking one of the officers if the air craft could not be put in one of the grandstands which surrounded the field, when a voice on the outskirts of the crowd excitedly exclaimed: "Let me pass, please. I want to see that airship. I'm building one myself, and I need all the experience I can get. Let me in, please." A man pushed his way into the crowd, and wormed his way to where Tom and Mr. Damon stood. At the sight of him, the eccentric individual cried out: "Why bless my pocket-knife! If it isn't Mr. Fenwick!" "Mr. Fenwick?" gasped Tom. "Yes. The inventor we came to see!" At the same moment the newcomer cried out: "Wakefield Damon!" "That's who I am," answered Tom's friend, "and let me introduce you to Mr. Swift, the inventor of more machines than I can count. He and I were coming to see you, when we had a slight accident, and we landed here. But that didn't matter, for we intended to land here anyhow, as I knew it was near your house. Only we had to vol-plane back to earth, and I can't say that I'd care for that, as a steady diet. Bless my radiator, but I'm glad we've arrived safely." "Did you come all the way from your home in that?" asked Mr. Fenwick of Tom, as he shook hands with him, and nodded at the monoplane. "Oh, yes. It's not much of a trip." "Well, I hope my airship will do as well. But something seems to be wrong with it, and I have hopes that you can help me discover what it is, I know your father, and I have heard much of your ability. That is why I requested your aid." "I'm afraid I've been much overrated," spoke Tom, modestly, "but I'll do all I can for you. I must now leave my monoplane in a safe place, however." "I'll attend to that," Mr. Fenwick hastened to assure him. "Leave it to me." By this time a lieutenant of police, in charge of several reserve officers, had arrived on the scene, for the crowd was now very large, and, as Mr. Fenwick knew this official, he requested that Tom's machine be protected from damage. It was arranged that it could be stored in a large, empty shed, and a policeman would be left on guard. Then, seeing that it was all right, Tom, Mr. Damon and Mr. Fenwick started for the latter's house. "I am very anxious to show you the WHIZZER," said Mr. Fenwick, as they walked along. "The WHIZZER?" repeated Tom, wonderingly. "Yes, that's what I call my electric airship. It hasn't 'whizzed' any to speak of yet, but I have hopes that it will, now that you are here to help me. We will take one of these taxicabs, and soon be at my house. I was out for a stroll, when I saw your monoplane coming down, and I hastened to Franklin Field to see it." The three entered an automobile, and were soon being driven to the inventor's home. A little later he led them out to a big shed which occupied nearly all of a large lot, in back of Mr. Fenwick's house. "Does it take up all that room?" asked Tom. "Oh, yes, the WHIZZER is pretty good size. There she is!" cried Mr. Fenwick proudly, as he threw open the doors of the shed, and Tom and Mr. Damon, looking in, saw a large triplane, with a good-sized gas bag hovering over it, and a strange collection of rudders, wings and planes sticking out from either side. Amidships was an enclosed car, or cabin, and a glimpse into it served to disclose to the young inventor a mass of machinery. "There she is! That's the WHIZZER!" cried Mr. Fenwick, with pride in his voice. "What do you think of her, Tom Swift?" Tom did not immediately answer. He looked dubiously at the electric airship and shrugged his shoulders. It seemed to him, at first glance, that, it would never sail. CHAPTER VII MAKING SOME CHANGES "Well, what do you think of it?" asked Mr. Fenwick again, as Tom walked all about the electric airship, still without speaking. "It's big, certainly," remarked the lad. "Bless my shoe horn! I should say it was!" burst out Mr. Damon. "It's larger than your RED CLOUD, Tom." "But will it go? That's what I want to know," insisted the inventor. "Do you think it will fly, Tom? I haven't dared to try it yet, though a small model which I made floated in the air for some time. But it wouldn't move, except as the wind blew it." "It would be hard to say, without a careful examination, whether this large one will fly or not," answered Tom. "Then give it a careful examination," suggested Mr. Fenwick. "I'll pay you well for your time and trouble." "Oh if I can help a fellow inventor, and assist in making a new model of airship fly, I'm only too glad to do it without pay," retorted Tom, quickly. "I didn't come here for that. Suppose we go in the cabin, and look at the motor. That's the most important point, if your airship is to navigate." There was certainly plenty of machinery in the cabin of the WHIZZER. Most of it was electrical, for on that power Mr. Fenwick intended to depend to sail through space. There was a new type of gasolene engine, small but very powerful, and this served to operate a dynamo. In turn, the dynamo operated an electrical motor, as Mr. Fenwick had an idea that better, and more uniform, power could be obtained in this way, than from a gasolene motor direct. One advantage which Tom noticed at once, was that the WHIZZER had a large electric storage battery. This was intended to operate the electric motor in case of a break to the main machinery, and it seemed a good idea. There were various other apparatuses, machines, and appliances, the nature of which Tom could not readily gather from a mere casual view. "Well, what's your opinion, now that you have seen the motor?" asked Mr. Fenwick, anxiously. "I'd have to see it in operation," said Tom. "And you shall, right after dinner," declared the inventor. "I'd like to start it now, and hear what you have to say, but I'm not so selfish as that. I know you must be hungry after your trip from Shopton, as they say aeroplaning gives one an appetite." "I don't know whether it's that or not," answered Tom with a laugh, "but I am certainly hungry." "Then we'll postpone the trial until after dinner. It must be ready by this time, I think," said Mr. Fenwick, as he led the way back to the house. It was magnificently furnished, for the inventor was a man of wealth, and only took up aeroplaning as a "fad." An excellent dinner was served, and then the three returned once more to the shed where the WHIZZER was kept. "Shall I start the motor in here?" asked Mr. Fenwick, when he had summoned several of the machinists whom he employed, to aid himself and the young inventor. "It would be better if we could take it outside," suggested Tom, "yet a crowd is sure to gather, and I don't like to work in a mob of people." "Oh, we can easily get around that," said Mr. Fenwick. "I have two openings to my aeroplane shed. We can take the WHIZZER out of the rear door, into a field enclosed by a high fence. That is where I made all my trials, and the crowd couldn't get in, though some boys did find knot-holes and use them. But I don't mind that. The only thing that bothers me is that I can't make the WHIZZER go up, and if it won't go up, it certainly won't sail. That's my difficulty, and I hope you can remedy it, Tom Swift." "I'll do the best I can. But let's get the airship outside." This was soon accomplished, and in the open lot Tom made a thorough and careful examination of the mechanism. The motor was started, and the propellers, for there were two, whirled around at rapid speed. Tom made some tests and calculations, at which he was an expert, and applied the brake test, to see how much horse power the motor would deliver. "I think there is one trouble that we will have to get over," he finally said to Mr. Fenwick. "What is that?" "The motor is not quite powerful enough because of the way in which you have it geared up. I think by changing some of the cogs, and getting rid of the off-set shaft, also by increasing the number of revolutions, and perhaps by using a new style of carburetor, we can get more speed and power." "Then we'll do it!" cried Mr. Fenwick, with enthusiasm. "I knew I hadn't got everything just right. Do you think it will work after that?" "Well," remarked Tom, hesitatingly, "I think the arrangement of the planes will also have to be changed. It will take quite some work, but perhaps, after a bit, we can get the WHIZZER up in the air." "Can you begin work at once?" asked the inventor, eagerly. Tom shook his head. "I can't stay long enough on this trip," he said. "I promised father I would be back by to-morrow at the latest, but I will come over here again, and arrange to stay until I have done all I can. I need to get some of my special tools, and then, too, you will require some other supplies, of which I will give you a list. I hope you don't mind me speaking in this way, Mr. Fenwick, as though I knew more about it than you do," added Tom, modestly. "Not a bit of it!" cried the inventor heartily. "I want the benefit of your advice and experience, and I'll do just as you say. I hope you can come back soon." "I'll return the first of the week," promised Tom, "and then we'll see what can be done. Now I'll go over the whole ship once more, and see what I need. I also want to test the lifting capacity of your gas bag." The rest of the day was a busy one for our hero. With the aid of Mr. Damon and the owner of the WHIZZER, he went over every point carefully. Then, as it was too late to attempt the return flight to Shopton, he telegraphed his father, and he and Mr. Damon remained over night with Mr. Fenwick. In the morning, having written out a list of the things that would be needed, Tom went out to Franklin Field, and repaired his own monoplane. It was found that one of the electric wires connected with the motor had broken, thus cutting off the spark. It was soon repaired, and, in the presence of a large crowd, Tom and Mr. Damon started on their return flight. "Do you think you can make the WHIZZER work, Tom?" asked Mr. Damon, as they were flying high over Philadelphia. "I'm a little dubious about it," was the reply. "But after I make some changes I may have a different opinion. The whole affair is too big and clumsy, that's the trouble; though the electrical part of it is very good." Shopton was reached without incident, in about three hours, and there was no necessity, this time, of vol-planing back to earth. After a short rest, Tom began getting together a number of special tools and appliances, which he proposed taking back to Philadelphia with him. The young inventor made another trip to Mr. Fenwick's house the first of the following week. He went by train this time, as he had to ship his tools, and Mr. Damon did not accompany him. Then, with the assistance of the inventor of the WHIZZER, and several of his mechanics, Tom began making the changes on the airship. "Do you think you can make it fly?" asked Mr. Fenwick, anxiously, after several days of labor. "I hope so," replied our hero, and there was more confidence in his tone than there had been before. As the work progressed, he began to be more hopeful. "I'll make a trial flight, anyhow, in a few days," he added. "Then I must send word to Mr. Damon," decided Mr. Fenwick. "He wants to be on hand to see it, and, if possible, go up; so he told me." "All right," assented Tom. "I only hope it does go up," he concluded, in a low tone. CHAPTER VIII ANDY FOGER'S REVENGE During the following week, Tom was kept busy over the airship. He made many important changes, and one of these was to use a new kind of gas in the balloon bag. He wanted a gas with a greater lifting power than that of the ordinary illuminating vapor which Mr. Fenwick had used. "Well," remarked Tom, as he came from the airship shed one afternoon, "I think we can give it a try-out, Mr. Fenwick, in a few days more. I shall have to go back to Shopton to get some articles I need, and when I come back I will bring Mr. Damon with me, and we will see what the WHIZZER can do." "Do you mean we will make a trial flight?" "Yes." "For how long a distance?" "It all depends on how she behaves," answered Tom, with a smile. "If possible, we'll make a long flight." "Then I'll tell you what I'm going to do," went on the inventor, "I'm going to put aboard a stock of provisions, and some other supplies and stores, in case we are two or three days in the air." "It might not be a bad plan," agreed Tom, "though I hardly think we will be gone as long as that." "Well, being out in the air always makes me hungry," proceeded Mr. Fenwick, "so I'm going to take plenty of food along." The time was to come, and that very soon, when this decision of the inventor of the WHIZZER stood the adventurers in good stead. Tom returned to Shopton the next day, and sent word to have Mr. Damon join him in time to go back to the Quaker City two days later. "But why don't you start right back to Philadelphia to-morrow," asked Mr. Swift of his son. "Because," answered Tom, and that was all the reason he would give, though had any one seen him reading a certain note a few minutes before that, which note was awaiting him on his arrival from the Quaker City, they would not have wondered at his decision. The note was brief. It merely said: "Won't you come, and have some apple turnovers? The new cook is a treasure, and the girls are anxious to meet you." It was signed: Mary Nestor. "I think I could enjoy some apple turnovers," remarked Tom, with a smile. Having gotten ready the few special appliances he wished to take back to Philadelphia with him, Tom went, that evening, to call on Miss Nestor. True to her promise, the girl had a big plate full of apple turnovers, which she gaily offered our hero on his arrival, and, on his laughing declination to partake of so many, she ushered him into a room full of pretty girls, saying: "They'll help you eat them, Tom. Girls, here is Mr. Swift, who doesn't mind going up in the air or under the ocean, or even catching runaway horses," by which last she referred to the time Tom saved her life, and first made her acquaintance. As for the young inventor, he gave a gasp, almost as if he had plunged into a bath of icy water, at the sight of so many pretty faces staring at him. He said afterward that he would rather have vol-planed back to earth from a seven-mile height, than again face such a battery of sparkling eyes. But our hero soon recovered himself, and entered into the merriment of the evening, and, before he knew it he was telling Miss Nestor and her attractive guests something of his exploits. "But I'm talking altogether too much about myself." he said, finally. "How is the new cook Miss Nestor; and have you heard from your father and mother since they sailed on the RESOLUTE for the West Indies?" "As to the new cook, she is a jewel of the first water," answered Miss Nestor. "We all like her, and she is anxious for another ride in a taxicab, as she calls your auto." "She shall have it," declared Tom, "for those are the best apple turnovers I ever ate." "I'll tell her so," declared Mary. "She'll appreciate it coming from an inventor of your ability." "Have you heard from your parents?" asked Tom, anxious to change the subject. "Oh, yes. I had a wire to-day. They stopped at St. Augustine to let me know they were having a glorious time aboard the yacht. Mr. Hosbrook, the owner, is an ideal host, mamma said. They are proceeding directly to the West Indies, now. I do hope they will arrive safely. They say there are bad storms down there at this time of year." "Perhaps, if they are shipwrecked, Mr. Swift will go to their rescue in one of his airships, or a submarine," suggested Mabel Jackson, one of the several pretty girls. "Oh, I hope he doesn't have to!" exclaimed Mary. "Don't speak of shipwrecks! It makes me shudder," and she seemed unduly alarmed. "Of course they won't have any trouble," asserted Tom, confidently, more to reassure Miss Nestor, than from any knowledge he possessed; "but if they do get cast away on a desert island, I'll certainly go to their rescue," he added. It was late when Tom started for home that night, for the society of Miss Nestor and her friends made the time pass quickly. He promised to call again, and try some more samples of the new cook's culinary art, as soon as he had gotten Mr. Fenwick's airship in shape for flying. As, later that night, the young inventor came in sight of his home, and the various buildings and shops surrounding it, his first glance was toward the shed which contained his monoplane, BUTTERFLY. That little craft was Tom's pet. It had not cost him anything like as much as had his other inventions, either in time or money, but he cared more for it than for his big airship, RED CLOUD. This was principally because the BUTTERFLY was so light and airy, and could be gotten ready so quickly for a flight across country. It was capable of long endurance, too, for an extra large supply of gasolene and oil was carried aboard. So it was with rather a start of surprise that Tom saw a light in the structure where the BUTTERFLY was housed. "I wonder if dad or Mr. Jackson can be out there?" he mused. "Yet, I don't see why they should be. They wouldn't be going for a flight at night. Or perhaps Mr. Damon arrived, and is out looking it over." A moment's reflection, however, told Tom that this last surmise could not be true, since the eccentric man had telegraphed, saying he would not arrive until the next day. "Somebody's out there, however," went on Tom, "and I'm going to see who it is. I hope it isn't Eradicate monkeying with the monoplane. He's very curious, and he might get it out of order." Tom increased his pace, and moved swiftly but softly toward the shed. If there was an intruder inside he wanted to surprise him. There were large windows to the place, and they would give a good view of the interior. As Tom approached, the light within flickered, and moved to and fro. Tom reached one of the casements, and peered in. He caught a glimpse of a moving figure, and he heard a peculiar ripping sound. Then, as he sprang toward the front door, the light suddenly went out, and the young inventor could hear some one running from the shop. "They've seen me, and are trying to get away," thought the lad. "I must catch them!" He fairly leaped toward the portal, and, just as he reached it, a figure sprang out. So close was Tom that the unknown collided with him, and our hero went over on his back. The other person was tossed back by the force of the impact, but quickly recovered himself, and dashed away. Not before, however, Tom had had a chance to glance at his face, and, to the chagrin of the young inventor, he recognized, by the dim light of a crescent moon, the countenance of Andy Foger! If additional evidence was needed Tom fully recognized the form as that of the town bully. "Hold on there, Andy Foger!" shouted the young inventor. "What are you doing in my shed? What right have you in there? What did you do?" Back came the answer through the night: "I told you I'd get square with you, and I've done it," and then Andy's footsteps died away, while a mocking laugh floated back to Tom. What was Andy's revenge? CHAPTER IX THE WHIZZER FLIES For a moment, Tom gazed after the fleeting figure of the cowardly bully. He was half-minded to give pursuit, and then, realizing that he could find Andy later if he wanted him, the young inventor decided his best plan would be to see what damage had been done. For that damage would follow Andy's secret visit to the shop, Tom was certain. Nor was his surmise wrong. Stepping into the building, the lad switched on the lights, and he could not repress an exclamation of chagrin as he looked toward his trim little monoplane, the BUTTERFLY. Now it was a BUTTERFLY with broken wings, for Andy had slashed the canvas of the planes in a score of places. "The scoundrel!" growled Tom. "I'll make him suffer for this! He's all but ruined my aeroplane." Tom walked around his pet machine. As he came in front, and saw the propeller, he gave another exclamation. The fine wooden blades of several layers, gracefully curved, which had cost him so much in time and labor to build up, and then fashion to the right shape, had been hacked, and cut with an axe. The propeller was useless! "More of Andy's work," murmured Tom. "This is about the worst yet!" There came over him a feeling of great despondency, which was succeeded by a justifiable rage. He wanted to take after the bully, and give him a merciless beating. Then a calmer mood came over Tom. "After all, what's the use?" he reasoned. "Whipping Andy wouldn't mend the BUTTERFLY. She's in bad shape, but I can repair her, when I get time. Luckily, he didn't meddle with the engine. That's all right." A hasty examination had shown this. "I guess I won't do anything now," went on Tom. "I'll have my hands full getting Mr. Fenwick's airship to run. After that I can come back here and fix up my own. It's a good thing I don't have to depend on her for making the trip to Philadelphia. Poor BUTTERFLY! you sure are in a bad way," and Tom felt almost as if he was talking to some living creature, so wrapped up was he in his trim little monoplane. After another disheartening look at his air craft, the young inventor started to leave the shop. He looked at a door, the fastening of which Andy had broken to gain admittance. "I should have had the burglar alarm working, and this would never have happened," reasoned Tom. All the buildings were arranged so that if any one entered them after a certain hour, an alarm would ring in the house. But of late, the alarm had not been set, as Tom and his father were not working on any special inventions that needed guarding. It was due to this oversight that Andy was able to get in undetected. "But it won't happen again," declared Tom, and he at once began connecting the burglar-apparatus. He went into the house, and told his father and the engineer what had occurred. They were both indignant, and the engineer declared that he would sleep with one eye open all night, ready to respond to the first alarm. "Oh, there's no danger of Andy coming back right away," said Tom. "He's too frightened. I wouldn't be surprised if he disappeared for a time. He'll be thinking that I'm after him." This proved true, as Andy had left town next morning, and to all inquiries his mother said he had gone to visit relatives. She was not aware of her son's meanness, and Tom did not tell her. Mr. Damon arrived from his home in Waterfield that day, and, with many "blessings," wanted to know if Tom was ready for the trial of the electrical airship. "Yes, we'll leave for Philadelphia to-morrow," was the answer. "Are we going in the BUTTERFLY? Bless my watch chain, but I like that little machine!" "It will be some time before you again have a flight in her," said Tom, sorrowfully, as he told of Andy's act of vandalism. "Why, bless my individuality!" cried Mr. Damon, indignantly. "I never heard of such a thing! Never!" It did little good to talk of it, however, and Tom wanted to forget about it. He wished he had time to repair the monoplane before he left home, but there was much to do to get ready for the trial of the WHIZZER. "When will you be back, Tom?" asked Mr. Swift, as his son and Mr. Damon departed for the Quaker City the following morning. "Hard to say, dad. If I can make a long flight in the WHIZZER I'll do so. I may even drop down here and pay you a visit. But if I find there are many more changes to make in her construction, which is more than likely, I can't say when I'll return. I'll keep you posted, however, by writing." "Can't you arrange to send me some wireless messages?" asked the older inventor, with a smile. "I could, if I had thought to rig up the apparatus on Mr. Fenwick's airship," was the reply. "I'll hardly have time to do it now, though." "Send wireless messages from an aeroplane?" gasped Mr. Damon. "Bless my gizzard! I never heard of such a thing!" "Oh, it can be done," Tom assured him. And this was a fact. Tom had installed a wireless apparatus on his RED CLOUD recently, and it is well known that several of the modern biplanes can send wireless messages. The crossing and bracing wires of the frame are used for sending wires, and in place of ground conductors there are trailers which hang below the aeroplane. The current is derived directly from the engine, and the remaining things needed are a small step-up transformer, a key and a few other small parts. Tom had gone a step farther than this, and had also arranged to receive wireless messages, though few modern aeroplanes are thus equipped as yet. But, of course, there was no time now to install a wireless apparatus on Mr. Fenwick's craft. Tom thought he would be lucky if he got the WHIZZER to make even a short flight. "Well, let me hear from you when you can," requested Mr. Swift, and Tom promised. It was some time after that, and many strange things happened before Tom Swift again communicated with his father, at any length. The young inventor had bidden farewell to Miss Nestor the night previous. She stated that she had a message that day from her parents aboard the RESOLUTE, which spoke a passing steamer. Mr. and Mrs. Nestor, and the other guests of Mr. Hosbrook were well, and anticipated a fine time on reaching the West Indies. Tom now said good-by to his father, the housekeeper and Mr. Jackson, not forgetting, of course, Eradicate Sampson. "Don't let Andy Foger come sneaking around here, Rad," cautioned the young inventor. "'Deed an' I won't!" exclaimed the colored man. "Ef he do, I'll hab Boomerang kick him t' pieces, an' den I'll whitewash him so his own folks won't know him! Oh, don't you worry, Massa Tom. Dat Andy won't do no funny business when I'm around!" Tom laughed, and started for the station with Mr. Damon. They arrived in Philadelphia that afternoon, the trip being very slow, as compared with the one made by the monoplane. They found Mr. Fenwick anxiously awaiting them, and Tom at once started work on the airship. He kept at it until late that night, and resumed early the next morning. Many more changes and adjustments were made, and that afternoon, the young inventor said: "I think we'll give it a try-out, Mr. Fenwick." "Do you mean make a flight?" "Yes, if she'll take it; but only a short one. I want to get her up in the air, and see how she behaves." "Well, if you find out, after you're up, that she does well, you may want to take a long flight," suggested Mr. Fenwick. "If you do, why I have everything aboard necessary for a long voyage. The WHIZZER is well stocked with provisions." An hour later, the big electric machine was wheeled out into the yard, for, in spite of her size, four men could easily move the craft about, so well was she balanced. Aside from a few personal friends of the inventor, himself, his machinists, Tom and Mr. Damon, no one was present at the try-out. Tom, Mr. Damon and Mr. Fenwick climbed into the car which was suspended below the gas bag, and between the wing-like planes on either side. The young inventor had decided to make the WHIZZER rise by scudding her across the ground on the bicycle wheels, with which she was equipped, and then by using the tilting planes to endeavor to lift her off the earth. He wanted to see if she would go up that way, without the use of the gas bag. All was in readiness. The motor was started and the machinery began to hum and throb. The propellers gained speed with every revolution. The airship had been made fast by a rope, to which was attached a strong spring balance, as it was desired to see how much pull the engine would give. "Eight hundred pounds," announced one of the machinists. "A thousand would be better, but we'll try it," murmured Tom. "Cast off!" The rope was loosened, and, increasing the speed of the engine, Tom signalled to the men to give a little momentum to the craft. She began running over the smooth ground. There was a cheer from the few spectators. Certainly the WHIZZER made good time on the earth. Tom was anxiously watching the gages and other instruments. He wanted a little more speed, but could not seem to get it. He ran the motor to the utmost, and then, seeing the necessity of making an attempt to get up into the air, before the end of the speeding ground was reached, he pulled the elevating plane lever. The front of the WHIZZER rose, and then settled down. Tom quickly shut off the power, and jammed on the brake, an arrangement of spikes that dug into the earth, for the high board fence loomed up before him. "What's the matter?" cried Mr. Fenwick, anxiously. "Couldn't get up speed enough," answered the young inventor. "We must have more momentum to make her rise." "Can it be gotten?" "I think so. I'll gear the motor higher." It took an hour to do this. Once more the scale test was applied. It registered a pull of fifteen hundred pounds now. "We'll go up," said Tom, grimly. Once more the motors spit out fire, and the propellers whirled so that they looked like mere circles of light. Once more the WHIZZER shot over the ground, but this time, as she neared the fence, she rose up like a bird, cleared it like a trick horse, and soared off into the air! The WHIZZER was flying! CHAPTER X OVER THE OCEAN "Hurrah!" cried Mr. Fenwick in delight. "My machine is really flying at last!" "Yes," answered Tom, as he adjusted various levers and gears, "she is going. It's not as high as I'd like, but it is doing very well, considering the weight of the craft, and the fact that we have not used the gas bag. I'm going to let that fill now, and we'll go up. Don't you want to steer, Mr. Fenwick?" "No, you manage it, Tom, until it's in good running shape. I don't want to 'hoodoo' it. I worked as hard as I could, and never got more than two feet off the ground. Now I'm really sailing. It's great!" He was very enthusiastic, and Tom himself was not a little pleased at his own success, for certainly the airship had looked to be a very dubious proposition at first. "Bless my gaiters! But we are doing pretty well," remarked Mr. Damon, looking down on the field where Mr. Fenwick's friends and the machinists were gathered, cheering and waving their hands. "We'll do better," declared Tom. He had already set the gas machine in operation, and was now looking over the electric apparatus, to see that it was working well. It needed some adjustments, which he made. All this while the WHIZZER was moving about in a big circle, for the rudder had been automatically set to so swing the craft. It was about two hundred feet high, but soon after the gas began to enter the bag it rose until it was nearly five thousand feet high. This satisfied Tom that the airship could do better than he expected, and he decided to return nearer earth. In going down, he put the craft through a number of evolutions designed to test her ability to answer the rudders promptly. The lad saw opportunity for making a number of changes, and suggested them to Mr. Fenwick. "Are you going any farther?" asked the owner of the WHIZZER, as he saw that his craft was slowly settling. "No, I think we've done enough for the first day," said Tom, "But I'd like you to handle her now, Mr. Fenwick. You can make the landing, while I watch the motor and other machines." "Yes. I guess I can make a landing all right," assented the inventor. "I'm better at coming down than going up." He did make a good descent, and received the congratulation of his friends as he stepped from the airship. Tom was also given much praise for his success in making the craft go at all, for Mr. Fenwick and his acquaintances had about given up hope that she ever would rise. "Well, what do you think of her?" Mr. Fenwick wanted to know of the young inventor, who replied that, as soon as some further changes had been made, they would attempt a long flight. This promise was kept two days later. They were busy days for Tom, Mr. Fenwick and the latter's assistants. Tom sent a short note to his father telling of the proposed long flight, and intimated that he might make a call in Shopton if all went well. He also sent a wire to Miss Nestor, hinting that she might have some apple turnovers ready for him. But Tom never called for that particular pastry, though it was gotten ready for him when the girl received his message. All was in readiness for the long flight, and a preliminary test had demonstrated that the WHIZZER had been wonderfully improved by the changes Tom made. The young inventor looked over the supply of food Mr. Fenwick had placed aboard, glanced at the other stores, and asked: "How long do you expect to be gone, Mr. Fenwick?" "Why, don't you think we can stay out a week?" "That's quite a while," responded Tom. "We may be glad to return in two days, or less. But I think we're all ready to start. Are any of your friends going?" "I've tried to pursuade some of them to accompany me, but they are a bit timid," said the inventor. "I guess we three will make up the party this time, though if our trip is a successful one I'll be overwhelmed with requests for rides, I suppose." As before, a little crowd gathered to see the start. The day was warm, but there was a slight haziness which Tom did not like. He hoped, though, that it would pass over before they had gone far. "Do you wish to head for any particular spot, Mr. Fenwick?" asked Tom, as they were entering the cabin. "Yes, I would like to go down and circle Cape May, New Jersey, if we could. I have a friend who has a summer cottage there, and he was always laughing at my airship. I'd just like to drop down in front of his place now, and pay him a call." "We'll try it," assented Tom, with a smile. An auspicious start was made, the WHIZZER taking the air after a short flight across the ground, and then, with the lifting gas aiding in pulling the craft upward, the airship started to sail high over the city of Philadelphia. So swiftly did it rise that the cheers of the little crowd of Mr. Fenwick's friends were scarcely heard. Up and up it went, and then a little later, to the astonishment of the crowds in the streets, Tom put the airship twice in a circle around the statue of William Penn, on the top of the City Hall. "Now you steer," the lad invited Mr. Fenwick. "Take her straight across the Delaware River, and over Camden, New Jersey, and then head south, for Cape May. We ought to make it in an hour, for we are getting up good speed." Leaving the owner in charge of his craft, to that gentleman's no small delight, Tom and Mr. Damon began an inspection of the electrical and other machinery. There was much that needed attention, but Tom soon had the automatic apparatus in working order, and then less attention need be given to it. Several times the young investor looked out of the windows with which the cabin was fitted. Mr. Damon noticed this. "Bless my shoe laces, Tom," he said. "What's the matter?" "I don't like the looks of the weather," was the answer. "I think we're in for a storm." "Then let's put back." "No, it would be too bad to disappoint Mr. Fenwick, now that we have made such a good start. He wants to make a long flight, and I can't blame him," spoke Tom, in a low voice. "But if there's danger--" "Oh, well, we can soon be at Cape May, and start back. The wind is freshening rather suddenly, though," and Tom looked at the anemometer, which showed a speed of twenty miles an hour. However, it was in their favor, aiding them to make faster time. The speed of the WHIZZER was now about forty miles an hour, not fast for an air craft, but sufficiently speedy in trying out a new machine. Tom looked at the barograph, and noted that they had attained an altitude of seven thousand five hundred feet. "That's better than millionaire Daxtel's distance of seven thousand one hundred and five feet," remarked the lad, with a smile, "and it breaks Jackson's climb of seven thousand three hundred and three feet, which is pretty good for your machine, Mr. Fenwick." "Do you really think so?" asked the pleased inventor. "Yes. And we'll do better than that in time, but it's best to go slow at first, until we see how she is standing the strain. This is high and fast enough for the present." They kept on, and as Tom saw that the machinery was working well, he let it out a little, The WHIZZER at once leaped forward, and, a little later they came within sight of Cape May, the Jersey coast resort. "Now to drop down and visit my friend," said Mr. Fenwick, with a smile. "Won't he be surprised!" "I don't think we'd better do it," said Tom. "Why not?" "Well, the wind is getting stronger every minute and it will be against us on the way back. If we descend, and try to make another ascension we may fail. We're up in the air now, and it may be easy to turn around and go back. Then, again, it may not, but it certainly will be easier to shift around up here than down on the ground. So I'd rather not descend--that is, not entirely to the ground." "Well, just as you say, though I wanted my friend to know I could build a successful airship." "Oh, we can get around that. I'll take her down as low as is safe, and fly over his house, if you'll point it out, and you can drop him a message in one of the pasteboard tubes we carry for that purpose." "That's a good idea," assented Mr. Fenwick. "I'll do it." Tom sent the WHIZZER down until the hotels and cottages could be made out quite plainly. After looking with a pair of opera glasses, Mr. Fenwick picked out the residence of his friend, and Tom prepared to circle about the roof. By this time the presence of the airship had become known to hundreds, and crowds were eagerly watching it. "There he is! There's my friend who didn't believe I would ever succeed!" exclaimed Mr. Fenwick, pointing to a man who stood in the street in front of a large, white house. "I'll drop him a message!" One was in readiness in a weighted pasteboard cylinder, and soon it was falling downward. The airship was moving slowly, as it was beating against the wind. Leaning out of the cabin window, Mr. Fenwick shouted to his friend: "Hey, Will! I thought you said my airship would never go! I'll come and give you a ride, some day!" Whether the gentleman understood what Mr. Fenwick shouted at him is doubtful, but he saw the inventor waving his hand, and he saw the falling cylinder, and a look of astonishment spread over his face, as he ran to pick up the message. "We're going up now, and will try to head for home," said Tom, a moment later, as he shifted the rudder. "Bless my storage battery!" cried Mr. Damon. "But we have had a fine trip." "A much better one than we'll have going back," observed Tom, in a low voice. "Why; what's the matter?" asked the eccentric man. "The wind has increased to a gale, and will be dead against us," answered Tom. Mr. Fenwick was busy writing another message to drop, and he paid little attention to the young inventor. Tom sent the craft well up into the air, and then tried to turn it about, and head back for Philadelphia. No sooner had he done so than the airship was met by the full force of the wind, which was now almost a hurricane. It had steadily increased, but, as long as they were moving with it, they did not notice it so much. Once they attempted to stem its fury they found themselves almost helpless. Tom quickly realized this, and, giving up his intention of beating up against the wind, he turned the craft around, and let it fly before the gale, the propellers aiding to get up a speed of seventy miles an hour. Mr. Fenwick, who had dropped the last of his messages, came from his small private cabin, to where Mr. Damon and Tom were in a low-voiced conversation near the engines. The owner of the WHIZZER, happened to look down through a plate-glass window in the floor of car. What he saw caused him to give a gasp of astonishment. "Why--why!" he exclaimed. "We--we're over the ocean." "Yes," answered Tom, quietly, as he gazed down on the tumbling billows below them. They had quickly passed over Cape May, across the sandy beach, and were now well out over the Atlantic. "Why--why are we out here?" asked Mr. Fenwick. "Isn't it dangerous--in an airship that hasn't been thoroughly tried yet?" "Dangerous? Yes, somewhat," replied Tom, slowly. "But we can't help ourselves, Mr. Fenwick. We can't turn around and go back in this gale, and we can't descend." "Then what's to be done?" "Nothing, except to keep on until the gale blows itself out." "And how long will that be?" "I don't know--a week, maybe." "Bless my coffee pot, I'm glad we've got plenty on board to eat!" exclaimed Mr. Damon. CHAPTER XI A NIGHT OF TERROR After the first shock of Tom's announcement, the two men, who were traveling with him in the airship, showed no signs of fear. Yet it was alarming to know that one was speeding over the mighty ocean, before a terrific gale, with nothing more substantial under one that a comparatively frail airship. Still Mr. Damon knew Tom of old, and had confidence in his ability, and, while Mr. Fenwick was not so well acquainted with our hero, he had heard much about him, and put faith in his skill to carry them out of their present difficulty. "Are you sure you can't turn around and go back?" asked Mr. Fenwick. His knowledge of air-currents was rather limited. "It is out of the question," replied Tom, simply. "We would surely rip this craft to pieces if we attempted to buffet this storm." "Is it so bad, then?" asked Mr. Damon, forgetting to bless anything in the tense excitement of the moment. "It might be worse," was the reply of the young inventor. "The wind is blowing about eighty miles an hour at times, and to try to turn now would mean that we would tear the planes loose from the ship. True, we could still keep up by means of the gas bag, but even that might be injured. Going as we are, in the same direction as that in which the wind is blowing, we do not feel the full effect of it." "But, perhaps, if we went lower down, or higher up, we could get in a different current of air," suggested Mr. Fenwick, who had made some study of aeronautics. "I'll try," assented Tom, simply. He shifted the elevating rudder, and the WHIZZER began to go up, slowly, for there was great lateral pressure on her large surface. But Tom knew his business, and urged the craft steadily. The powerful electric engines, which were the invention of Mr. Fenwick, stood them in good stead, and the barograph soon showed that they were steadily mounting. "Is the wind pressure any less?" inquired Mr. Damon, anxiously. "On the contrary, it seems to be increasing," replied Tom, with a glance at the anemometer. "It's nearly ninety miles an hour now." "Then, aided by the propellers, we must be making over a hundred miles an hour." said the inventor. "We are,--a hundred and thirty," assented Tom. "We'll be blown across the ocean at this rate," exclaimed Mr. Damon. "Bless my soul! I didn't count on that." "Perhaps we had better go down," suggested Mr. Fenwick. "I don't believe we can get above the gale." "I'm afraid not," came from Tom. "It may be a bit better down below." Accordingly, the rudder was changed, and the WHIZZER pointed her nose downward. None of the lifting gas was let out, as it was desired to save that for emergencies. Down, down, down, went the great airship, until the adventurers within, by gazing through the plate glass window in the floor of the cabin, could see the heaving, white-capped billows, tossing and tumbling below them. "Look out, or we'll be into them!" shouted Mr. Damon. "I guess we may as well go back to the level where we were," declared Tom. "The wind, both above and below that particular strata is stronger, and we will be safer up above. Our only chance is to scud before it, until it has blown itself out. And I hope it will be soon." "Why?" asked Mr. Damon, in a low voice. "Because we may be blown so far that we can not get back while our power holds out, and then--" Tom did not finish, but Mr. Damon knew what he meant--death in the tossing ocean, far from land, when the WHIZZER, unable to float in the air any longer, should drop into the storm-enraged Atlantic. They were again on a level, where the gale blew less furiously than either above or below, but this was not much relief. It seemed as if the airship would go to pieces, so much was it swayed and tossed about. But Mr. Fenwick, if he had done nothing else, had made a staunch craft, which stood the travelers in good stead. All the rest of that day they swept on, at about the same speed. There was nothing for them to do, save watch the machinery, occasionally replenishing the oil tanks, or making minor adjustments. "Well," finally remarked Mr. Damon, when the afternoon was waning away, "if there's nothing else to do, suppose we eat. Bless my appetite, but I'm hungry! and I believe you said, Mr. Fenwick, that you had plenty of food aboard." "So we have, but the excitement of being blown out to sea on our first real trip, made me forget all about it. I'll get dinner at once, if you can put up with an amateur's cooking." "And I'll help," offered Mr. Damon. "Tom can attend to the airship, and we'll serve the meals. It will take our minds off our troubles." There was a well equipped kitchen aboard the WHIZZER and soon savory odors were coming from it. In spite of the terror of their situation, and it was not to be denied that they were in peril, they all made a good meal, though it was difficult to drink coffee and other liquids, owing to the sudden lurches which the airship gave from time to time as the gale tossed her to and fro. Night came, and, as the blackness settled down, the gale seemed to increase in fury. It howled through the slender wire rigging of the WHIZZER, and sent the craft careening from side to side, and sometimes thrust her down into a cavern of the air, only to lift her high again, almost like a ship on the heaving ocean below them. As darkness settled in blacker and blacker, Tom had a glimpse below him, of tossing lights on the water. "We just passed over some vessel," he announced. "I hope they are in no worse plight than we are." Then, there suddenly came to him a thought of the parents of Mary Nestor, who were somewhere on the ocean, in the yacht RESOLUTE bound for the West Indies. "I wonder if they're out in this storm, too?" mused Tom. "If they are, unless the vessel is a staunch one, they may be in danger." The thought of the parents of the girl he cared so much for being in peril, was not reassuring to Tom, and he began to busy himself about the machinery of the airship, to take his mind from the presentiment that something might happen to the RESOLUTE. "We'll have our own troubles before morning," the lad mused, "if this wind doesn't die down." There was no indication that this was going to be the case, for the gale increased rather than diminished. Tom looked at their speed gage. They were making a good ninety miles an hour, for it had been decided that it was best to keep the engine and propellers going, as they steadied the ship. "Ninety miles an hour," murmured Tom. "And we've been going at that rate for ten hours now. That's nearly a thousand miles. We are quite a distance out to sea." He looked at a compass, and noted that, instead of being headed directly across the Atlantic they were bearing in a southerly direction. "At this rate, we won't come far from getting to the West Indies ourselves," reasoned the young inventor. "But I think the gale will die away before morning." The storm did not, however. More fiercely it blew through the hours of darkness. It was a night of terror, for they dared not go to sleep, not knowing at what moment the ship might turn turtle, or even rend apart, and plunge with them into the depths of the sea. So they sat up, occasionally attending to the machinery, and noting the various gages. Mr. Damon made hot coffee, which they drank from time to time, and it served to refresh them. There came a sudden burst of fury from the storm, and the airship rocked as if she was going over. "Bless my heart!" cried Mr. Damon, springing up. "That was a close call!" Tom said nothing. Mr. Fenwick looked pale and alarmed. The hours passed. They were swept ever onward, at about the same speed, sometimes being whirled downward, and again tossed upward at the will of the wind. The airship was well-nigh helpless, and Tom, as he realized their position, could not repress a fear in his heart as he thought of the parents of the girl he loved being tossed about on the swirling ocean, in a frail pleasure yacht. CHAPTER XII A DOWNWARD GLIDE They sat in the cabin of the airship, staring helplessly at each other. Occasionally Tom rose to attend to one of the machines, or Mr. Fenwick did the same. Occasionally, Mr. Damon uttered a remark. Then there was silence, broken only by the howl of the gale. It seemed impossible for the WHIZZER to travel any faster, yet when Tom glanced at the speed gage he noted, with a feeling of surprise, akin to horror, that they were making close to one hundred and fifty miles an hour. Only an aeroplane could have done it, and then only when urged on by a terrific wind which added to the speed produced by the propellers. The whole craft swayed and trembled, partly from the vibration of the electrical machinery, and partly from the awful wind. Mr. Fenwick came close to Tom, and exclaimed: "Do you think it would be any use to try once more to go above or below the path of the storm?" Tom's first impulse was to say that it would be useless, but he recollected that the craft belonged to Fenwick, and surely that gentleman had a right to make a suggestion. The young inventor nodded. "We'll try to go up," he said. "If that doesn't work, I'll see if I can force her down. It will be hard work, though. The wind is too stiff." Tom shifted the levers and rudders. His eyes were on the barograph--that delicate instrument, the trembling hand of which registered their height. Tom had tilted the deflection rudder to send them up, but as he watched the needle he saw it stationary. They were not ascending, though the great airship was straining to mount to an upper current where there might be calm. It was useless, however, and Tom, seeing the futility of it, shifted the rudder to send them downward. This was more easily accomplished, but it was a change for the worse, since, the nearer to the ocean they went, the fiercer blew the wind. "Back! Go back up higher!" cried Mr. Damon, "We can't!" yelled Tom. "We've got to stay here now!" "Oh, but this is awful!" exclaimed Mr. Fenwick. "We can never stand this!" The airship swaged more than ever, and the occupants were tossed about in the cabin, from side to side. Indeed, it did seem that human beings never could come alive out of that fearful ordeal. As Tom looked from one of the windows of the cabin, he noted a pale, grayish sort of light outside. At first he could not understand what it was, then, as he observed the sickly gleams of the incandescent electric lamps, he knew that the hour of dawn was at hand. "See!" he exclaimed to his companions, pointing to the window. "Morning is coming." "Morning!" gasped Mr. Damon. "Is the night over? Now, perhaps we shall get rid of the storm." "I'm afraid not," answered Tom, as he noted the anemometer and felt the shudderings of the WHIZZER as she careened on through the gale. "It hasn't blown out yet!" The pale light increased. The electrics seemed to dim and fade. Tom looked to the engines. Some of the apparatus was in need of oil, and he supplied it. When he came back to the main cabin, where stood Mr. Damon and Mr. Fenwick, it was much lighter outside. "Less than a day since we left Philadelphia," murmured the owner of the WHIZZER, as he glanced at a distance indicator, "yet we have come nearly sixteen hundred miles. We certainly did travel top speed. I wonder where we are?" "Still over the ocean," replied Mr. Damon, as he looked down at the heaving billows rolling amid crests of foam far below them. "Though what part of it would be hard to say. We'll have to reckon out our position when it gets calmer." Tom came from the engine room. His face wore a troubled look, and he said, addressing the older inventor: "Mr. Fenwick, I wish you'd come and look at the gas generating apparatus. It doesn't seem to be working properly." "Anything wrong?" asked Mr. Damon, suspiciously. "I hope not," replied Tom, with all the confidence he could muster. "It may need adjusting. I am not so familiar with it as I am with the one on the RED CLOUD. The gas seems to be escaping from the bag, and we may have to descend, for some distance." "But the aeroplanes will keep us up," said Mr. Daman. "Yes--they will," and Tom hesitated. "That is, unless something happens to them. They are rather frail to stand alone the brunt of the gale, and I wish--" Tom did not complete the sentence. Instead, he paused suddenly and seemed to be intently listening. From without there came a rending, tearing, crashing sound. The airship quivered from end to end, and seemed to make a sudden dive downward. Then it appeared to recover, and once more glided forward. Tom, followed by Mr. Fenwick, made a rush for the compartment where the machine was installed. They had no sooner reached it than there sounded an explosion, and the airship recoiled as if it had hit a stone wall. "Bless my shaving brush! What's that?" cried Mr. Damon. "Has anything happened?" "I'm rather afraid there has," answered Tom, solemnly. "It sounded as though the gas bag went up. And I'm worried over the strength of the planes. We must make an investigation!" "We're falling!" almost screamed Mr. Fenwick, as he glanced at the barograph, the delicate needle of which was swinging to and fro, registering different altitudes. "Bless my feather bed! So we are!" shouted Mr. Damon. "Let's jump, and avoid being caught under the airship!" He darted for a large window, opening from the main cabin, and was endeavoring to raise it when Tom caught his hand. "What are you trying to do," asked the lad, hoarsely. "Save my life! I want to get out of this as soon as I can. I'm going to jump!" "Don't think of it! You'd be instantly killed. We're too high for a jump, even into the ocean." "The ocean! Oh, is that still below us? Is there any chance of being saved? What can be done?" Mr. Damon hesitated. "We must first find out how badly we are damaged," said Tom, quietly. "We must keep our heads, and be calm, no matter what happens. I need your help, Mr. Damon." This served to recall the rather excited man to his senses. He came back to the centre of the cabin, which was no easy task, for the floor of it was tilted at first one angle, and then another. He stood at Tom's side. "What can I do to help you?" he asked. Mr. Fenwick was darting here and there, examining the different machines. None of them seemed to be damaged. "If you will look and see what has happened to our main wing planes, I will see how much gas we have left in the bag," suggested Tom. "Then we can decide what is best to be done. We are still quite high, and it will take some time to complete our fall, as, even if everything is gone, the material of the bag will act as a sort of parachute." Mr. Damon darted to a window in the rear of the cabin, where he could obtain a glimpse of the main wing planes. He gave a cry of terror and astonishment. "Two of the planes are gone!" he reported. "They are torn and are hanging loose." "I feared as much," retorted Tom, quietly, "The gale was too much for them." "What of the lifting gas?" asked Mr. Fenwick, quickly. "It has nearly all flowed out of the retaining bag." "Then we must make more at once. I will start the generating machine." He darted toward it. "It will be useless," spoke Tom, quietly. "Why?" "Because there is no bag left to hold it. The silk and rubber envelope has been torn to pieces by the gale. The wind is even stronger than it was last night." "Then what's to be done?" demanded Mr. Damon, with a return of his alarmed and nervous manner. "Bless my fingernails! What's to be done?" For an instant Tom did not answer. It was constantly getting lighter, though there was no sun, for it was obscured by scudding clouds. The young inventor looked critically at the various gages and indicators. "Is--is there any chance for us?" asked Mr. Fenwick, quietly. "I think so," answered Tom, with a hopeful smile. "We have about two thousand feet to descend, for we have fallen nearly that distance since the accident." "Two thousand feet to fall!" gasped Mr. Damon. "We can never do it and live!" "I think so," spoke Tom. "Bless my gizzard! How?" fairly exploded Mr. Damon. "By vol-planing down!" "But, even if we do, we will fall into the ocean!" cried Mr. Fenwick. "We will be drowned!" "No," and Tom spoke more quietly than before. "We are over a large island." he went on, "and I propose to let the disabled airship vol-plane down to it. That is our only chance." "Over an island!" cried Mr. Damon. He looked down through the floor observation window. Tom had spoken truly. At that moment they were over a large island, which had suddenly loomed up in the wild and desolate waste of the ocean. They had reached its vicinity just in time. Tom stepped to the steering and rudder levers, and took charge. He was going to attempt a most difficult feat--that of guiding a disabled airship back to earth in the midst of a hurricane, and landing her on an unknown island. Could he do it? There was but one answer. He must try. It was the only chance of saving their lives, and a slim one at best. Down shot the damaged WHIZZER like some giant bird with broken wings, but Tom Swift was in charge, and it seemed as if the craft knew it, as she began that earthward glide. CHAPTER XIII ON EARTHQUAKE ISLAND Mingled feelings possessed the three adventurers within the airship. Mr. Damon and Mr. Fenwick had crowded to the window, as Tom spoke, to get a glimpse of the unknown island toward which they were shooting. They could see it more plainly now, from the forward casement, as well as from the one in the bottom of the craft. A long, narrow, rugged piece of land it was, in the midst of the heaving ocean, for the storm still raged and lashed the waves to foam. "Can you make it?" asked Mr. Damon, in a low voice. "I think so," answered Tom, more cheerfully. "Shall I shut down the motor?" inquired the older inventor. "Yes, you might as well. We don't need the propellers now, and I may be better able to make the glide without them." The buzzing and purring electrical apparatus was shut down. Silence reigned in the airship, but the wind still howled outside. As Tom had hoped, the ship became a little more steady with the stopping of the big curved blades, though had the craft been undamaged they would have served to keep her on an even keel. With skillful hand he so tilted the elevating planes that, after a swift downward glide, the head of the WHIZZER would be thrown up, so to speak, and she would sail along in a plane parallel to the island. This had the effect of checking her momentum, just as the aviator checks the downward rush of his monoplane or biplane when he is making a landing. Tom repeated this maneuver several times, until a glance at his barograph showed that they had but a scant sixty feet to go. There was time but for one more upward throwing of the WHIZZER's nose, and Tom held to that position as long as possible. They could now make out the topography of the island plainly, for it was much lighter. Tom saw a stretch of sandy beach, and steered for that. Downward shot the airship, inert and lifeless. It was not like gliding his little BUTTERFLY to earth after a flight, but Tom hoped he could make it. They were now within ten feet of the earth, skimming forward. Tom tried another upward tilt, but the forward planes would not respond. They could get no grip on the air. With a crash that could have been heard some distance the WHIZZER settled to the sand. It ran along a slight distance, and then, as the bicycle wheels collapsed under the pressure, the airship seemed to go together in a shapeless mass. At the first impact with the earth, Tom had leaped away from the steering wheel and levers, for he did not want to be crushed against them. Mr. Damon and Mr. Fenwick, in pursuance of a plan adopted when they found that they were falling, had piled a lot of seat cushions around them. They had also provided some as buffers for Tom, and our hero, at the instant of the crash, had thrown himself behind and upon them. It seemed as if the whole ship went to pieces. The top of the main cabin crashed down, as the side supports gave way, but, fortunately, there were strong main braces, and the roof did not fall completely upon our friends. The whole bottom of the craft was forced upward and had it not been for the protecting cushions, there might have been serious injuries for all concerned. As it was they were badly bruised and shaken up. After the first crash, and succeeding it an instant later, there came a second smash, followed by a slight explosion, and a shower of sparks could be seen in the engine room. "That's the electrical apparatus smashing through the floor!" called Tom. "Come, let's get out of here before the gasolene sets anything on fire. Are you all right, Mr. Damon, and you, Mr. Fenwick?" "Yes, I guess so," answered the inventor. "Oh, what a terrible crash! My airship is ruined!" "You may be glad we are alive," said Mr. Damon. "Bless my top knot, I feel--" He did not finish the sentence. At that moment a piece of wood, broken from the ceiling, where it had hung by a strip of canvas came crashing down, and hit Mr. Damon on the head. The eccentric man toppled over on his pile of cushions, from which he was arising when he was struck. "Oh, is he killed?" gasped Mr. Fenwick. "I hope not!" cried Tom. "We must get him out of here, at all events. There may be a fire." They both sprang to Mr. Damon's aid, and succeeded in lifting him out. There was no difficulty in emerging from the airship as there were big, broken gaps, on all sides of what was left of the cabin. Once in the outer air Mr. Damon revived, and opened his eyes. "Much hurt?" asked Tom, feeling of his friend's head. "No--no, I--I guess not," was the slow answer. "I was stunned for a moment. I'm all right now. Nothing broken, I guess," and his hand went to his head. "No, nothing broken," added Tom, cheerfully, "but you've got a lump there as big as an ostrich egg. Can you walk?" "Oh, I'm all right. Bless my stars, what a wreck!" Mr. Damon looked at the remains of the airship. It certainly was a wreck! The bent and twisted planes were wrapped about the afterpart, the gas bag was but a shred, the frame was splintered and twisted, and the under part, where the starting wheels were placed, resembled a lot of broken bicycles. The cabin looked like a shack that had sustained an explosion of dynamite. "It's a wonder we came out alive," said Mr. Fenwick, in a low voice. "Indeed it is," agreed Tom, as he came back with a tin can full of sea water, with which to bathe Mr. Damon's head. The lad had picked up the can from where it had rolled from the wreck, and they had landed right on the beach. "It doesn't seem to blow so hard," observed Mr. Damon, as he was tenderly sopping his head with a handkerchief wet in the salt water. "No, the wind is dying out, but it happened too late to do us any good," remarked Tom, sorrowfully. "Though if it hadn't blown us this far, we might have come to grief over the ocean, and be floundering in that, instead of on dry land." "That's so," agreed Mr. Fenwick, who was carefully feeling of some bruises on his legs. "I wonder where we are, anyhow?" "I haven't the least idea," responded Tom. "It's an island, but which one, or where it is I don't know. We were blown nearly two thousand miles, I judge." He walked over and surveyed the wreck. Now that the excitement was over he was beginning to be aware of numerous bruises and contusions, His legs felt rather queer, and on rolling up his trousers he found there was a deep cut in the right shin, just below his knee. It was bleeding, but he bandaged it with a spare handkerchief, and walked on. Peering about, he saw that nearly the whole of the machinery in the engine room, including most of the electrical apparatus, had fallen bodily through the floor, and now rested on the sand. "That looks to be in pretty good shape." mused Tom, "but it's a question whether it will ever be any good to us. We can't rebuild the airship here, that's certain." He walked about the wreck, and then returned to his friends. Mr. Damon was more like himself, and Mr. Fenwick had discovered that he had only minor bruises. "Bless my coffee cup!" exclaimed Mr. Damon. "I declare, I feel hungry. I wonder if there's anything left to eat in the wreck?" "Plenty," spoke Tom, cheerfully. "I'll get it out. I can eat a sandwich or too myself, and perhaps I can set up the gasolene stove, and cook something." As the young inventor was returning to the wreck, he was halted halfway by a curious trembling feeling. At first he thought it was a weakness of his legs, caused by his cut, but a moment later he realized with a curious, sickening sensation that it was the ground--the island itself--that was shaking and trembling. The lad turned back. Mr. Damon and Mr. Fenwick were staring after him with fear showing on their faces. "What was that?" cried the inventor. "Bless my gizzard! Did you feel that, Tom?" cried Mr. Damon. "The whole place is shaking!" Indeed, there was a stronger tremor now, and it was accompanied by a low, rumbling sound, like distant thunder. The adventurers were swaying to and fro. Suddenly they were tossed to the ground by a swaying motion, and not far off a great crack opened in the earth. The roaring, rumbling sound increased in volume. "An earthquake! It's an earthquake!" cried Tom. "We're in the midst of an earthquake!" CHAPTER XIV A NIGHT IN CAMP The rumbling and roaring continued for perhaps two minutes, during which time the castaways found it impossible to stand, for the island was shaking under their feet with a sickening motion. Off to one side there was a great fissure in the earth, and, frightened as he was, Tom looked to see if it was extending in their direction. If it was, or if a crack opened near them, they might be precipitated into some bottomless abyss, or into the depths of the sea. But the fissure did not increase in length or breadth, and, presently the rumbling, roaring sound subsided. The island grew quiet and the airship travelers rose to their feet. "Bless my very existence! What happened?" cried Mr. Damon. "It was an earthquake; wasn't it, Tom?" asked Mr. Fenwick. "It sure was," agreed the young inventor. "Rather a hard one, too. I hope we don't have any more." "Do you think there is any likelihood of it?" demanded Mr. Damon. "Bless my pocketbook! If I thought so I'd leave at once." "Where would you go?" inquired Tom, looking out across the tumbling ocean, which had hardly had a chance to subside from the gale, ere it was again set in a turmoil by the earth-tremor. "That's so--there isn't a place to escape to," went on the eccentric man, with something like a groan. "We are in a bad place--do you think there'll be more quakes, Tom?" "It's hard to say. I don't know where we are, and this island may be something like Japan, subject to quakes, or it may be that this one is merely a spasmodic tremor. Perhaps the great storm which brought us here was part of the disturbance of nature which ended up with the earthquake. We may have no more." "And there may be one at any time," added Mr. Fenwick. "Yes," assented Tom. "Then let's get ready for it," proposed Mr. Damon. "Let's take all the precautions possible." "There aren't any to take," declared Tom. "All we can do is to wait until the shocks come--if any more do come, which I hope won't happen, and then we must do the best we can." "Oh, dear me! Bless my fingernails!" cried Mr. Damon, wringing his hands. "This is worse than falling in an airship! There you do have SOME chance. Here you haven't any." "Oh, it may not be so bad," Tom cried to reassure him. "This may have been the first shock in a hundred years, and there may never be another." But, as he looked around on the island, he noted evidences that it was of volcanic origin, and his heart misgave him, for he knew that such islands, created suddenly by a submarine upheaval, might just as suddenly be destroyed by an earthquake, or by sinking into the ocean. It was not a pleasant thought--it was like living over a mine, that might explode at any moment. But there was no help for it. Tom tried to assume a cheerfulness he did not feel. He realized that, in spite of his youth, both Mr. Damon and Mr. Fenwick rather depended on him, for Tom was a lad of no ordinary attainments, and had a fund of scientific knowledge. He resolved to do his best to avoid making his two companions worry. "Let's get it off our minds," suggested the lad, after a while. "We were going to get something to eat. Suppose we carry out that program. My appetite wasn't spoiled by the shock." "I declare mine wasn't either," said Mr. Damon, "but I can't forget it easily. It's the first earthquake I was ever in." He watched Tom as the latter advanced once more toward the wreck of the airship, and noticed that the lad limped, for his right leg had been cut when the WHIZZER had fallen to earth. "What's the matter, Tom; were you hurt in the quake?" asked the eccentric man. "No--no," Tom hastened to assure him. "I just got a bump in the fall--that's all. It isn't anything. If you and Mr. Fenwick want to get out some food from the wrecked store room I'll see if I can haul out the gasolene stove from the airship. Perhaps we can use it to make some coffee." By delving in about the wreck, Tom was able to get out the gasolene stove. It was broken, but two of the five burners were in commission, and could be used. Water, and gasolene for use in the airship, was carried in steel tanks. Some of these had been split open by the crash, but there was one cask of water left, and three of gasolene, insuring plenty of the liquid fuel. As for the water, Tom hoped to be able to find a spring on the island. In the meanwhile, Mr. Damon and Mr. Fenwick had been investigating the contents of the storeroom. There was a large supply of food, much larger than would have been needed, even on a two weeks' trip in the air, and the inventor of the WHIZZER hardly knew why he had put so much aboard. "But if we have to stay here long, it may come in handy," observed Tom, with a grim smile. "Why; do you think we WILL be here long?" asked Mr. Damon. The young inventor shrugged his shoulders. "There is no telling," he said. "If a passing steamer happens to see us, we may be taken off to-day or to-morrow. If not we may be here a week, or--" Tom did not finish. He stood in a listening attitude. There was a rumbling sound, and the earth seemed again to tremble. Then there came a great splash in the water at the foot of a tall, rugged cliff about a quarter of a mile away. A great piece of the precipice had fallen into the ocean. "I thought that was another earthquake coming," said Mr. Damon, with an air of relief. "So did I," admitted Mr. Fenwick. "It was probably loosened by the shock, and so fell into the sea," spoke Tom. Their momentary fright over, the castaways proceeded to get their breakfast. Tom soon had water boiling on the gasolene stove, for he had rescued a tea-kettle and a coffee pot from the wreck of the kitchen of the airship. Shortly afterward, the aroma of coffee filled the air, and a little later there was mingled with it the appetizing odor of sizzling bacon and eggs, for Mr. Fenwick, who was very fond of the latter, had brought along a supply, carefully packed in sawdust carriers, so that the shock had broken only a few of them. "Well, I call this a fine breakfast," exclaimed Mr. Damon, munching his bacon and eggs, and dipping into his coffee the hard pilot biscuit, which they had instead of bread. "We're mighty lucky to be eating at all, I suppose." "Indeed we are," chimed in Mr. Fenwick. "I'm awfully sorry the airship is wrecked, though," spoke Tom. "I suppose it's my fault. I should have turned back before we got over the ocean, and while the storm was not at its height. I saw that the wind was freshening, but I never supposed it would grow to a gale so suddenly. The poor old WHIZZER--there's not much left of her!" "Now don't distress yourself in the least," insisted Mr. Fenwick. "I'm proud to have built a ship that could navigate at all. I see where I made lots of mistakes, and as soon as I get back to Philadelphia, I'm going to build a better one, if you'll help me, Tom Swift." "I certainly will," promised the young inventor. "And I'll take a voyage with you!" cried Mr. Damon. "Bless my teaspoon, Tom, but will you kindly pass the bacon and eggs again!" There was a jolly laugh at the eccentric man, in which he himself joined, and the little party felt better. They were seated on bits of broken boxes taken from the wreck, forming a little circle about the gasolene stove, which Tom had set up on the beach. The wind had almost entirely died away, though the sea was still heaving in great billows, and masses of surf. They had no exact idea of the time, for all their watches had stopped when the shock of the wreck came, but presently the sun peeped out from the clouds, and, from knowing the time when they had begun to fall, they judged it was about ten o'clock, and accordingly set their timepieces. "Well," observed Tom, as he collected the dishes, which they had also secured from the wreck, "we must begin to think about a place to spend the night. I think we can rig up a shelter from some of the canvas of the wing-planes, and from what is left of the cabin. It doesn't need to be very heavy, for from the warmth of the atmosphere, I should say we were pretty well south." It was quite warm, now that the storm was over, and, as they looked at the vegetation of the island, they saw that it was almost wholly tropical. "I shouldn't be surprised if we were on one of the smaller of the West Indian islands," said Tom. "We certainly came far enough, flying a hundred miles or more an hour, to have reached them. But this one doesn't appear to be inhabited." "We haven't been all over it yet," said Mr. Damon. "We may find cannibals on the other side." "Cannibals don't live in this part of the world," Tom assured him. "No, I think this island is practically unknown. The storm brought us here, and it might have landed us in a worse place." As he spoke he thought of the yacht RESOLUTE, and he wondered how her passengers, including the parents of Mary Nestor, had fared during the terrible blow. "I hope they weren't wrecked, as we were," mused Tom. But there was little time for idle thoughts. If they were going to build a shelter, they knew that they must speedily get at it. Accordingly, with a feeling of thankfulness that their lives had been spared, they set to work taking apart such of the wreck as could the more easily be got at. Boards, sticks, and planks were scattered about, and, with the pieces of canvas from the wing-planes, and some spare material which was carried on board, they soon had a fairly good shack, which would be protection enough in that warm climate. Next they got out the food and supplies, their spare clothing and other belongings, few of which had been harmed in the fall from the clouds. These things were piled under another rude shelter which they constructed. By this time it was three o'clock, and they ate again. Then they prepared to spend the night in their hastily made camp. They collected driftwood, with which to make a fire, and, after supper, which was prepared on the gasolene stove, they sat about the cheerful blaze, discussing their adventures. "To-morrow we will explore the island," said Tom, as he rolled himself up in his blankets and turned over to sleep. The others followed his example, for it was decided that no watch need be kept. Thus passed several hours in comparative quiet. It must have been about midnight that Tom was suddenly awakened by a feeling as if someone was shaking him. He sat up quickly and called out: "What's the matter?" "Eh? What's that? Bless my soul! What's going on?" shouted Mr. Damon. "Did you shake me?" inquired Tom. "I? No. What--?" Then they realized that another earth-tremor was making the whole island tremble. Tom leaped from his blankets, followed by Mr. Damon and Mr. Fenwick, and rushed outside the shack. They felt the earth shaking, but it was over in a few seconds. The shock was a slight one, nothing like as severe as the one in the morning. But it set their nerves on edge. "Another earthquake!" groaned Mr. Damon. "How often are we to have them?" "I don't know," answered Tom, soberly. They passed the remainder of the night sleeping in blankets on the warm sands, near the fire, for they feared lest a shock might bring the shack down about their heads. However, the night passed with no more terrors. CHAPTER XV THE OTHER CASTAWAYS "Well, we're all alive, at any rate," announced Tom, when the bright sun, shining into his eyes, had awakened him. He sat up, tossed aside his blankets, and stood up. The day was a fine one, and the violence of the sea had greatly subsided during the night, their shack had suffered not at all from the slight shock in the darkness. "Now for a dip in old Briney," the lad added, as he walked down to the surf, "I think it will make me feel better." "I'm with you," added Mr. Fenwick, and Mr. Damon also joined the bathers. They came up from the waves, tingling with health, and their bruises and bumps, including Tom's cut leg, felt much better. "You did get quite a gash; didn't you," observed Mr. Fenwick, as he noticed Tom's leg. "Better put something on it. I have antiseptic dressings and bandages in the airship, if we can find them." "I'll look for them, after breakfast," Tom promised, and following a fairly substantial meal, considering the exigencies under which it was prepared, he got out the medicine chest, of which part remained in the wreck of the WHIZZER, and dressed his wound. He felt much better after that. "Well, what's our program for to-day?" Mr. Damon wanted to know, as they sat about, after they had washed up what few dishes they used. "Let's make a better house to stay in," proposed Mr. Fenwick. "We may have to remain here for some time, and I'd like a more substantial residence." "I think the one we now have will do," suggested Tom. "I was going to propose making it even less substantial." "Why so?" "Because, in the event of an earthquake, while we are sleeping in it, we will not be injured. Made of light pieces of wood and canvas it can't harm us very much if it falls on us." "That's right," agreed Mr. Damon. "In earthquake countries all the houses are low, and built of light materials." "Ha! So I recollect now," spoke Mr. Fenwick. "I used to read that in my geography, but I never thought it would apply to me. But do you think we will be subject to the quakes?" "I'm afraid so," was Tom's reply. "We've had two, now, within a short time, and there is no way of telling when the next will come. We will hope there won't be any more, but--" He did not finish his sentence, but the others knew what he meant. Thereupon they fell to work, and soon had made a shelter that, while very light and frail, would afford them all the protection needed in that mild climate, and, at the same time, there would be no danger should an earthquake collapse it, and bring it down about their heads while they were sleeping in it. For they decided that they needed some shelter from the night dews, as it was exceedingly uncomfortable to rest on the sands even wrapped in blankets, and with a driftwood fire burning nearby. It was noon when they had their shack rebuilt to their liking, and they stopped for dinner. There was quite a variety of stores in the airship, enough for a much larger party than that of our three friends, and they varied their meals as much as possible. Of course all the stuff they had was canned, though there are some salted and smoked meats. But canned food can be had in a variety of forms now-a-days, so the castaways did not lack much. "What do you say to an exploring expedition this afternoon?" asked Tom, as they sat about after dinner. "We ought to find out what kind of an island we're on." "I agree with you," came from Mr. Fenwick. "Perhaps on the other side we will stand a much better chance of speaking some passing vessel. I have been watching the horizon for some time, now, but I haven't seen the sign of a ship." "All right, then we'll explore, and see what sort of an island we have taken possession of," went on Tom. "And see if it isn't already in possession of natives--or cannibals," suggested Mr. Damon. "Bless my frying pan! but I should hate to be captured by cannibals at my time of life." "Don't worry; there are none here," Tom assured him again. They set out on their journey around the island. They agreed that it would be best to follow the beach around, as it was easier walking that way, since the interior of the place consisted of rugged rocks in a sort of miniature mountain chain. "We will make a circuit of the place," proposed Tom, "and then, if we can discover nothing, we'll go inland. The centre of the island is quite high, and we ought to be able to see in any direction for a great distance from the topmost peak. We may be able to signal a vessel." "I hope so!" cried Mr. Damon. "I want to send word home that I am all right. My wife will worry when she learns that the airship, in which I set out, has disappeared." "I fancy we all would like to send word home," added Mr. Fenwick. "My wife never wanted me to build this airship, and, now that I have sailed in it, and have been wrecked, I know she'll say 'I told you so,' as soon as I get back to Philadelphia." Tom said nothing, but he thought to himself that it might be some time before Mrs. Fenwick would have a chance to utter those significant words to her husband. Following the beach line, they walked for several miles. The island was larger than they had supposed, and it soon became evident that it would take at least a day to get all around it. "In which case we will need some lunch with us." said Tom. "I think the best thing we can do now is to return to camp, and get ready for a longer expedition to-morrow." Mr. Fenwick was of the same mind, but Mr. Damon called out: "Let's go just beyond that cliff, and see what sort of a view is to be had from there. Then we'll turn back." To oblige him they followed. They had not gone more than a hundred yards toward the cliff, than there came the preliminary rumbling and roaring that they had come to associate with an earthquake. At the same time, the ground began to shiver and shake. "Here comes another one!" cried Tom, reeling about. He saw Mr. Damon and Mr. Fenwick topple to the beach. The roaring increased, and the rumbling was like thunder, close at hand. The island seemed to rock to its very centre. Suddenly the whole cliff toward which they had been walking, appeared to shake itself loose. In another instant it was flung outward and into the sea, a great mass of rock and stone. The island ceased trembling, and the roaring stopped. Tom rose to his feet, followed by his companions. He looked toward the place where the cliff had been. Its removal by the earthquake gave them a view of a part of the beach that had hitherto been hidden from them. And what Tom saw caused him to cry out in astonishment. For he beheld, gathered around a little fire on the sand, a party of men and women. Some were standing, clinging to one another in terror. Some were prostrate on the ground. Others were running to and fro in bewilderment. "More castaways!" cried Tom. "More castaways," and, he added under his breath, "more unfortunates on earthquake island!" CHAPTER XVI AN ALARMING THEORY For a few seconds, following Tom's announcement to his two companions, neither Mr. Damon nor Mr. Fenwick spoke. They had arisen from the beach, where the shock of the earthquake had thrown them, and were now staring toward the other band of castaways, who, in turn were gazing toward our three friends. There was a violent agitation in the sea, caused by the fall of the great cliff, and immense waves rushed up on shore, but all the islanders were beyond the reach of the rollers. "Is it--do I really--am I dreaming or not?" at length gasped Mr. Damon. "Is this a mirage, or do we really see people, Tom?" inquired Mr. Fenwick. "They are real enough people," replied the lad, himself somewhat dazed by the unexpected appearance of the other castaways. "But how--why--how did they get here?" went on the inventor of the WHIZZER. "As long as they're not cannibals, we're all right," murmured Mr. Damon. "They seem to be persons like ourselves, Tom." "They are," agreed the lad, "and they appear to be in the same sort of trouble as ourselves. Let's go forward, and meet them." The tremor of the earthquake had now subsided, and the little band that was gathered about a big fire of driftwood was calmer. Those who had fallen, or who had thrown themselves on the sand, arose, and began feeling of their arms and legs to see if they had sustained any injuries. Others advanced toward our friends. "Nine of them," murmured Tom, as he counted the little band of castaways, "and they don't seem to have been able to save much from the wreck of their craft, whatever it was." The beach all about them was bare, save for a boat drawn up out of reach of high water. "Do you suppose they are a party from some disabled airship, Tom," asked Mr. Fenwick. "Not from an airship," answered the lad. "Probably from some vessel that was wrecked in the gale. But we will soon find out who they are." Tom led the way for his two friends. The fall of the cliff had made a rugged path around the base of it, over rocks, to where the other people stood. Tom scrambled in and out among the boulders, in spite of the pain it caused his wounded leg. He was anxious to know who the other castaways were, and how they had come there. Several of the larger party were now advancing to meet the lad and his friends. Tom could see two women and seven men. A moment later, when the lad had a good view of one of the ladies and a gentleman, he could not repress a cry of astonishment. Then he rubbed his eyes to make sure it was not some blur or defect of vision. No, his first impression had been correct. "Mr. Nestor!" cried Tom, recognizing the father of his girl friend. "And Mrs. Nestor!" he added a moment later. "Why--of all things--look--Amos--it's--it can't be possible--and yet--why, it's Tom Swift!" cried the lady. "Tom--Tom Swift--here?" ejaculated the man at her side. "Yes--Tom Swift--the young inventor--of Shopton--don't you know--the lad who saved Mary's life in the runaway--Tom Swift!" "Tom Swift!" murmured Mr. Nestor. "Is it possible!" "I'm Tom Swift, all right," answered the owner of that name, "but how in the world did you get on this island, Mr. Nestor?" "I might ask you the same thing, Tom. The yacht RESOLUTE, on which we were making a voyage to the West Indies, as guests of Mr. George Hosbrook, was wrecked in the awful gale. We took to the boats and managed to reach this island. The yacht sunk, and we only had a little food. We are almost starved! But how came you here?" "Mr. Fenwick's airship was wrecked, and we dropped down here. What a coincidence! To think that I should meet you here! But if you're hungry, it's the best thing in the world that we met you, for, though our airship was wrecked, we have a large supply of food. Come over to our camp, and we'll give you all you want!" Tom had rushed forward, and was shaking hands with Mary's parents, so unexpectedly met with, when Mr. Nestor called out: "Come over here, Mr. Hosbrook. I want you to meet a friend of mine." A moment later, the millionaire owner of the ill-fated RESOLUTE was shaking hands with Tom. "I can't understand it," Mr. Hosbrook said. "To think of meeting other people on this desolate island--this island of earthquakes." "Oh, please don't speak of earthquakes!" cried Mrs. Nestor. "We are in mortal terror! There have been several since we landed in the most terrible storm day before yesterday. Isn't it awful! It is a regular earthquake island!" "That's what I call it," spoke Tom, grimly. The others of the larger party of refugees now came up. Besides Mr. and Mrs. Nestor, and Mr. Hosbrook, there was Mr. and Mrs. Floyd Anderson, friends of the millionaire; Mr. Ralph Parker, who was spoken of as a scientist, Mr. Barcoe Jenks, who seemed an odd sort of individual, always looking about suspiciously, Captain Mentor, who had been in command of the yacht, and Jake Fordam, the mate of the vessel. "And are these all who were saved?" asked Tom, as he introduced his two friends, and told briefly of their air voyage. "No," answered Mr. Hosbrook, "two other boatloads, one containing most of the crew, and the other containing some of my guests, got away before our boat left. I trust they have been rescued, but we have heard nothing about them. However, our own lives may not long be safe, if these earthquakes continue." "But did I understand you to say, Mr. Swift, that you had food?" he went on. "If you have, I will gladly pay you any price for some, especially for these two ladies, who must be faint. I have lost all my ready cash, but if we ever reach civilization, I will--" "Don't speak of such a thing as pay," interrupted Mr. Fenwick. "All that we have we'll gladly share with you. Come over to our camp. We have enough for all, and we can cook on our gasolene stove. Don't speak of pay, I beg of you." "Ah--er, if Mr. Hosbrook has no money, perhaps I can offer an equivalent," broke in the man who had been introduced as Barcoe Jenks. "I have--er--some securities--" He stopped and looked about indefinitely, as though he did not know exactly what to say, and he was fumbling at a belt about his waist; a belt that might contain treasure. "Don't speak of reimbursing us," went on Mr. Fenwick, with rather a suspicious glance at Mr. Jenks. "You are welcome to whatever we have." "Bless my topknot; certainly, yes!" joined in Mr. Damon, eagerly. "Well, I--er--I only spoke of it," said Mr. Jenks, hesitatingly, and then he turned away. Mr. Hosbrook looked sharply at him, but said nothing. "Suppose we go to our camp," proposed Tom. "We may be able to get you up a good meal, before another earthquake comes." "I wonder what makes so many of them?" asked Mrs. Nestor, with a nervous shiver. "Yes, indeed, they are terrifying! One never knows when to expect them," added Mrs. Anderson. "I have a theory about them," said Mr. Parker, the scientist, who, up to this time had spoken but little. "A theory?" inquired Tom. "Yes. This island is one of the smaller of the West Indies group. It is little known, and has seldom been visited, I believe. But I am sure that what causes the earthquakes is that the whole island has been undermined by the sea, and it is the wash of great submarine waves and currents which cause the tremors." "Undermined by the sea?" repeated Tom. "Yes. It is being slowly washed away." "Bless my soul! Washed away!" gasped Mr. Damon. "And, in the course of a comparatively short time, it will sink," went on the scientist, as cheerfully as though he was a professor propounding some problem to his class. "Sink!" ejaculated Mrs. Nestor. "The whole island undermined! Oh, what an alarming theory!" "I wish I could hold to a different one, madam," was Mr. Parker's answer, "but I cannot. I think the island will sink after a few more shocks." "Then what good will my--" began Barcoe Jenks, but he stopped in confusion, and again his hand went to his belt with a queer gesture. CHAPTER XVII A MIGHTY SHOCK Tom Swift turned to gaze at Mr. Barcoe Jenks. That individual certainly had a strange manner. Perhaps it might be caused by the terror of the earthquakes, but the man seemed to be trying to hold back some secret. He was constrained and ill at ease. He saw the young inventor looking at him, and his hands, which had gone to his belt, with a spasmodic motion, dropped to his side. "You don't really mean to say, Parker, that you think the whole island is undermined, do you?" asked the owner of the RESOLUTE. "That's my theory. It may be a wrong one, but it is borne out by the facts already presented to us. I greatly fear for our lives!" "But what can we do?" cried Mrs. Nestor. "Nothing," answered the scientist, with a shrug of his shoulders. "Absolutely nothing, save to wait for it to happen." "Don't say that!" begged Mrs. Andersen. "Can't you gentlemen do something--build a boat and take us away. Why, the boat we came here in--" "Struck a rock, and stove a hole in the bottom as big as a barrel, madam," interrupted Captain Mentor. "It would never do to put to sea in that." "But can't something else be done?" demanded Mrs. Nestor. "Oh, it is awful to think of perishing on this terrible earthquake island. Oh, Amos! Think of it, and Mary home alone! Have you seen her lately, Mr. Swift?" Tom told of his visit to the Nestors' home. Our hero was almost in despair, not so much for himself, as for the unfortunate women of the party--and one of them was Mary's mother! Yet what could he do? What chance was there of escaping from the earthquake? "Bless my gizzard!" exclaimed Mr. Damon. "Don't let's stand here worrying! If you folks are hungry come up to our camp. We have plenty. Afterward we can discuss means of saving ourselves." "I want to be saved!" exclaimed Mr. Jenks. "I must be saved! I have a great secret--a secret--" Once more he paused in confusion, and once more his hands nervously sought his belt. "I would give a big reward to be saved," he murmured. "And so, I fancy, we all would," added Captain Mentor. "But we are not likely to. This island is out of the track of the regular line of vessels." "Where are we, anyhow?" inquired Mr. Fenwick. "What island is this?" "It isn't down on the charts, I believe," was the captain's reply, "but we won't be far out, if we call it Earthquake Island. That name seems to fit it exactly." They had walked on, while talking, and now had gone past the broken cliff. Tom and his two friends of the airship led the way to the camp they had made. On the way, Mr. Hosbrook related how his yacht had struggled in vain against the tempest, how she had sprung a leak, how the fires had gone out, and how, helpless in the trough of the sea, the gallant vessel began to founder. Then they had taken to the boats, and had, most unexpectedly come upon the island. "And since we landed we have had very little to eat," said Mrs. Nestor. "We haven't had a place to sleep, and it has been terrible. Then, too, the earthquakes! And my husband and I worried so about Mary. Oh, Mr. Swift! Do you think there is any chance of us ever seeing her again?" "I don't know," answered Tom, softly. "I'll do all I can to get us off this island. Perhaps we can build a raft, and set out. If we stay here there is no telling what will happen, if that scientist's theory is correct. But there is our camp, just ahead. You will be more comfortable, at least for a little while." In a short time they were at the place where Tom and the others had built the shack. The ruins of the airship were examined with interest, and the two women took advantage of the seclusion of the little hut, to get some much needed rest until a meal should be ready. One was soon in course of preparation by Tom and Mr. Damon, aided by Mate Fordam, of the RESOLUTE. Fortunate it was that Mr. Fenwick had brought along such a supply of food, for there were now many mouths to feed. That the supper (which the meal really was, for it was getting late) was much enjoyed, goes without saying. The yacht castaways had subsisted on what little food had been hurriedly put into the life boat, as they left the vessel. At Tom's request, while it was yet light, Captain Mentor and some of the men hunted for a spring of fresh water, and found one, for, with the increase in the party, the young inventor saw the necessity for more water. The spring gave promise of supplying a sufficient quantity. There was plenty of material at hand for making other shacks, and they were soon in course of construction. They were made light, as was the one Tom and his friends first built, so that, in case of another shock, no one would be hurt seriously. The two ladies were given the larger shack, and the men divided themselves between two others that were hastily erected on the beach. The remainder of the food and stores was taken from the wreck of the airship, and when darkness began to fall, the camp was snug and comfortable, a big fire of driftwood burning brightly. "Oh, if only we can sleep without being awakened by an earthquake!" exclaimed Mrs. Nestor, as she prepared to go into the shack with Mrs. Anderson. "But I am almost afraid to close my eyes!" "If it would do any good to stay up and watch, to tell you when one was coming, I'd do so," spoke Tom, with a laugh, "but they come without warning." However, the night did pass peacefully, and there was not the least tremor of the island. In the morning the castaways took courage and, after breakfast, began discussing their situation more calmly. "It seems to me that the only solution is to build some sort of a raft, or other craft and leave the island," said Mr. Fenwick. "Bless my hair brush!" cried Mr. Damon. "Why can't we hoist a signal of distress, and wait for some steamer to see it and call for us? It seems to me that would be more simple than going to sea on a raft. I don't like the idea." "A signal would be all right, if this island was in the path of the steamers," said Captain Mentor. "But it isn't. Our flag might fly for a year, and never be seen." His words seemed to strike coldness to every heart. Tom, who was looking at the wreck of the airship, suddenly uttered an exclamation. He sprang to his feet. "What is it?" demanded Mr. Fenwick. "Does your sore leg hurt you?" "No, but I have just thought of a plan!" fairly shouted the young inventor. "I have it! Wait and see if I can work it!" "Work what?" cried Mr. Damon. Tom did not get a chance to answer, for, at that moment, there sounded, at the far end of the island, whence the yacht castaways had come, a terrific crash. It was accompanied, rather than followed, by a shaking, trembling and swaying of the ground. "Another earthquake!" screamed Mrs. Nestor, rushing toward her husband. The castaways gazed at each other affrighted. Suddenly, before their eyes, they saw the extreme end of that part of the island on which they were camping, slip off, and beneath the foaming waves of the sea, while the echoes of the mighty crash came to their ears! CHAPTER XVIII MR. JENKS HAS DIAMONDS Stunned, and well-nigh paralyzed by the suddenness of the awful crash, and the recurrence of the earthquake, the castaways gazed spell-bound at one another. Succeeding the disappearance of the end of the island there arose a great wave in the ocean, caused by the immersion of such a quantity of rock and dirt. "Look out!" yelled Tom, "there may be a flood here!" They realized his meaning, and hastened up the beach, out of reach of the water if it should come. And it did. At first the ocean retreated, as though the tide was going out, then, with a rush and roar, the waves came leaping back, and, had the castaways remained where they had been standing they would have been swept out to sea. As it was the flood reached part of the wreck of the airship, that lay on the beach, and washed away some of the broken planks. But, after the first rush of water, the sea grew less troubled, and there was no more danger from that source. True, the whole island was rumbling and trembling in the throes of an earthquake, but, by this time, the refugees had become somewhat used to this, and only the two ladies exhibited any outward signs of great alarm, though Mr. Barcoe Jenks, Tom observed, was nervously fingering the belt which he wore about his waist. "I guess the worst is over," spoke Mr. Fenwick, as they stood looking toward where part of the island had vanished. "The shock expended itself on tearing that mass of rock and earth away." "Let us hope so," added Mr. Hosbrook, solemnly. "Oh, if we could only get away from this terrible place! We must hoist a signal of distress, even if we are out of the track of regular vessels. Some ship, blown out of her course may see it. Captain Mentor, I wish you and Mr. Fordam would attend to that." "I will, sir," answered the commander of the ill-fated RESOLUTE. "The signal shall be hoisted at once. Come on, Mr. Fordam," he added, turning to the first mate. "If you don't mind," interrupted Tom, "I wish you would first help me to get what remains of the airship up out of reach of any more possible high waves. That one nearly covered it, and if there are other big rollers, the wreck may be washed out to sea." "I can't see that any great harm would result from that," put in Mr. Jenks. "There isn't anything about the wreck that we could use to make a boat or raft from." Indeed, there was little left of the airship, save the mass of machinery. "Well, it may come in handy before we leave here," said Tom, and there was a quiet determined air about him, that caused Mr. Damon to look at him curiously. The odd gentleman started to utter one of his numerous blessings, and to ask Tom a question, but he thought better of it. By this time the earthquake had ceased, and the castaways were calmer. Tom started toward the airship wreck, and began pulling off some broken boards to get at the electrical machinery. "I guess you had better give Mr. Swift a hand, Captain Mentor," spoke the millionaire yacht owner. "I don't know what good the wreck can be, but we owe considerable to Mr. Swift and his friends, and the least we can do is to aid them in anything they ask. So, Captain, if you don't mind, you and the mate bear a hand. In fact, we'll all help, and move the wreck so far up that there will be no danger, even from tidal waves." Tom looked pleased at this order, and soon he and all the men in the little party were busy taking out the electrical apparatus, and moving it farther inland. "What are you going to do with it, Tom?" asked Mr. Damon, in a low voice, as he assisted the young inventor to carry a small dynamo, that was used for operating the incandescent lights. "I hardly know myself. I have a half-formed plan in my mind. I may be able to carry it out, and I may not. I don't want to say anything until I look over the machinery, and see if all the parts which I need are here. Please say nothing about it." "Bless my toothpick! Of course, I'll not," promised Mr. Damon. When the removal of most of the machinery of the wrecked airship had been completed, Mrs. Nestor exclaimed: "Well, since you are moving that out of harm's way, don't you think it would be a good idea to change our camp, also? I'm sure I'll never sleep a wink, thinking that part of the island may fall into the ocean at any moment in the night, and create a wave that may wash us all out to sea. Can't we move the camp, Mr. Swift?" "No reason why we can't," answered the lad, smiling. "I think it would be a good plan to take it farther back. We are likely to be here some time, and, while we are about it, we might build more complete shelters, and have a few more comforts." The others agreed with this idea, so the little shacks that had been erected were taken down, and moved to higher ground, where a better outlook could be had of the surrounding ocean. At the same time as safe a place as possible, considering the frequent earthquakes, was picked out--a place where there were no overhanging rocks or cliffs. Three huts were built, one for the two ladies, one for the men, and third where the cooking could be done. This last also held the food supplies and stores, and Tom noted, with satisfaction, that there was still sufficient to eat to last over a week. Mr. Fenwick had not stinted his kitchen stores. This work done, Captain Mentor and Mate Fordam went to the highest part of the island, where they erected a signal, made from pieces of canvas that had been in the life boat. The boat itself was brought around to the new camp, and at first it was hoped that it could be repaired, and used. But too large a hole had been stove in the bottom, so it was broken up, and the planks used in making the shacks. This work occupied the better part of two days, and during this time, there were no more earthquakes. The castaways began to hope that the island would not be quiet for a while. Mrs. Anderson and Mrs. Nestor assumed charge of the "housekeeping" arrangements, and also the cooking, which relieved Tom from those duties. The two ladies even instituted "wash-day," and when a number of garments were hung on lines to dry, the camp looked like some summer colony of pleasure-seekers, out for a holiday. In the meanwhile, Tom had spent most of his time among the machinery which had been taken from the airship. He inspected it carefully, tested some of the apparatus, and made some calculations on a bit of paper. He seemed greatly pleased over something, and one afternoon, when he was removing some of the guy and stay wires from the collapsed frame of the WHIZZER, he was approached by Mr. Barcoe Jenks. "Planning something new?" asked Mr. Jenks, with an attempt at jollity, which, however, failed. The man had a curious air about him, as if he was carrying some secret that was too much for him. "Well, nothing exactly new," answered Tom. "At best I am merely going to try an experiment." "An experiment, eh?" resumed Mr. Jenks, "And might I ask if it has anything to do with rescuing us from this island?" "I hope it will have," answered Tom, gravely. "Good!" exclaimed Mr. Jenks. "Well, now I have a proposition to make to you. I suppose you are not very wealthy, Mr. Swift?" He gazed at Tom, quizzically. "I am not poor," was the young inventor's proud answer, "but I would be glad to make more money--legitimately." "I thought so. Most every one would. Look here!" He approached closer to Tom, and, pulling his hand from his pocket, held it extended, in the palm were a number of irregularly-shaped objects--stones or crystals the lad took them to be, yet they did not look like ordinary stones or crystals. "Do you know what those are?" asked Mr. Jenks. "I might guess," replied Tom. "I'll save you the trouble. They are diamonds! Diamonds of the very first water, but uncut. Now to the point. I have half a million dollars worth of them. If you get me safely off this island, I will agree to make you a quarter of a million dollars worth of diamonds!" "Make me a quarter of a million dollars worth of diamonds?" asked Tom, struck by the use of the work "make." "Yes, 'make,'" answered Mr. Jenks. "That is if I can discover the secret--the secret of Phantom Mountain. Get me away from the island and I will share my knowledge with you--I need help--help to learn the secret and help to make the diamonds--see, there are some of the first ones made, but I have been defrauded of my rights--I need the aid of a young fellow like you. Will you help? See, I'll give you some diamonds now. They are genuine, though they are not like ordinary diamonds. I made them. Will you--" Before Tom could answer, there came a warning rumble of the earth, and a great fissure opened, almost at the feet of Mr. Jenks, who, with a cry of fear, leaped toward the young inventor. CHAPTER XIX SECRET OPERATIONS "Help me save this machinery!" yelled Tom, whose first thought was for the electrical apparatus. "Don't let it fall into that chasm!" For the crack had widened, until it was almost to the place where the parts of the wrecked airship had been carried. "The machinery? What do I care about the machinery?" cried Mr. Jenks. "I want to save my life!" "And this machinery is our only hope!" retorted Tom. He began tugging at the heavy dynamos and gasolene engine, but he might have saved himself the trouble, for with the same suddenness with which it opened, the crack closed again. The shock had done it, and, as if satisfied with that phenomena, the earthquake ceased, and the island no longer trembled. "That was a light one," spoke Tom, with an air of relief. He was becoming used to the shocks now, and, when he saw that his precious machinery was not damaged he could view the earth tremors calmly. "Slight!" exclaimed Mr. Jenks. "Well, I don't call it so. But I see Captain Mentor and Mr. Hosbrook coming. Please don't say anything to them about the diamonds. I'll see you again," and with that, the queer Mr. Jenks walked away. "We came to see if you were hurt," called the captain, as he neared the young inventor. "No, I'm all right. How about the others?" "Only frightened," replied the yacht owner. "This is getting awful. I hoped we were free from the shocks, but they still continue." "And I guess they will," added Tom. "We certainly are on Earthquake Island!" "Mr. Parker, the scientist, says this last shock bears out his theory," went on the millionaire. "He says it will be only a question of a few days when the whole island will disappear." "Comforting, to say the least," commented Tom. "I should say so. But what are you doing, Mr. Swift?" "Trying an experiment," answered the young inventor, in some confusion. He was not yet ready to talk about his plans. "We must begin to think seriously of building some sort of a boat or raft, and getting away from the island," went on the millionaire. "It will be perilous to go to sea with anything we can construct, but it is risking our lives to stay here. I don't know what to do." "Perhaps Captain Mentor has some plan," suggested Tom, hoping to change the subject. "No," answered the commander, "I confess I am at a loss to know what to do. There is nothing with which to do anything, that is the trouble! But I did think of hoisting another signal, on this end of the island, where it might be seen if our first one wasn't. I believe I'll do that," and he moved away, to carry out his intention. "Well, I think I'll get back, Tom, and tell the others that you are all right," spoke Mr. Hosbrook. "I left the camp, after the shock, because Mrs. Nestor was worried about you." The place to which the airship machinery had been removed was some distance from the camp, and out of sight of the shacks. "Oh, yes. I'm all right," said Tom. Then, with a sudden impulse, he asked: "Do you know much about this Mr. Barcoe Jenks, Mr. Hosbrook?" "Not a great deal," was the reply. "In fact, I may say I do not know him at all. Why do you ask?" "Because I thought he acted rather strangely." "Just what the rest of us think," declared the yacht owner. "He is no friend of mine, though he was my guest on the RESOLUTE. It came about in this way. I had invited a Mr. Frank Jackson to make the trip with me, and he asked if he could bring with him a Mr. Jenks, a friend of his. I assented, and Mr. Jackson came aboard with Mr. Jenks. Just as we were about to sail Mr. Jackson received a message requiring his presence in Canada, and he could not make the trip." "But Mr. Jenks seemed so cut-up about being deprived of the yachting trip, and was so fond of the water, that I invited him to remain on board, even if his friend did not. So that is how he came to be among my guests, though he is a comparative stranger to all of us." "I see," spoke Tom. "Has he been acting unusually strange?" asked Mr. Hosbrook suspiciously. "No, only he seemed very anxious to get off the island, but I suppose we all are. He wanted to know what I planned to do." "Did you tell him?" "No, for the reason that I don't know whether I can succeed or not, and I don't want to raise false hopes." "Then you would prefer not to tell any of us?" "No one--that is except Mr. Fenwick and Mr. Damon. I may need them to help me." "I see," responded Mr. Hosbrook. "Well, whatever it is, I wish you luck. It is certainly a fearful place--this island," and busy with many thoughts, which crowded upon him, the millionaire moved away, leaving Tom alone. A little while after this Tom might have been seen in close conversation with Mr. Damon and Mr. Fenwick. The former, on hearing what the young inventor had to say, blessed himself and his various possessions so often, that he seemed to have gotten out of breath. Mr. Fenwick exclaimed: "Tom, if you can work that it will be one of the greatest things you have ever done!" "I hope I can work it," was all the young inventor replied. For the next three days Tom, and his two friends, spent most of their time in the neighborhood of the pile of machinery and apparatus taken from the wrecked WHIZZER. Mr. Jenks hung around the spot, but a word or two from Mr. Hosbrook sent him away, and our three friends were left to their work in peace, for they were inclined to be secretive about their operations, as Tom did not want his plans known until he was ready. The gasolene motor was overhauled, and put in shape to work. Then it was attached to the dynamo. When this much had been done, Tom and his friends built a rude shack around the machinery shutting it from view. "Humph! Are you afraid we will steal it?" asked Mr. Parker, the scientist, who held to his alarming theory regarding the ultimate disappearance of the island. "No, I simply want to protect it from the weather," answered Tom. "You will soon know all our plans. I think they will work out." "You'd better do it before we get another earthquake, and the island sinks," was the dismal response. But there had been no shocks since the one that nearly engulfed Mr. Jenks. As for that individual he said little to any one, and wandered off alone by himself. Tom wondered what kind of diamonds they were that the odd man had, and the lad even had his doubts as to the value of the queer stones he had seen. But he was too busy with his work to waste much time in idle speculation. CHAPTER XX THE WIRELESS PLANT The castaways had been on Earthquake Island a week now, and in that time had suffered many shocks. Some were mere tremors, and some were so severe as to throw whole portions of the isle into the sea. They never could tell when a shock was coming, and often one awakened them in the night. But, in spite of this, the refugees were as cheerful as it was possible to be under the circumstances. Only Mr. Jenks seemed nervous and ill at ease, and he kept much by himself. As for Tom, Mr. Damon and Mr. Fenwick, the three were busy in their shack. The others had ceased to ask questions about what they were doing, and Mr. Nestor and his wife took it for granted that Tom was building a boat. Captain Mentor and the mate spent much time gazing off to sea, hoping for a sight of the sail of some vessel, or the haze that would indicate the smoke of a steamer. But they saw nothing. "I haven't much hope of sighting anything," the captain said. "I know we are off the track of the regular liners, and our only chance would be that some tramp steamer, or some ship blown off her course, would see our signal. I tell you, friends, we're in a bad way." "If money was any object--," began Mr. Jenks. "What good would money be?" demanded Mr. Hosbrook. "What we need to do is to get a message to some one--some of my friends--to send out a party to rescue us." "That's right," chimed in Mr. Parker, the scientist. "And the message needs to go off soon, if we are to be saved." "Why so?" asked Mr. Anderson. "Because I think this island will sink inside of a week!" A scream came from the two ladies. "Why don't you keep such thoughts to yourself?" demanded the millionaire yacht owner, indignantly. "Well, it's true," stubbornly insisted the scientist. "What if it is? It doesn't do any good to remind us of it." "Bless my gizzard, no!" exclaimed Mr. Damon. "Suppose we have dinner. I'm hungry." That seemed to be his remedy for a number of ills. "If we only could get a message off, summoning help, it WOULD be the very thing," sighed Mrs. Nestor. "Oh, how I wish I could send my daughter, Mary, word of where we are. She may hear of the wreck of the RESOLUTE, and worry herself to death." "But it is out of the question to send a message for help from Earthquake Island," added Mrs. Anderson. "We are totally cut off from the rest of the world here." "Perhaps not," spoke Tom Swift, quietly. He had come up silently, and had heard the conversation. "What's that you said?" cried Mr. Nestor, springing to his feet, and crossing the sandy beach toward the lad. "I said perhaps we weren't altogether cut off from the rest of the world," repeated Tom. "Why not," demanded Captain Mentor. "You don't mean to say that you have been building a boat up there in your little shack, do you?" "Not a boat," replied Tom, "but I think I have a means of sending out a call for help!" "Oh, Tom--Mr. Swift--how?" exclaimed Mrs. Nestor. "Do you mean we can send a message to my Mary?" "Well, not exactly to her," answered the young inventor, though he wished that such a thing were possible. "But I think I can summon help." "How?" demanded Mr. Hosbrook. "Have you managed to discover some cable line running past the island, and have you tapped it?" "Not exactly." was Tom's calm answer, "but I have succeeded, with the help of Mr. Damon and Mr. Fenwick, in building an apparatus that will send out wireless messages!" "Wireless messages!" gasped the millionaire. "Are you sure?" "Wireless messages!" exclaimed Mr. Jenks. "I'll give--" He paused, clasped his hands on his belt, and turned away. "Oh, Tom!" cried Mrs. Nestor, and she went up to the lad, threw her arms about his neck, and kissed him; whereat Tom blushed. "Perhaps you'd better explain," suggested Mr. Anderson. "I will," said the lad. "That is the secret we have been engaged upon--Mr. Damon, Mr. Fenwick and myself. We did not want to say anything about it until we were sure we could succeed." "And are you sure now?" asked Captain Mentor. "Fairly so." "How could you build a wireless station?" inquired Mr. Hosbrook. "From the electrical machinery that was in the wrecked WHIZZER," spoke Tom. "Fortunately, that was not damaged by the shock of the fall, and I have managed to set up the gasolene engine, and attach the dynamo to it so that we can generate a powerful current. We also have a fairly good storage battery, though that was slightly damaged by the fall." "I have just tested the machinery, and I think we can send out a strong enough message to carry at least a thousand miles." "Then that will reach some station, or some passing ship," murmured Captain Mentor. "There is a chance that we may be saved." "If it isn't too late," gloomily murmured the scientist. "There is no telling when the island will disappear beneath the sea." But they were all so interested in Tom's announcement that they paid little attention to this dire foreboding. "Tell us about it," suggested Mr. Nestor. And Tom did. He related how he had set up the dynamo and gasolene engine, and how, by means of the proper coils and other electrical apparatus, all of which, fortunately, was aboard the WHIZZER, he could produce a powerful spark. "I had to make a key out of strips of brass, to produce the Morse characters," the lad said. "This took considerable time, but it works, though it is rather crude. I can click out a message with it." "That may be," said Mr. Hosbrook, who had been considering installing a wireless plant on his yacht, and who, therefore, knew something about it, "you may send a message, but can you receive an answer?" "I have also provided for that," replied Tom. "I have made a receiving instrument, though that is even more crude than the sending plant, for it had to be delicately adjusted, and I did not have just the magnets, carbons, coherers and needles that I needed. But I think it will work." "Did you have a telephone receiver to use?" "Yes. There was a small interior telephone arrangement on Mr. Fenwick's airship, and part of that came in handy. Oh, I think I can hear any messages that may come in answer to ours." "But what about the aerial wires for sending and receiving messages?" asked Mr. Nestor. "Don't you have to have several wires on a tall mast?" "Yes, and that is the last thing to do," declared Tom. "I need all your help in putting up those wires. That tall tree on the crest of the island will do," and he pointed to a dead palm that towered gaunt and bare like a ship's mast, on a pile of rocks in the centre of Earthquake Island. CHAPTER XXI MESSAGES INTO SPACE Tom Swift's announcement of the practical completion of his wireless plant brought hope to the discouraged hearts of the castaways. They crowded about him, and asked all manner of questions. Mr. Fenwick and Mr. Damon came in for their share of attention, for Tom said had it not been for the aid of his friends he never could have accomplished what he did. Then they all trooped up to the little shack, and inspected the plant. As the young inventor had said, it was necessarily crude, but when he set the gasolene motor going, and the dynamo whizzed and hummed, sending out great, violet-hued sparks, they were all convinced that the young inventor had accomplished wonders, considering the materials at his disposal. "But it's going to be no easy task to rig up the sending and receiving wires," declared Tom. "That will take some time." "Have you got the wire?" asked Mr. Jenks. "I took it from the stays of the airship," was Tom's reply, and he recalled the day he was at that work, when the odd man had exhibited the handful of what he said were diamonds. Tom wondered if they really were, and he speculated as to what might be the secret of Phantom Mountain, to which Mr. Jenks had referred. But now followed a busy time for all. Under the direction of the young inventor, they began to string the wires from the top of the dead tree, to a smaller one, some distance away, using five wires, set parallel, and attached to a wooden spreader, or stay. The wires were then run to the dynamo, and the receiving coil, and the necessary ground wires were installed. "But I can't understand how you are going to do it," said Mrs. Nestor. "I've read about wireless messages, but I can't get it through my head. How is it done, Mr. Swift?" "The theory is very simple," said the young inventor. "To send a message by wire, over a telegraph system, a battery or dynamo is used. This establishes a current over wires stretched between two points. By means of what is called a 'key' this current is interrupted, or broken, at certain intervals, making the sounding instrument send out clicks. A short click is called a dot, and a long click a dash. By combinations of dots, dashes, and spaces between the dots and dashes, letters are spelled out. For instance, a dot and a space and a dash, represent the letter 'A' and so on." "I understand so far," admitted Mrs. Nestor. "In telegraphing without wires," went on Tom, "the air is used in place of a metallic conductor, with the help of the earth, which in itself is a big magnet, or a battery, as you choose to regard it. The earth helps to establish the connection between places where there are no wires, when we 'ground' certain conductors." "To send a wireless message a current is generated by a dynamo. The current flows along until it gets to the ends of the sending wires, which we have just strung. Then it leaps off into space, so to speak, until it reaches the receiving wires, wherever they may be erected. That is why any wireless receiving station, within a certain radius, can catch any messages that may be flying through the air--that is unless certain apparatus is tuned, or adjusted, to prevent this." "Well, once the impulses, or electric currents, are sent out into space, all that is necessary to do is to break, or interrupt them at certain intervals, to make dots, dashes and spaces. These make corresponding clicks in the telephone receiver which the operator at the receiving station wears on his ear. He hears the code of clicks, and translates them into letters, the letters into words and the words into sentences. That is how wireless messages are sent." "And do you propose to send some that way?" asked Mrs. Anderson. "I do," replied Tom, with a smile. "Where to?" Mrs. Nestor wanted to know. "That's what I can't tell," was Tom's reply. "I will have to project them off into space, and trust to chance that some listening wireless operator will 'pick them up,' as they call it, and send us aid." "But are wireless operators always listening?" asked Mr. Nestor. "Somewhere, some of them are--I hope," was Tom's quiet answer. "As I said, we will have to trust much to chance. But other people have been saved by sending messages off into space; and why not we? Sinking steamers have had their passengers taken off when the operator called for help, merely by sending a message into space." "But how can we tell them where to come for us--on this unknown island?" inquired Mrs. Anderson. "I fancy Captain Mentor can supply our longitude and latitude," answered Tom. "I will give that with every message I send out, and help may come--some day." "It can't come any too quick for me!" declared Mr. Damon. "Bless my door knob, but my wife must be worrying about my absence!" "What message for help will you send?" Captain Mentor wanted to know. "I am going to use the old call for aid," was the reply of the young inventor. "I shall flash into space the three letters 'C.Q.D.' They stand for 'Come Quick--Danger.' A new code call has been instituted for them, but I am going to rely on the old one, as, in this part of the world, the new one may not be so well understood. Then I will follow that by giving our position in the ocean, as nearly as Captain Mentor can figure it out. I will repeat this call at intervals until we get help--" "Or until the island sinks," added the scientist, grimly. "Here! Don't mention that any more," ordered Mr. Hosbrook. "It's getting on my nerves! We may be rescued before that awful calamity overtakes us." "I don't believe so," was Mr. Parker's reply, and he actually seemed to derive pleasure from his gloomy prophecy. "It's lucky you understand wireless telegraphy, Tom Swift," said Mr. Nestor admiringly, and the other joined in praising the young inventor, until, blushing, he hurried off to make some adjustments to his apparatus. "Can you compute our longitude and latitude, Captain Mentor," asked the millionaire yacht owner. "I think so," was the reply. "Not very accurately, of course, for all my papers and instruments went down in the RESOLUTE. But near enough for the purpose, I fancy. I'll get right to work at it, and let Mr. Swift have it." "I wish you would. The sooner we begin calling for help the better. I never expected to be in such a predicament as this, but it is wonderful how that young fellow worked out his plan of rescue. I hope he succeeds." It took some little time for the commander to figure their position, and then it was only approximate. But at length he handed Tom a piece of paper with the latitude and longitude written on it. In the meanwhile, the young inventor had been connecting up his apparatus. The wires were now all strung, and all that was necessary was to start the motor and dynamo. A curious throng gathered about the little shack as Tom announced that he was about to flash into space the first message calling for help. He took his place at the box, to which had been fastened the apparatus for clicking off the Morse letters. "Well, here we go," he said, with a smile. His fingers clasped the rude key he had fashioned from bits of brass and hard rubber. The motor was buzzing away, and the electric dynamo was purring like some big cat. Just as Tom opened the circuit, to send the current into the instrument, there came an ominous rumbling of the earth. "Another quake!" screamed Mrs. Anderson. But it was over in a second, and calmness succeeded the incipient panic. Suddenly, overhead, there sounded a queer crackling noise, a vicious, snapping, as if from some invisible whips. "Mercy! What's that?" cried Mrs. Nestor. "The wireless," replied Tom, quietly. "I am going to send a message for help, off into space. I hope some one receives it--and answers," he added, in a low tone. The crackling increased. While they gathered about him, Tom Swift pressed the key, making and breaking the current until he had sent out from Earthquake Island the three letters--"C.Q.D." And he followed them by giving their latitude and longitude. Over and over again he flashed out this message. Would it be answered? Would help come? If so, from where? And if so, would it be in time? These were questions that the castaways asked themselves. As for Tom, he sat at the key, clicking away, while, overhead, from the wires fastened to the dead tree, flashed out the messages. CHAPTER XXII ANXIOUS DAYS After the first few minutes of watching Tom click out the messages, the little throng of castaways that had gathered about the shack, moved away. The matter had lost its novelty for them, though, of course, they were vitally interested in the success of Tom's undertaking. Only Mr. Damon and Mr. Fenwick remained with the young inventor, for he needed help, occasionally, in operating the dynamo, or in adjusting the gasolene motor. Mrs. Nestor, who, with Mrs. Anderson, was looking after the primitive housekeeping arrangements, occasionally strolled up the hill to the little shed. "Any answer yet, Mr. Swift?" she would ask. "No." was the reply. "We can hardly expect any so soon," and Mrs. Nestor would depart, with a sigh. Knowing that his supply of gasolene was limited, Tom realized that he could not run the dynamo steadily, and keep flashing the wireless messages into space. He consulted with his two friends on the subject, and Mr. Damon said: "Well, the best plan, I think, would be only to send out the flashes over the wires at times when other wireless operators will be on the lookout, or, rather, listening. There is no use wasting our fuel. We can't get any more here." "That's true," admitted Tom, "but how can we pick out any certain time, when we can be sure that wireless operators, within a zone of a thousand miles, will be listening to catch clicks which call for help from the unknown?" "We can't," decided Mr. Fenwick. "The only thing to do is to trust to chance. If there was only some way so you would not have to be on duty all the while, and could send out messages automatically, it would be good." Tom shook his head. "I have to stay here to adjust the apparatus," he said. "It works none too easily as it is, for I didn't have just what I needed from which to construct this station. Anyhow, even if I could rig up something to click out 'C.Q.D.' automatically, I could hardly arrange to have the answer come that way. And I want to be here when the answer comes." "Have you any plan, then?" asked Mr. Damon. "Bless my shoe laces! there are enough problems to solve on this earthquake island." "I thought of this," said Tom. "I'll send out our call for help from nine to ten in the morning. Then I'll wait, and send out another call from two to three in the afternoon. Around seven in the evening I'll try again, and then about ten o'clock at night, before going to bed." "That ought to be sufficient," agreed Mr. Fenwick. "Certainly we must save our gasolene, for there is no telling how long we may have to stay here, and call for help." "It won't be long if that scientist Parker has his way," spoke Mr. Damon, grimly. "Bless my hat band, but he's a MOST uncomfortable man to have around; always predicting that the island is going to sink! I hope we are rescued before that happens." "I guess we all do," remarked Mr. Fenwick. "But, Tom, here is another matter. Have you thought about getting an answer from the unknown--from some ship or wireless station, that may reply to your calls? How can you tell when that will come in?" "I can't." "Then won't you or some of us, have to be listening all the while?" "No, for I think an answer will come only directly after I have sent out a call, and it has been picked up by some operator. Still there is a possibility that some operator might receive my message, and report to his chief, or some one in authority over him, before replying. In that time I might go away. But to guard against that I will sleep with the telephone receiver clamped to my ear. Then I can hear the answer come over the wires, and can jump up and reply." "Do you mean you will sleep here?" asked Mr. Damon, indicating the shack where the wireless apparatus was contained. "Yes," answered Tom, simply. "Can't we take turns listening for the answer?" inquired Mr. Fenwick, "and so relieve you?" "I'm afraid not, unless you understand the Morse code," replied Tom. "You see there may be many clicks, which result from wireless messages flying back and forth in space, and my receiver will pick them up. But they will mean nothing. Only the answer to our call for help will be of any service to us." "Do you mean to say that you can catch messages flying back and forth between stations now?" asked Mr. Fenwick. "Yes," replied the young inventor, with a smile. "Here, listen for yourself," and he passed the head-instrument over to the WHIZZER's former owner. The latter listened a moment. "All I can hear are some faint clicks," he said. "But they are a message," spoke Tom. "Wait, I'll translate," and he put the receiver to his ear. "'STEAMSHIP "FALCON" REPORTS A SLIGHT FIRE IN HER FORWARD COMPARTMENT,'" said Tom, slowly. "'IT IS UNDER CONTROL, AND WE WILL PROCEED.'" "Do you mean to say that was the message you heard?" cried Mr. Damon. "Bless my soul, I never can understand it!" "It was part of a message," answered Tom. "I did not catch it all, nor to whom it was sent." "But why can't you send a message to that steamship then, and beg them to come to our aid?" asked Mr. Fenwick. "Even if they have had a fire, it is out now, and they ought to be glad to save life." "They would come to our aid, or send," spoke Tom, "but I can not make their wireless operator pick up our message. Either his apparatus is not in tune, or in accord with ours, or he is beyond our zone." "But you heard him," insisted Mr. Damon. "Yes, but sometimes it is easier to pick up messages than it is to send them. However, I will keep on trying." Putting into operation the plan he had decided on for saving their supply of gasolene, Tom sent out his messages the remainder of the day, at the intervals agreed upon. Then the apparatus was shut down, but the lad paid frequent visits to the shack, and listened to the clicks of the telephone receiver. He caught several messages, but they were not in response to his appeals for aid. That night there was a slight earthquake shock, but no more of the island fell into the sea, though the castaways were awakened by the tremors, and were in mortal terror for a while. Three days passed, days of anxious waiting, during which time Tom sent out message after message by his wireless, and waited in vain for an answer. There were three shocks in this interval, two slight, and one very severe, which last cast into the ocean a great cliff on the far end of the island. There was a flooding rush of water, but no harm resulted. "It is coming nearer," said Mr. Parker. "What is?" demanded Mr. Hosbrook. "The destruction of our island. My theory will soon be confirmed," and the scientist actually seemed to take pleasure in it. "Oh, you and your theory!" exclaimed the millionaire in disgust. "Don't let me hear you mention it again! Haven't we troubles enough?" whereat Mr. Parker went off by himself, to look at the place where the cliff had fallen. Each night Tom slept with the telephone receiver to his ear, but, though it clicked many times, there was not sounded the call he had adopted for his station--"E. I."--Earthquake Island. In each appeal he sent out he had requested that if his message was picked up, that the answer be preceded by the letters "E.I." It was on the fourth day after the completion of the wireless station, that Tom was sending out his morning calls. Mrs. Nestor came up the little hill to the shack where Tom was clicking away. "No replies yet, I suppose?" she inquired, and there was a hopeless note in her voice. "None yet, but they may come any minute," and Tom tried to speak cheerfully. "I certainly hope so," added Mary's mother, "But I came up more especially now, Mr. Swift, to inquire where you had stored the rest of the food." "The rest of the food?" "Yes, the supply you took from the wrecked airship. We have used up nearly all that was piled in the improvised kitchen, and we'll have to draw on the reserve supply." "The reserve," murmured Tom. "Yes, there is only enough in the shack where Mrs. Anderson and I do the cooking, to last for about two days. Isn't there any more?" Tom did not answer. He saw the drift of the questioning. Their food was nearly gone, yet the castaways from the RESOLUTE thought there was still plenty. As a matter of fact there was not another can, except those in the kitchen shack. "Get out wherever there is left some time to-day, if you will, Mr. Swift," went on Mrs. Nestor, as she turned away, "and Mrs. Anderson and I will see if we can fix up some new dishes for you men-folks." "Oh--all right," answered Tom, weakly. His hand dropped from the key of the instrument. He sat staring into space. Food enough for but two days more, with earthquakes likely to happen at any moment, and no reply yet to his appeals for aid! Truly the situation was desperate. Tom shook his head. It was the first time he had felt like giving up. CHAPTER XXIII A REPLY IN THE DARK The young inventor looked out of the wireless shack. Down on the beach he saw the little band of castaways. They were gathered in a group about Mr. Jenks, who seemed to be talking earnestly to them. The two ladies were over near the small building that served as a kitchen. "More food supplies needed, eh?" mused Tom. "Well, I don't know where any more is to come from. We've stripped the WHIZZER bare." He glanced toward what remained of the airship. "I guess we'll have to go on short rations, until help comes," and, wondering what the group of men could be talking about, Tom resumed his clicking out of his wireless message. He continued to send it into space for several minutes after ten o'clock, the hour at which he usually stopped for the morning, for he thought there might be a possible chance that the electrical impulses would be picked up by some vessel far out at sea, or by some station operator who could send help. But there came no answering clicks to the "E. I." station--to Earthquake Island--and, after a little longer working of the key, Tom shut down the dynamo, and joined the group on the beach. "I tell you it's our only chance," Mr. Jenks was saying. "I must get off this island, and that's the only way we can do it. I have large interests at stake. If we wait for a reply to this wireless message we may all be killed, though I appreciate that Mr. Swift is doing his best to aid us. But it is hopeless!" "What do you think about it, Tom?" asked Mr. Damon, turning to the young inventor. "Think about what?" "Why Mr. Jenks has just proposed that we build a big raft, and launch it. He thinks we should leave the island." "It might be a good idea," agreed the lad, as he thought of the scant food supply. "Of course, I can't say when a reply will be received to my calls for aid, and it is best to be prepared." "Especially as the island may sink any minute," added Mr. Parker. "If it does, even a raft will be little good, as it may be swamped in the vortex. I think it would be a good plan to make one, then anchor it some distance out from the island. Then we can make a small raft, and paddle out to the big one in a hurry if need be." "Yes, that's a good idea, too," conceded Tom. "And we must stock it well with provisions," said Mr. Damon. "Put plenty of water and food aboard." "We can't," spoke Tom, quietly. "Why not?" "Because we haven't plenty of provisions. That's what I came down to speak about," and the lad related what Mrs. Nestor had said. "Then there is but one thing to do," declared Mr. Fenwick. "What?" asked Captain Mentor. "We must go on half rations, or quarter rations, if need be. That will make our supply last longer. And another thing--we must not let the women folks know. Just pretend that we're not hungry, but take only a quarter, or at most, not more than a half of what we have been in the habit of taking. There is plenty of water, thank goodness, and we may be able to live until help comes." "Then shall we build the raft?" asked Mr. Hosbrook. It was decided that this would be a good plan, and they started it that same day. Trees were felled, with axes and saws that had been aboard the WHIZZER, and bound together, in rude fashion, with strong trailing vines from the forest. A smaller raft, as a sort of ferry, was also made. This occupied them all that day, and part of the next. In the meanwhile, Tom continued to flash out his appeals for help, but no answers came. The men cut down their rations, and when the two ladies joked them on their lack of appetite, they said nothing. Tom was glad that Mrs. Nestor did not renew her request to him to get out the reserve food supply from what remained in the wreck of the airship. Perhaps Mr. Nestor had hinted to her the real situation. The large raft was towed out into a quiet bay of the island, and anchored there by means of a heavy rock, attached to a rope. On board were put cans of water, which were lashed fast, but no food could be spared to stock the rude craft. All the castaways could depend on, was to take with them, in the event of the island beginning to sink, what rations they had left when the final shock should come. This done, they could only wait, and weary was that waiting. Tom kept faithfully to his schedule, and his ear ached from the constant pressure of the telephone receiver. He heard message after message flash through space, and click on his instrument, but none of them was in answer to his. On his face there came a grim and hopeless look. One afternoon, a week following the erection of the wireless station, Mate Fordam came upon a number of turtles. He caught some, by turning them over on their backs, and also located a number of nests of eggs under the warm sands. "This will be something to eat," he said, joyfully, and indeed the turtles formed a welcome food supply. Some fish were caught, and some clams were cast up by the tide, all of which eked out the scanty food supply that remained. The two ladies suspected the truth now and they, too, cut down their allowance. Tom, who had been sitting with the men in their sleeping shack, that evening, rose, as the hour of ten approached. It was time to send out the last message of the night, and then he would lie down on an improvised couch, with the telephone receiver clamped to his ear, to wait, in the silence of the darkness, for the message saying that help was on the way. "Well, are you off?" asked Mr. Damon, kindly. "I wish some of us could relieve you, Tom." "Oh, I don't mind it," answered the lad "Perhaps the message may come to-night." Hardly had he spoken than there sounded the ominous rumble and shaking that presaged another earthquake. The shack rocked, and threatened to come down about their heads. "We must be doomed!" cried Mr. Parker. "The island is about to sink! Make for the raft!" "Wait and see how bad it is," counseled Mr. Hosbrook. "It may be only a slight shock." Indeed, as he spoke, the trembling of the island ceased, and there was silence. The two ladies, who had retired to their own private shack, ran out screaming, and Mr. Anderson and Mr. Nestor hastened over to be with their wives. "I guess it's passed over," spoke Mr. Fenwick. An instant later there came another tremor, but it was not like that of an earthquake shock. It was more like the rumble and vibration of an approaching train. "Look!" cried Tom, pointing to the left. Their gaze went in that direction, and, under the light of a full moon they saw, sliding into the sea, a great portion of one of the rocky hills. "A landslide!" cried Captain Mentor. "The island is slowly breaking up." "It confirms my theory!" said Mr. Parker, almost in triumph. "Forget your theory for a while, Parker, please," begged Mr. Hosbrook. "We're lucky to have left a place on which to stand! Oh, when will we be rescued?" he asked hopelessly. The worst seemed to be over at least for the present, and, learning that the two ladies were quieted, Tom started up the hill to his wireless station. Mr. Damon and Mr. Fenwick went with him, to aid in starting the motor and dynamo. Then, after the message had been clicked out as usual Tom would begin his weary waiting. They found that the earthquake shock had slightly disturbed the apparatus, and it took them half an hour to adjust it. As there had been a delay on account of the landslide, it was eleven o'clock before Tom began sending out any flashes, and he kept it up until midnight. But there came no replies, so he shut off the power, and prepared to get a little rest. "It looks pretty hopeless; doesn't it?" said Mr. Fenwick, as he and Mr. Damon were on their way back to the sleeping shack. "Yes, it does. Our signal hasn't been seen, no ships have passed this way, and our wireless appeal isn't answered. It does look hopeless but, do you know, I haven't given up yet." "Why not?" "Because I have faith in Tom Swift's luck!" declared the eccentric man. "If you had been with him as much as I have, up in the air, and under the water, and had seen the tight places he has gotten out of, you'd feel the same, too!" "Perhaps, but here there doesn't seem to be anything to do. It all depends on some one else." "That's all right. You leave it to Tom. He'll get an answer yet, you see if he doesn't." It was an hour past midnight. Tom tossed uneasily on the hard bed in the wireless shack. The telephone receiver on his ear hurt him, and he could not sleep. "I may as well sit up for a while," he told himself, and he arose. In the dimness of the shack he could see the outlines of the dynamo and the motor. "Guess I'll start her up, and send out some calls," he murmured. "I might just happen to catch some ship operator who is up late. I'll try it." The young inventor started the motor, and soon the dynamo was purring away. He tested the wireless apparatus. It shot out great long sparks, which snapped viciously through the air. Then, in the silence of the night, Tom clicked off his call for help for the castaways of Earthquake Island. For half an hour he sent it away into space, none of the others in their shacks below him, awakening. Then Tom, having worked off his restless fit, was about to return to bed. But what was this? What was that clicking in the telephone receiver at his ear? He listened. It was not a jumble of dots and dashes, conveying through space a message that meant nothing to him. No! It was his own call that was answered. The call of his station--"E. I."--Earthquake Island! "WHERE ARE YOU? WHAT'S WANTED?" That was the message that was clicked to Tom from somewhere in the great void. "I GET YOUR MESSAGE 'E. I.' WHAT'S WANTED? DO I HEAR YOU RIGHT? REPEAT." Tom heard those questions in the silence of the night. With trembling fingers Tom pressed his own key. Out into the darkness went his call for help. "WE ARE ON EARTHQUAKE ISLAND." He gave the longitude and latitude. "COME QUICKLY OR WE WILL BE ENGULFED IN THE SEA! WE ARE CASTAWAYS FROM THE YACHT 'RESOLUTE,' AND THE AIRSHIP 'WHIZZER.' CAN YOU SAVE US?" Came then this query: "WHAT'S THAT ABOUT AIRSHIP?" "NEVER MIND AIRSHIP," clicked Tom. "SEND HELP QUICKLY! WHO ARE YOU?" The answer flashed to him through space: "STEAMSHIP 'CAMBARANIAN' FROM RIO DE JANEIRO TO NEW YORK. JUST CAUGHT YOUR MESSAGE. THOUGHT IT A FAKE." "NO FAKE," Tom sent back. "HELP US QUICKLY! HOW SOON CAN YOU COME?" There was a wait, and the wireless operator clicked to Tom that he had called the captain. Then came the report: "WE WILL BE THERE WITHIN TWENTY-FOUR HOURS. KEEP IN COMMUNICATION WITH US." "YOU BET I WILL," flashed back Tom, his heart beating joyously, and then he let out a great shout. "We are saved! We are saved! My wireless message is answered! A steamer is on her way to rescue us!" He rushed from the shack, calling to the others. "What's that?" demanded Mr. Hosbrook. Tom briefly told of how the message had come to him in the night. "Tell them to hurry," begged the rich yacht owner. "Say that I will give twenty thousand dollars reward if we are taken off!" "And I'll do the same," cried Mr. Jenks. "I must get to the place where--" Then he seemed to recollect himself, and stopped suddenly. "Tell them to hurry," he begged Tom. The whole crowd of castaways, save the women, were gathered about the wireless shack. "They'll need to hurry," spoke Mr. Parker, the gloomy scientist. "The island may sink before morning!" Mr. Hosbrook and the others glared at him, but he seemed to take delight in his prediction. Suddenly the wireless instruments hummed. "Another message," whispered Tom. He listened. "THE 'CAMBARANIAN' WILL RUSH HERE WITH ALL SPEED," he announced, and not a heart there on that lonely and desolate island but sent up a prayer of thankfulness. CHAPTER XXIV "WE ARE LOST!" There was little more sleep for any one that night. They sat up, talking over the wonderful and unexpected outcome of Tom Swift's wireless message, and speculating as to when the steamer would get there. "Bless my pocket comb! But I told you it would come out all right, if we left it to Tom!" declared Mr. Damon. "But it hasn't come out yet," remarked the pessimistic scientist. "The steamer may arrive too late." "You're a cheerful sort of fellow to take on a yachting trip," murmured Mr. Hosbrook, sarcastically. "I'll never invite you again, even if you are a great scientist." "I'm going to sit and watch for the steamer," declared Mr. Damon, as he went outside the shack. The night was warm, and there was a full moon. "Which way will she come from, Tom?" "I don't know, but I should think, that if she was on her way north, from South America, she'd pass on the side of the island on which we now are." "That's right," agreed Captain Mentor. "She'll come up from over there," and he pointed across the ocean directly in front of the shacks and camp. "Then I'm going to see if I can't be the first to sight her lights," declared Mr. Damon. "She can't possibly get here inside of a day, according to what the operator said," declared Tom. "Wire them to put on all the speed they can," urged the eccentric man. "No, don't waste any more power or energy than is needed," suggested Mr. Hosbrook. "You may need the gasolene before we are rescued. They are on their way, and that is enough for now." The others agreed with this, and so Tom, after a final message to the operator aboard the CAMBARANIAN stating that he would call him up in the morning, shut down the motor. Mr. Damon took up his position where he could see far out over the ocean, but, as the young inventor had said, there was no possible chance of sighting the relief steamer inside of a day. Still the nervous, eccentric man declared that he would keep watch. Morning came, and castaways brought to breakfast a better appetite than they had had in some time. They were allowed larger rations, too, for it was seen that they would have just enough food to last until taken off. "We didn't need to have made the big raft," said Mr. Fenwick, as Tom came down from his station, to report that he had been in communication with the Camabarian and that she was proceeding under forced draught. "We'll not have to embark on it, and I'm glad of it." "Oh, we may need it yet," asserted Mr. Parker. "I have been making some observations just now, and the island is in a very precarious state. It is, I believe, resting on only a slim foundation, and the least shock may break that off, and send it into the sea. That is what my observations point out." "Then I wish you wouldn't make any more observations!" exclaimed Mrs. Nestor, with spirit. "You make me nervous." "And me, also," added Mrs. Anderson. "Science can not deceive, madam," retorted Mr. Parker. "Well it can keep quiet about what it knows, and not make a person have cold chills," replied Mary's mother. "I'm sure we will be rescued in time." There was a slight tremor of an earthquake, as they were eating dinner that day, but, aside from causing a little alarm it did no damage. In the afternoon, Tom again called up the approaching steamer, and was informed that, because of a slight accident, it could not arrive until the next morning. Every effort would be made to keep up speed, it was said. There was much disappointment over this, and Mr. Damon was observed to be closely examining the food supply, but hope was too strong to be easily shattered now. Mr. Parker went off alone, to make some further "observations" as he called them, but Mr. Hosbrook warned him never again to speak of his alarming theories. Mr. Barcoe Jenks called Tom aside just before supper that evening. "I haven't forgotten what I said to you about my diamonds," he remarked, with many nods and winks. "I'll show you how to make them, if you will help me. Did you ever see diamonds made?" "No, and I guess very few persons have." replied the lad, thinking perhaps Mr. Jenks might not be quite right, mentally. The night passed without alarm, and in the morning, at the first blush of dawn, every one was astir, looking eagerly across the sea for a sight of the steamer. Tom had just come down from the wireless station, having received a message to the effect that a few hours more would bring the CAMBARANIAN within sight of the island. Suddenly there was a tremendous shock, as if some great cannon had been fired, and the whole island shook to its very centre. "Another earthquake! The worst yet!" screamed Mrs. Anderson. "We are lost!" cried Mrs. Nestor, clinging to her husband. An instant later they were all thrown down by the tremor of the earth, and Tom, looking toward his wireless station, saw nearly half of the island disappear from sight. His station went down in collapse with it, splashing into the ocean, and the wave that followed the terrible crash washed nearly to the castaways, as they rose and kneeled on the sand. "The island is sinking!" cried Mr. Parker. "Make for the raft!" "I guess it's our only chance," murmured Captain Mentor, as he gazed across the water. There was no steamer in sight. Could it arrive on time? The tremors and shaking of the island continued. CHAPTER XXV THE RESCUE--CONCLUSION Down to where the small raft was moored ran Mr. Parker. He was followed by some of the others. "We must put off at once!" he cried. "Half the island is gone! The other half may disappear any moment! The steamer can not get here on time, but if we put off they may pick us up, if we are not engulfed in the ocean. Help, everybody!" Tom gave one more look at where his wireless station had been. It had totally disappeared, there being, at the spot, now but a sheer cliff, which went right down into the sea. The women were in tears. The men, with pale faces, tried to calm them. Gradually the earthquake tremor passed away; but who could tell when another would come? Captain Mentor, Mr. Hosbrook and the others were shoving out the small raft. They intended to get aboard, and paddle out to the larger one, which had been moored some distance away, in readiness for some such emergency as this. "Come on!" cried Mr. Fenwick to Tom who was lingering behind. "Come on, ladies. We must all get aboard, or it may be too late!" The small raft was afloat. Mrs. Anderson and Mrs. Nestor, weeping hysterically, waded out through the water to get aboard. "Have we food?" cried Mr. Damon. "Bless my kitchen range! but I nearly forgot that." "There isn't any food left to take," answered Mrs. Anderson. "Shove off!" cried Captain Mentor. At that instant a haze which had hung over the water, was blown to one side. The horizon suddenly cleared. Tom Swift looked up and gave a cry. "The steamer! The steamer! The CAMBARANIAN!" he shouted, pointing to it. The others joined in his exclamations of joy, for there, rushing toward Earthquake Island was a great steamer, crowding on all speed! "Saved! Saved!" cried Mrs. Nestor, sinking to her knees even in the water. "It came just in time!" murmured Mr. Hosbrook. "Now I can make my diamonds," whispered Mr. Jenks to Tom. "Push off! Push off!" cried Mr. Parker. "The island will sink, soon!" "I think we will be safer on the island than on the raft," declared Captain Mentor. "We had better land again." They left the little raft, and stood on the shore of the island. Eagerly they watched the approach of the steamer. They could make out hands and handkerchiefs waving to them now. There was eager hope in every heart. Suddenly, some distance out in the water, and near where the big raft was anchored, there was a curious upheaval of the ocean. It was as if a submarine mine had exploded! The sea swirled and foamed! "It's a good thing we didn't go out there," observed Captain Mentor. "We would have been swamped, sure as guns." Almost as he spoke the big raft was tossed high into the air, and fell back, breaking up. The castaways shuddered. Yet were they any safer on the island? They fancied they could feel the little part of it that remained trembling under their feet. "The steamer is stopping!" cried Mr. Damon. Surely enough the CAMBARANIAN had slowed up. Was she not going to complete the rescue she had begun? "She's going to launch her lifeboats," declared Captain Mentor. "Her commander dare not approach too close, not knowing the water. He might hit on a rock." A moment later and two lifeboats were lowered, and, urged on by the sturdy arms of the sailors, they bounded over the waves. The sea seemed to be more and more agitated. "It is the beginning of the end," murmured Mr. Parker. "The island will soon disappear." "Will you be quiet?" demanded Mr. Damon, giving the scientist a nudge in the ribs. The lifeboats were close at hand now. "Are you all there?" shouted some one, evidently in command. "All here," answered Tom. "Then hurry aboard. There seems to be something going on in these waters--perhaps a submarine volcano eruption. We must get away in a hurry!" The boats came in to the shelving beach. There was a little stretch of water between them and the sand. Through this the castaways waded, and soon they were grasped by the sailors and helped in. In the reaction of their worriment Mrs. Anderson and Mrs. Nestor were both weeping, but their tears were those of joy. "Give way now, men!" cried the mate in charge of the boats. "We must get back to the ship!" The sea was now swirling angrily, but the sailors, who had been in worse turmoils than this, rowed on steadily. "We feared you would not get here in time," said Tom to the mate. "We were under forced draught most of the way," was his answer. "Your wireless message came just in time. An hour later and our operator would have gone to bed." The young inventor realized by what a narrow margin they had been rescued. "The island will soon sink," predicted Mr. Parker, as they reached the steamer, and boarded her. Captain Valasquez, who was in command, warmly welcomed the castaways. "We will hear your story later," he said. "Just now I want to get out of these dangerous waters." He gave the order for full speed, and, as the CAMBARANIAN got under way, Tom, and the others, standing on the deck, looked back at Earthquake Island. Suddenly there sounded a dull, rumbling report. The whole ocean about the island seemed to upheave. There was a gigantic shower of spray, a sound like an explosion, and when the waters subsided the island had sunk from sight. "I told you it would go," cried Mr. Parker, triumphantly, but the horror of it all--the horror of the fate that would have been theirs had they remained there an hour longer--held the castaways dumb. The scientist's honor of having correctly predicted the destruction of the island was an empty one. The agitation of the sea rocked even the mighty CAMBARANIAN and, had our friends been aboard the frail raft, they would surely have perished in the sea. As it was, they were safe--saved by Tom Swift's wireless message. The steamer resumed her voyage, and the castaways told their story. Captain Valasquez refused to receive the large amount of money Mr. Hasbrook and Mr. Jenks would have paid him for the rescue, accepting only a sum he figured that he had lost by the delay, which was not a great deal. The castaways were given the best aboard the ship, and their stories were listened to by the other passengers with bated breath. In due time they were landed in New York, and Mr. and Mrs. Nestor accompanied Tom to Shopton. Mr. Damon, with many blessings also accompanied them, going to his home in Waterfield. Later it was learned that the other boats from the RESOLUTE had been picked up, and the sailors and guests were all saved. Of course, as soon as our friends had been rescued by the steamer, the wireless operator aboard her, with whom Tom soon struck up an acquaintance, sent messages to the relatives of the castaways, apprising them of their safety. And the joy of Mary Nestor, when she found that it was Tom who had saved her parents, can well be imagined. As for our hero, well, he was glad too--for Mary's sake. "I won't forget my promise to you, Tom Swift," said Mr. Barcoe Jenks, as he parted from the young inventor, and what the promise was will be told in the next volume of this series, to be called: "Tom Swift Among the Diamond Makers; or, The Secret of Phantom Mountain." In that Tom is destined to have many more surprising adventures, as is also Mr. Damon, who learned new ways to call down blessings on himself and his possessions. And now, for a time, we will take leave of the young inventor and also of his many friends, who never ceased to wonder over Tom Swift's skill with the wireless. THE END 
3734	----	Tom Swift in the Caves of Ice OR The Wreck of the Airship by VICTOR APPLETON CONTENTS I ERADICATE IN AN AIRSHIP II ANDY FOGER'S TRIPLANE III ABE IS DECEIVED IV TOM GETS THE MAP V GRAVE SUSPICIONS VI ANDY'S AIRSHIP FLIES VII READY FOR THE TRIP VIII A THIEF IN THE NIGHT IX A VANDAL'S ACT X TOM IS HELD UP XI OFF FOR THE FROZEN NORTH XII PELTED BY HAILSTONES XIII A FRIGHTENED INDIAN XIV THE RIVAL AIRSHIP XV THE RACE XVI THE FALL OF THE ANTHONY XVII HITTING THE ICE MOUNTAIN XVIII A FIGHT WITH MUSK OXEN XIX THE CAVES OF ICE XX IN THE GOLD VALLEY XXI THE FOGERS ARRIVE XXII JUMPING THE CLAIM XXIII ATTACKED BY NATIVES XXIV THE WRECK OF THE AIRSHIP XXV THE RESCUE-CONCLUSION CHAPTER I ERADICATE IN AN AIRSHIP "Well, Massa Tom, am yo' gwine out in yo' flyin' machine ag'in to-day?" "Yes, Rad, I think I will take a little flight. Perhaps I'll go over to Waterford, and call on Mr. Damon. I haven't seen very much of him, since we got back from our hunt after the diamond-makers." "Take a run clear ober t' Waterfield; eh, Massa Tom?" "Yes, Rad. Now, if you'll help me, I'll get out the Butterfly, and see what trim she's in for a speedy flight." Tom Swift, the young inventor, aided by Eradicate Sampson, the colored helper of the Swift household, walked over toward a small shed. A few minutes later the two had rolled into view, on its three bicycle wheels, a trim little monoplane--one of the speediest craft of the air that had ever skimmed along beneath the clouds. It was built to carry two, and had a very powerful motor. "I guess it will work all right," remarked the young inventor, for Tom Swift had not only built this monoplane himself, but was the originator of it, and the craft contained many new features. "It sho' do look all right, Massa Tom." "Look here, Rad," spoke the lad, as a sudden idea came to him, "you've never ridden in an airship, have you?" "No, Massa Tom, an' I ain't gwine to nuther!" "Why not?" "Why not? 'Case as how it ain't healthy; that's why!" "But I go in them frequently, Eradicate. So does my father. You've seen us fly often enough, to know that it's safe. Why, look at the number of times Mr. Damon and I have gone off on trips in this little Butterfly. Didn't we always come back safely?" "Yes, dat's true, but dere might come a time when yo' WOULDN'T come back, an' den where'd Eradicate Sampson be? I axes yo' dat--whar'd I be, Massa Tom?" "Why, you wouldn't be anywhere if you didn't go, of course," and Tom laughed. "But I'd like to take you for a little spin in this machine, Rad. I want you to get used to them. Sometime I may need you to help me. Come, now. Suppose you get up on this seat here, and I promise not to go too high until you get used to it. Come on, it will do you good, and think of what all your friends will say when they see you riding in an airship." "Dat's right, Massa Tom. Dey suah will be monstrous envious ob Eradicate Sampson, dat's what dey will." It was clear that the colored man was being pursuaded somewhat against his will. Though he had been engaged by Tom Swift and his father off and on for several years, Eradicate had never shown any desire to take a trip through the air in one of the several craft Tom owned for this purpose. Nor had he ever evinced a longing for a trip under the ocean in a submarine, and as for riding in Tom's speedy electric car--Eradicate would as soon have sat down with thirteen at the table, or looked at the moon over the wrong shoulder. But now, somehow, there was a peculiar temptation to take his young employer at his word. Eradicate had seen, many times, the youthful inventor and his friends make trips in the monoplane, as well as in the big biplane and dirigible balloon combined--the RED CLOUD. Tom and the others had always come back safely, though often they met with accidents which only the skill and daring of the daring aeronaut had brought to a safe conclusion. "Well, are you coming, Rad?" asked Tom, as he looked to see if the oil and gasoline tanks were filled, and gave a preliminary twirl to the propeller. "Now does yo' t'ink it am puffickly safe, Massa Tom?" and the colored man looked nervously at the machine. "Of course, Rad. Otherwise I wouldn't invite you. But I won't take you far. I just want you to get used to it, and, once you have made a flight, you'll want to make another." "I don't nohow believe I will, Massa Tom, but as long as you have axed me, an' as yo' say some of dem proud, stuck-up darkies in Shopton will be tooken down a peg or two when de sees me, vhy, I will go wif yo', Massa Tom." "I thought you would. Now take your place in the little seat next to where I'm going to sit. I'll start the engine and jump in. Now sit perfectly still, and, whatever you do, don't jump out. The ground's pretty hard this morning. There was a frost last night." "I knows dere was, Massa Tom. Nope, I won't jump. I--I--Oh, golly, Massa Tom! I guess I don't want to go--let me out!" Eradicate, his heart growing fainter as the time of starting drew nearer, made as if he would leave the monoplane, in which he had taken his seat. "Sit still!" yelled Tom. At that instant he started the propeller. The motor roared like a salvo of guns, and streaks of fire could be seen shooting from one cylinder to the other, until there was a perfect blast of explosions. The speed of the propeller increased as the motor warmed up. Tom ran to his seat and opened the gasoline throttle still more, advancing the spark slightly. The roar increased. The lad darted a look at Eradicate. The colored man's face was like chalk, and he was gripping the upright braces at his side as though his salvation depended on them. "Steady now" spoke Tom, yelling to be heard above the racket. "Here we go." The Butterfly was moving slowly across the level stretch of ground which Tom used for starting his airships. The propeller was now a blur of light. The explosions of the motor became a steady roar, the noise from one cylinder being merged into the blast from the others so rapidly that it was a continuous racket. With a whizz the monoplane shot across the ground. Then, with a quick motion, Tom tilted the lifting planes, and, as gracefully as a bird, the little machine mounted upward on a slant until, coming to a level about two hundred feet above the earth, Tom sent it straight ahead over the roof of his house. "How's this, Rad?" he cried. "Isn't it great?" "It--it--er--bur-r-r-r! It's--it's mighty ticklish, Massa Tom--dat's de word--it suah am mighty ticklish!" Tom Swift laughed and increased the speed. The Butterfly darted forward like some hummingbird about to launch itself upon a flower, and, indeed, the revolutions of the propeller were not unlike the vibrations of the wings of that marvelous little creature. "Now for some corkscrew twists!" cried the young inventor. "Here we go, Rad!" With that he began a series of intricate evolutions, making figures of eight, spirals, curves, sudden dips and long swings. It was masterwork in handling a monoplane, but Eradicate Sampson, as he sat crouched in the seat, gripping the uprights until his hands ached, was in no condition to appreciate it. Gradually, however, as he saw that the craft remained up in the air, and showed no signs of falling, the fears of the colored man left him. He sat up straighter. "Don't you like it, Rad?" cried Tom. This time the answer came with more decision. "It suah am great, Massa Tom! I'm--I'm beginnin' t' like it. Whoop! I guess I do like it! Now if some of dem stuck-up coons could see me--" "They'd think YOU were stuck up; eh, Rad? Stuck up in the air!" "Dat's right, Massa Tom. Ha! Ha! I suah am stuck up in de air! Ha! Ha!" By this time Tom had guided the machine away from the village, and they were flying over the fields, some distance from his house. The colored man was beginning to enjoy his experience very much. Suddenly, just as Tom was trying to get a bit more speed out of the motor, the machine stopped. The cessation of the racket was almost as startling as a loud explosion would have been. "Just my luck!" cried Tom. "What's de matter?" asked Eradicate, anxiously. "Motor's stalled," replied the young inventor. "An', by golly, we's falling!" yelled the colored man. Naturally, with the stopping of the propeller, there was no further straight, forward motion to the monoplane, and, following the law of nature, it began to drop toward the earth on a slant. "We's fallin'! We'll be killed!" yelled the negro. "It's all right, I'll just vol-plane back to earth," spoke Tom, calmly. "I've often done it before, higher up than this. Sit still, Rad, I'm volplaning back to the ground." "An' I'll JUMP back to de ground; dat's what I'll do. I ain't goin' t' wait until I falls, no sah! An' I ain't gwine t' do none ob dat ball-playin' yo' speak ob, Massa Swift. It's no time t' play ball when yo' life am in danger. I'se gwine t' jump." "Sit still!" cried Tom, for the colored man was about to spring from his seat. "There's no danger! I didn't say anything about playing ball. I said I'd VOL-PLANE back to the earth. We'll be there shortly. I'll take you down safe. Sit still, Rad!" He spoke so earnestly that the fears of his colored passenger were quelled. With a quick motion Tom threw up the head planes, to check the downward sweep. The Butterfly shot forward on a gradual slant. Repeating this maneuver several times, the young inventor finally brought his machine to within a short distance of the earth, and, also, considerably nearer his own home. "I wonder if we can make it?" he murmured, measuring the distance with his eye. "I think so. I'll shoot her up a bit and then let her down on a long slant. Then, with another upward tilt, I ought to fetch it." The monoplane tilted upward. Eradicate gave a cry of terror. It was stilled at a look from Tom. Once more the air machine glided forward. Then came another long dip, another upward glide and the Butterfly came gently to earth almost on the very spot whence it had flown upward a few minutes before. Eradicate gave one mad spring from his seat, almost before the bicycle wheels had ceased revolving, as Tom jammed on the earth-brake. "Here, where are you going, Rad?" cried the lad. "Whar am I goin'? I'se goin' t' see if mah mule Boomerang am safe. He's de only kind ob an airship I wants arter dis!" and the colored man disappeared into the shack whence came a loud "hee-haw!" "Oh, pshaw! Wait a minute, Rad. I'll soon have the motor fixed, and we'll make another try. I'll take you over to Mr. Damon's with me." "No, sah, Massa Tom. Yo' don't catch dis coon in any mo' airships. Mah mule am good enough fo' me!" shouted Eradicate from the safe harbor of the mule's stable. Tom laughed, and turned to inspect the motor. As he was looking it over, to locate the trouble, the door of the house opened and a pleasant-faced woman stepped out. "Oh, Tom," she called. "I looked for you a moment ago, and you weren't here!" "No, Mrs. Baggert," Tom replied, waving his hand in greeting to the housekeeper, "Rad and I just came back--quite suddenly--sooner than we expected to. Why? Did you want me?" "Here's a letter that came for you," she went on. Tom tore open the envelope, and rapidly scanned the contents of the missive. "Hello!" he ejaculated half aloud. "It's from Abe Abercrombie, that miner I met when we were after the diamond-makers! He says he is on his way east to get ready to start on the quest for the Alaskan valley of gold, in the caves of ice. I had almost forgotten that I promised to make the attempt in the big airship. How did this letter come, Mrs. Baggert?" he asked. "By special delivery. The messenger brought it a few minutes ago." "Then we may see Abe any day now. Guess I'd better be looking over the RED CLOUD to see if it's in shape for a trip to the Arctic regions." Tom's attention for the moment was taken off his little monoplane, and his memory went back to the strange scenes in which he and his friends had recently played a part, in searching for the cave of the diamond-makers on Phantom Mountain. He recalled the promise he had made to the old miner. "I wonder if he expects us to start for Alaska with winter coming on?" thought Tom. His musings were suddenly interrupted by the entrance into the yard, surrounding the aeroplane shed, of a lad about his own age. "Hello, Ned Newton!" called Tom, heartily. "Hello, yourself," responded Ned. "I've got a day off from the bank, and I thought I'd come over and see you. Say, have you heard the latest?" "No. What is it?" "Andy Foger is building an airship." "Andy Foger building an airship?" "Yes, he says it will beat yours." "Humph! It will, eh? Well, Andy can do as he pleases as long as he doesn't bother me. I won't be around here much longer, anyhow." "Why not, Tom?" "Because I soon expect to start for the far north on a strange quest. Come on in the shed, and I'll tell you about it. We're going to try to locate a valley of gold, and I guess Andy Foger won't follow me there, even if he does build an airship." Tom and his chum started toward the shed, the young inventor still holding the letter that was to play such an important part in his life within the next few months. And, had he only known it, the building of Andy Foger's airship was destined to be fraught with much danger to our hero. CHAPTER II ANDY FOGER'S TRIPLANE "Going to look for a valley of gold, eh?" remarked Ned Newton as he and Tom took seats in a little room, fitted up like a den, where the young inventor frequently worked out the details of the problems that confronted him. "Where is this valley, Tom? Anywhere so I could have a chance at it?" "It's up in Alaska. Just where I don't know, but Abe Abercrombie, the old miner whom we met when out in Colorado this summer, says he can find it if we circle around in the airship. So I'm going to take a chance. I'll tell you all about it." And, while Tom is doing this, I will take the opportunity to more formally introduce to my new readers our hero and his friends. Tom Swift was an inventor of no little note, in spite of his youth. He lived with his father, Barton Swift, who was also an inventor, on the outskirts of the village of Shopton, New York State. Tom's mother was dead, and Mrs. Baggert had kept house for him and his father since he was a child. Garret Jackson, an expert machinist, was also a member of the household, and as has been explained, Eradicate Sampson, who took that name because, as he said he "eradicate de dirt," was also a sort of retainer. He lived in a little house on the Swift grounds, and did odd jobs about the place. In the first book of the series, entitled "Tom Swift and His Motor Cycle," there was related how the lad became possessed of one of those speedy machines, after Mr. Wakefield Damon had come to grief on it. Mr. Damon was an eccentric man, who was always blessing himself, some part of his anatomy, or some of his possessions. After many adventures on his motor-cycle, Tom Swift went through some surprising happenings with a motor-boat he bought. After that he built an airship, the RED CLOUD, and later he and his father constructed a submarine, in which they went under the ocean in search of sunken treasure, enduring many perils and much danger. Tom Swift's electric runabout, which he built after returning home from the submarine trip, proved to be the speediest car on the road. The experience he acquired in making this machine stood him in good stead, when (as told in the sixth volume, "Tom Swift and His Wireless Message") the airship in which he, Mr. Damon and a friend of the latter's (who had built the craft) were wrecked on Earthquake Island. There Tom was marooned with some refugees from a wrecked steam yacht, among whom were Mr. and Mrs. Nestor, father of a girl of whom Tom thought a great deal. With parts from the wrecked electric airship the youth rigged up a plant, and sent wireless messages from the island. The castaways nearly lost their lives in the earthquake shocks, but a steamer, summoned by Tom's wireless call, arrived in time to save them, just as the island disappeared beneath the sea. In the seventh book of the series, entitled "Tom Swift Among the Diamond Makers" there was related the adventures of himself and his friends when they tried to solve the mystery of Phantom Mountain. Among the castaways of Earthquake Island was a Mr. Barcoe Jenks and a Professor Ralph Parker. Mr. Jenks was a strange man, and claimed to have some valuable diamonds, which he said were made by a gang of men hidden in a cave in the Rocky Mountains. Tom did not believe that the diamonds were real, but Mr. Jenks soon proved that they were. He asked Tom to aid him in searching for the cave of the diamond makers. Mr. Jenks had been there once--in fact, he had been offered a partnership in the diamond-making business, but, after he had paid his money, he had been drugged, and carried secretly from the cave before he had a chance to note its location. But he, together with Tom, Mr. Damon and the scientist Mr. Parker, who correctly predicted the destruction of Earthquake Island, set out in the RED CLOUD to find the diamond makers. They did find them, after many hardships, and were captured by the gang. How Tom and his friends escaped from the cave, after they had seen diamonds made by a powerful lightning flash, and how they nearly lost their lives from the destruction of Phantom Mountain, is fully set down in the book. Sufficient to say now, that, though they had a general idea of how the precious stones were made, by the power of the lightning, the young inventor and his friends were never quite able to accomplish it, and the secret remained a secret. But they had secured some diamonds as they rushed from the cave (Mr. Damon grabbing them up) and these were divided among Tom and the others. Just as they were ready to come home in the airship, our friends were met by an old miner, Abe Abercrombie, who spoke of a valley of gold in Alaska, which was the story Tom related to Ned Newton, as the two chums sat in the den of the airship shed. "Then you don't know all the details about the gold valley, Tom?" remarked Ned, as the young inventor showed his chum the letter that had just arrived. "No, not all of them. At the time this miner met us I was anxious to get back East, for we had been away so long I knew dad would be worried. But I listened to part of Abe's story, and half promised to go in partnership in this quest for gold. He was to furnish information about the hidden valley, and I was to supply the airship. I expect Abe to come along at any time, now, and then I'll hear more particulars." "Will you go all the way in the airship?" "Well, I hadn't thought of that. I could ship it to the nearest place by rail, I suppose, and go on from there. That's a detail to be considered later. I'll talk it over with Abe." "Who are going?" "I don't know that even. I suppose Mr. Damon would feel slighted if I left him out. And perhaps Mr. Parker, that gloomy scientist, who is always predicting terrible accidents, will be glad to go along. Then Abe may have some friend he wants to take." "By Jinks! But you certainly do have swell times, Tom Swift!" exclaimed Ned Newton, enviously. "I wish I could go and have a try at that valley of gold!" "Why don't you come along, Ned?" "Do you really mean it?" "Of course." "But I don't believe I could get away from the bank." "Oh, dad and Mr. Damon could fix that. They're directors, you know. Come along, I'd be delighted to have you. Will you?" "I'll think about it. Jinks! But I sure would like to go. Do you think you can find the valley?" "Well, there's no telling. We generally do succeed in finding what we go after, even if we didn't get the diamond secret. I'm anxious to have Abe come, now, though until I got his letter I had almost forgotten about my promise to him. But, say, what's this you told me about Andy Foger making an airship?" "It's true, though I haven't seen it. Jake Porter was telling me about it. Andy's built a big shed in his yard, and he and some cronies of his, including Pete Bailey and Sam Snedecker, are working in there night and day. They've hired a couple of machinists, too. Mr. Foger is putting up the cash, I guess. Say, that was quite a scare you gave Andy on your monoplane, one day." "Yes, the big bully! and I'd like to scare him worse. But say, do you know I'd like to get a look at his airship. I wonder what sort of a craft it is?" "We can see it easily enough." "How?" "Why, the back part of the shed where he and the others are working is close to our fence. There are some holes in our fence and if you come there, maybe you can look in." "I can't see through the side of the shed, though." "Yes, you can." "How?" "Why, there's a big window, for light, in the back part of it. I happened to notice it the other day. I didn't look in, because I wasn't much interested, but I saw that one could peer over the top of our fence right into the shop where Andy is working. Want to try it?" Tom hesitated a moment. "Well, it seems rather an odd thing to do," he said. "But I would like to see what sort of a flying machine Andy is making, just for my own satisfaction. He may be infringing on some of my patents, and if he is, I'll stop him. Once or twice he's been sneaking around my shed here. I don't believe in sneaking, but I know he wouldn't let me in if I asked him, so I guess it's the only way. I'll go with you, Ned." "All right. We'll see if we can get a glimpse of Andy's queer shebang through the window." The two chums left Tom's shop, and were soon in the yard of Ned Newton's house. As he had said, the big shed in Andy's premises came close up to the fence, and there was a window through which one might gaze. The casement did not appear to be curtained. "I'll get a ladder so we can climb up to the top of the fence, and look over," spoke Ned, as he and Tom went out into the yard back of his house. The fence was high up on an embankment. A little later Tom and his chum were gazing into the shop window from the ladder. "Why, it's a triplane--a big triplane!" he exclaimed. "What's a triplane?" asked Ned, who didn't have much time to study the different types of airships. "It's one that has three sets of planes, one above the other. A biplane has two sets of planes, and a monoplane only one. Triplanes are larger, and, as far as I've been able to learn, not as satisfactory as either the biplanes or monoplanes. But that's not saying Andy's won't be a success. They certainly are busy in there, though! Andy is flying around like a hen scratching for her little chickens!" "See anything of his cronies?" "Yes, Pete and Sam are hammering away. There are a couple of men, too." "Yes, the machinists. Oh, I guess Andy expects great things from his airship." "Have you heard what he's going to do with it, Ned? Make flights for pleasure, or exhibit it?" "No, I haven't heard. Look out, Tom, the ladder is slipping!" As Ned spoke this warning, the window of the airship shed, through which they were looking, was suddenly raised. The ugly face of Andy Foger peered out. He caught sight of Tom and Ned. "Get away from there, you spies!" he yelled. "Get away from there, Tom Swift! You're trying to steal some of my ideas! Get away or I'll make you. Sam, bring me my gun! Pete, go tell my father to come here! I'll show Ned Newton and Tom Swift they can't bother me!" Andy was dancing about in a rage. His two cronies crowded behind him to the window just as the ladder on which Tom and Ned were standing slipped along the fence. "Jump, Ned!" yelled Tom Swift, as he leaped away to escape being entangled in the rungs. The young inventor came to the ground with a jar that shook him up considerably, while Ned, who had grasped the top board of the fence, remained hanging there by his hands, his feet dangling in the air. "Whack his fingers, Andy!" yelled Pete Bailey. "Get a long stick and whack Ned's fingers! That will make him drop off!" Tom Swift heard, and labored desperately to raise the ladder to enable Ned to get down, for his chum seemed to be afraid to drop. CHAPTER III ABE IS DECEIVED Raising a ladder alone is rather an awkward job. Tom found this so when he tried to aid his friend Ned. But, being a muscular lad, the young inventor did finally succeed in getting the ladder up against the fence where the bank clerk could reach it. Whack! Down upon the top board came a stick wielded by Andy Foger from the rear window of his shop. "Wow!" cried Ned, for the blow had been close to his fingers. "Hurry up with that ladder, Tom." "There it is! But why don't you drop?" "Too far. I can't reach the ladder now!" "Yes, you can. Stretch a bit!" "Whack!" Once more the stick descended on the fence, this time still closer to Ned's clinging hands. "Hit him good, Andy!" cried Sam Snedecker, "Give me a shot at him!" "I will not. I want to attend to him myself. You go tell my father, and he'll have Tom Swift arrested for trying to sneak in and get some of my airship ideas!" By this time Ned's wiggling feet had found the topmost rung of the ladder. The next moment he was rapidly descending it, and, when on the ground, he and Tom carried it away, to prevent its use by the enemy. "Whew!" exclaimed the young inventor. "I had no idea they would kick up such a row!" "Me either. Did you hurt yourself when you jumped, as the ladder fell?" "No. Did they hit your hands?" "Came mighty near it. Well, I s'pose it serves us right, yet if I can't look over my own back fence it's a pity!" "Of course we can, only I'd just as soon they hadn't seen us. However--hello! there's Andy looking over here, now." The mean face of the bully now topped the fence. It was evident that he had crawled from the window of his shop. "What are you trying to get into my place for, Tom Swift?" he demanded. "I wasn't trying to get in, Andy Foger." "Well, you were looking in." "Only doing as you've done over at my shop, several times, Andy. I wanted to see what sort of an airship you were building." "Trying to get some ideas for your own, I guess," sneered Andy. Tom did not think it worth while to answer this taunt. "I could have you arrested for this," went on Andy, who felt bolder now that he was reinforced by Sam and Pete on either side of him as he looked over the fence into Ned's yard. "Arrested for what?" demanded the bank clerk. "For trespassing on my father's premises," went on Andy. "We weren't on your premises," declared Ned. "We were on our side of the fence all the while." "Well, you were looking over in my yard." "A cat may look at a king, you know, Andy," Tom reminded the bully. "Yah! Think you're smart, don't you! Well, you can't steal any of my ideas for an airship. They're all patented, and I'll soon be making longer and higher flights than you ever dreamed of! I'll show you what a real airship is, Tom Swift! Monoplanes and biplanes are out of date. The only thing that's any good is a triplane. If mine works well--and I'm sure it will--I may build a quadruplane!" "I wish you luck," spoke Tom, with a shrug of his shoulders. "Well, you won't have any luck if you come around here any more," went on Pete Bailey. "We'll be on the watch for you fellows, now, and we'll cover this window, so you can't see in." "That's what we will," agreed Andy, and Sam Snedecker shook his head vigorously to indicate that he, too, approved of this. "Come on," spoke Tom in a low tone to Ned, "I've seen enough." The two chums moved toward Ned's house, followed by the jeers and mocking laughter of Andy and his cronies. "Can't you get back at them in some way?" asked Ned, for he did not like to see himself or his friend apparently vanquished by the bully. "He laughs best who laughs last, Ned." "What do you mean?" "I mean that when Andy tries to fly in his triplane it will be our turn to laugh." "Won't it fly?" "Never, the way he has it rigged up. It didn't take but one look to tell me that. He's working on altogether the wrong principle. Wait until he tries to go up, and then we'll have some fun with him." "Then you got a good view of it through the window?" "I saw all I wanted to. But say, I was about to take a little trip in my monoplane, to see my friend Mr. Damon, when Abe's letter arrived, and you came along with your news. I started to take Eradicate, but he backed out. Don't you want to come?" "Sure, I'll go along." Ned had often ridden in the trim Butterfly, though the trips had not been so frequent that he was tired of them. A little later, Tom, having adjusted the motor that had stalled before, compelling him to vol-plane back to earth, the two chums were sailing through the air toward Waterford. "Why, bless my shoe laces!" cried Mr. Damon, as they alighted in the yard of his house, about an hour later. "I didn't expect you, Tom. But I'm glad to see you!" "And I to meet you again. I guess you know Ned Newton." "Ah, yes. How d'ye do, Ned? Bless my appetite! but it's quite chilly. We'll soon have winter. Won't you come in and have some hot chocolate?" The boys were glad to accept the invitation, and as they were drinking the beverage, which Mrs. Damon made for them, Tom told of the receipt of the letter from the old miner, and also his experience in seeing Andy's airship. "Why, bless my pocketbook!" cried Mr. Damon. "I had no idea we'd ever hear from Abe Abercrombie again. And so he is really coming on, to tell us about the valley of gold?" "So he says," replied Tom. "I was wondering if you'd like to go, Mr. Damon." "Go? Why, bless my very topknot! Of course I would. I'll go with you--only--only," and he leaned forward and whispered cautiously, "don't speak so loudly. My wife might hear you!" "Doesn't she want you to go off in the airship any more?" asked Tom. "Well, she'd rather I wouldn't. But she's going on a visit to her mother, soon, and then I think will come my opportunity to take another trip with you. A valley of gold in Alaska, eh? Up where the icebergs and caves of ice are. Say, Tom, I know some one else who would be glad to go." "Who?" inquired the young inventor, though he had an idea to whom his friend referred. "Mr. Parker! You know he's taken up his residence in Waterford, now, and only the other day he spoke to me about wishing he could go to the far north. He has some new theory--" "About the destruction of something or other; hasn't he, Mr. Damon?" interrupted Tom, with a smile. "That's it, exactly, my boy. Bless my coffeepot! But Mr. Parker has an idea that the whole northern part of this continent will soon be buried thousands of feet deep under an icy avalanche, and he wants to be there to see it. I know he'd like to go with us, Tom." The young inventor made a little gesture of dissent, but as he knew Mr. Damon, who was very eccentric himself, had taken a great liking to the gloomy scientist, Tom did not feel like refusing. So he said: "All right, Mr. Damon. If we go, and I think we shall, we'll expect you and Mr. Parker. I'll let you know the result of Mr. Abercrombie's visit, and I needn't request you to keep quiet about it. If there is a valley of gold in Alaska, we don't want everyone to know about it." "No, of course not, Tom Swift. I'll keep silent about it. Bless my liverpin! But I'll be glad to be on the move again, even if it is toward the Arctic regions." After some further talk, Tom and Ned took their departure, making good time back to Shopton in the speedy monoplane. For several days after that Tom busied himself about his big airship the RED CLOUD, for it needed quite a few repairs after the long trip to the mountains where the diamond makers had been discovered in their cave. "And if we're going up amid the ice and snow," reasoned Tom, "I've got to make some different arrangements about the craft, and provide for keeping warmer than we found necessary when we went west." So it was that Tom had no time to learn anything further about Andy Foger's airship, even had our hero been so inclined, which he was not. He looked for Abe Abercrombie any day now, for though the old miner had given no date as to when he would arrive, he had said, in his letter, that it would be soon. It was one day, nearly a week after Tom's attempt to make Eradicate like aeroplaning, that there might have been seen, coming along the Shopton road, which led toward Tom's house, the figure of a grizzled old man. His clothes were rather rough, and he carried a valise that had, evidently, seen much service. There was that about him which proclaimed him for a westerner--a cattleman or a miner. He walked slowly along, murmuring to himself. "Wa'al, I might better have taken one of them wagons at th' depot," he said, "than t' try t' walk. It's quite a stretch out t' Tom Swift's house. I hope I find him home." He trudged on, and, a little later, his gaze was attracted by a large shed, in the rear of a white house the pretentious appearance of which indicated that persons of wealth owned it. "I guess that must be the place," he remarked. "That shed is big enough to hold the airship. Now to present myself." As he walked up the front path of the house, he was met by one of the gardeners, who was raking up the leaves. "Is this the airship place?" asked the miner. "Yes, that's where the young master is making his triplane," answered the man. "Is he in?" "Yes, I guess so. You can walk right back to the shed." The miner did so. Through the open door of the building he had a glimpse of big stretches of wings, propellers, rudders, and some machinery. "That's it," he murmured, "though it looks some different than I remembered it. However, maybe Tom's changed it about. I wonder where he is?" As he spoke a lad came from the shed to meet him--a lad on whose face there was a look of suspicion. "What do you want?" he demanded. "I'm lookin' for Tom Swift," was the simple reply. "But I take it you're one of his partners in this airship business. I guess he must have told you about me. I'm Abe Abercrombie, the miner, and I've come to show him the way to that valley of gold in Alaska." At the mention of Tom Swift's name, Andy Foger, for it was he, had started to utter a denial. But, at the next words of the miner, and as Mr. Abercrombie mentioned "gold" and "Alaska," there came a cunning look over Andy's face. "Tom Swift isn't here just now," he said, wondering how he could turn to advantage the unexpected visit, and the impending information that the guileless old man was about to give under the mistaken idea that Andy was Tom's friend. "That's all right, I reckon he'll be along presently. You'll do just as well, I reckon. You're in partnership with him, I take it. So this is the place where he makes his airships, eh? It's a big one," and Mr. Abercrombie looked in at the odd triplane of Andy's--for the airship was almost finished. "But it'll need to be big if we're to go to Alaska in it," went on the miner. "It's quite a journey t' th' valley where th' gold is. No way t' get t' it except by an airship. An' here I be an' ready to start, I've brought th' map of th' place, jest as I promised. Here it is, better take good care of it. Now, let's talk business," and the miner, having guilelessly handed Andy Foger a folded parchment, sat down on a box at the door of the airship shed, and placed his heavy valise on the ground beside him. "What's this?" asked the bully, wondering whether he had heard aright. "It's the map of th' valley of gold--directions how t' git there, an' all that. I guess it's plain enough. Now, when can we start?" Andy did not know what to say. Fate had, most unexpectedly, placed in his hands a valuable paper. The miner had made a mistake. Andy's house was on the same road as was Tom's and, seeing the airship shed, had deceived the aged man. He had not expected to find two airship manufactories in the same village. "The map of the valley of gold," murmured Andy, as he put it in his pocket. "Yes, jest as I told Tom about when I met him out West. I said I'd bring it with me, an' I did. When will Tom be back? He never spoke of you, though I reckoned he'd have to have some help in makin' his airships. Where is he?" "He--he--" stammered Andy. He did not know what to say. At that instant Tom Swift himself passed by in the road. He had been over to Shopton on an errand. One look into the yard of Andy's house showed to our hero the old miner sitting at the door of the airship shed. "Mr. Abercrombie--Abe!" cried Tom, almost, before he thought. "Hello, Tom! I got here!" cried the miner, heartily. "I was jest talking to your partner." "My partner!" spoke Tom in amazement. "Yes--partner in th' airship business. I should think you'd need about three partners to build these machines!" "My partner! Andy Foger isn't my partner!" cried Tom, wondering what would happen next. "I have no partner! If he said he was he deceived you!" "No partner? Ain't he your partner?" cried Mr. Abercrombie. "Why, I thought he was. I told him about th' valley of gold--I--I--give him the map--" "The map?" "Yes, the map t' tell how to get there. He's got it!" There was a mocking smile on Andy's face. "Give that map back at once!" cried Tom, sternly, now understanding something of the situation. "Hand it over at once, Andy Foger!" "I will--when I get ready! He gave it to me!" cried the bully, and then, before either Tom or Abe could stop him, Andy darted into the big shed, and slammed shut the door. CHAPTER IV TOM GETS THE MAP For a few seconds Tom was so surprised at the sudden action of the bully that he could neither move nor speak. Then, crying out a command to halt, the young inventor took after his enemy. "The scamp!" he cried. "The nerve he has! To deceive Abe Abercrombie in that fashion! Wait until I get hold of him!" "What's it all about?" asked the old miner, who, being a slow thinker had not understood all that had happened. "What's up, Tom Swift?" "Haven't time to tell you now," flung back the running lad over his shoulder. "I've got to catch Andy! Then I'll explain. He's trying to get ahead of us, I guess, but we'll stop him!" Thereupon Tom flung himself against the door of the airship shed. The young inventor found the portal bolted, though it vibrated with the impact of his body. "Come out of there, Andy Foger!" cried Tom, pounding on the door. "Come out, or I'll get an officer, and have you arrested!" There was no answer. "Come out, I say!" repeated Tom. "Around th' back! Try th' back door!" suggested the miner, who had hastened to Tom's side. "Maybe he's run out that way!" Tom listened. There was no movement in the shop. Then the young inventor sprinted around the side. He was just in time to see the bully running away over the lots and fields in the rear of his father's premises. Andy had climbed out of the back window of the shed, into which Tom and Ned had peered that day, had climbed the high fence, dropped down on the other side, and was now running away with all the speed he could muster. "Come back--!" began Tom, and then he realized that his enemy could not hear him. The bully was too far away. At the same time our hero realized that it would be useless to give chase, for Andy had too much of a start. There was nothing to do but to turn back, and Tom knew that his delay in trying to gain an entrance at the front door had given Andy the very opportunity he needed to escape at the rear. "Well, this is a bad turn of affairs," remarked the lad, as he faced the puzzled miner. "What is, Tom?" "Him having that map. It shows the location of the valley of gold, doesn't it, and tells how to get there?" "That's what it does!" "How did Andy happen to get it?" "Jest as I told you. I was on my way t' your house, havin' inquired at th' post-office, an' the man said that at your place there was a big shed, where you kept your airships. I come along, an', of course, when I see this house, an' the shed, an' had a glimpse of th' airship, I, of course, thought it was your place. An', though you'd never told me about it, I thought maybe this lad was in business with you. So, like a blamed young tenderfoot, I blurted out my business afore I thought, an' handed him the map for safe keepin'. He took it, too, that's the worst of it." "Yes, that's the worst of it," agreed Tom, "But I'll get it back, if I have to cause his arrest, and search his whole house." "But he runned away, Tom." "Oh, he'll come back. Was there only one copy of the map of the valley, Abe?" asked Tom, anxiously. "Yep; only one." "Could you make another?" "No, not if you was to pay me a million dollars! You see I ain't no drawer, an' this map, while I made part of it, was mostly made by my old partner, who was with me when we discovered th' valley of gold, an' was druv back by th' savage Eskimos an' Indians, an' by th' terrible cold. My partner made th' best part of th' map, an' he's dead, poor fellow." "I see. That's too bad! Then you can't make a duplicate map?" "Nary a one. But can't you do somethin'? It were amazin' stupid of me, old Abe Abercrombie, t' be took in by a boy like him! Can't you do somethin'?" "I'm going to try," announced Tom determinedly, as he swung on toward the Foger house. "I'll cause his arrest if he doesn't give it up." A few minutes later Tom Swift and Abe confronted Mr. Foger. The rich man, father of the bully, was rather surprised at the visit from the young inventor, for the two were not friends. "Well, what can I do for you, Tom Swift?" asked the banker, for he felt a certain coldness toward our hero, since the latter had defeated him in an effort to wreck a financial institution in which Tom and his father were interested. "Mr. Foger," spoke Tom, sternly, "your son has just stolen a map belonging to this gentleman," and he indicated Abe. "My son stolen a map!" exclaimed Mr. Foger. "How dare you make such an accusation, Tom Swift?" "I dare, because it's true! And, unless that map is returned to me at my house to-night I shall swear out a warrant for Andy's arrest." "You'd never dare do that!" "Wait and see!" spoke Tom, firmly. "I will give your son, or you, exactly five hours to return that map--if it isn't back in my hands by then, I'll get a warrant!" "Preposterous! Stuff and nonsense!" blustered Mr. Foger. "My son never stole anything!" "He stole this map, and there is plenty of evidence," went on Tom, as he detailed the circumstances. Mr. Foger hemmed and hawed, and affected not to believe that anything of the kind could have happened. But Tom was firm, and Abe Abercrombie backed up his statements, until even the banker began to waver. "Very well," he announced at length, "I will look into this matter, and if I find that my son has anything of yours, you shall have it back. But I cannot believe it. Perhaps he took it as a joke." "In which case," spoke Tom grimly, "he will find that he has carried the joke too far," and with that he and the miner left the Foger home. "It's all my fault," bewailed Abe, as he and our hero trudged on toward the Swift household. "No, it wasn't, Abe," declared Tom. "Any one would have been deceived by such tactics as Andy used--that is any stranger. And you didn't expect to find two airship sheds so close together." "No. That's right, I didn't. That's what threw me off th' track." "Andy only recently began work on his triplane. I don't know what his object is, and I don't care. Just now I'm more concerned about getting back this map." "I hope we do get it." "Oh, we will. I'm going to start off on my own hook, to find Andy. But first I'll take you to my house." The old miner was soon telling his story to Mr. Swift, the housekeeper and Garret Jackson. They expressed their surprise at Andy's daring act. But Tom didn't do much more talking. "I'm going out to find Andy," he declared, "and when I do--" He didn't finish his sentence, but they all knew what he meant. But the bully was in none of his usual haunts, though Tom visited them all. Nor was Andy at the homes of either of his cronies. "Well, if I don't find him, I shall certainly swear out the warrant," decided Tom. "I'll give him until night, and then I'll call on the police." Still he did not give up, but went to several other places where Andy might be found. He had about given up, as it was getting toward late afternoon, when, as he came out of a billiardroom, where the bully was in the habit of spending much of his time, Tom saw the lad of whom he was in search. "Hold on there, Andy Foger!" cried the young inventor. "I want to see you!" "What about?" "You know very well. Where's that map you stole?" "I haven't got it." "Take care!" and Tom, with a quick step was beside the bully, and had grasped him firmly by the arm. "You let me alone, Tom Swift!" cried Andy. "Where's that map?" and Tom gave Andy's arm a wrench. "It's at your house; that's where it is! I just took it back. It was only a joke." "A joke, eh? And you took it back?" "Yes, I did. Now you let me go!" "I will when I find out if you're telling me the truth or not, Andy Foger. You come with me!" "Where?" "To my house. I want to see if that map's there." "Well, you'll find that it is, and you'd better let me go! My father told me to take the map back, and I did. You let me go!" Andy struggled to get loose, but Tom had too tight a grip. There was something, too, in the manner of our hero that warned Andy not to trifle with him. So, concluding that discretion was the better part of valor, Andy walked sullenly along toward Tom's home, the young inventor never relaxing the grip on his enemy's arm. They reached the Swift home. Still holding his captive, Tom rang the bell. His father came to the door, followed by Abe Abercrombie. "Is the map back?" asked the young inventor, anxiously. "Yes, Andy brought it here a few minutes ago," announced Mr. Swift. "Is it the right one, Abe?" inquired Tom. "Yep, Tom. I made sure of that as soon as I laid my eyes on it. It's th' right one." "Then you can go, Andy Foger," announced our hero, "and if I ever catch you in another trick like this, I'll take the law into my own hands. Clear out, now!" "You wait! I'll get even with you," muttered the bully, as he fled down the front walk, as though afraid Tom would, even then, put his threat into execution. "Did he damage the map any?" asked the lad, as he followed his father and Abe into the house. "Nary a bit," answered the old miner. "It's jest th' same as it was. There it is," and he spread a crinkled sheet of tough parchment in front of Tom. It was covered with a rude drawing, and with names of places scrawled on it. "So that's the map, eh?" murmured Tom, eagerly scanning it. "That's it, an' here's th' valley of gold," went on Abe, as he placed one rough finger on a certain spot. "Right there--hello!" he cried, as he peered more closely at the parchment. "That ink spot wasn't there when I had th' map, a few hours ago." "What ink spot?" asked Tom, anxiously. "That one," and the miner indicated a small one near the edge of the map. "That was never there!" "It looks as if it was recently made," added Mr. Swift, who was something of a chemist. "An ink spot-freshly made," murmured Tom, "Dad--Abe, I can guess what's happened!" "What?" demanded the miner. "Andy Foger made a copy of this map while it was in his possession, and now he knows where the valley of gold is as well as we do! He may get there ahead of us!" CHAPTER V GRAVE SUSPICIONS Tom's announcement took them all by surprise. For a moment no one knew what to say, while the young inventor looked more closely at the parchment map. "Do you really think he has dared to make a copy of it?" asked Mr. Swift. "I do," answered his son. "That ink spot wasn't there when Abe gave him the map; was it?" "No," replied the miner. "And it couldn't get on in Andy's pocket," went on Tom. "So he must have had it open near where there was ink." "His fountain pen might have leaked," suggested Mr. Jackson. "In that case the ink spot would be on the outside of the map, and not on the inside," declared Tom, with the instinct of a detective. "Unless he had the map folded in his pocket with the inside surface on the outside, the ink couldn't have gotten on. Besides, Andy always carries his fountain pen in his upper vest pocket, and that pocket is too small to hold the map. No, I'm almost positive that Andy or his father have sneakingly made a copy of this map!" "I'm sorry to have to admit that Mr. Foger is capable of such an act," spoke Mr. Swift, "but I believe it is true." "And here is another thing," went on the young inventor, who was now closely scanning the parchment through a powerful magnifying glass, "do you see those tiny holes here and there, Mr. Jackson?" "Yes," answered the engineer. "Were they there before, Abe?" went on Tom, calling the old miner's attention to them. "Nary a one," was the answer. "It looks as if some one had been sticking pins in th' map." "Not pins," said Tom, "but the sharp points of a pair of dividers, or compasses, for measuring distances. Andy, or whoever made a copy of the map, used the dividers to take off distances with. This clinches it, in my mind." "But what can you do?" asked Tom's father. "I don't know," answered the young inventor. "It would be of little use to go to Andy. Naturally he would deny having made a copy of the map, and his father would, also. Even though I am sure they have a copy, I don't see how I am going to make them give it up. It's a hard case. There's only one thing I see to do." "What's that?" asked Abe. "Start for Alaska as soon as possible, and be first on hand at the valley of gold." "Good!" cried the miner. "That's the way to talk! We'll start off at once. I know my way around that country pretty well, an' even though winter is coming on, I think we can travel in th' airship. That's one reason why I wanted t' go in one of these flyin' machines. Winter is no time to be in Alaska, but if we have an airship we won't mind it, an' it's the best time t' keep other people away, for th' ordinary miner or prospector can't do anythin' in Alaska in winter--that is away up north where we're goin'." "Exactly where are we going?" asked Tom. "I have been so excited about discovering Andy's trick that I haven't had much time to consider where we're bound for nor what will be the best plan to follow." "Well, we're goin' to a region about seven hundred an' fifty miles northwest from Sitka," explained the old miner, as he pointed out the location on the map. "We'll head for what they call th' Snow Mountains, an' th' valley of gold is in their midst. It's just over th' Arctic circle, an' pretty cold, let me tell you!" "You'll be warm enough in Tom's airship, with the electric stoves going," commented Mr. Jackson. "Well, we'll need t' be," went on the miner. "Th' valley is full of caves of ice, an' it's dangerous for th' ordinary traveler. In fact an airship was the only way I saw out of th' difficulty when I was there." "Then you have been to the valley of gold?" asked Tom. "Well, not exactly TO it," was the reply, "but I was where I could see it. That was in th' summer, though of course the summer there isn't like here. I'll tell you how it was." The miner settled himself more comfortably in his chair, and resumed his story. "It was two year ago," he said, "that me an' Jim Mace started to prospect in Alaska. We didn't have much luck, an' we kept on workin' our way farther north until we come to these Snow Mountains. Then our supplies gave out, an' if it hadn't been for some friendly Eskimos I don't know what we would have done. Jim and me we gave 'em some trinkets an' sich, and th' Indians began talkin' of a wonderful valley of gold, where th' stuff lay around in chunks on top of the ground." "Me and Jim pricked up our ears at that, so to speak, an' we wanted to see th' place. After some delay we was taken to th' top of a big crag, some distance away from where we had been stopping with the friendly Eskimos, or Indians, as I call 'em. There, away down below, was a valley--an' a curious sort of a valley it were. It seemed filled with big bubbles--bubbles made of solid banks of snow or ice, an' we was told, me an' Jim was, that these were caves of ice, an' that th' gold was near these caves." "Well, of course me an' my partner wanted to go down the worst way, an' try for some gold, but th' Indians wouldn't let us. They said it was dangerous, for th' ice caves were constantly fallin' in, an' smashin' whoever was inside. But to prove what they said about th' gold, they sent one of their number down, while we waited on th' side of th' mountain." "Did he get any gold?" asked Tom, eagerly. For answer the old miner pulled from his pocket a few yellow pebbles--little stones of dull, gleaming yellow. "There's some of th' gold from amid th' caves of ice," he remarked simply. "I kept 'em for a souvenir, hopin' some day I might git back there. Well, Jim an' me watched th' Indian going down into th' valley. He come back in about three hours, havin' only gone to th' nearest cave, an' he had two pockets filled with these little chunks of solid gold. They gave me an' Jim some, but they wouldn't hear of us goin' t' th' valley by ourselves." "Then a bad storm come up, an' we had t' hit th' trail for home--the Indians' home, I mean--for Jim an' I was far enough away from ours." "Well, t' make a long story short, Jim an' me tried every way we knowed t' git t' that valley, but we couldn't. It come off colder an' colder, an' th' tribe of Indians with whom we lived was attacked by some of their enemies, an' driven away from their campin' grounds. Jim an' me, we went too, but not before Jim had drawed this map on a piece of dog-skin we found in one of the huts. We had an idea we might get back, some day, an' find the valley, so we'd need a map t' go by. But poor Jim never got back. He got badly frozen when the Indians drove us an' our friends away, an' he never got over it. He died up there in th' ice, an' we buried him. I took th' map, an' when spring come, I made a hike out of that country. From then until now I've been plannin' how t' git t' that valley, an' th' only way I seen was an airship. Then, when I was prospectin' around out in Colorado I saw Tom's machine hidden in th' trees, an' I waited until he come along, which part you know as well as I do," finished Abe. "And that's the story of the valley of gold," spoke Mr. Swift. "That's all there is to it," assented Abe, simply. "Do you think there is much gold there?" asked Tom. "Plenty of it--for th' pickin' up," replied the miner. "Around th' caves of ice it's full of it, but, of course, it's dangerous. An' th' only way t' git t' it, an' pass th' savage Indians that are all around in th' mountains about th' valley, is t' fly over their heads in th' airship." "Then that's what we'll do," decided Tom. "Will you go all the way in the RED CLOUD?" inquired Mr. Jackson. "No, I think I'll send the airship on ahead to some point in Washington--say Seattle," replied Tom, "put it together there, and start for the Snow Mountains. In Seattle we can get plenty of supplies and stores. It will be a good point to start from, and will save us a long, and perhaps dangerous, flight across the United States." "I think that will be the best plan," agreed Mr. Swift. "But what about Andy--do you think he'll try to follow--or try to get ahead of you now that he has a copy of the map?" "He may," answered Tom. "But I have a little trick I'm going to work on Andy. I will try to learn whether he really has a copy of the map, though I'm practically certain of it. Then I'll decide what's best to do." "In th' meanwhile, will you be gettin' ready?" asked Abe. "I'd like t' start as soon as we can, for it's awful cold there, the longer you wait, at this time of th' year." "Yes, I'll start right to work, getting the RED CLOUD in readiness to be shipped," promised Tom. CHAPTER VI ANDY'S AIRSHIP FLIES "Hello, Tom, have you heard the news?" asked Ned Newton, of the young inventor, a few days later. "What news, Ned? I declare I've been so busy thinking out the best plan to ship the RED CLOUD to Seattle that I haven't been over to town. What's going on? Have they decided to build a new church in Shopton, or something like that?" "Oh, this about Andy Foger's airship." "Andy's airship, eh? Is he still working on it?" "It's all done, so Sam Snedecker was telling me last night, and to-day Andy is going to try to fly it." "You don't mean it!" "Sure thing. Let's go over and watch him." "He might make a fuss, same as he did when we looked in the window of his shed." "He can't make any fuss now. He's got to take his machine out to fly it, and anybody that wants to can look on. Didn't he watch you make flights often enough?" "That's so. Where is the trial flight going to take place?" "In the big meadow. Come on over." "Guess I will. I can't do much more now. I've been getting some boxes and crates made in which to pack the RED CLOUD. I'll have to take her all apart." "Then you're really going to hunt for the valley of gold?" "Sure thing. How about you going, Ned? I spoke to dad about it, and he said he'd see that you could have a leave of absence." "Yes, that part's all right. The bank president told me today I could take a vacation any time I wanted it. In fact that's what I came over to see you about. I want to thank your father." "Then you're going?" "I sure am, Tom! Won't it be great! I hope I can get a little gold for myself! My folks didn't take very much to the notion of me going off in an airship, but I told them how often you'd gone on trips, and come safely back, so they finally gave their consent. When are you going to start?" "Oh, in about two weeks. Did I tell you about Andy and the map?" "No. What trick has he been up to now?" Thereupon Tom related his suspicions concerning the bully, and also hinted to Ned of a certain ruse he intended to work on Andy when he got the chance. "Well, if you're ready, suppose we go over and see if Andy's airship will really fly," suggested Ned, after a while. "I'm doubtful myself, and I'd just like to see him come to grief, after the many mean things he's done to you." "Well," spoke Tom slowly, "I don't know as I wish him any bad luck, but I certainly hope he doesn't use his airship to try to beat us out in the hunt for the valley of gold." "Do you think he might?" "It's possible. But never mind about that now. Come on, we'll go over to the big meadow." The two chums walked along together, talking of many things. Tom told of some communication he had had with Mr. Damon, in which letters the eccentric man had inquired as to when the trip for Alaska would be undertaken. "Then he's going?" asked Ned. "Oh, yes, it wouldn't seem natural to go without some of Mr. Damon's blessings. But I think he's going to bring a friend with him." "Who?" "Mr. Ralph Parker." "That gloomy scientist, who is always predicting such terrible things going to happen?" "That's the gentleman. You met him once, I believe. Mr. Damon says Mr. Parker wants to do some scientific studying in the far north, so I've already counted on him as one of our party. Well, perhaps he won't do so much predicting this trip." A little later Tom and Ned came to a big open field. They saw quite a crowd gathered in it, but no sign of an airship. "Guess Andy hasn't arrived," spoke Tom. "No; very likely he's found out that something is wrong with his machine, and he isn't going to risk it." But almost as Ned spoke, there sounded cries of excitement from the crowd, and, a little later, something big and white, with many wing-shaped stretches of canvas sticking out from all sides, was seen turning into the big meadow from the broad highway that led to Andy's house. "There she is!" cried Ned. "There's something, at any rate," conceded Tom, as he hastened his steps. "It's a queer-looking aeroplane, though. My! he's got enough wings to it!" "Yes, it's Andy's sure enough," went on Ned "There he is in front, giving orders like a major-general, and Sam and Pete are helping him. Let's get closer." They followed the crowd, which was thronging about the airship that Andy Foger had made, Tom had a glimpse of the machine. It was a form of triplane, with three tiers of main wings, and several other sets of planes, some stationary and some capable of being moved. There was no gas-bag feature, but amidships was a small, enclosed cabin, which evidently held the machinery, and was designed to afford living quarters. In some respects the airship was not unlike Tom's, and the young inventor could see that Andy had copied some of his ideas. But Tom cared little about this. "Do you think it will go up?" asked Ned. "It looks to me to be too heavy, and his propellers seem too small," answered Tom. "He's got to have a very powerful motor to make all that bulk fly." The people were crowding in closer around the airship, for the news that Andy was to attempt a flight had spread about town. "Now keep back--all of you!" ordered the bully, with a show of anger. "If any one damages my airship I'll have him arrested! Keep back, now, or I won't fly!" "Reminds me of a little kid saying he won't play if he can't have his own way," whispered Ned to Tom. "Hello, Andy, give us a ride!" "Going above the clouds?" "When are you coming back?" "Bring down a snowstorm!" "Be careful that you don't fall!" These were some of the things shouted at Andy, for he had few friends among the town lads, on account of his mean ways. "Keep quiet--all of you!" he ordered. "Get back. You might get hurt when I start the motor. I'm going to make a flight soon," he added proudly. "Sam, you come over here and hold this end. Pete, you go back to the rear. Simpson, you get inside and help me with the motor. Henderson, you get ready to shove when I tell you." These last orders were to the two machinists whom Andy had engaged to help him, and the bully gave himself no end of airs and importance as he bustled about. Tom could not help but admit that Andy's machine was a big affair. There was a great stretch of wings and planes, several rudders other appliances for which the young inventor could not exactly fathom a use. He did not think the machine would fly far, if at all. But Andy was hurrying here and there, getting the triplane in place on a level stretch of ground, as if he intended to capture some great prize. "Are you going to tackle him about stealing a copy of that map?" asked Ned. "I will if I get a chance," answered Tom, in a low voice. He got his opportunity a few minutes later. Andy, hurrying here and there, came face to face with the young inventor. "Hello, Andy," spoke Tom, good-naturedly. "So you're going to make a flight, eh?" "Yes, I am, and I s'pose you came around to see if you could get any ideas; didn't you?" sneered Andy. "Of course," admitted Tom, with an easy laugh. "My airship doesn't fly, you know, Andy, and I want to see what's wrong with it." There was a laugh in the crowd, at this, for Tom's success was well known. "Are you going to Alaska?" suddenly asked Tom, in a low voice, of the bully. "To Alaska? I--I don't--I don't know what you mean?" stammered Andy, as he turned aside. "Yes, you do know what I mean," insisted Tom. "And I want to tell you that the map you have won't be of much use to you. Why, do you think," he went on, "that Abe would carry the real map around with him that way? It's easy to make a copy look like an original, Andy, and also very easy to put false distances and directions on a map that may fall into the hands of an enemy." The shot told. Andy's face turned first red and then pale. "A--a false map!" he stammered. "Wrong directions?" "Yes--on the copy you made of the map you took from Mr. Abercrombie," went on Tom. "I--I didn't make any--Oh, I'm not going to talk to you!" blustered Andy. "Get out of my way! I'm going to fly my airship." The bully pushed past Tom, and started toward the triplane. But Tom had found out what he wanted to know. Andy had made a copy of the map. From now on there would be every danger that the bully would make an effort to get to the valley of gold. But other matters held Andy's attention now. He wanted to try his airship. With the help of his two cronies, and the machinists, the machine was gone over, oiled up, and finally, after several false starts, the motor was set going. It made a terrific racket, and the whole machine vibrated as though it would shake apart. "He hasn't got it well enough braced," said Tom to Ned. "Out of the way, now, everybody!" yelled Andy. "Keep away or you'll get hurt! I'm going up!" He climbed into the cabin of the craft, and took his position at the steering-wheel. The speed of the motor, its racket and its stream of sparks increased. "Let go!" cried Andy to those who were holding his craft. They released their hold. The triplane moved slowly across the ground, gathered speed, and, then, under the impulse of the powerful propellers, ran rapidly over the meadow. "Hurrah! There he goes!" cried Sam. "Yes! Now he's going to fly," proudly added Pete Bailey, the other crony of the bully. "He'd better fly soon, then, or he'll be in the ditch," said Tom grimly, for a little, sluggish stream crossed the meadow not far from where Andy had started. The next instant, thinking he had momentum enough, Andy tilted his elevation plane. The clumsy triplane rose into the air and shot forward. "There he goes!" cried Sam. "Hurrah!" yelled the crowd. Andy had gone up about ten feet, and was making slow progress. "I guess Tom Swift isn't the only one in Shopton who can build an airship!" sneered Pete Bailey. "Look! Look!" yelled Ned. "He's coming down!" Sure enough, Andy's machine had reached the end of her flight. The motor stopped with something between a cough and a wheeze. Down fluttered the aeroplane, like some clumsy bird, down into the ditch, settling on one side, and then coming to rest, tilted over at a sharp angle. Andy was pitched out, but landed on the soft mud, for there had been a thaw. He wasn't hurt much, evidently, for he soon scrambled to his feet as the crowd surged toward him. "Well, he flew a little way," observed Ned, grimly. "But he came down mighty soon," added Tom. "I thought he would. His machine is too big and clumsy. I've seen enough. Come on, Ned. We'll get ready to go to Alaska. Andy Foger will never follow us in that machine." But Tom was soon to find out how much mistaken he was. CHAPTER VII READY FOR THE TRIP Andy Foger stood looking at his tilted airship. His clothes were covered with mud from the ditch, some of the muck had splashed over his face so that he was a pitiable looking object. "What's the matter?" panted Pete Bailey. "Are you hurt?" asked Sam Snedecker. The two cronies had hurried to the side of the bully. "Matter? Can't you see what's the matter?" demanded Andy wrathfully. "The machine came down, that's what's the matter! Why didn't you fellows fix the motor better?" he shouted at the two machinists as they came running up, followed by the crowd. "Fix it better? The motor was all right," declared the taller machinist. "Any of them are likely to stop unexpectedly." "Well, I didn't think mine would," came from Andy. "Now look at my airship! It's all busted!" "No, it isn't hurt much," said the other man, after critically looking it over. "We can fix it, and you'll fly yet, Andy." "I hope I do, if only to fool Tom Swift," declared the bully, as he wiped some of the mud from his face. "Come on, now, help me wheel the machine back, and I'll try it again." Andy made another attempt, but this time the machine did not even rise off the ground, and then, amid the jeers of the crowd, the discomfited lad took his aeroplane back to the shed in the rear of his house. "I'll fix it yet, and make a long flight," he declared. "I'll show Tom Swift he can't laugh at me!" "You'll make a long flight eh?" asked one of the machinists. "Where will you go?" "Never mind," answered Andy, with a knowing wink. "I've got a plan up my sleeve--my father and I are going to do something that will astonish everybody in Shopton," and then Andy, with many nods and winks, went into the shed, where he began giving orders about the airship. He wanted the motor changed, and one of the machinists made some suggestions about the planes, which, he said, would give better results. As for Tom and Ned, they strolled away, satisfied that in Andy Foger they would not have a very dangerous rival, as far as airships were concerned. Tom thought matters over during the next few days. He was now satisfied that Andy had a copy of the map, and, as far as he could see, there was no way of getting it from him, for he could not prove to the satisfaction of the legal authorities that the bully actually had it. "We'll just have to take a chance, that's all," decided the young inventor in talking matters over with his father, Ned, and Abe Abercrombie. "If Andy and some of his crowd trail after us, we'll just have to run away from them and get to the valley first." "If they do get there, they won't find it very easy traveling I reckon," remarked Abe. "They'll get all they want of the caves of ice. But hadn't we better get a hustle on ourselves, Tom?" "Yes, we will soon start now. I have the RED CLOUD all packed up for shipment to Seattle. We will send it on ahead, and then follow, for it will take some time to get there, even though it's going by fast freight." "What about Mr. Damon?" asked Ned. "When is he coming?" "There's no telling," responded Tom. "He may be on hand any minute, and, again, he may only show up just as we are starting. I haven't heard from him in the last day or two." At that moment there was a knock on the private office in the aeroplane shed, where Tom, Ned and Abe Abercrombie were talking. "Who's there?" asked Tom. "It's me," answered a voice recognizable as that of the colored man Eradicate. "What is it, Rad?" asked Tom. "Why I jest thought I'd tell you dat de blessin' man am comin' down de road." "The blessing man?" repeated Tom. "Oh, you mean Mr. Damon." "Yais, sah, dat's jest who I done mean. An' dere's anodder gen'man wif him." "Mr. Parker, I expect," spoke Tom. "Well, tell them to come in here, Rad." "Yais, sah. Dey's comin' up de path now, so dey is." The next moment Tom and the others heard a voice saying: "Why, bless my necktie! The RED CLOUD is gone!" Mr. Damon had peered into the shed, and had not seen the airship, for Tom had it packed up. "I wonder if Tom Swift has gone away? Bless my top-knot, Mr. Parker, I hope we're not too late!" "Indeed I hope not," added the scientist. "I wish to make a study of the caves of ice. I think perhaps they may be working south, and, in time, this part of the country may be covered deep under a frozen blanket." "Cheerful, isn't he, Ned?" asked Tom, with a smile. Then, going to the door of the shed he called out: "Here we are, Mr. Damon. Glad to see you, Mr. Parker." This last wasn't exactly true, but Tom wanted to be polite. "Bless my collar button, Tom! But what has become of the airship?" asked Mr. Damon, as he looked about the shed, and saw only a number of boxes and crates. "Taken apart, and packed up, ready for the trip to the valley of gold and the caves of ice," replied the young inventor, and then he briefly told of their plans. "Well, that's a good idea," declared the eccentric man. "Mr. Parker and I are ready to go whenever you are, Tom." "Then we'll start very soon. I will get all our supplies in Seattle. Now, to discuss details," and, after Mr. Parker and Mr. Damon had been made acquainted with the old miner, who told his story in brief, they began a discussion of the prospective trip. Mr. Damon and Mr. Parker took up their residence in Tom's house, and while the eccentric man busied himself in helping our hero, Ned and Abe Abercrombie in getting ready for the trip to Alaska, the gloomy scientist went about making "observations" as he called them, with a view to predicting what might happen in the near future. He was particularly anxious to get up north, among the caves of ice, and, several times he repeated his statement that he believed the mass of ice in Alaska was working down toward the south. But no one paid much attention to him, though Tom recalled, not without a little shudder, that Mr. Parker had correctly predicted the destruction of Earthquake Island, and also the landslide on Phantom Mountain. The airship was finally sent off, being forwarded to Seattle in sections, where it could easily be put together. The matter of Andy Foger having a duplicate map of the valley of gold was discussed, but it was agreed that nothing could be done about it. So Tom and the others devoted all their energies to getting in shape for their prospective journey. Mr. Swift was invited to go, but declined on the ground that he had several inventions to perfect, nor could Mr. Jackson go, as he was needed to help his employer. So Tom, Ned, Mr. Damon, Mr. Parker and Abe Abercrombie made up the party. Tom arranged to send wireless messages to his father from the airship once they were started off toward the valley of gold, and over the frozen north. One evening, when Tom had been to pay a last visit to Mary Nestor, as he was coming past the Foger premises he saw a number of large vans, loaded with big packing cases coming out of the banker's yard. "Hum! I wonder if they're moving?" mused our hero. "If they are they're taking a queer time for it." He paused a moment to look at the procession of vans. As he did so he heard the voice of Andy Foger. "Now, I want you men to be careful of everything!" the bully called out arrogantly. "If you break anything I'll sue you for damages!" "Oh, that cub makes me sick!" exclaimed one of the drivers as he came opposite Tom. "What are you moving--eggs, that you have to be so careful?" asked the young inventor, in a low voice. "Eggs? No! But it might just as well be," was the growling answer. "He's shipping an airship, all taken to pieces, and he has nervous prostration for fear it will be broken. I don't believe the old thing's any good, anyhow." "An airship--Andy Foger sending away his airship?" gasped Tom. "Where to?" "Some place in Alaska," was the startling reply. "Pitka or Sitka, or some such place like that. It's all in these boxes, G'lang there!" this to his horses. "Andy sending his airship to Alaska!" murmured Tom in dismay. "Then he surely is going to make a try for that valley of gold!" He turned away, while the snarling voice of the bully rang out on the night, urging the drivers to be very careful of the boxes and crates on their trucks. CHAPTER VIII A THIEF IN THE NIGHT Tom Swift hardly knew what to think. He had scarcely believed, in spite of the fact that he was sure Andy had a copy of the map, that the bully would actually make an effort to go to the valley of gold. "And in that airship of his, too," mused Tom. "Well, there's one consolation, I don't believe he'll go far in that, though it does sail better than when he made his first attempt. Well, if he's going to try to beat us, it's a good thing I know it. We can be prepared for him, now." Tom, after watching the big vans for a few minutes, turned and kept on toward his home. There was more than surprise on the part of Mr. Damon and the others when Tom told his news. There was alarm, for there was a feeling that Mr. Foger and his son might adopt unscrupulous tricks. "But what can we do?" asked Mr. Swift. "Whitewash him!" exclaimed Eradicate Sampson, who had overheard part of the conversation. "Dat's what I'd do t' him an' his father, too! Dat's what I would! Fust I'd let mah mule Boomerang kick him a bit, an' den, when he was all mussed up, I'd whitewash him!" That was the colored man's favorite method of dealing with enemies, but, of course, he could not always carry it out. However, after considering the matter from all sides, it was decided that nothing could be done for the present. "Let them go," said Tom, "I don't believe they'll ever find the valley of gold. I fancy I threw a scare into Andy, talking as I did about the map." "Well, even if the Fogers do get the gold," said Mr. Parker calmly, "they cannot take away the caves of ice, and it is in them that I am most interested. I want to prove some of my new theories." "And we need the gold," said Tom, in a low voice; "don't we, Abe?" "That's what we do, Tom," answered the old miner. Preparations were now practically completed for their trip to Seattle by rail. Tom made some inquiries in the next few days regarding the Fogers, but only learned that the father and son had left town, after superintending the shipment of their airship. "Well, we start to-day," remarked Tom, as he arose one morning. "In two weeks, at most, we ought to be hovering over the valley, Abe." "I hope so, Tom. You've got the map put away safely, have you?" "Sure thing. Are you all ready?" "Yes." "Then we'll start for the depot right after breakfast." The adventurers had arranged to take a local train from Shopton, and get on a fast express at one of the more important stations. Good-byes were said, Mr. Swift, Mr. Jackson, Mrs. Baggert and Eradicate waving their adieus from the porch as Tom and the others started for the depot. Miss Mary Nestor had bidden our hero farewell the previous night--it being a sort of second good-bye, for Tom was a frequent caller at her house, and, if the truth must be told he rather disliked to leave the young lady. Tom found a few of his friends at the station, who had gathered there to give him and Ned BON-VOYAGE. "Bring us back some nuggets, Tom," pleaded Arthur Norton. "Bring me a musk-ox if you can shoot one," suggested one. "A live bear or a trained Eskimo for mine," exclaimed another. Tom laughingly promised to do the best he could. "I'll send you some gold nuggets by wireless," said Ned Newton. It was almost time for the train to arrive. In the crowd on the platform Tom noticed Pete Bailey. "He must feel lost without Andy," observed the young inventor to Ned. "Yes, I wonder what he's hanging around here for?" They learned a moment later, for they saw Pete going into the telegraph office. "Must be something important for him to wire about," observed Ned. Tom did not answer. The window of the office was slightly open, though the day was cool, and he was listening to the clicks of the telegraph instrument, as the operator sent Pete's message. Tom was familiar with the Morse code. What was his surprise to hear the message being sent to Andy Foger at a certain hotel in Chicago. And the message read: "Tom Swift's party leaving to-day." "What in the world does that mean?" thought Tom, but he did not tell Ned what he had picked up as it went over the wire. "Why should Andy want to be informed when we leave? That's why Pete was hanging around here! He had been instructed to let Andy know when we left for Seattle. There's something queer back of all this." Tom was still puzzling over the matter when their train roiled in and he and the others got aboard. "Well, we're off!" cried Ned. "Yes; we're off," admitted Tom, and, to himself he added: "No telling what will happen before we get there, though." The trip to Chicago was without incident, and, on arrival in the Windy City, Tom was on the lookout for Andy or his father, but he did not see them. He made private inquiries at the hotel mentioned in Pete's telegram, but learned that the Fogers had gone on. "Perhaps I'm worrying too much," thought Tom. But an event that occurred a few nights later, when they were speeding across the continent showed him that there was need of great precaution. On leaving Chicago, Tom had noticed, among the other passengers traveling in the same coach as themselves, a man who seemed to be closely observing each member of the party of gold-hunters. He was a man with a black mustache, a mustache so black, in fact, that Tom at once concluded that it had been dyed. This, in itself, was not much, but there was a certain air about the man--a "sporty" air--which made Tom suspicious. "I wouldn't be surprised if that man was a gambler, Ned," he said to his chum, one afternoon, as they were speeding along. The man in question was several seats away from Tom. "He does look like one," agreed Ned. "I needn't advise you not to fall in with any of his invitations to play cards, I suppose," went on Tom, after a pause. "No, indeed, it's something I don't do," answered Ned, with a laugh. "But it might be a good thing to speak to Abe Abercrombie about him. If that man's a sharper perhaps Abe knows him, or has seen him, for Abe has traveled around in the West considerable." "We'll ask him," agreed Tom, but the miner, when his attention was called to the man, said he had never seen him before. "He does look like a confidence man," agreed Abe, "but as long as he doesn't approach us we can't do anything, and don't need to worry." There was little need to call the attention of either Mr. Damon or Mr. Parker to the man, for Mr. Damon was busy watching the scenery, as this trip was a new one to him, and he was continually blessing something he saw or thought of. As for Mr. Parker, he was puzzling over some new theories he had in mind, and he said little to the others. On the night of the same day on which Tom had called special attention to the man with the black mustache, our hero went to his berth rather late. He had sent some telegrams to his father and one to Miss Nestor, and, when he turned in he saw the "gambler," as he had come to call him, going into the smoking compartment of the coach. Though Tom thought of the man as a gambler, there was no evidence, as yet, that he was one, and he had made no effort to approach any of our friends, though he had observed them closely. How long Tom had been asleep he did not know, but he was suddenly awakened by feeling his pillow move. At first he thought it was caused by the swaying of the train, and he was about to go to sleep again, when there came a movement that he knew could not have been caused by any unevenness of the roadbed. Then, like a flash there came to Tom's mind the thought that under his pillow, in a little leather case he had made for it, was the map, showing the location of the valley of gold. He sat up suddenly, and made a lunge for the pillow. He felt a hand being hurriedly withdrawn. Tom made a grab for it, but the fingers slipped from his grasp. "Here! Who are you!" cried Tom, endeavoring to peer through the darkness. "It's all right--mistake," murmured a voice. Tom leaned suddenly forward and parted the curtains of his berth. There was a dim light burning in the aisle of the car. By the gleam of it the young inventor caught sight of a man hurrying away, and he felt sure the fellow who had put his hand under his pillow was the man with the black mustache. He confirmed this suspicion a moment later, for the man half turned, as if to look back, and the youth saw the mustache. "He--he was after my map!" thought Tom, with a gasp. He sat bolt upright. What should he do? To raise an alarm now, he felt, would only bring a denial from the man if he accused him. There might also be a scene, and the man might get very indignant. Then, too, Tom and his friends did not want their object made known, as it would be in the event of Tom raising an outcry and stating what was under his pillow. He felt for the map case, opened it and saw, in the gleam of the light, that it was safe. "He didn't get it anyhow," murmured our hero. "I guess I won't say anything until morning, though he did come like a thief in the night to see if he could steal it." Tom glanced to where his coat and other clothing hung in the little berth-hammock, and a hasty search showed that his money and ticket were safe. "It was the map he was after all right," mused Tom. "I'll have a talk with Mr. Damon in the morning about what's best to do. That's why the fellow has been keeping such a close watch on us. He wanted to see who had the map." Then another thought came to Tom. "If it was the map he was after," he whispered to himself, "he must know what it's about. Therefore the Fogers must have told him. I'll wager Andy or his father put this man up to steal the map. Andy's afraid he hasn't got a copy of the right one. This is getting more and more mysterious! We must be on our guard all the while. Well, I'll see what I'll do in the morning." But in the morning the man with the black mustache was not aboard the train, and on inquiring of the conductor, Tom learned that the mysterious stranger had gotten off at a way station shortly after midnight. CHAPTER IX A VANDAL'S ACT "Bless my penknife!" exclaimed Mr. Daman, the next morning, when he had been told of Tom's experience in the night, "things are coming to a pretty pass when our enemies adopt such tactics as this! What can we do, Tom? Hadn't you better let one of us carry the map?" "Oh, I guess not," answered the young inventor. "They have had one try at me, and found that I wasn't napping. I don't believe they'll try again. No, I'll carry the map." Tom concealed it in an old wallet, as he thought it was less likely to attract attention there than in the new case he formerly used. Still he did not relax his vigilance, and his sleep for the next few nights was uneasy, as he awakened several times, thinking he felt a hand under his pillow. At length Ned suggested that one of them sit up part of the night, and keep an eye on Tom's berth. This was agreed to, and they divided the hours of darkness into watches, each one taking a turn at guarding the precious map. But they might have spared themselves the trouble, for no further attempt was made to get it. "I'd just like to know what Andy Foger's plans are?" said Tom one afternoon, as they were within a few miles of Seattle. "He certainly must have made up his mind quickly, after he saw the map, about going in search of the gold." "Maybe his father proposed it," suggested Ned. "I heard, in our bank, that Mr. Foger has lost considerable money lately, and he may need more." "I shouldn't wonder. Well, if they are going to Sitka, Alaska, to assemble their ship, I think they'll have trouble, for supplies are harder to get there than in Seattle. But we'll soon be on our way ourselves, if nothing happens. I hope all the parts of the RED CLOUD arrive safely." They did, as Tom learned a few hours later, when they had taken up their quarters in a Seattle hotel, and he had made inquiries at the railroad office. In the freight depot were all the boxes and crates containing the parts of the big airship, and by comparison with a list he had made, the young inventor found that not a single part was missing. "We'll soon have her together again," he said to his friends, "and then we'll start for Alaska." "Where are you going to assemble the airship?" asked Mr. Damon. "I've got to hire some sort of a big shed," explained Tom. "I heard of one I think I can get. It's out at the fair grounds, and was used some time ago when they had a balloon ascension here. It will be just what I need." "How long before we can start for the gold valley?" asked the old miner anxiously. "Oh, in about a week," answered the lad, "that is, if everything goes well." Tom lost no time in getting to work. He had the different parts of his airship carted to the big shed which he hired. This building was on one edge of the fair grounds, and there was a large, level space which was admirably adapted for trying the big craft, when once more it was put together. The gold-seekers worked hard, and to such good purpose that in three days most of the ship was together once more, and the RED CLOUD looked like herself again. Tom hired a couple of machinists to aid him in assembling the motor, and some of the gas appliances and other apparatus. "Ha! Bless my rubber shoes!" cried Mr. Damon in delight, as he looked at the big craft "This is like old times, Tom!" "Yes, indeed," agreed our hero. "Are you going to give it a preliminary tryout?" asked Ned. "Oh, yes, I think we can do that to-morrow," replied Tom. "I want to know that everything is in good working shape before I trust the ship on the trip to the frozen north. There are several problems I want to work out, too, for I think I will need a different kind of gas up where the temperature is so low." "It certainly is cold up here," agreed Ned, for they were now much farther north than when they were in Shopton, and, besides, winter was coming on. It was not the best time of the year to journey into Alaska, but they had no choice. To delay, especially now, might mean that their enemies would get ahead of them. "We'll be warm in the airship, though; won't we?" asked Abe. "Oh, yes," answered Tom. "We'll be warm, and have plenty to eat. Which reminds me that I must begin to see about our stock of provisions and other supplies, for we'll soon be on our way." Work on the airship was hastened to such good advantage the next two days that it was in shape for a trial flight, and, one afternoon, the RED CLOUD was wheeled from the shed out into big field, the gas was generated, and the motor started. There was a little hitch, due to the fact that some of the machine adjustments were wrong, but Tom soon had that remedied and then, with the big propellers whirling around, the airship was sent scudding across the field. Another moment and it rose like a great eagle, and sailed through the air, while a small crowd that had daily gathered in the hope of seeing a flight, sent up a cheer. "Does it work all right?" asked Ned anxiously, as he stood in the pilothouse beside his chum. "As good as it did in Shopton," answered the young inventor, proudly. "Bless my pocketbook! but that's lucky," exclaimed Mr. Damon. "Then we can soon start, eh?" "As soon as we are stocked up," replied the lad. Tom put the airship through a number of "stunts" to test her stability and the rudder control, much to the delight of the gathering throng. Everything was found to work well, and after ascending to a considerable height, to the no small alarm of the old miner, Tom made a quick descent, with the motor shut off. The RED CLOUD conducted herself perfectly, and there was nothing else to be desired. She was sent down to earth and wheeled back into the shed, and not without some difficulty, for the crowd, which was now very large, wanted to get near enough to touch the wonderful craft. "To-morrow I'll arrange about the supplies and provisions, and we'll stock her up," said Tom to his companions. "Now you folks had better go back to the hotel." "Aren't you coming?" asked Ned. I'm going to bunk here in the shed to-night, said the young inventor. "What for?" "I can't take any chances now that the RED CLOUD is in shape for flying. Some of the Foger crowd might be hanging around, and break in here to damage her." "But the watchman will be on guard," suggested Ned, for since the hiring of the shed, the young inventor had engaged a man to remain on duty all night. "I know," answered Tom Swift, "but I'm not going to take any chances. I'll stay here with the watchman." Ned offered to share the vigil with his chum, and, after some objection Tom consented. The others went back to the hotel, promising to return early in the morning. Tom slept heavily that night, much heavier than he was in the habit of doing. So did Ned, and their deep breathing as they lay in their staterooms, in the cabin of the airship, told of physical weariness, for they had worked hard to re-assemble the RED CLOUD. The watchman was seated in a chair just inside the big door of the shed, near a small stove in which was a fire to take off the chill of the big place. The guard had slept all day, and there was no excuse for him nodding in the way that he did. "Queer, how drowsy I feel," he murmured several times. "It's only a little after midnight, too," he added, looking at his watch, "Guess I'll walk around a bit to rouse myself." He firmly intended to do this, but he thought he would wait just a few minutes more, and he stretched out his legs and got comfortable in the chair. Three minutes more and the watchman was asleep--sound asleep, while a strange, sweet, sickish odor seemed to fill the atmosphere about him. There was a noise at the door of the shed, a door in which there were several cracks. A man outside laid aside something that looked like an air pump. He applied one eye to a crack, and looked in on the sleeping watchman. "He's off," the man murmured. "I thought he'd never get to sleep! Now to get in and dose those two lads! Then I'll have the place to myself!" There was a clicking noise about the lock on the shed door. It was not a very secure lock at best, and, under the skilful fingers of the midnight visitor, it quickly gave way. The man entered. He gave one look at the slumbering watchman, listened to his heavy breathing, and then went softly toward the airship, which looked to be immense in the comparatively small shed--taking up nearly all the space. The intruder peered in through the cabin windows where Ned and Tom were asleep. Once more there was in the atmosphere a sickish odor. The man again worked the instrument which was like a small air pump, taking care not to get his own face too near it. Presently he stopped and listened. "They're doped," he murmured. He arose, and took from his mouth and nose a handkerchief saturated with some chemical that had rendered him immune to the effects of the sleep-producing that he had generated. "Sound asleep," he added. Then, taking out a long, keen knife, the vandal stole toward where the great wings of the RED CLOUD stretched out in the dim light like the pinions of a bird. There was a ripping, tearing, rending sound, as the vandal cut and slashed, but Tom, Ned and the watchman slumbered on. CHAPTER X TOM IS HELD UP Tom Swift stirred uneasily in his heavy sleep. He dreamed that he was again in his berth in the railroad car, and that the thief was feeling under his pillow for the map. Only, this time, there seemed to be hands feeling about his clothing, trying to locate his inner pockets. The lad murmured something unintelligible, but he did not awaken. The fumes prevented that. However, his movements showed that the effect of the drug was wearing off. It was intended only for temporary use, and it lasted less time than it would otherwise have done in a warmer, moister climate, for the cold, crisp air that penetrated the shed from outside dispelled the fumes. "Guess I'd better not chance it," murmured the intruder. "He may not have it on him, and if I go through all his pockets I'll wake him up. Anyhow, I've done what they paid me for. I don't believe they'll sail in this airship." The vandal gave one glance at the sleeping lads, and stole from the cabin of the craft. He looked at his work of ruin, and then tiptoed past the slumbering watchman. A moment later and he was outside the shed, hurrying away through the night. Several hours after this Mr. Damon and the old miner were pounding on the door of the shed. Mr. Parker, the scientist, had remained at the hotel, for he said he wanted to work out a few calculations regarding some of his theories. "I thought we'd find them up by this time," spoke the eccentric man, as he again knocked on the door. "Tom said he had lots to do to-day." "Maybe they are working inside, and can't hear our knocks," suggested Abe. "Try th' door." "Bless my heart! I never thought of that," exclaimed Mr. Damon. "I believe I will." The door swung open as he pushed it, for it had not been locked when the intruder left. The first thing Mr. Damon saw was the watchman, still asleep in his chair. "Bless my soul!" the old man shouted. "Look at this, Abe!" "Something's wrong!" cried the miner, sniffing the air. "There's been crooked work here! Where are the boys?" Mr. Damon was close to the airship. He looked in the cabin window. "Here they are, and they're both asleep, too!" he called. "And--bless my eyeglasses! Look at the airship! The planes and wings are all cut and slashed! Something has happened! The RED CLOUD is all but ruined!" Abe hastened to his side. He looked at the damage done, and a fierce look came over his face. "The Fogers again!" he murmured. "We'll pay 'em back for this! But first we must see to the boys!" They needed small attention, however. The opening of the big door had let in a flood of fresh air, and this dispelled the last of the fumes. The watchman was the first to revive. The sleep caused by the chemical, sprayed from the air-pump by the vandal, had been succeeded by a natural slumber, and this was the case with Ned and Tom. They were soon aroused, and looked with wonder, not unmixed with rage, at the work done in the night. Every one of the principal planes of the airship, each of the rudders, and some of the auxiliary wings had been cut by a sharp knife--some in several places. The canvas hung in shreds and patches, and the trim RED CLOUD looked like some old tramp airship now. Tom could scarcely repress a groan. "Who did it?" he gasped. "And with us here on guard!" added Ned. "I--I must have fallen asleep," admitted the watchman in confusion. "You were all asleep," said Mr. Damon. "I couldn't rouse you!" "And there was th' smell of chloroform, or something like it in th' shed," added the miner. "But look at the airship!" groaned Tom. "Is it ruined--can't we go to the valley of gold?" asked Ned. Tom did not answer for a few minutes. He was walking around looking at his damaged craft. The sleepy feeling was rapidly leaving him, as well as Ned and the watchman. "Bless my watch chain!" exclaimed Mr. Damon. "What an ugly, mean piece of work. Can you repair it, Tom?" "I think so," was the hesitating answer. "It is not as bad as I feared at first. Luckily the gas-bag has not been touched, for, if it had, we could hardly have repaired it. I can fix the wings and the rudders. The propellers have not been damaged, nor has the motor been touched. I think they must have made another attempt to take the map off me," he went on, as he looked at several pockets that had been turned inside out. An examination of the door showed how the lock had been forced, and the adventurers could easily guess the rest. But who the midnight vandal was they could not tell, though Tom and the others were sure it was some one hired by the Fogers. "They wanted to delay us," said Tom. "They thought this would hold us back, but it won't--for long. We'll get right to work, and make new planes and rudders. Fortunately the framework isn't hurt any." Once Tom got into action nothing held him back. He hardly wanted to stop for meals. New canvas was ordered, and that very afternoon some of the damaged wings had been repaired. In the meanwhile the stores and provisions that had been ordered were arriving, and, under the direction of the miner and Mr. Damon were put in the RED CLOUD. Tom and Ned, with the help of a man they hired, worked diligently to replace the damaged planes and rudders. Mr. Parker came out to the airship shed, but he was of little use as a helper, for he was continually stopping to jot down some memoranda about an observation he thought of, or else he would lay aside his tools to go outside, look at the weather, and make predictions. But Tom and the others labored to such good advantage that in three days they had repaired most of the damage done. Luckily the vandal had cut and slashed in a hurry, and his malicious work was only half accomplished. There was no clue to his identity. No trace was seen of the Fogers, and Tom hardly expected it, for he thought they were in Sitka by this time. Nor were any suspicious persons seen hanging around the shed. The adventurers left their rooms at the hotel, and took up their quarters in the airship that would soon be their home for many days. They wanted to be where they could watch the craft, and two guards were engaged. "We'll start to-morrow," Tom announced gaily one evening when, after a hard day's work the last of the damaged planes had been repaired. "Start fer th' valley of gold?" asked the miner. "Yes. Everything is in good shape now. I want to go into town, to send some messages home, telling dad we'll soon be on our way, and I also want to get a few things." "Shall I come?" asked Ned. "No, I'd rather you'd stay here," spoke Tom, in a low voice. "We can't take any more chances of being delayed, and, as it's pretty well known that we'll sail to-morrow, the Foger crowd may try some more of their tricks. No, I'll go to town alone, Ned. I'll soon be back, however. You stay here." But Tom came nearly never coming back. As he was returning from sending the messages, and purchasing a few things he needed for the trip, he passed through a dark street. He was walking along, thinking of what the future might hold for him and his companions, after they reached the caves of ice, when, just as he got to a high board fence, surrounding some vacant lots, he heard some one whisper hoarsely: "Here he comes!" The young inventor was on his guard instantly. He jumped back to avoid a moving shadow, but was too late. Something struck him on the back of his head, and he felt his senses leaving him. He struggled against the feeling, and he realized, even in that exciting moment, that the thick collar of his heavy overcoat, which he had turned up because of a cold wind, had, perhaps, saved him from a broken skull. "Hold him!" commanded another voice. "I'll go through him!" The packages dropped from Tom's nerveless fingers. He felt himself sinking down, in spite of his fierce determination not to succumb. He felt several hands moving rapidly about his body, and then he struck blindly out at the footpads. CHAPTER XI OFF FOR THE FROZEN NORTH Tom Swift felt as if he was struggling in some dream or nightmare. He felt strong hands holding him and saw evil faces leering at him. Then gradually his brain cleared. His muscles, that had been weakened by the cowardly blow, grew strong. He felt his fist land heavily on some one's face. He heard a smothered gasp of pain. Then came the sound of footsteps running--Tom heard the "ping" of a policeman's night-stick on the sidewalk. "Here come the cops!" he heard one voice exclaim. "Did you get it?" asked another. "No, I can't find it. Cut for it now!" They released the young inventor so suddenly that he staggered about and almost fell. The next moment Tom was looking into the face of a big policeman, who was half supporting him. "What's the matter?" asked the officer. "Hold-up, I guess," mumbled the lad. "There they go!" he pointed toward two dark forms slipping along down the dimly-lighted street. The officer drew his revolver, and fired two shots in the air, but the fleeing figures did not stop. "How did it happen?" asked the policeman. "Did they get anything from you?" "No--I guess not," answered Tom. He saw the packages containing his purchases lying where they had fallen. A touch told him his watch and pocketbook were safe. The precious map was in a belt about his waist, and that had not been removed. "No, they didn't get anything," he assured the officer. "I came along too quick for 'em, I guess," spoke the bluecoat. "This is a bad neighborhood. There have been several hold-ups here of late, but I was on the job too soon for these fellows. Hello, Mike," as another officer came running up in answer to the shots and the raps of the night-stick. "Couple of strong-arm-men tackled this young fellow just now. I saw something going on as I turned the corner, and I rapped and ran up. They went down that way. I fired at 'em. You take after 'em, Mike, and I'll stay here. Don't believe you can land 'em, but try! I came up too quick to allow 'em to get anything, though." Tom did not contradict this. He knew, however, that, had the men who attacked him wished to take his watch or money, they could have done it several times before the officer arrived. "It was the map they were after," thought Tom, "not my watch or money. This is more of the Foger's work. We must get away from here." The policeman inquired for more particulars from Tom, who related how the hold-up had taken place. The young inventor, however, said nothing about the map he carried, letting the officer think it was an ordinary attempt at robbery, for Tom did not want any reference in the newspapers to his search for the valley of gold. Presently the other policeman returned, having been unable to get any trace of the daring men. The two bluecoats wanted to accompany Tom back to the airship shed, for his own safety, but he declared there was no more danger, and, after having given his name, so that the affair might be reported at headquarters, he was allowed to go on his way. His head ached from the blow, but otherwise he was unhurt. "Those fellows have been keeping watch for me," the lad reasoned, as he walked quickly toward the airship shed. "They must have been shadowing me, and they hid there until I came back. Andy Foger and his father must be getting desperate. I think I know why, too. That little dig I gave Andy about his map is bearing fruit. He begins to think it's the wrong map, and he wants to get hold of the right one. Well, they shan't if I can help it. We'll be away from here in the morning." There was indignation and some alarm among Tom's friends when he told his story a little later that night. "Bless my walking-stick!" cried Mr. Damon. "You'll need a bodyguard after this." "I'd just like t' git my hands on them fellers!" exclaimed the old miner. "I'd show 'em!" and a look at his rugged frame and his muscular arms and gnarled hands showed Tom and Ned that in the event of a fight they could count much on Abe Abercrombie. "I am glad there will be no more delays, and that we will soon be moving northward," spoke Mr. Parker, a little later. "I am anxious to confirm my theory about the advance of the ice crust, I met a man to-day who had just returned from the north of Alaska. He said that a severe winter had already set in up there. So I am anxious to get to the ice caves." "So am I," added Tom, but it was for a different reason. They were all up early the next morning, for there were several things to look after before they started on the trip that might bring much of danger to the adventurers. Under Tom's direction, more gas was generated, and forced into the big bag. A last adjustment was made of the planes, wing tips and rudders, and the motor was given a try-out. "I guess everything is all right," announced the young inventor. "We'll take her out." The RED CLOUD was wheeled from the big shed, and placed on the open lot, where she would have room to rush across the ground to acquire momentum enough to rise in the air. Tom, whenever it was practical, always mounted this way, rather than by means of the lifting gas, as, in the event of a wind, he would have better control of the ship, while it was ascending into the upper currents of air, than when it was rising like a balloon. "All aboard!" cried the lad, as he looked to see that the course was clear. Early as it was, there was quite a crowd on hand to witness the flight, as there had been every day of late, for the population of Seattle was curious regarding the big craft of the air. "Let her go!" cried Ned Newton, enthusiastically. Tom took his place in the steering-tower, or pilothouse, which was forward of the main cabin. Ned was in the engine-room, ready to give any assistance if needed. Mr. Damon, Mr. Parker and Abe Abercrombie were in the main cabin, looking out of the windows at the rapidly increasing throng. "Here we go!" cried the young inventor, as he pulled the lever starting the motor, There was a buzz and a hum. The powerful propellers whirred around like blurs of light. Forward shot the great airship over the ground, gathering speed at every revolution of the blades. Tom tilted the forward rudder to lift the ship. Suddenly it shot over the heads of the crowd. There was a cheer and some applause. "Off for the frozen north!" cried Ned, waving his cap. Tom shifted the rudder, to change the course of the airship. Mr. Damon was gazing on the crowd below. "Tom! Tom!" he cried suddenly. "There's the man with the black mustache--the man who tried to rob you in the sleeping-car!" He pointed downward to some one in the throng. "He can't get us now!" exclaimed Tom, as he increased the speed of the RED CLOUD, and then, taking up a telescope, after setting the automatic steering gear, Tom pointed the glass at the person whom Mr. Damon had indicated. CHAPTER XII PELTED BY HAILSTONES "Yes, that's the man all right," observed the lad. "But if he came here to have another try for the map, he's too late. I hope we don't land now until we are in the valley of gold." Tom passed the telescope to Ned, who confirmed the identification. "Perhaps he came to see if we started, and then he'll report to Andy Foger or his father by telegraph," suggested Mr. Damon. "Perhaps," admitted Tom. "Anyhow, we're well rid of our enemies--at least for a time. They can't follow us up in the air." He turned another lever and the RED CLOUD shot forward at increased speed. "Maybe Andy will race us," suggested Ned. "I'm not afraid of anything his airship can do," declared Tom. "I don't believe it will even get up off the ground, though he did make a short flight before he packed up to follow us. It's a wonder he wouldn't think of something himself, instead of trying to pattern after some one else. He tried to beat me in building a speeding automobile, and now he wants to get ahead of me in an airship. Well, let him try. I'll beat him out, just as I've done before." They were now over the outskirts of Seattle, flying along about a thousand feet high, and they could dimly make out curious crowds gazing up at them. The throng that had been around the airship shed had disappeared from view behind a little hill, and, of course, the man with the black mustache was no longer visible, but Tom felt as if his sinister eyes were still gazing upward, seeking to discern the occupants of the airship. "We're well on our way now," observed Ned, after a while, during which interval he and Tom had inspected the machinery, and found it working satisfactorily. "Yes, and the RED CLOUD is doing better than she ever did before," said Tom. "I think it did her good to take her apart and put her together again. It sort of freshened her up. This machine is my special pride. I hope nothing happens to her on this journey to the caves of ice." "If my theory is borne out, we will have to be careful not to get caught in the crush of ice, as it makes its way toward the south," spoke Mr. Parker with an air as if he almost wished such a thing to happen, that he might be vindicated. "Oh, we'll take good care that the RED CLOUD isn't nipped between two bergs," Tom declared. But he little knew of the dire fate that was to overtake the RED CLOUD, and how close a call they were to have for their very lives. "No matter what care you exercise, you cannot overcome the awful power of the grinding ice," declared the gloomy scientist. "I predict that we will see most wonderful and terrifying sights." "Bless my hatband!" cried Mr. Damon, "don't say such dreadful things, Parker my dear man! Be more cheerful; can't you?" "Science cannot be cheerful when foretelling events of a dire nature," was the response. "I would not do my duty if I did not hold to my theories." "Well, just hold to them a little more closely," suggested Mr. Damon. "Don't tell them to us so often, and have them get on our nerves, Parker, my dear man. Bless my nail-file! be more cheerful. And that reminds me, when are we going to have dinner, Tom?" "Whenever you want it, Mr. Damon. Are you going to act as cook again?" "I think I will, and I'll just go to the galley now, and see about getting a meal. It will take my mind off the dreadful things Mr. Parker says." But if the gloomy scientific man heard this little "dig" he did not respond to it. He was busy jotting down figures on a piece of paper, multiplying and dividing them to get at some result in a complicated problem he was working on, regarding the power of an iceberg in proportion to its size, to exert a lateral pressure when sliding down a grade of fifteen per cent. Mr. Damon got an early dinner, as they had breakfasted almost at dawn that morning, in order to get a good start. The meal was much enjoyed, and to Abe Abercrombie was quite a novelty, for he had never before partaken of food so high up in the air, the barograph of the RED CLOUD showing an elevation of a little over twelve thousand feet. "It's certainly great," the old miner observed, as he looked down toward the earth below them, stretched out like some great relief map. "It sure is wonderful an' some scrumptious! I never thought I'd be ridin' one of these critters. But they're th' only thing t' git t' this hidden valley with. We might prospect around for a year, and be driven back by the Indians and Eskimos a dozen times. But with this we can go over their heads, and get all the gold we want." "Is there enough to give every one all he wants?" asked Tom, with a quizzical smile. "I don't know that I ever had enough." "Me either," added Ned Newton. "Oh, there's lots of gold there," declared the old miner. "The thing to do is to get it and we can sure do that now." The remainder of the day passed uneventfully, though Tom cast anxious looks at the weather as night set in, and Ned, noting his chum's uneasiness, asked: "Worrying about anything, Tom?" "Yes, I am," was the reply. "I think we're in for a hard storm, and I don't know just how the airship will behave up in these northern regions. It's getting much colder, and the gas in the bag is condensing more than I thought it would. I will have to increase our speed to keep us moving along at this elevation." The motor was adjusted to give more power, and, having set it so that it, as well as the rudders, would be controlled automatically, Tom rejoined his companions in the main cabin, where, as night settled down, they gathered to eat the evening meal. Through the night the great airship plowed her way. At times Tom arose to look at some of the recording instruments. It was growing colder, and this further reduced the volume of the gas, but as the speed of the ship was sufficient to send her along, sustained by the planes and wings alone, if necessary, the young inventor did not worry much. Morning broke gray and cheerless. A few flakes of snow fell. There was every indication of a heavy storm. They were high above a desolate and wild country now, hovering over a sparsely settled region where they could see great forests, stretches of snow-covered rocks, and towering mountain crags. The snow, which had been lazily falling, suddenly ceased. Tom looked out in surprise. A moment later there came a sound as if some giant fingers were beating a tattoo on the roof of the main cabin. "What's that!" cried Ned. "Bless my umbrella! has anything happened?" demanded Mr. Damon. "It's a hail storm!" exclaimed Tom. "We've run into a big hail storm. Look at those frozen stones! They're as big as hens' eggs!" On a little platform in front of the steering-house could be seen falling immense hailstones. They played a tattoo on the wooden planks. "A hail storm! Bless my overshoes!" cried Mr. Damon. "A hail storm!" echoed Mr. Parker. "I expected we would have one. The hailstones will become even larger than this!" "Cheerful," remarked Tom in a low voice, with an apprehensive look at Ned. "Is there any danger?" asked his chum. "Danger? Plenty of it," replied the young inventor. "The frozen particles may rip open the gas bag." He stopped suddenly and looked at a gage on the wall of the steering-tower--a gage that showed the gas pressure. "One compartment of the bag has been ripped open!" cried Tom. "The vapor is escaping! The whole bag may soon be torn apart!" The noise of the pelting hailstones increased. The roar of the storm, the bombardment of the icy globules, and the moaning of the wind struck terror to the hearts of the gold-seekers. "What's to be done?" yelled Ned. "We must go up, to get above the storm, or else descend and find some shelter!" answered Tom. "I'll first see if I can send the ship up above the clouds!" He increased the speed of the motor so that the propellers would aid in taking the ship higher up, while the gas-generating machine was set in operation to pour the lifting vapor into the big bag. CHAPTER XIII A FRIGHTENED INDIAN The violence of the hail storm, the clatter of the frozen pellets as they bombarded the airship, the rolling, swaying motion of the craft as Tom endeavored to send it aloft, all combined to throw the passengers of the RED CLOUD into a state of panic. "Bless my very existence!" cried Mr. Damon, "this is almost as bad as when we were caught in the hurricane at Earthquake Island!" "I am sure that this storm is but the forerunner of some dire calamity!" declared Mr. Parker. "I'm afraid it's all up with us," came from Abe Abercrombie, as he looked about for some way of escape. "Do you think you can pull us through, Tom?" asked Ned Newton, who, not having had much experience in airships had yet to learn Tom's skill in manipulating them. The young inventor alone seemed to keep his nerve. Coolly and calmly he stood at his post of duty, shifting the wing planes from moment to moment, managing the elevation rudder, and, at the same time, keeping his eye on the registering dial of the gas-generating machine. "It's all right," said Tom, more easily than he felt. "We are going up slowly. You might see if you can induce the gas machine to do any better, Mr. Damon. We are wasting some of the vapor because of the leak in the bag, but we can manufacture it faster than it escapes, so I guess we'll be all right." "Mr. Parker, may I ask you to oil the main motor? You will see the places marked where the oil is to go in. Ned, you help him. Here, Abe, come over here and give me a hand. This wind makes the rudders hard to twist." The young inventor could not have chosen a better method of relieving the fears of his friends than by giving them something to do to take their minds off their own troubles. They hurried to the tasks he had assigned to them, and, in a few minutes, there were no more doubts expressed. Not that the RED CLOUD was out of danger, Far from it. The storm was increasing in violence, and the hailstones seemed to double in number. Then, too, being forced upward as she was, the airship's bag was pelted all the harder, for the speed of the craft, added to the velocity of the falling chunks of hail, made them strike on the surface of the ship with greater violence. Tom was anxiously watching the barograph, to note their height. The RED CLOUD was now about two and a half miles high, and slowly mounting upward. The gas machine was working to its fullest capacity, and the fact that they did not rise more quickly told Tom, more plainly than words could have done, that there were several additional leaks in the gas-bag. "I'll take her up another thousand feet," he announced grimly. "Then, if we're not above the storm it will be useless to go higher." "Why?" asked Ned, who had come back to stand beside his chum. "Because we can't possibly get above the storm without tearing the ship to pieces. I had rather descend." "But won't that be just as bad?" "Not necessarily. There are often storms in the upper regions which do not get down to the surface of the earth, snow and hail storms particularly. Hail, you know, is supposed to be formed by drops of rain being hurled up and down in a sort of circular, spiral motion through alternate strata of air--first freezing and then warm, which accounts for the onion-like layers seen when a hailstone is cut in half." "That is right," broke in Mr. Parker, who was listening to the young inventor. "By going down this hail storm may change into a harmless rain storm. But, in spite of that fact, we are in a dangerous climate, where we must expect all sorts of queer happenings." "Nice, comfortable sort of a companion to have along on a gold-hunting expedition, isn't He?" asked Tom of Ned, making a wry face as Mr. Parker moved away. "But I haven't any time to think of that. Say, this is getting fierce!" Well might he say so. The wind had further increased in violence, and while the storm of hailstones seemed to be about the same, the missiles had nearly doubled in size. "Better go down," advised Ned. "We may fall if you don't." "Guess I will," assented Tom. "There's no use going higher. I doubt if I could, anyhow, with all this wind pressure, and with the gas-bag leaking. Down she is!" As he spoke he shifted the levers, and changed the valve wheels. In an instant the RED CLOUD began to shoot toward the earth. "What's happened? What in th' name of Bloody Gulch are we up ag'in'?" demanded the old miner, springing to his feet. "We're going down--that's all," answered Tom, calmly, but he was far from feeling that way, and he had grave fears for the safety of himself and his companions. Down, down, down went the RED CLOUD, in the midst of the hail storm. But if the gold-seekers had hoped to escape the pelting of the frozen globules they were mistaken. The stones still seemed to increase in size and number. The gas machine register showed a sudden lack of pressure, not due to the shutting off of the apparatus. "Look!" cried Ned, pointing to the dial. "Yes--more punctures," said Tom, grimly. "What's to be done?" asked Mr. Damon, who had finished the task Tom allotted to him. "Bless my handkerchief! what's to be done?" "Seek shelter if the storm doesn't stop when we get to the earth level," answered Tom. "Shelter? What sort of shelter? There are no airship sheds in this desolate region." "I may be able to send the ship under some overhanging mountain crag," answered the young inventor, "and that will keep off the hailstones." Eagerly Tom and Ned, who stood together in the pilothouse peered forward through the storm. The wind was less violent now that they were in the lower currents of air, but the hail had not ceased. Suddenly Tom gave a cry. Ned looked at him anxiously. Had some new calamity befallen them? But Tom's voice sounded more in relief than in alarm. The next instant he called: "Look ahead there, Ned, and tell me what you see." "I see something big and black," answered the other lad, after a moment's hesitation. "Why, it's a big black hole!" he added. "That's what I made it out to be," went on Tom, "but I wanted to be sure. It's the opening to a cave or hole in the side of the mountain. I take it." "You're right," agreed Ned. "Then we're safe," declared Tom. "Safe? How?" "I'm going to take the RED CLOUD in there out of the storm." "Can you do it? Is the opening big enough?" "Plenty. It's larger than my shed at home, Jove! but I'm glad I saw that in time, or there would have been nothing left of the gas-bag!" With skilful hands Tom turned the rudders and sent the airship down on a slant toward the earth, aiming for the entrance to the cave, which loomed up in the storm. When the craft was low enough down so that the superstructure would not scrape the top of the cave, Tom sent her ahead on the level. But he need have had no fears, for the hole was large enough to have admitted a craft twice the size of the RED CLOUD. A few minutes later the airship slid inside the great cavern, as easily as if coming to rest in the yard of Tom's house. The roof of the cave was high over their heads, and they were safe from the storm. The cessation from the deafening sound of the pelting hailstones seemed curious to them at first. "Well, bless my shoelaces! if this isn't luck!" cried Mr. Damon, as he opened the door of the cabin, and looked about the cave in which they now found themselves. It was comparatively light, for the entrance was very large, though the rear of the cavern was in gloom. "Yes, indeed, we got to it just in time,'" agreed Tom. "Now let's see what sort of a place it is. We'll have to explore it." "There may be a landslide, or the roof may come down on our heads," objected Mr. Parker. "Oh, my dear Parker! please be a little more cheerful," begged Mr. Damon. The adventurers followed Tom from the airship, and all but the young inventor gazed curiously at the interior of the cave. His first thought was for his airship. He glanced up at the gas-bag, and noted several bad rents in it. "I hope we can fix them," Tom thought dubiously. But the attention of all was suddenly arrested by something that occurred just then. From the dark recess of the cavern there sounded a fearful yell or scream. It was echoed back a thousand-fold by the rocky walls of the cave, Then there dashed past the little group of gold-seekers a dark figure. "Look out! It's a bear!" shouted Mr. Damon. "A bear! It's an Eskimo Indian!" yelled Abe Abercrombie, "an' he's skeered nigh t' death! Look at him run!" As they gazed toward the lighted entrance of the cave they saw leaping and running from it an Indian who quickly scudded out into the hail storm. "An Indian," exclaimed Tom. "An Indian in the cave! If there's one, there may be more. I guess we'd better look to our guns. They may attack us!" and he hurried back into the airship, followed by Ned and the others. CHAPTER XIV THE RIVAL AIRSHIP Well armed, the adventurers again ventured out into the cave. But they need not have been alarmed so soon, for there were no signs of any more Indians. "I guess that one was a stray Eskimo who took shelter in here from the storm," said Abe Abercrombie. "Are we in the neighborhood of the Alaskan Indians and Eskimos?" inquired Ned. "Yes, there are lots of Indians in this region," answered the old miner, "but not so many Eskimos. A few come down from th' north, but we'll see more of them, an' fewer of th' pure-blooded Indians as we get nearer th' valley of gold. Though t' my mind th' Indians an' Eskimos are pretty much alike." "Well, if we don't have to defend ourselves from an attack of Indians, suppose we look over the airship," proposed Tom. "It's too dark to see very much," objected Ned. But this was overcome when Tom started up a dynamo, and brought out a portable search-light which was played upon the superstructure of the RED CLOUD. The gas-bag was the only part of the craft they feared for, as the hailstones could not damage the iron or wooden structure and the planes were made in sections, and in such a manner that rents in them could easily be repaired. So, in fact, could the gas-bag be mended, but it was harder work. "Well, she's got some bad tears in her," announced Tom as the light flashed over the big bag. "Luckily I have plenty of the material, and some cement, so I think we can mend the rents, though it will take some days. Nothing could have been better for us than this cave. We'll stay here until we're ready to go on." "Unless the Indians drive us out," said Abe, in a low tone. "Why, do you think there is any danger of that?" inquired Tom. "Well, th' brown-skinned beggars aren't any too friendly," responded the old miner. "Th' one that was in here will be sure to tell th' others of some big spirit that flew into th' cave, an' they'll be crowdin' around here when th' storm's over. It may be we can fight 'em off, though." "Maybe they won't attack us," suggested Ned, hopefully. "Perhaps we can make them believe we are spirits, and that it will be unlucky to interfere with us." "Perhaps," admitted Abe, "though my experience has been that these Indians are a bad lot. They haven't much respect for spirits of any kind, an' they'll soon find out we're human. But then, we'll wait an' see what happens." "And, in the meantime, have something to eat," put in Mr. Damon. "Bless my knife and fork! but the hail storm gave me an appetite." In fact, there were few things which did not give Mr. Damon an appetite, Tom thought with a smile. But the meal idea was considered very timely, and soon the amateur cook was busy in the galley of the airship, whence speedily came savory odors. The electric lights were switched on, and the adventurers were quickly made comfortable in the cave, which so well sheltered the RED CLOUD. Tom completed his inspection of the craft, and was relieved to find that while there were a number of small rents, none was very large, and all could be mended in time. Abe Abercrombie took a look outside the cave after the meal had been served. The old miner declared that they had made a good advance on their northern journey for, though he could not tell their exact location, he knew by the character of the landscape that they had passed the boundaries of Alaska. "A few more days' traveling at the rate we came will bring us to the Snow Mountains and the valley of gold," he said. "Well, we won't average such speed as we did during the hail storm," said Tom. "The wind of that carried us along at a terrific pace. But we will get there in plenty of time, I think." "Why; is there any particular rush?" asked Ned. "There's no telling when the Fogers may appear," answered the young inventor in a low voice. "But now we must get to work to repair damage." The hail storm had ceased, and, with the passing of the clouds the cave was made lighter. But Tom did not depend on this, for he set up powerful searchlights, by the gleams of which he and his companions began the repairing of the torn gas-bag. They worked all the remainder of that day, and were at it again early the next morning, making good progress. "We can go forward again, in about two days," spoke Tom. "I want to give the cement on the patches plenty of chance to dry." "Then I will have time to go out and make some observations, will I not?" asked Mr. Parker. "I think this cave is a very old one, and I may be able to find some evidences in it that the sea of ice is slowly working its way down from the polar regions." "I hope you don't," whispered Ned to Tom, who shook his head dubiously as the gloomy scientist left the cave. The weather was very cold, but, in the cavern it was hardly noticed. The adventurers were warmly dressed, and when they did get chilly from working over the airship, they had but to go into the well-heated and cozy cabin to warm themselves. It was on the third day of their habitation in the cave, and work on putting the patches on the gas-bag was almost finished. Mr. Parker had gone out to make further observations, his previous ones not having satisfied him. Tom was on an improvised platform, putting a patch on top of the bag, when he heard a sudden yell, and some one dashed into the cavern. "They're coming! They're coming!" cried a voice, and Tom, looking down, saw Mr. Parker, apparently in a state of great fear. "What's coming?" demanded the young inventor, "the icebergs?" "No--the Indians!" yelled the scientist. "A whole tribe of them is rushing this way!" "I thought so!" cried Abe Abercrombie. "Where's my gun?" and he dashed into the airship. Tom slid down off the platform. "Get ready for a fight!" he gasped. "Where are you, Ned?" "Here I am. We'd better get to the mouth of the cave, and drive 'em back from there." "Yes. If I'd only thought, we could have blockaded it in some way. It's as big as a barn now, and they can rush us if they have a mind to. But we'll do our best!" The adventurers were now all armed, even to Mr. Parker. The scientist had recovered from his first fright, when he spied the Indians coming over the snow, as he was "observing" some natural phenomenon. Tom, even in his excitement, noticed that the professor was curiously examining his gun, evidently more with a view to seeing how it was made, and on which principle it was operated, rather than to discover how to use it. "If it comes to a fight, just point it at the Indians, pull the trigger, and work that lever," explained the young inventor. "It's an automatic gun." "I see," answered Mr. Parker. "Very curious. I had no idea they worked this way." "Oh, if I only had my electric rifle in shape!" sighed Tom, as he dashed forward at the side of Ned. "Your electric rifle?" "Yes, I've got a new kind of weapon--very effective. I have it almost finished. It's in the airship, but I can't use it just yet. However, maybe these repeaters will do the work." By this time they were at the entrance of the cave, and, looking out they saw about a hundred Indians, dressed in furs, striding across the snowy plain that stretched out from the foot of the mountain in which was the cavern. "They're certainly comin' on," observed Abe, grimly. "Git ready for 'em, boys!" The gold-seekers lined up at the mouth of the cave, with guns in their hands. At the sight of this small, but formidable force, the Indians halted. They were armed with guns of ancient make, while some had spears, and others bows and arrows. A few had grabbed up stones as weapons. There appeared to be a consultation going on among them, and, presently, one of the number, evidently a chief or a spokesman, gave his gun to one of his followers, and, holding his hands above his head, while he waved a rag that might have once been white, came forward. "By Jove!" exclaimed Tom. "It's a flag of truce! He wants to talk with us I believe!" "Bless my cartridges!" exclaimed Mr. Damon. "Can they speak English?" "A little," answered Abe Abercrombie. "I can talk some of their lingo, too. Maybe I'd better see what they want." "I guess it would be a good plan," suggested Tom, and, accordingly the old miner stepped forward. The Indian came on, until Abe motioned for him to halt. "I reckon that's as far as it'll be healthy for you t' come," spoke Abe, grimly. "Now what do you fellers want?" Thereupon there ensued a rapid exchange of jargon between the miner and the Indian. Abe seemed much relieved as the talk went on, until there came what seemed like a demand on the part of the dark-hued native. "No, you don't! None of that!" muttered Abe. "If you had your way you'd take everything we have." "What is it? What does he want?" asked Tom in a low voice. "Why, the beggar began fair enough," replied the miner. "He said one of their number had been in the cave when a storm came an' saw a big spirit fly in, with men on its back. He ran away an' now others have come to see what it was. They don't guess it's an airship, for they've never seen one, but they know we're white folks, an' they always want things white folks have got." "This fellow is a sort of chief, an' he says the white folks?--that's us, you know?--have taken th' Indians' cave. He says he doesn't want t' have any trouble, an' that we can stay here as long as we like, but that we must give him an' his followers a lot of food. Says they hain't got much. Land! Those beggars would eat us out of everything we had if we'd let 'em!" "What are you going to tell them?" inquired Mr. Damon. "I'm goin' t' tell 'em t' go t' grass, or words t' that effect," replied Abe. "They haven't any weapons that amount t' anything, an' we can stand 'em off. Besides, we'll soon be goin' away from here; won't we, Tom?" "Yes, but--" "Oh, there's no use givin' in to 'em," interrupted Abe. "If you give 'em half a loaf, they want two. Th' only way is t' be firm. I'll tell 'em we can't accommodate 'em." Thereupon he began once more to talk to the Indians in their own tongue. His words were at first received in silence, and then angry cries came from the natives. The chief made a gesture of protest. "Well, if you don't like it, you know what you kin do!" declared Abe. "We've got th' best part of our journey before us, an' we can't give away our supplies. Go hunt food if you want it, ye lazy beggars!" The peaceful demeanor of the Indians now turned to rage. The leader dropped the rag that had served for a flag of truce, and took back his gun. "Look out! There's going to be trouble!" cried Tom. "Well, we're ready for 'em!" answered Abe, grimly. There was a moment of hesitation among the natives. Then they seemed to hold a consultation with the chief. It was over shortly. They broke into a run, and quickly advanced toward the cave. Tom and the others held their guns in readiness. Suddenly the Indians halted. They gazed upward, and pointed to something in the air above their heads. They gave utterance to cries of fear. "What is it; another storm coming?" asked Tom. "Let's look," suggested Ned. He and Tom stepped to the mouth of the cave--they went outside. There was little danger from the natives now, as their attention was fixed on something else. A moment later Tom and Ned saw what this was. Floating in the air, almost over the cave, was a great airship--a large craft, nearly the size of the RED CLOUD. Hardly able to believe the evidence of their eyes, Tom and Ned watched it. Whence had it come? Whither was it going? "It's a triplane!" murmured Ned. "A triplane!" repeated Tom. "Yes--it is--and it's the airship of Andy Foger! Our rivals are on our track!" He continued to gaze upward as the triplane shot forward, the noise of the motor being plainly heard. Then, with howls of fear, the Indians turned and fled. The rival airship had vanquished them. CHAPTER XV THE RACE Astonished and terrified as the Indians had been at the sight of the big-winged craft, high in the air above their heads, Tom and the others were no less surprised, though, of course, their fear was not exactly the same as that of the Alaskan natives. "Do you really think that is Andy Foger?" asked Ned, as they watched the progress of the triplane. "I'm almost sure of it," replied Tom. "That craft is built exactly as his was, but I never expected him to have such good luck sailing it." "It isn't going very fast," objected Ned. "No, but it can navigate pretty well, and that's something. He must have hustled to get it together and reach this point with it." "Yes, but he didn't have to travel as far as we did," went on Ned. "He put his ship together at Sitka, and we came from Seattle." "Bless my memoranda book!" exclaimed Mr. Damon. "The Fogers here! What's to be done about it?" "Nothing, I guess," answered Tom. "I'd just as soon they wouldn't see us. I don't believe they will. Get back into the cave. We must use strategy now to get ahead of them. There will be a race to the valley of gold." "Well, he served us one good turn, anyhow, though he didn't mean to," put in Abe Abercrombie. "How?" asked Mr. Parker, who was still examining his gun, as though trying to understand it. "He scared away them pesky natives," went on the miner. "Otherwise we might have had a fight, an' while I reckon we could have beat 'em, it's best not to fight if you kin git out of it." The gold-seekers had withdrawn inside the mouth of the cave, where they could watch the progress of the rival airship without being seen. The Indians had disappeared beyond a snow-covered hill. The airship of Andy Foger, for such it subsequently proved to be, floated slowly onward. Its progress was not marked with the speed of Tom's craft, though whether or not the occupants of the ANTHONY (as Andy had vain-gloriously named his craft after himself) were speeding up their motor, was a matter of conjecture. The adventurers held a short consultation, while standing at the mouth of the cave watching the progress of the ANTHONY. It rose in the air, and circled about. "He certainly IS trying to pick us up," declared Ned. "Well, we'll start out after him to-morrow," decided Tom. "I think all the patches will hold then." They resumed work on the RED CLOUD, and that night Tom announced that they would start in the morning. Meanwhile Andy's craft had disappeared from sight. There was no further evidence of the Indians. "I don't reckon they'll come back," spoke Abe, grimly. "They think we are sure-enough spirits, now, able to call creatures out of the air whenever we want 'em. But still we must be on our guard." As Mr. Parker was not of much service in helping on the airship he agreed to be a sort of guard and took his place just outside the cave, where he could make "observations," and, at the same time watch for the reappearance of Indians. They had little fear of an attack at night, for Abe said the Alaskans were not fond of darkness. The cold seemed to increase, and, even in the sheltered cave the adventurers felt it. There were several heavy flurries of snow that afternoon, and winter seemed setting in with a vengeance. The daylight, too, was not of long duration, for the sun was well south now, and in the far polar regions it was perpetual night. After a brief inspection of the ship the next morning, following a good night's rest, when they were not disturbed by any visits from the natives, Tom announced that they would set sail. The day was a clear one, but very cold, and the gold-seekers were glad of the shelter of the warm cabin. The RED CLOUD was wheeled from the cave, and set on a level place. There was not room enough to make a flying start, and ascend by means of the planes and propellers, so the gas-bag method was used. The generating machine was put in operation, and soon the big red bag that hovered over the craft began to fill. Tom was glad to see that none of the several compartments leaked. The bag had been well repaired. Suddenly the RED CLOUD shot up in the air. Up above the towering snow-covered crags it mounted, and then, with a whizz and a roar, the propellers were set going. "Once more northward bound!" cried Tom, as he took his place in the pilothouse. "And we'll see if we can beat Andy Foger there," added Ned. All that morning the RED CLOUD shot ahead at good speed. The craft had suffered no permanent damage during her fight with the hail storm, and was as good as ever. They ate dinner high in the air, while sailing over a great stretch of whiteness, where the snow lay many feet deep on the level, and where great mountain crags were so covered with the glistening mantle and a coating of ice as to resemble the great bergs that float in the polar sea. "I wouldn't want to be wrecked here," said Ned, with a shudder, as he looked down. "We'd never get away. Does any one live down there, Abe?" "Yes, there are scattered tribes of Indians and Alaskan natives. They live by hunting and fishing, and travel around by means of dog sledges. But it's a dreary life. Me an' my partner had all we wanted of it. An airship for mine!" "I wonder what's become of Andy?" spoke Tom, that afternoon. "I haven't sighted him, and I've been using the powerful telescope. I can't pick him up, though he can't be so very far ahead of us." "Let me try," suggested Ned. "Put her up a bit, Tom, where I can look down. Andy won't dare go very high. Maybe I can sight him." The RED CLOUD shot upward as the young inventor shifted the elevation rudder, and the bank clerk, with the powerful glass to his eye, swept the space below him. For half an hour he looked in vain. Then, with a little start of surprise he handed the glass to his chum. "See what you make that out to be," suggested Ned. "It looks like a big bird, yet I haven't seen any other birds to-day." Tom looked. He peered earnestly through the telescope for a minute, and then cried: "It's Andy's airship! He's ahead of us! We must catch him! Ned, you and Mr. Damon speed up the motor! The race is on!" In a few minutes the great airship was hurling herself through space, and, in less than ten minutes Andy's craft could be made out plainly with the naked eye. Fifteen minutes more and the RED CLOUD was almost up to her. Then those aboard the ANTHONY must have caught sight of their pursuers, for there was a sudden increase in speed on the part of the unscrupulous Foger crowd, who sought to steal a march on Tom and his friends. "The race is on!" repeated the young inventor grimly, as he pulled the speed lever over another notch. CHAPTER XVI THE FALL OF THE ANTHONY Had it not been for what was at stake, the race between the two big airships would have been an inspiring one to those aboard Tom's craft. As it was they were too anxious to overcome the unfair advantage taken by Andy to look for any of the finer points in the contest of the air. "There's no denying that he's got a pretty good craft there," conceded Tom, as he watched the progress of his rival. "I never thought Andy Foger could have done it." "He didn't do very much of it," declared Ned. "He hired the best part of that made. Andy hasn't any inventive ideas. He probably said he wanted an airship, and his dad put up the money and hired men to build it for him. Andy, Sam and Pete only tinkered around on it." Later Tom and his chum learned that this was so--that Mr. Foger had engaged the services of an expert to make the airship. This man had been taken to Sitka with the Fogers, and had materially aided them in re-assembling the craft. "Do you think he can beat us?" asked Ned, anxiously. "No!" exclaimed Tom, confidently. "There's only one craft that can beat my RED CLOUD and that's my monoplane the BUTTERFLY. But I have in mind plans for a speedier machine than even the monoplane. However I haven't any fear that Andy can keep up to us in this craft. I haven't begun to fly yet, and I'm pretty sure, from the way his is going, that he has used his limit of speed." "Then why don't you get ahead of him?" asked Mr. Damon. "Bless my tape-measure! the way to win a race is to beat." "Not this kind of a race," and the young inventor spoke seriously. "If I got ahead of Andy now, he'd simply trail along and follow us. That's his game. He wants me to be the path-finder, for, since I cast a doubt on the correctness of the map, a copy of which he stole, he isn't sure where he's going. He'd ask nothing better than to follow us." "Then what are you going to do if you don't get ahead of him?" asked Ned. "I'm going to press him close until night," answered Tom, "and when it's dark, I'm going to shoot ahead, and, by morning we'll be so far away that he can't catch up to us." "Good idea! That's th' stuff!" cried Abe with enthusiasm. "He's a sneak!" burst out Mr. Damon. "I'd like to see him left behind." Tom carried out his plan. The remainder of the day he hung just on Andy's flank, sometimes shooting high up, almost out of sight, and again coming down, just to show what the RED CLOUD could do when pressed. As for those aboard the ANTHONY, they seemed to be trying to increase their speed, but, if that was their object they did not have much success, for the big, clumsy triplane only labored along. "I wonder who he's got with him?" said Ned, as darkness was closing down. "I can't make out any one by this glass. They stick pretty closely to the cabin." "Oh, probably Andy's father is there," said "and, perhaps, some of Mr. Foger's acquaintances. I guess Mr. Foger is as anxious to get this gold as Andy is." "He certainly needs money," admitted Ned. "Jove! but I hope we beat him!" But alas for Tom's hopes! His plan of waiting until night and then putting on such speed as would leave Andy behind could not be carried out. It was tried, but something went wrong with the main motor, and only half power could be developed. Tom and Ned labored over it nearly all night, to no effect, and through the hours of darkness they could see the lights from the cabin of the ANTHONY gleaming just ahead of them. Evidently the bully's airship could not make enough speed to run away from the RED CLOUD, or else it was the plan of the Foger crowd to keep in Tom's vicinity. The direction held by Andy's craft was a general northwestern one, and Tom knew, in time, and that very soon, it would bring the ANTHONY over the valley of gold. Evidently Andy was placing some faith in his copy of the stolen map. "Once I get this motor in shape I'll soon pull away from him," announced Tom, about four o'clock that morning, while he and Ned, aided by Mr. Damon, were still laboring over the refractory machine. "What are you going to do?" asked Ned. "It's too late to carry out my original plan," went on Tom. "We're getting so near the place now that I want to be there ahead of every one else. So as soon as we can, I'm going to push the RED CLOUD for all she's worth, and get to the valley of gold first. If possession is nine points of the law, I want those nine points." "That's the way to talk!" cried Abe. "Once we git on th' ground we kin hold our own!" It was breakfast time before Tom had the motor repaired, and he decided to have a good meal before starting to speed up his craft. He felt better after some hot coffee, for he and the others were weary from their night of labor. "Now for the test!" he cried, as he went back to the engine-room. "Here's where we give Andy the go-by, and I don't think he can catch us!" There was an increasing hum to the powerful motor, the great propellers whirled around at twice their former number of revolutions, and the airship suddenly shot ahead. Those on the ANTHOMY must have been watching for some such move as that, for, no sooner had Tom's craft begun to creep up on his rival than the forward craft also shot ahead. But the airship was not built that could compete with Tom's. Like a racer overhauling a cart-horse, the RED CLOUD whizzed through the air. In a spirit of fun the young inventor sent his machine within a few feet of Andy's. He had a double purpose in this, for he wanted to show the bully that he did not fear him, and he wanted to see if he could discover who was aboard. Tom did catch a glimpse of Andy and his father in the cabin of the ANTHONY, and he also saw a couple of men working frantically over the machinery. "They're going to try to catch us!" called Tom to Ned. This was evident a moment later, for, after the RED CLOUD had forged ahead, her rival made a clumsy attempt to follow. The ANTHONY did show a burst of speed, and, for a moment Tom was apprehensive lest he had underrated his rival's prowess. Suddenly Ned, who was looking from a projecting side window of the pilothouse, back toward Andy's ship, cried out in alarm. "What's the matter?" shouted Tom. "The airship--Andy's--two of the main wings have collapsed!" Tom looked. It was but too true. The strain under which the ANTHONY had been put when the machinists increased the speed, had been too much for the frame. Two wings broke, and now hung uselessly down, one on either side. The ANTHONY shot toward the snow-covered earth! "They're falling!" cried Mr. Parker. "Yes," added Tom, grimly, "the race is over as far as they are concerned." "Bless my soul! Won't they be killed?" cried Mr. Damon. "There's not much danger," replied the young inventor. "They can vol-plane back to earth. That's what they're doing," he added a moment later, as he witnessed the maneuver of the crippled craft. "They're in no danger, but I don't believe they'll get to the valley of gold this trip!" Tom was soon to learn how easily he could be mistaken. CHAPTER XVII HITTING THE ICE MOUNTAIN Onward sped the RED CLOUD. For a moment after the accident to Andy's ship, Tom had slowed up his craft, but he soon went on again, after he had satisfied himself that his enemies were in no danger. "Don't you think--that is to say--I know they can't expect anything from us," spoke Mr. Damon, "but for humanity's sake, hadn't we better stop and help them, Tom?" "I hardly think so," replied the young inventor. "In the first place they would hardly thank us for doing so, and, in the second, I don't believe they need help. They are almost safely down now." "I don't just mean that," went on the odd man. "But they may starve to death. This is a very desolate country over which we are sailing." "They must have a supply of food in their ship," declared Tom, "and they have brought their plight on themselves." "They're in no great danger," put in Abe. "There are plenty of natives around here, an' if the Fogers need food or aid they can git it by payin' for it. Why, for the sake of th' parts of their damaged airship, th' Eskimos would take th' whole party back t' Sitka and feed 'em well on th' trip. Oh, they're all right." "Very well, if you say so," assented Mr. Damon. He looked back to watch the ANTHONY slowly settling to earth. It came gently down, proving that Tom knew whereof he spoke, when he had said they could vol-plane down. Before the RED CLOUD was out of sight Tom and his companions saw Andy and his father leave their wrecked craft and venture out on the snow-covered ground. The Fogers gazed enviously after the airship of our hero as they saw him still forging toward the goal. "I guess Andy's stolen map won't be of much use to him," mused Tom. "Now we can put on all the speed we like," and with that he shifted the gears and levers until the airship was making exceedingly good time toward the valley of gold. The remainder of that day saw our adventurers pursuing their way eagerly. At times they were flying high, and again, when Abe suggested that they go down to observe the character of the country over which they were passing, they skimmed along, just above the big mountains, which seemed almost like icebergs, so covered were they with frost and snow. They were indeed in a wild and desolate country. Below them stretched a seemingly endless waste of snow and ice--great forests interspersed with treeless patches, while now and then they sailed over a frozen lake. Once in a while they had glimpses of bands of Indians, dressed in furs, hunting. At such times the natives would look up, on hearing the noise made by the motor of the airship, and catching a glimpse of what must have seemed to them like some supernatural object, they would fall down prostrate in amazement and fear. "Airships are pretty much of a novelty up here," remarked Abe with a grim smile. The weather was now very cold, and the gold-seekers had to get out their heavy fur garments, of which they had brought along a goodly supply. True, it was warm in the cabin of the airship, but at times, they wanted to venture out on the deck to get fresh air, or to make some adjustments to the wing planes, and, on such occasions the keen, frosty air, as it was driven past them by the motion of the craft, made even the thickest garments seem none too warm. Then, too, it was colder at the elevation at which they flew than down on the ground. Another day found them in a still wilder and more desolate part of Alaska. There were scarcely any signs of habitation now, and the snow and ice seemed so thick that even a long summer of sunshine could hardly have melted it. The hours of daylight, too, were growing less and less the farther north they went. "Do you think you can pilot us right to the Snow Mountains, Abe?" asked Tom, on the third day after the accident to Andy's airship. "Let's get out the map, and have another look at it. We must be getting near the place now. We'll look at the map." The young inventor went to his stateroom where he kept the important document in a small desk, and the others heard him rummaging around. He muttered impatiently, and Ned heard his chum say: "I thought sure I put it in here." Then ensued a further search, and presently Tom came out, his face wearing rather a puzzled and worried look, and he asked: "Say, Abe, I didn't give that map back to you; did I?" "Nope," answered the miner. "I ain't seen it since just before th' hail storm. We was lookin' at it then." "That's when I remember it," went on Tom, "and I thought I put it in my desk. I didn't, by any possible chance give it to you; did I, Ned?" "Me? No, I haven't seen it." "That's funny," went on Tom. "I'll look once more. Maybe it got under some papers." They heard him rummaging again in his desk. "Bless my bank-book!" cried Mr. Damon. "I hope nothing has happened to that map. We can't find the valley of gold without it." Tom came back again. "I can't find it." he said, hopelessly. Then ensued a frantic search. Every possible place in the airship was looked into, but the precious map did not turn up. "Perhaps the Fogers took it," suggested Mr. Parker, who had helped in the hunt, in a dreamy sort of fashion. "That's not possible," said Tom. "They haven't been near enough to us since I saw the map last. No, the last time I had it was just before the hail storm, and, in the excitement of repairing the ship, I have mislaid it." "Maybe it's back there in the big cave," suggested Ned. "It's possible," admitted the young inventor. "Pshaw! It's very careless of me!" "If you think it's in the cave, we'd better go back there and have a hunt for it," suggested Mr. Damon. "Otherwise we are on a wild-goose chase." "Don't go back!" exclaimed old Abe. "I think we can find th' valley of gold without th' map, now that we have come this far. I sort of remember th' marks on that parchment, an' we are in the right neighborhood now, for I kin see some of th' landmarks my partner and I saw. I say, let's keep on! We can cruise around a bit until we strike th' right place. That won't take us so long as it would to go back to the cave. Besides, if we go back, the Fogers may get ahead of us!" "With their broken airship?" asked Ned. "Can't they repair it?" demanded Abe. "Hardly--up in this wild country," was Tom's opinion. "But perhaps it WILL be just as well to keep on. I have a hazy remembrance of the distances and directions on the map, and, though it will take longer to hunt out the valley this way, I think we can do it. I can't forgive myself for my carelessness! I should have kept a copy of the map, or given one of you folks one." But they would not hear of him blaming himself, and said it might have happened to any one. It was decided that the map must be lost in the big cave, and if it was there it was not likely to be found by their enemies. "We'll jest have t' prospect about a bit," declared Abe, "only we'll do it in th' air instead of on th' ground." It was dusk when the fruitless search for the map was over, and they sat in the cabin discussing matters. The lights had not yet been switched on, and the RED CLOUD was skimming along under the influence of the automatic rudders and the propellers. "Well, suppose we have supper," proposed Mr. Damon, who seemed to think eating a remedy for many ills, mental and bodily. "Bless my desert-spoon, but I'm hungry!" He started toward the galley, while Tom went forward to the pilothouse. Hardly had he reached it than there came a terrific crash, and the airship seemed tossed back by some giant hand. Every one was thrown off his feet, and the lights which had been turned on suddenly went out. "What's the matter?" cried Ned. "Have we hit anything?" demanded Mr. Damon. "Hit anything! I should say we had!" yelled Tom. "We've knocked a piece off a big mountain of ice!" As he spoke the airship began slowly settling toward the earth, for her machinery had been stopped by the terrific impact. CHAPTER XVIII A FIGHT WITH MUSK OXEN "Can I help you, Tom? What's to be done?" demanded Ned Newton, as he rushed to where his chum was yanking on various levers and gear wheels. "Wait a minute!" gasped the young inventor. "I want to throw on the storage battery, and that will give us some light. Then we can see what we are doing." An instant later the whole ship was illuminated, and those aboard her felt calmer. Still the RED CLOUD continued to sink. "Can't we do something?" yelled Ned. "Start the propellers, Tom!" "No, I'll use the gas. I can't see where we're heading for, as the searchlight is out of business. We may be in the midst of a lot of bergs. We were flying too low. Just start the gas generating machine." Ned hurried to obey this order. He saw Tom's object. With the big bag full of gas the airship would settle gently to earth as easily as though under the command of the propellers and wing planes. In a few minutes the hissing of the machine told that the vapor was being forced into the bag and a little later the downward motion of the ship was checked. She moved more and more slowly toward the earth, until, with a little jar, she settled down, and came to rest. But she was on such an uneven keel that the cabin was tilted at an unpleasant angle. "Bless my salt-cellar!" cried Mr. Damon. "We are almost standing on our heads!" "Better that than not standing at all," replied Tom, grimly. "Now to see what the damage is." He scrambled from the forward door of the cabin, no easy task considering how it was tilted, and the others followed him. It was too dark to note just how much damage had been inflicted, but Tom was relieved to see, as nearly as he could judge, that it was confined to the forward part of the front platform or deck of the ship. The wooden planking was split, but the extent of the break could not be ascertained until daylight. The searchlight connections had been broken by the collision, and it could not be used. "Now to take a look at the machinery," suggested the young inventor, when he had walked around his craft. "That is what I am worried about more than about the outside." But, to their joy, they found only a small break in the motor. That was what caused it to stop, and also put the dynamo out of commission. "We can easily fix that," Tom declared. "Bless my coffee-spoon!" cried Mr. Damon, who seemed to be running to table accessories in his blessings. Perhaps it was because it was so near supper time. "Bless my coffee-spoon! But how did it happen?" "We were running too low," declared Tom. "I had forgotten that we were likely to get among tall mountain peaks at any moment, and I set the elevation rudder too low. It was my fault. I should have been on the lookout. We must have struck the mountain of ice a glancing blow, or the result would have been worse than it is. We'll come out of it all right, as it is." "We can't do anything to-night," observed Ned. "Only eat," put in Mr. Damon, "and we'll have to take our coffee cups half full, for everything is so tilted that it's like topsy-turvey land. It makes me fairly dizzy!" But he forgot this in the work of getting a meal, and, though it was prepared under considerable difficulties, at last it was ready. Bright and early the next morning Tom was up making another inspection of his ship. He found that even if the forward deck was not repaired they could go on, as soon as the motor was in shape, but, as they had some spare wood aboard, it was decided to temporarily repair the smashed platform. It was cold work, even wearing their thick garments; but, after laboring until their fingers were stiff from the frost, Ned hit on the idea of building a big fire of some evergreen trees near where the ship lay. "Say, that's all right!" declared Tom, as the warmth of the blaze made itself felt. "We can work better, now!" The RED CLOUD was tilted on some rough and uneven ground, in among some little hills. On either side arose big peaks, the one in particular that they had hit towering nearly fifteen thousand feet. Everything was covered with snow and ice, and, in fact, the ice was so thick on the top of the mountains that the crags resembled icebergs rather than stony peaks. The crash of the airship had brought down a great section of this solid rock-ice. "Do you think we are anywhere near the valley of gold?" asked Mr. Damon that afternoon, when the work was nearly finished. "It's somewhere in this vicinity." declared Abe. "Me an' my partner passed through jest such a place as this on our way there. I wouldn't wonder but what it wasn't more than a few hundred miles away, now." "Then we'll soon be there," said Tom. "I'll start in the morning. I could go to-night, but there are a few adjustments I want to make to the motor, and, besides, I think it will be safer, now that we are among these peaks, to navigate in daylight, or at least with the searchlight going. I should have thought of that before." "Then, if you're not going to start away at once," spoke Mr. Parker, "I think I will walk around a bit, and make some observations. I think we are now in the region where we may expect a movement of the ice. I want to test it, and see if it is traveling in a southerly direction. If it is not now, it will soon be doing that, and the coating of ice may reach even as far as New York." "Pleasant prospect," murmured Tom. Then he said aloud: "Well if you are going, Mr. Parker, we'll be with you. I'll be glad of the chance to stretch my legs, and what more remains to be done, can be finished in the morning." Mr. Damon declared that he did not relish a tramp over the ice and snow, and would stay in the warm cabin, but Tom and Ned, with Abe and Mr. Parker started off. The scientist pointed out what he claimed were evidences of the impending movement of the ice, while Abe explained to the lads how the Alaskan Indians of that neighborhood hunted and fished, and how they made huts of blocks of ice. "We are nearing th' Arctic circle," the old miner said, "and we'll soon be among th' most savage of the Eskimo tribes." "Is there any hunting around here?" asked Ned. "Yes, plenty of musk ox," answered Abe. "I wish I'd brought my gun along and could see one of the big beasts now," went on Ned. He looked anxiously around, but no game was in sight. After a little farther tramp over the icy expanse they all declared that they had seen enough of the dreary landscape, and voted to return to the ship. As they neared their craft Tom saw several large, shaggy black objects standing in a line on the path the adventurers had come over a little while before. The objects were between the gold-seekers and the RED CLOUD. "What in the world are those?" asked the young inventor. "Look to me like black stones," spoke Ned. "Stones?" cried Abe. "Look out, boys, those are musk oxen; and big ones, too! There's a lot of 'em! Make for the ship! If they attack us we're goners!" The boys and Mr. Parker needed no second warning. Turning so as to rush past the shaggy creatures, the four headed toward the ship. But if our friends expected to reach it unmolested they were disappointed. No sooner had they increased their pace than the oxen, with snorts of rage, darted forward. The animals may have imagined they were about to be attacked, and determined to make the first move. "Here they come!" yelled Ned. "Sprint for it!" cried Tom. "Oh, if I only had my gun!" groaned Abe. It was hard work running over the ice and snow, hampered as they were with their heavy fur garments. They soon realized this, and the pace was telling on them. They were now near to the ship, but the savage creatures still were between them and the craft. "Try around the other way!" directed Tom, They changed their direction, but the oxen also shifted their ground, and with loud bellows of rage came on, shaking their shaggy heads and big horns, while the hair, hanging down from their sides and flanks, dragged in the snow. "Right at 'em! Run and yell!" advised the young inventor. "Maybe we can scare 'em!" They followed his advice. Yelling like Indians the four rushed straight for the animals. For a moment only the creatures halted. Then, bellowing louder than ever they rushed straight at Tom and the others. The largest of the oxen, with a sudden swerve, made for Mr. Parker, who was slightly in the lead off to one side. In an instant the scientist was tossed high in the air, falling in a snow bank. "Mr. Damon! Mr. Damon!" yelled Tom, frantically. "Get a gun and shoot these beasts!" The young inventor and his two companions had come to a halt. The oxen also stopped momentarily. Suddenly Mr. Damon appeared on the deck of the airship. He held two rifles. Laying one down he aimed the other at the ox which was rushing at the prostrate Mr. Parker. The eccentric man fired. He hit the beast on the flank, and, with a bellow of rage it turned. "Now's our time!" yelled Tom. "Head for the ship, I'll get my electric gun!" "We can't leave Mr. Parker!" yelled Abe. But the scientist had arisen, and was running toward the RED CLOUD. He did not seem to be much hurt. Mr. Damon fired again, hitting another beast, but not mortally. Once more the herd of shaggy creatures came on, but the adventurers were now almost at the ship, on the deck of which stood Mr. Damon, firing as fast as he could work the lever and pull the trigger. CHAPTER XIX THE CAVES OF ICE "Keep on firing! Hold 'em back a few minutes and I'll soon turn my electric rifle loose on 'em!" yelled Tom Swift as he sprinted forward. "Keep on shooting, Mr. Damon!" "Bless my powder-horn! I will!" cried the excited man. "I'll fire all the cartridges there are in the rifle!" Which, at the rate he was discharging the weapon, would not take a long time. But it had the effect of momentarily checking the advance of the creatures. Not for long, however. Our friends had barely reached the airship, with Mr. Parker stumbling and slipping on the ice and snow, ere the musk oxen came on again, with loud bellows. "They're going to charge the ship! They'll ram her!" yelled Ned Newton. "I think I can stop them!" cried Tom, who had leaped toward his stateroom. He came out a moment later, carrying a peculiar-looking gun, The adventurers had seen it before, but never in operation, as Tom had only put some finishing touches on it since undertaking the voyage to the caves of ice. "What sort of a weapon is that?" cried Abe, as he helped Mr. Parker on board. "It's my new electric rifle," answered the young inventor. "I don't know how it will work, as it isn't entirely finished, but I'm going to try it." Putting it to his shoulder he aimed at the leading musk ox, and pulled a small lever. There was no report, no puff of smoke and no fire, yet the big creature, which had been rushing at the ship, suddenly stopped, swayed for a moment, and then fell over in the snow, kicking in his death agony. "One down!" yelled Tom. "My rifle works all right, even if it isn't finished!" He aimed at another ox, and that creature was stopped in its tracks. Mr. Damon had exhausted his cartridges, and had ceased firing, but Abe Abercrombie was ready with his rifle, and opened up on the beasts. Tom killed another with his electric gun, and Abe shot two. This stopped the advance, and only just in time, for the foremost animals were already close to the ship, and had they rushed at the frail hull they might have damaged it beyond repair. "Here goes for the big one!" cried Tom, and, aiming at the largest ox of the herd, the young inventor pulled the lever. The brute fell over dead, and the rest, terror stricken, turned and fled. "Hurrah! That's the stuff!" cried Ned Newton, capering about on deck. He had hurried to his stateroom and secured his rifle, and, before the musk oxen were out of sight he had killed one, which gave him great delight. "Mighty lucky we drove them away," declared Abe. "They are terrible savage at times, an' I reckon we struck one of them times. But say, Tom, what sort of a gun is that you got, anyhow?" "Oh, it fires electric bullets," explained our hero. "But I haven't time to tell you about it now. Let's get out and skin one of those oxen. The fresh meat will come in good, for we've been living on canned stuff since we left Seattle. We've got time enough before it gets dark." They hurried to where the shaggy creatures lay in the snow, and soon there was enough fresh meat to last a long time, as it would keep well in the intense cold. Tom put away his electric gun, briefly explaining the system of it to his companions. The time was to come, and that not very far off, when that same electric rifle was to save his life in a remarkable manner, in the wilds of Africa where he went to hunt elephants. In the cozy cabin that night they sat and talked of the day's adventures. The airship had been slightly lifted up by means of the gas bag, and now rested on a level keel, so it was more comfortable for the gold hunters. "I did not complete my observations about the great snow slide," remarked Professor Parker, "I trust I will have time to go over the ground again to-morrow." "We leave early in the morning," objected Tom. "Besides, I don't believe it would be safe to go over that ground again," put in Mr. Damon. "Bless my gunpowder! But when I saw those savage creatures rushing at you, I thought it was all up with us. Are you hurt, Parker, my dear fellow? I forgot to ask before." "Not hurt in the least," answered the scientist. "My heavy and thick fur garments saved me from the beasts' horns, and I fell in some soft snow. I was quite startled for a moment. I thought it might be the beginning of the snow movement." "It was an ox movement," said Ned, in a low voice to Tom. Morning saw the travelers again under way, with the Red Cloud now floating high enough to avoid the lofty peaks. The weather was clear but very cold, and Tom, who was in the pilot-house, could see a long distance ahead, and note many towering crags, which, had the airship been flying low enough, would have interfered with her progress. "We'll have to keep the searchlight going all night, to avoid a collision," he decided. "Are we anywhere near the place?" asked Mr. Damon. "We're in th' right region," declared the old miner. "I think we're on th' right track. I recognize a few more landmarks." "There wouldn't have been any trouble if I hadn't lost the map." complained Tom, bitterly. "Never mind about that," insisted Abe. "We'll find th' place anyhow. But look ahead there; is that another hail storm headin' this way, Tom?" The young inventor glanced to where Abe pointed. There was a mist in the air, and, for a time great apprehension was felt, but, in a few minutes there was a violent flurry of snow and they all breathed easier. For, though the flakes were so numerous as to completely shut off the view, there was no danger to the airship from them. Tom steered by the compass. The storm lasted several hours, and when it was over the adventurers found themselves several miles nearer their destination--at least they hoped they were nearer it, for they were going it blind. Abe declared they were now in the region of the gold valley. They cruised about for two days, making vain observations by means of powerful telescopes, but they saw no signs of any depression which corresponded with the place whence Abe had seen the gold taken from. At times they passed over Indian villages, and had glimpses of the skin-clad inhabitants rushing out to point to the strange sight of the airship overhead. Tom was beginning to reproach himself again for his carelessness in losing the map, and it did begin to took as if they were making a fruitless search. Still they all kept up their good spirits, and Mr. Damon concocted some new dishes from the meat of the musk oxen. It was about a week after the fight with the savage creatures when, one day, as Ned was on duty in the pilothouse, he happened to look down. What he saw caused him to call to Tom. "What's the matter?" demanded the young inventor, as he hurried forward. "Look down there," directed Ned. "It looks as if we were sailing over a lot of immense beehives of the old-fashioned kind." Tom looked. Below were countless, rounded hummocks of snow or ice. Some were very large--as immense as a great shed in which a dirigible balloon could be housed--while others were as small as the ice huts in which the Eskimos live. "That's rather strange," remarked Tom. "I wonder--" But he did not complete his sentence, for Abe Abercrombie, who had come to stand beside him, suddenly yelled out: "The caves of ice! The caves of ice! Now I know where we are! We're close to the valley of gold! There are the caves of ice, and just beyond is th' place we're lookin' for! We've found it at last!" CHAPTER XX IN THE GOLD VALLEY The excited cries of the old miner brought Mr. Damon and Mr. Parker to the pilothouse on the run. "Bless my refrigerator!" exclaimed Mr. Damon. "Are there more of those savage, shaggy creatures down there?" "No, but we are over th' caves of ice," explained Abe. "That means we are near th' gold." "You don't say so!" burst out the scientist. "The caves of ice! Now I can begin my real observations! I have a theory that the caves are on top of a strata of ice that is slowly moving down, and will eventually bury the whole of the North American continent. Let me once get down there, and I can prove what I say." "I'd a good deal rather you wouldn't prove it, if it's going to be anything like it was on Earthquake Island, or out among the diamond makers." said Tom Swift. "But we will go down there, to see what they are like. Perhaps there is a trail from among the ice caves to the valley of gold." "I don't think so," said Abe, shaking his head. "I think th' gold valley lies over that high ridge," and he pointed to one. "That's where me an' my partner was," he went on. "I recognize th' place now." "Well, we'll go down here, anyhow," decided Tom, and he pulled the lever to let some gas out of the bag, and tilted the deflection rudder to send the airship toward the odd caves. And, curious enough did our friends find them when they had made a landing and got out to walk about them. It was very cold, for on every side was solid ice. They walked on ice, which was like a floor beneath their feet, level save where the ice caves reared themselves. As for the caverns, they, too, were hollowed out of the solid ice. It was exactly as though there had once been a level surface of some liquid. Then by some upheaval of nature, the surface was blown into bubbles, some large and some small. Then the whole thing had frozen solid, and the bubbles became hollow caves. In time part of the sides fell in and made an opening, so that nearly all the caves were capable of being entered. This method of their formation was advanced as a theory by Mr. Parker, and no one cared to dispute him. The gold-seekers walked about, gazing on the ice caves with wonder showing on their faces. It was almost like being in some fantastic scene from fairyland, the big ice bubbles representing the houses, the roofs being rounded like the igloos of the Eskimos. Some had no means of entrance, the outer surface showing no break. Others had small openings, like a little doorway, while of still others there remained but a small part of the original cave, some force of nature having crumbled and crushed it. "Wonderful! Wonderful!" exclaimed Mr. Parker. "It bears out my theory exactly! Now to see how fast the ice is moving." "How are you going to tell?" asked Tom. "By taking some mark on this field of ice, and observing a distant peak. Then I will set up a stake, and by noting their relative positions, I can tell just how fast the ice field is moving southward." The scientist hurried into the ship to get a sharpened stake he had prepared for this purpose. "How fast do you think the ice is moving?" asked Ned. "Oh, perhaps two or three feet a year." "Two or three feet a year?" gasped Mr. Damon. "Why, Parker, my dear fellow, at that rate it will be some time before the ice gets to New York." "Oh, yes. I hardly expect it will reach there within two thousand years, but my theory will be proved, just the same!" "Humph!" exclaimed Abe Abercrombie, "I ain't goin' to worry any more, if it's goin' t' take all that while. I reckoned, to hear him talk, that it was goin' t' happen next summer." "So did I," agreed Tom, but their remarks were lost on Mr. Parker who was busy making observations. The young inventor and the others walked about among the ice caves. "Some of these caverns would be big enough to house the RED CLOUD in case of another hail storm," observed Tom. "That one over there would hold two craft the size of mine," and, in fact, probably three could have gotten in if the opening had been somewhat enlarged, for the ice cave to which our hero pointed was an immense one. As the adventurers were walking about they were startled by a terrific crashing sound. They started in alarm, for, off to their left, the top of one of the ice caverns had crashed inward, the blocks of frozen water crushing and grinding against one another. "It's a good thing we weren't in there," remarked Tom, and he could not repress a shudder, "There wouldn't have been much left of the RED CLOUD if she had been inside." It was a desolate place, in spite of the wild beauty of it, and beautiful it was when the sun shone on the ice caves, making them sparkle as if they were studded with diamonds. But it was cold and cheerless, and there were no signs that human beings had ever been there. Mr. Parker had completed the setting of his stake, and picked out his landmarks, and was gravely making his "observations," and jotting down some figures in a notebook. "How fast is it moving, Parker?" called Mr. Damon. "I can't tell yet," was the response. "It will require observations extending over several days before I will know the rate." "Then we might as well go on," suggested Tom. "There is nothing to be gained from staying here, and I would like to get to the gold valley. Abe says we are near it." "Right over that ridge, I take it to be," replied the miner. "An' we can't get there any too soon for me. Those Fogers may git their ship fixed up, an' arrive before we do if we wait much longer." "Not much danger, I guess," declared Ned. "Well, we'll go up in the air, and see what we can find," decided Tom, as he turned back toward the ship. They found the "ridge" as Abe designated it, to be a great plateau, over a hundred miles in extent, and they were the better part of that day crossing it, for they went slowly, so as not to miss the valley which the miner was positive was close at hand. Mr. Parker disliked leaving the ice caves, but Abe said there were more in the valley where they were going, and the scientist could renew his observations. It was getting dusk when Tom, who was peering through a powerful glass, called out: "Well, we're at the end of the plateau, and it seems to dip down into a valley just beyond here." "Then that's the place!" cried Abe, excitedly. "Go slow, Tom." Our hero needed no such caution. Carefully he sent the airship forward. A few minutes later they were passing over a large Eskimo village, the fur-clad inhabitants of which rushed about wildly excited at the sight of the airship. "There they are! Them's th' beggars!" cried the old miner. "Them's th' fellows who drove me an' my partner away. But there's th' valley of gold! I know it now! Now t' fill our pockets with nuggets!" "Are you sure this is the place?" asked Mr. Damon. "Sartin sure of it!" declared Abe. "Put her down, Tom! Put her down!" "All right," agreed the young inventor, as he shifted the deflection rudder. The airship began her descent into the valley. The edge of the plateau, leading down into the great depression was now black with the Eskimos and Indians, who were capering about, gesticulating wildly. "It's quite a surprise party to 'em," observed Ned Newton. "Yes, I hope they don't spring one on us," added Tom. Down and down went the RED CLOUD lower and lower into the valley. "There are ice caves there!" cried Mr. Parker, pointing to the curiously rounded and hollow hummocks. "Lots of them!" "And larger than the others!" added Mr. Damon. The airship was now moving slowly, for Tom wanted to pick out a good landing place. He saw a smooth stretch of the ice just ahead of him, in front of an immense ice cave. "I'll make for that," he told Ned. A few minutes later the craft had come to rest. Tom shut off the power and hurried from the pilothouse, donning his fur coat as he rushed out. A blast of frigid air met him as he opened the outer door of the cabin. Back on the ridge of the plateau he could see the fringe of Indians. "Well, we're here in the valley," he said, as his friends gathered about him on the icy ground. "An' now for th' gold!" cried Abe, "for it's here that th' nuggets are--enough for all of us! Come on an' have a hunt for 'em!" CHAPTER XXI THE FOGERS ARRIVE In spite of the fact that he tried to remain calm, Tom Swift felt a wild exultation as he thought of what lay before him and his friends. To be in a place where gold could be picked up! where they might all become fabulously wealthy! where the ground might be seen covered with the precious yellow metal! this was enough to set the nerves of any one a-tingle! Tom could hardly realize it at first. After many hardships, no little danger, and after an attempt on the part of their enemies to defeat them, they had at last reached their goal. Now, as Abe had said, they could hunt for the gold. But if they expected to see the precious yellow nuggets lying about ready to be picked up like so many kernels of corn, they were disappointed. A quick look all about showed them only a vast extent of ice and snow, broken here and there by the big caves of ice. There were not so many of the latter as at the first place they stopped, but the caverns were larger. "Gold--I don't see any gold," remarked Ned Newton, with a disappointed air. "Where is it?" "Bless my pocketbook, yes! Where is it?" demanded Mr. Damon. "Oh, we've got to dig for it," explained Abe. "It's only when there's been a slight thaw that some of th' pebble nuggets kin be seen. They're under th' ice, an' we've got t' dig for 'em." "Does it ever thaw up here?" asked Mr. Parker. "The ice of the caves seems thick enough to last forever." "It does thaw an' melt some," went on the miner. "But some of th' caves last all through what they call 'summer' up here, though it's more like winter. We're above th' Arctic circle now, friends." "Maybe we can keep on to the Pole," suggested Ned. "Not this trip," spoke Tom, grimly. "We'll try for the gold, first." "Yes, an' I'm goin' t' begin diggin' right away!" exclaimed Abe, as he turned back into the airship, and came out again with a pick and shovel, a supply of which implements had been brought along. The others followed his example, and soon the ice chips were flying about in a shower, while the sun shining on them gave the appearance of a rainbow. "Look at those Indians watching us," remarked Ned to Tom, as he paused in his chipping of the frozen surface. The young inventor glanced up toward the distant plateau where a fringe of dark figures stood. The natives were evidently intently watching the gold-seekers. "Do you think there's any danger from them. Abe?" asked Tom. "Not much," was the reply. "They made trouble for me an' my partner, but I guess th' airship has scared 'em sufficient, so they won't come snoopin' down here," and Abe fell to at his digging again. Mr. Damon was also vigorously wielding a pick, but Mr. Parker like the true scientist he was, had renewed his observations. Evidently the gold had no attractions for him, or, if it did, he preferred to wait until he had finished his calculations. Vigorously the adventurers wielded their implements, making the ice fly, but for an hour or more no gold was discovered. Mr. Damon, after picking lightly at a certain place, would get discouraged, and move on to another. So did Ned, and Tom, after going down quite a way, left off work, and walked over to one of the big ice caves. "What's up?" asked Ned, resting from his labors. "I was thinking whether it would be safe to put the RED CLOUD in this ice cave for a shelter," replied Tom. "There may come up a hail storm at any time, and damage it. The caves would be just the place for it, only I'm afraid the roof might collapse." "It looks strong," said Ned. "Let's ask Mr. Parker his opinion." "Good idea," agreed Tom. The scientist was soon taking measurements of the thickness of the cave roof, noting its formation, and looking at the frozen floor. "I see no reason why this cave should collapse," he finally announced. "The only danger is the movement of the whole valley of ice, and that is too gradual to cause any immediate harm. Yes, I think the airship could be housed in the ice cave." "Then I'll run her in, and she'll be safer," decided Tom. "I guess we three can do it, Ned, and leave Mr. Damon and Abe to keep on digging for gold." The airship was so buoyant that it could easily be moved about on the bicycle wheels on which it rested, and soon, after the lower edge of the opening into the ice cave had been smoothed down, the RED CLOUD was placed in the novel shelter. "Now to continue the search for the yellow nuggets!" cried Ned, and Tom went with him, even Mr. Parker condescending to take a pick, now. Abe was the only one who dug steadily in one place. The others tried spot after spot. "You've got t' stick t' one lead until you find somethin', or until it peters out," explained the miner. "You must git down to th' dirt before you'll find any gold, though you may strike a few grains that have worked up into th' ice." After this advice they all kept to one hole until they had worked down through the ice to the dirt surface below. But even then, Abe, who was the first to achieve this, found no gold, and the old miner went to another location. All the rest of that day they dug, but with no result. Not even a few grains of yellow dust rewarded their efforts. "Are you sure this is the right place?" asked Mr. Damon, somewhat fretfully, of Abe, as they ate supper that night in the airship, sheltered as it was in the ice cave. "I'm positive of it," was the reply. "There's gold here, but it will take some prospectin' t' find it. Maybe th' deposits have been shifted by th' ice movement, as Mr. Parker says. But it's here, an' we'll git it. We'll try ag'in t'-morrow." They did try, but with small success. Laboring all day in the cold the only result was a few little yellow pebbles that Tom found imbedded in the ice. But they were gold, and the finding of them gave the seekers hope as they wearily began their task the following day. The weather seemed even colder, and there was the indication of a big storm. They were scattered in different places on the ice, not far away from the big cave, each one picking away vigorously. Suddenly Abe, who had laboriously worked his way down to the dirt, gave an exultant yell. "I've struck it! Struck it rich!" he shouted, leaping about as he threw down his pick, "Look here, everybody!" He stooped down over the hole. They all ran to his side, and saw him lifting from a little pocket in the dirt, several large, yellow pebbles. "Gold! Gold!" cried Abe. "We've struck it at last!" For a moment no one spoke, though there was a wild beating of their hearts. Then, off toward the farther end of the valley there sounded a curious noise. It was a shouting and yelling, mingled with the snapping of whips and the howls and barkings of dogs. "Bless my handkerchief!" cried Mr. Damon. "What's that?" They all saw a moment later. Approaching over the frozen snow were several Eskimo sledges, drawn by dog teams, and the native drivers were shouting and cracking their whips of walrus hide. "The natives are coming to attack us!" cried Ned. Tom said nothing. He was steadily observing the approaching sleds. They came on rapidly. Abe was holding the golden nuggets in his gloved hands. "Get the guns! Where's your electric rifle, Tom?" cried Mr. Damon. "I don't believe we'll need the guns--just yet," answered the young inventor, slowly. "Bless my cartridge-belt! Why not?" demanded the eccentric man. "Because those are the Fogers," replied Tom. "They have followed us--Andy and his father! Andy Foger here!" gasped Ned. Tom nodded grimly. A few minutes later the sleds had come to a halt not far from our friends, and Andy, followed by his father, leaped off his conveyance. The two were clad in heavy fur garments. "Ha, Tom Swift! You didn't get here much ahead of us!" exulted the bully. "I told you I'd get even with you! Come on, now, dad, we'll get right to work digging for gold!" Tom and his companions did not know what to say. CHAPTER XXII JUMPING THE CLAIM There was a sneering look on Andy's face, and Mr. Foger, too, seemed delighted at having reached the valley of gold almost as soon as had our friends. Tom and the others looked at the means by which the bully had arrived. There were four sleds, each one drawn by seven dogs, and in charge of a dark-skinned native. On the two foremost sleds Andy and his father had ridden, while the other two evidently contained their supplies. For a moment Andy surveyed Tom's party and then, turning to one of the native drivers, he said: "We'll camp here. You fellows get to work and make an ice house, and some of you cook a meal--I'm hungry." "No need build ice house," replied the native, who spoke English brokenly. "Why not?" demanded Andy. "Live in ice cave-plenty much ob'em--plenty much room," went on the Eskimo, indicating several of the large caverns. "Ha! That's a good idea," agreed Mr. Foger, "Andy, my son, we have houses already made for us, and very comfortable they seem, too. We'll take up our quarters in one, and then hunt for the gold." Mr. Foger seemed to ignore Tom and his friends. Abe Abercrombie strode forward. "Look here, you Fogers!" he exclaimed without ceremony, "was you calculatin' on stakin' any claims here?" "If you mean are we going to dig for gold, we certainly are," replied Andy insolently, "and you can't stop us." "I don't know about that," went on Abe, grimly. "I ain't goin' t' say nothin' now, about th' way you stole th' map from me, an' made a copy, but I am goin t' say this, an' that is it won't be healthy fer any of you t' git in my way, or t' try t' dig on our claims!" "We'll dig where we please!" cried Andy. "You don't own this valley!" "We own as much of it as we care to stake out, by right of prior discovery!" declared Tom, firmly. "And I say we'll dig where we please!" insisted Andy. "Hand me a pick," he went on to another of the natives. "Wait jest a minute," spoke Abe calmly, as he put his little store of nuggets in the pocket of his fur coat, and drew out a big revolver. "It ain't healthy t' talk that way, Andy Foger, an' th' sooner you find that out th' better. You ain't in Shopton now, an' th' only law here is what we make for ourselves. Tom, maybe you'd better get out th' rifles, an' your electric gun, after all. It seems like we might have trouble," and Abe cooly looked to see if his weapon was loaded. "Oh, of course we didn't mean to usurp any of your rights, my dear friend!" exclaimed Mr. Foger quickly, and he seemed nervous at the sight of the big revolver, while Andy hastily moved until he was behind the biggest of the sledge drivers. "We don't want to violate any of your rights," went on Mr. Foger. "But this valley is large, and do I understand that you claim all of it?" "We could if we wanted to," declared Abe stoutly; "but we'll be content with three-quarter of it, seein' we was here fust. If you folks want t' dig fer gold, go over there," and he pointed to a spot some distance away. "We'll dig where we please!" cried Andy. "Oh, will you?" and there was an angry light in Abe's eyes. "I guess, Tom, you'd better git--" "No! No! My son is wrong--he is too hasty," interposed Mr. Foger. "We will go away--certainly we will. The valley is large enough for both of us--just as you say. Come, Andy!" The bully seemed about to refuse, but a look at Abe's angry face and a sight of Mr. Damon coming from the cave where the airship was, with a rifle, for the eccentric man had hastened to get his weapon--this sight calmed Andy down. Without further words he and his father got back on their sleds, and were soon being driven off to where a large ice cave loomed up, about a mile away. "Good riddance," muttered the miner, "now we kin go on diggin' without bein' bothered by that little scamp." "I don't know about that," spoke Tom, shaking his head dubiously. "There's always trouble when Andy Foger's within a mile. I'm afraid we haven't seen the last of him." "He'd better not come around here ag'in," declared Abe. "Queer, how he should turn up, jest when I made a big strike." "They must have come on all the way from where their airship was wrecked, by means of dog sleds," observed Ned, and the others agreed with him. Later they learned that this was so; that after the accident to the ANTHONY, the crew had refused to proceed farther north, and had gone back. But Mr. Foger had hired the natives with the dog teams, and, by means of the copy of the map and with what knowledge his Eskimos had, had reached the valley of gold. "We have certainly struck it rich," went on Abe, as he went back to where he had dug the hole. "Now we'd better all begin prospectin' here, for it looks like a big deposit. We'll stake out a large enough claim to take it all in. I guess Mr. Parker can do that, seein' as how he knows about such things." The scientist agreed to do this part of the work, it being understood that all the gold discovered would be shared equally after the expenses of the trip had been paid. Feverishly Abe and the others began to dig. They did not come upon such a rich deposit as the miner had found, but there were enough nuggets picked up to prove that the expedition would be very successful. No more attention was paid to the Fogers, but through the telescope Tom could see that the bully and his father had made a camp in one of the ice caves, and that both were eagerly digging in the frozen surface of the valley. Before night several thousand dollars' worth of gold had been taken out by our friends. It was stored in the airship, and then, after supper the craft's searchlight was taken off, and placed in such a position in front of the cave of ice so that the beams would illuminate the claim staked out by Tom and the others. "We'll stand watch an' watch," suggested Abe, "but I don't think them Fogers will come around here ag'in." They did not, and the night passed peacefully. The next day our friends were again at work digging for gold. So were the Fogers, as could be observed through the glass, but it was impossible to see whether they got any nuggets. The gold seemed to be in "pockets," and that day the ones in the vicinity of the strike first made by Abe were cleaned out. "We'll have to locate some new 'pockets,'" said the miner, and the adventurers scattered over the frozen plain to look for other deposits of the precious metal. Tom and Ned were digging together not far from one another. Suddenly Ned let out a joyful cry. "Strike anything?" asked Tom. "Something rich," answered the bank clerk. He lifted from a hole in the ground a handful of the golden pebbles. "It's as good as Abe's was!" exclaimed Tom. "We must stake it out at once, or the Fogers may jump it. Come on, we'll go back and tell Abe, and get Mr. Parker and Mr. Damon over here." The three men were some distance away, and there was no sign of the Fogers. Tom and Ned hurried back to where their friends were, leaving their picks and shovels on the frozen ground. The good news was soon told, and, with some stakes hastily made from some extra wood carried on the airship, the little party hastened back to where Tom and Ned had made their strike. As they emerged from behind a big hummock of ice they saw, standing over the holes which the lads had dug, Andy Foger and his father! Each one had a rifle, and there was a smile of triumph on Andy's face! "What are you doing here?" cried Tom, the hot blood mounting to his cheeks. "We've just staked out a claim here," answered the bully. "And you deserted it," put in Mr. Foger smoothly. "I think your mining friend will tell you that we have a right to take up an abandoned claim." "But we didn't abandon it!" declared Tom. "We only went away to get the stakes." "The claim was abandoned, and we have 'jumped' it," went on Mr. Foger, and he cocked his rifle. "I need hardly tell you that possession is nine points of the law, and that we intend to remain. Andy, is your gun loaded?" "Yes, pa." "I--I guess they've got us--fer th' time bein'," murmured Abe, as he motioned to Tom and the others to come away. "Besides they've got guns, an' we haven't--but wait," added the miner, mysteriously. "I haven't played all my tricks yet." CHAPTER XXIII ATTACKED BY NATIVES To state that Tom and his friends were angry at the trick the Fogers had played on them would be putting it mildly. There was righteous indignation in their hearts, and, as for the young inventor he felt that much blame was attached to him for his neglect in not remaining on guard at the place of the lucky strike while Ned went to call the others. "I guess Andy must have been spying on us," spoke Ned, "or he would never have known when to rush up just as he did; as soon as we left." "Probably," admitted Tom, bitterly. "But, bless my penholder!" cried Mr. Damon. "Can't we do something, Abe? Won't the law--?" "There ain't any law out here, except what you make yourself," said the miner. "I guess they've got us for th' time bein'." "What do you mean by that?" asked Tom, detecting a gleam of hope in Abe's tone. "Well, I mean that I think we kin git ahead of 'em. Come on back to th' ship, an' we'll talk it over." They walked away, leaving Andy and his father in possession of the rich deposits of gold, and that it was much richer even then than the hole Abe had first discovered was very evident. The two Fogers were soon at work, digging out the yellow metal with the pick and shovels Tom and Ned had so thoughtlessly dropped. "What little law there is out here they've got on their side," went on Abe, "an' they've got possession, too, which is more. Of course we could go at 'em in a pitched battle, but I take it you don't want any bloodshed?" and he looked at Tom. "Of course not," replied the lad quickly, "but I'd like to meet Andy alone, with nothing but my fists for a little while," and Tom's eyes snapped. "So would I," added Ned. "Perhaps we can find another pocket of gold better than that one," suggested Mr. Damon. "We might," admitted Abe, "but that one was ours an' we're entitled to it. This valley is rich in gold deposits, but you can't allers put your hand on 'em. We may have t' hunt around for a week until we strike another. An', meanwhile, them Fogers will be takin' our gold! It's not to be borne! I'll find some way of drivin' 'em out. An' we've got t' do it soon, too." "You mean if we don't that they'll get all the gold?" asked Mr. Damon. "No, I mean that soon it will be th' long night up here, an' we can't work. We'll have t' go back, an' I don't want t' go back until I've made my pile." "Neither do any of us, I guess," spoke Tom, "but there doesn't seem to be any help for it." They discussed several plans on reaching the ship, but none seemed feasible without resorting to force, and this they did not want to do, as they feared there might be bloodshed. When night closed in they could see the gleam of a campfire, kindled by the Foger party, at the gold-pocket, from bits of the scrubby trees that grew in that frigid clime. "They're going to stay on guard," announced Tom. "We can't get it away from them to-night." Though Abe had spoken of some plan to regain the advantage the Fogers had of them, the old miner was not quite ready to propose it. All the next day he seemed very thoughtful, while going about with the others, seeking new deposits of gold. Luck did not seem to be with them. They found two or three places where there were traces of the yellow pebbles, but in no very great quantity. Meanwhile the Fogers were busy at the pocket Ned had located. They seemed to be taking out much of the precious metal. "And it all ought to be ours," declared Tom, bitterly. "Yes, and it shall be, too!" suddenly exclaimed. Abe. "I think I have a plan that will beat 'em." "What is it?" asked Tom. "Let's get back to the ship, and I'll tell you," said Abe. "We can't tell when one of their natives might be sneakin' in among these ice caves, an' they understand some English. They might give my scheme away." In brief Abe's plan, as he unfolded it in the cabin of the RED CLOUD was this: They would divide into two parties, one consisting of Ned and Tom, and the other of the three men. The latter, by a circuitous route, would go to the ice caves where the Fogers had established their camp. It was there that the Indians remained during the day, while Andy and his father labored at the gold pocket, for, after the first day when they had had the natives aid them, father and son had worked alone at the hole, probably fearing to trust the Indians. At night, though either Andy or his father remained on guard, with one or two of the dusky-skinned dog drivers. "But we'll work this trick before night," said Abe. "We three men will get around to where the natives are in the ice cave. We'll pretend to attack them, and raise a great row, firing our guns in the air, and all that sort of thing, an' yellin' t' beat th' band. Th' natives will yell, too, you can depend on that." "Th' Fogers will imagine we are tryin' t' git away with their sleds an' supplies, an' maybe their gold, if they've got it stored in th' ice cave. Naturally Andy or his father will run here, an' that will leave only one on guard at th' mine. Then Tom an' Ned can sneak up. Th' two of 'em will be a match for even th' old Foger, if he happens t' stay, an' while Tom or Ned comes up in front, t' hold his attention, th' other can come up in back, an' grab his arms, if he tries t' shoot. Likely Andy will remain at th' gold hole, an' you two lads kin handle him, can't you?" "Well, I guess!" exclaimed Tom and Ned together. The plan worked like a charm. Abe, Mr. Damon and Mr. Parker raised a great din at the ice cave where the Foger natives were. The sound carried to the hole where Andy and his father were digging out the gold. Mr. Foger at once ran toward the cave, while Andy, catching up his gun, remained on the alert. Then came the chance of Tom and Ned. The latter coming from his hiding-place, advanced boldly toward the bully, while Tom, making a detour, worked his way up behind. "Here! You keep away!" cried Andy, catching sight of Ned. "I see what the game is, now! It's a trick!" "You're a nice one to talk about tricks!" declared Ned, advancing slowly. "Keep away if you don't want to get hurt!" yelled Andy. "Oh, you wouldn't hurt me; would you?" mocked Ned, who wanted to give Tom time to sneak up behind the bully. "Yes, I would! Keep back!" Andy was nervously fingering his weapon. The next instant his gun flew from his grasp, and he went over backward in Tom's strong grip; for the young inventor, in his sealskin shoes had worked up in the rear without a sound. The next moment Andy broke away and was running for his life, leaving Tom and Ned in possession of the gold hole, and that without a shot being fired. A little later the three men, who had hurried away from the cave as Mr. Foger rushed up to see what caused the racket, joined Tom and Ned, and formal possession was taken of their lucky strike. "We'll guard it well, now," decided Tom, and later that day they moved some supplies near the hole, and for a shelter built an igloo, Eskimo fashion, in which work Abe had had some experience. Then they moved the airship to another ice cave, nearer their "mine" as they called it, and prepared to stand guard. But there seemed to be no need, for the following day there was no trace of the Fogers. They and their natives had disappeared. "I guess we were too much for them," spoke Tom. But the sequel was soon to prove differently. It was three days after our friends had regained their mine, during which time they had dug out considerable gold, that toward evening, as Tom was taking the last of the output of yellow pebbles into the cave where the airship was, he looked across the valley. "Looks like something coming this way," observed the young inventor. "Natives, I guess." "It is," agreed Ned, "quite a large party, too!" "Better tell Abe and the others," went on Tom. "I don't like the looks of this. Maybe the sudden disappearance of the Fogers has something to do with it." Abe, Mr. Damon and Mr. Parker hurried from the ice cave. They had caught up their guns as they ran out. "They're still coming on," called Tom, "and are headed this way." "They're Indians, all right!" exclaimed Abe. "Hark! What's that?" It was the sound of shouting and singing. Through the gathering dusk the party advanced. Our friends closely scanned them. There was something familiar about the two leading figures, and it could now be seen that in the rear were a number of dog sleds. "There's Andy Foger and his father!" cried Ned. "They've gone and got a lot of Eskimos to help them drive us away." "That's right!" admitted Tom. "I guess we're in for it now!" With a rush the natives, led by the Fogers, came on. They were yelling now. An instant later they began firing their guns. "It's a fierce attack!" cried Tom. "Into the ice cave for shelter! We can cover the gold mine from there. I'll get my electric gun!" CHAPTER XXIV THE WRECK OF THE AIRSHIP Almost before our friends could retreat into the cave which now sheltered the RED CLOUD, the attacking natives opened fire. Fortunately they only had old-fashioned, muzzle-loading muskets, and, as their aim was none of the best, there was comparatively little danger. The bullets, however, did sing through the fast-gathering darkness with a vicious sound, and struck the heavy sides and sloping front of the ice cave with a disconcerting "ping!" "I don't hear Andy or his father firing!" called Tom, as he and the others returned the fire of the savage Indians. "I could tell their guns by the sharper reports. The Fogers carry repeating rifles, and they're fine ones, if they're anything like the one we took from Andy, Ned." "That's right," agreed Tom's chum, "I don't believe Andy or his father dare fire. They're afraid to, and they're putting the poor ignorant natives up to it. Probably they hired them to try to drive us away." This, as they afterward learned, was exactly the case. The battle, if such it could be called, was kept up. There was about a hundred natives, all of whom had guns, and, though they were slow to load, there were enough weapons to keep up a constant fusilade. On their part, Tom and the others fired at first over the heads of the natives, for they did not want to kill any of the deluded men. Later, though, when they saw the rush keeping up, they fired at their legs, and disabled several of the Eskimos, the electric gun proving very effective. It was now quite dark, and the firing slackened. From their position in the cave, Tom and the others could command the hole where the gold was, and, as they saw several natives sneaking up to it the young inventor and Ned, both of whom were good shots, aimed to have the bullets strike the ice close to where the Indians were. This sort of shooting was enough, and the natives scurried away. Then Tom hit on the plan of playing the searchlight on the spot, and this effectually prevented an unseen attack. It seemed to discourage the enemy, too for they did not venture into that powerful glow of light. "They won't do anything more until morning," declared Abe. "Then we'll have it hot an' heavy, though, I'm afeered. Well, we'll have t' make th' best of it!" They took turns standing guard that night, but no attack was made. The fact of the Fogers coming back with the band of Indians told Tom, more plainly than words, how desperately his enemies would do battle with them. Anxiously they waited for the morning. Several times in the night Mr. Parker was seen roaming about uneasily, though it was not his turn to be on guard. Finally Tom asked him what was the matter, and if he could not sleep. "It isn't that," answered the scientist, "but I am worried about the ice. I can detect a slight but peculiar movement by means of some of my scientific instruments. I am alarmed about it. I fear something is going to happen." But Tom was too worried about the outcome of the fight he knew would be renewed on the next day, to think much about the ice movement. He thought it would only be some scientific phenomena that would amount to little. With the first streak of the late dawn, the gold-seekers were up, and partook of a hot breakfast, with strong coffee which Mr. Damon brewed. Tom took an observation from the mouth of the cave. The searchlight was still dimly glowing, and it did not disclose anything. Tom turned it off. He thought he saw a movement among the ranks of the enemy, who had camped just beyond the gold hole. "I guess they're coming!" cried the lad. "Get ready for them!" The adventurers caught up their guns, and hurried to the entrance of the cave. Mr. Parker lingered behind, and was observed to be narrowly scanning the walls of the cavern. "Come on, Parker, my dear man!" begged Mr. Damon. "We are in grave danger, and we need your help. Bless my life insurance policy! but I never was in such a state as this." "We may soon be in a worse one," was the answer of the gloomy scientist. "What do you mean?" asked Mr. Damon, but he hurried on without waiting for a reply. Suddenly, from without the cave came a series of fierce yells. It was the battle-cry of the Indians. At the same moment there sounded a fusillade of guns. "The battle is beginning!" cried Tom Swift, grimly. He held his electric gun, though he had not used it very much in the previous attack, preferring to save it for a time of more need. As the defenders of the cave reached the entrance they saw the body of natives rushing forward. They were almost at the gold hole, with Andy Foger and his father discreetly behind the first row of Eskimos, when, with a suddenness that was startling, there sounded throughout the whole valley a weird sound! It was like the wailing of some giant--the sighing of some mighty wind. At the same time the air suddenly became dark, and then there came a violent snow squall, shutting out instantly the sight of the advancing natives. Tom and the others could not see five feet beyond the cave. "This will delay the attack," murmured Ned, "They can't see to come at us." Mr. Parker came running up from the interior of the cave. On his face there was a look of alarm. "We must leave here at once!" he cried. "Leave here?" repeated Tom. "Why must we? The enemy are out there! We'd run right into them!" "It must be done!" insisted the scientist. "We must leave the cave at once!" "What for?" cried Mr. Damon. "Because the movement of the ice that I predicted, has begun. It is much more rapid than I supposed it would be. In a short time this cave and all the others will be crushed flat!" "Crushed flat!" gasped Tom. "Yes, the caves of ice are being destroyed! Hark! You can hear them snapping!" They all listened. Above the roar of the storm could be made out the noise of crushing, grinding ice-sounds like cannon being fired, as the great masses of frozen crystal snapped like frail planks. "The ice caves are being destroyed by an upheaval of nature!" went on Mr. Parker. "This one will soon go! The walls are bulging now! We must get out!" "But the natives! They will kill us!" cried Mr. Damon. "Bless my soul! what a trying position to be in." "I guess the natives are as bad off as we are," suggested Ned. "They're not firing, and I can hear cries of alarm, I think they're running away." There was a lull in the snow flurry, and the white curtain seemed to lift for a moment. The gold-seekers had a glimpse of the natives in full retreat, with the Fogers--father and son--racing panic-stricken after them. Tom could also see a big cave, just beyond the gold hole, collapse and crumble to pieces like a house of cards. "We have no time to lose!" Mr. Parker warned them. "The roof of this cave is slowly coming down. The sides are collapsing! We must get out!" "Then wheel out the airship!" cried Tom. "We must save that! We needn't fear the natives, now!" The young inventor hurried to the RED CLOUD calling to Ned and the others. They hastened to his side. It was an easy matter to move the airship along on the wheels. It neared the opening of the cave. The rumbling, roaring, grinding sound of the ice increased. "Why--why!" cried Tom in surprise and alarm, as the craft neared the mouth of the ice cavern, "we can't get it out--the opening is too small! Yet it came in easily enough!" "The cave is collapsing--growing smaller every moment!" cried Mr. Parker. "We have only time to save our lives! Run out!" "And leave the airship? Never!" yelled Tom. "You must! You can't save that and your life!" "Get axes and make the opening bigger!" suggested Ned, who, like his chum, could not bear to think of the destruction of the beautiful craft. "No time! No time!" shouted Mr. Parker, frantically, "We must get out! Save what you can from the ship--the gold--some supplies--the guns--some food--save what you can!" Then ensued a wild effort to get from the doomed craft what they could--what they would need if they were to save their lives in that cold and desolate country. Food, some blankets--their guns--as much of the gold as they could hastily gather together--their weapons and some ammunition--all this was carried from the cabin outside the cave. The entrance was rapidly growing smaller. The roof was already pressing down on the gas-bag. Tom gave one last look at his fine craft. There were tears in his eyes. He started into the cabin for something he had forgotten. Mr. Parker grabbed him by the arm. "Don't go in!" he cried hoarsely. "The cave will collapse in another instant!" He rushed with Tom out of the cavern, and not a moment too soon. The others were already outside. Then with a rush and a roar, with a sound like a great explosion, with a rending, grinding and booming as the great pieces of ice collapsed one against the other, the big ice cave settled in, as does some great building when the walls are weakened! Down crashed the roof of the ice cave! Down upon the RED CLOUD, burying out of sight, forever, under thousands of tons of ice and snow, the craft which was the pride of Tom Swift's heart! It was the end of the airship! Tom felt a moisture of tears in his eyes as he stood there in the midst of the snowstorm. CHAPTER XXV THE RESCUE--CONCLUSION For a few moments after the collapse of the cave, and the destruction of the airship, on which they depended to take them from that desolate land, no one spoke. The calamity had been too terrible--they could hardly understand it. The snow had ceased, and, over the frozen plain, in full retreat, could be seen the band of attacking Indians. They had fled in terror at the manifestation of Nature. And Nature, as if satisfied at the mischief she had wrought, called a halt to the movement of the ice. The roaring, grinding sounds ceased, and there were no more collapses of caves in that neighborhood. "Well, we are up against it," spoke Tom, softly. "Poor old RED CLOUD! There'll never be another airship like you!" "We are lucky to have escaped with our lives," said Mr. Parker. "Another moment and it would have been too late. I was expecting something like this--I predicted it." But his honor was an empty one--no one cared to dispute it with him. "Bless my refrigerator! What's to be done!" exclaimed Mr. Damon. "Start from here as soon as possible," decided Abe. "Why, do you think the natives will come back?" asked Ned. "No, but we have only a small supply of food, my lad, an' it's hard to git up here. We must hit th' trail fer civilization as soon as we kin!" "Go back--how; without the airship?" asked Tom, blankly. "Walk!" exclaimed the miner, grimly. "It's th' only way!" They realized that. There was no hope of digging through that mass of fantastically piled ice to reach the airship, and, even if they could have done so, it would have been crushed beyond all hope of repair. Nor could they dig down for more food, though what they had hastily saved was little enough. "Well, if we've got to go, we'd better start," suggested Tom, sadly. "Poor old RED CLOUD!" "Maybe we can get a little more gold," suggested Ned. They walked over to the hole whence they had taken the yellow nuggets. The "pocket" was not to be seen. It was buried out of sight under tons of ice. "We'll get no more gold here," decided Abe, "if we get safely out of th' valley, and t' the nearest white settlement, we'll be lucky." "Bless my soul! Is it as bad as that!" cried Mr. Damon. Abe nodded without speaking. There was nothing else to do. Sadly and silently they made up into packs the things they had saved, and started southward, guided by a small compass the miner had with him. It was a melancholy party. Fortunately the weather had turned a little warmer or they might have been frozen to death. They tramped all that day, shaping their course to take them out of the valley on a side well away from where the hostile natives lived. At night they made rude shelters of snow and blocks of ice and ate cold victuals. The second day it grew colder, and they were slightly affected by snow-blindness, for they had lost their dark glasses in the cave. Even the gold seemed too great a burden to carry, and they found they had more of it than at first they supposed. On the third day they were ready to give up, but Abe bravely urged them on. Toward the close of the fourth day, even the old miner was in despair, for the food they could carry was not such as to give strength and warmth, and they saw no game to shoot. They were just getting ready to go into a cheerless camp for the night, when Tom, who was a little in advance, looked ahead. "Ned, do I see something or is it only a vision?" he asked. "What does it look like?" asked his chum. "Like Eskimos on sleds." "That's what it is," agreed Ned, after an observation. "Maybe it's the Fogers, or some of the savage Indians." They halted in alarm, and got out their guns. The little party of natives kept coming on toward them. Suddenly Abe uttered a cry, but it was one of joy and not fear. "Hurrah!" he yelled, "It's all right--they're friendly natives! They're of the same tribe that helped me an' my partner! It's all right, boys, we're rescued now!" And so it proved. A few minutes later the gold-seekers were on the sleds of the friendly Eskimos, some of whom remembered Abe, and the weary and hungry adventures were being rushed toward the native village as fast as the dogs could run. It was a hunting party that had come upon our friends just in time. Little more remains to be told. Well cared for by the kind Eskimos, Tom and his friends soon recovered their spirits and strength. They arranged for dog teams to take them to Sitka, and paid their friends well for the service, not only in gold, but by presenting what was of more value, the guns they no longer needed. Tom, however, retained his electric rifle. Three weeks after that they were on a steamer bound for civilization, having bidden their friends the Eskimos good-by. "Homeward bound," remarked Tom, some time later, as they were in a train speeding across the continent. "It was a great trip, and the gold we got will more than repay us, even to building a new airship. Still, I can't help feeling sorry about the RED CLOUD." "I don't blame you," returned Ned. "Are you going to build another airship, Tom?" "Not one like the RED CLOUD, I think. But I have in mind plans for a sort of racing craft. I think I'll start it when I get back home." How Tom's plans developed, and what sort of a craft he built will be related in the next volume of this series, to be called "Tom Swift and His Sky Racer; or, the Quickest Flight on Record." In that will be told how the young inventor foiled his enemies, and how he saved his father's life. Our friends arrived safely at Shopton in due season. They learned that the two Fogers had reached there shortly before them. Tom and his party decided not to prosecute them, and they did not learn the identity of the men who tried to rob Tom of the map. "But I guess Andy won't go about boasting of his airship any more," said Ned, "nor of how he got our gold mine away from us. He'll sing mighty small for a while." The store of gold brought from the North, proved quite valuable, though but for the unforeseen accidents our friends could have secured much more. Yet they were well satisfied. With his share Abe Abercrombie settled down out West, Mr. Damon gave most of his gold to his wife, Mr. Parker bought scientific instruments with his, Ned invested his in bank stock, and Tom Swift, after buying a beautiful gift for a certain pretty young lady, used part of the remainder to build his Sky Racer. And now, for a time, we will take leave of Tom and his friends, and say good-by. 
4230	----	Tom Swift and his Motor-Cycle or Fun and Adventures on the Road by Victor Appleton CONTENTS I. A NARROW ESCAPE II. TOM OVERHEARS SOMETHING III. IN A SMASH-UP IV. TOM AND A MOTOR-CYCLE V. MR. SWIFT IS ALARMED VI. AN INTERVIEW IN THE DARK VII. OFF ON A SPIN VIII. SUSPICIOUS ACTIONS IX. A FRUITLESS PURSUIT X. OFF TO ALBANY XI. A VINDICTIVE TRAMP XII. THE MEN IN THE AUTO XIII. CAUGHT IN A STORM XIV. ATTACKED FROM BEHIND XV. A VAIN SEARCH. XVI. BACK HOME. XVII. MR. SWIFT IN DESPAIR XVIII. HAPPY HARRY AGAIN XIX. TOM ON A HUNT XX. ERADICATE SAWS WOOD XXI. ERADICATE GIVES A CLUE XXII. THE STRANGE MANSION XXIII. TOM IS PURSUED XXIV. UNEXPECTED HELP XXV. THE CAPTURE--GOOD-BY CHAPTER I. A NARROW ESCAPE "That's the way to do it! Whoop her up, Andy! Shove the spark lever over, and turn on more gasolene! We'll make a record this trip." Two lads in the tonneau of a touring car, that was whirling along a country road, leaned forward to speak to the one at the steering wheel. The latter was a red-haired youth, with somewhat squinty eyes, and not a very pleasant face, but his companions seemed to regard him with much favor. Perhaps it was because they were riding in his automobile. "Whoop her up, Andy!" added the lad on the seat beside the driver. "This is immense!" "I rather thought you'd like it," remarked Andy Foger, as he turned the car to avoid a stone in the road. "I'll make things hum around Shopton!" "You have made them hum already, Andy," commented the lad beside him. "My ears are ringing. Wow! There goes my cap!" As the boy spoke, the breeze, created by the speed at which the car was traveling, lifted off his cap, and sent it whirling to the rear. Andy Foger turned for an instant's glance behind. Then he opened the throttle still wider, and exclaimed: "Let it go, Sam. We can get another. I want to see what time I can make to Mansburg! I want to break a record, if I can." "Look out, or you'll break something else!" cried a lad on the rear seat. "There's a fellow on a bicycle just ahead of us. Take care, Andy!" "Let him look out for himself," retorted Foger, as he bent lower over the steering wheel, for the car was now going at a terrific rate. The youth on the bicycle was riding slowly along, and did not see the approaching automobile until it was nearly upon him. Then, with a mean grin, Andy Foger pressed the rubber bulb of the horn with sudden energy, sending out a series of alarming blasts. "It's Tom Swift!" cried Sam Snedecker. "Look out, or you'll run him down!" "Let him keep out of my way," retorted Andy savagely. The youth on the wheel, with a sudden spurt of speed, tried to cross the highway. He did manage to do it, but by such a narrow margin that in very terror Andy Foger shut off the power, jammed down the brakes and steered to one side. So suddenly was he obliged to swerve over that the ponderous machine skidded and went into the ditch at the side of the road, where it brought up, tilting to one side. Tom Swift, his face rather pale from his narrow escape, leaped from his bicycle, and stood regarding the automobile. As for the occupants of that machine, from Andy Foger, the owner, to the three cronies who were riding with him, they all looked very much astonished. "Are we--is it damaged any, Andy?" asked Sam Snedecker. "I hope not," growled Andy. "If my car's hurt it's Tom Swift's fault!" He leaped from his seat and made a hurried inspection of the machine. He found nothing the matter, though it was more from good luck than good management. Then Andy turned and looked savagely at Tom Swift. The latter, standing his wheel up against the fence, walked forward. "What do you mean by getting in the way like that?" demanded Andy with a scowl. "Don't you see that you nearly upset me?" "Well, I like your nerve, Andy Foger!" cried Tom. "What do you mean by nearly running me down? Why didn't you sound your horn? You automobilists take too much for granted! You were going faster than the legal rate, anyhow!" "I was, eh?" sneered Andy. "Yes, you were, and you know it. I'm the one to make a kick, not you. You came pretty near hitting me. Me getting in your way! I guess I've got some rights on the road!" "Aw, go on!" growled Andy, for he could think of nothing else to say. "Bicycles are a back number, anyhow." "It isn't so very long ago that you had one," retorted Tom. "First you fellows know, you'll be pulled in for speeding." "I guess we had better go slower, Andy," advised Sam in a low voice. "I don't want to be arrested." "Leave this to me," retorted Andy. "I'm running this tour. The next time you get in my way I'll run you down!" he threatened Tom. "Come on, fellows, we're late now, and can't make a record run, all on account of him," and Andy got back into the car, followed by his cronies, who had hurriedly alighted after their thrilling stop. "If you try anything like this again you'll wish you hadn't," declared Tom, and he watched the automobile party ride off. "Oh, forget it!" snapped back Andy, and he laughed, his companions joining. Tom Swift said nothing in reply. Slowly he remounted his wheel and rode off, but his thoughts toward Andy Foger were not very pleasant ones. Andy was the son of a wealthy man of the town, and his good fortune in the matter of money seemed to have spoiled him, for he was a bully and a coward. Several times he and Tom Swift had clashed, for Andy was overbearing. But this was the first time Andy had shown such a vindictive spirit. "He thinks he can run over everything since he got his new auto," commented Tom aloud as he rode on. "He'll have a smash-up some day, if he isn't careful. He's too fond of speeding. I wonder where he and his crowd are going?" Musing over his narrow escape Tom rode on, and was soon at his home, where he lived with his widowed father, Barton Swift, a wealthy inventor, and the latter's housekeeper, Mrs. Baggert. Approaching a machine shop, one of several built near his house by Mr. Swift, in which he conducted experiments and constructed apparatus. Tom was met by his parent. "What's the matter, Tom?" asked Mr. Swift. "You look as if something had happened." "Something very nearly did," answered the youth, and related his experience on the road. "Humph," remarked the inventor; "your little pleasure-jaunt might have ended disastrously. I suppose Andy and his chums are off on their trip. I remember Mr. Foger speaking to me about it the other day. He said Andy and some companions were going on a tour, to be gone a week or more. Well, I'm glad it was no worse. But have you anything special to do, Tom?" "No; I was just riding for pleasure, and if you want me to do anything, I'm ready." "Then I wish you'd take this letter to Mansburg for me. I want it registered, and I don't wish to mail it in the Shopton post-office. It's too important, for it's about a valuable invention." "The new turbine motor, dad?" "That's it. And on your way I wish you'd stop in Merton's machine shop and get some bolts he's making for me." "I will. Is that the letter?" and Tom extended his hand for a missive his father held. "Yes. Please be careful of it. It's to my lawyers in Washington regarding the final steps in getting a patent for the turbine. That's why I'm so particular about not wanting it mailed here. Several times before I have posted letters here, only to have the information contained in them leak out before my attorneys received them. I do not want that to happen in this case. Another thing; don't speak about my new invention in Merton's shop when you stop for the bolts." "Why, do you think he gave out information concerning your work?" "Well, not exactly. He might not mean to, but he told me the other day that some strangers were making inquiries of him, about whether he ever did any work for me." "What did he tell them?" "He said that he occasionally did, but that most of my inventive work was done in my own shops, here. He wanted to know why the men were asking such questions, and one of them said they expected to open a machine shop soon, and wanted to ascertain if they might figure on getting any of my trade. But I don't believe that was their object." "What do you think it was?" "I don't know, exactly, but I was somewhat alarmed when I heard this from Merton. So I am going to take no risks. That's why I send this letter to Mansburg. Don't lose it, and don't forget about the bolts. Here is a blue-print of them, so you can see if they come up to the specifications." Tom rode off on his wheel, and was soon spinning down the road. "I wonder if I'll meet Andy Foger and his cronies again?" he thought. "Not very likely to, I guess, if they're off on a tour. Well, I'm just as well satisfied. He and I always seem to get into trouble when we meet." Tom was not destined to meet Andy again that day, but the time was to come when the red-haired bully was to cause Tom Swift no little trouble, and get him into danger besides. So Tom rode along, thinking over what his father had said to him about the letter he carried. Mr. Barton Swift was a natural inventor. From a boy he had been interested in things mechanical, and one of his first efforts had been to arrange a system of pulleys, belts and gears so that the windmill would operate the churn in the old farmhouse where he was born. The fact that the mill went so fast that it broke the churn all to pieces did not discourage him, and he at once set to work, changing the gears. His father had to buy a new churn, but the young inventor made his plan work on the second trial, and thereafter his mother found butter-making easy. From then on Barton Swift lived in a world of inventions. People used to say he would never amount to anything, that inventors never did, but Mr. Swift proved them all wrong by amassing a considerable fortune out of his many patents. He grew up, married and had one son, Tom. Mrs. Barton died when Tom was three years old, and since then he had lived with his father and a succession of nurses and housekeepers. The last woman to have charge of the household was a Mrs. Baggert, a motherly widow, and she succeeded so well, and Tom and his father formed such an attachment for her, that she was regarded as a fixture, and had now been in charge ten years. Mr. Swift and his son lived in a handsome house on the outskirts of the village of Shopton, in New York State. The village was near a large body of water, which I shall call Lake Carlopa, and there Tom and his father used to spend many pleasant days boating, for Tom and the inventor were better chums than many boys are, and they were often seen together in a craft rowing about, or fishing. Of course Tom had some boy friends, but he went with his father more often than he did with them. Though many of Mr. Swift's inventions paid him well, he was constantly seeking to perfect others. To this end he had built near his home several machine shops, with engines, lathes and apparatus for various kinds of work. Tom, too, had the inventive fever in his veins, and had planned some useful implements and small machines. Along the pleasant country roads on a fine day in April rode Tom Swift on his way to Mansburg to register the letter. As he descended a little hill he saw, some distance away, but coming toward him, a great cloud of dust. "Somebody must be driving a herd of cattle along the road," thought Tom. "I hope they don't get in my way, or, rather, I hope I don't get in theirs. Guess I'd better keep to one side, yet there isn't any too much room." The dust-cloud came nearer. It was so dense that whoever or whatever was making it could not be distinguished. "Must be a lot of cattle in that bunch," mused the young inventor, "but I shouldn't think they'd trot them so on a warm day like this. Maybe they're stampeded. If they are I've got to look out." This idea caused him some alarm. He tried to peer through the dust-cloud, but could not. Nearer and nearer it came. Tom kept on, taking care to get as far to the side of the road as he could. Then from the midst of the enveloping mass came the sound of a steady "chug-chug." "It's a motor-cycle!" exclaimed Tom. "He must have his muffler wide open, and that's kicking up as much dust as the wheels do. Whew! But whoever's on it will look like a clay image at the end of the line!" Now that he knew it was a fellow-cyclist who was raising such a disturbance, Tom turned more toward the middle of the road. As yet he had not had a sight of the rider, but the explosions of the motor were louder. Suddenly, when the first advancing particles of dust reached him, almost making him sneeze, Tom caught sight of the rider. He was a man of middle age, and he was clinging to the handle-bars of the machine. The motor was going at full speed. Tom quickly turned to one side, to avoid the worst of the dust. The motor-cyclist glanced at the youth, but this act nearly proved disastrous for him. He took his eyes from the road ahead for just a moment, and he did not see a large stone directly in his path. His front wheel hit it, and the heavy machine, which he could not control very well, skidded over toward the lad on the bicycle. The motor-cyclist bounced up in the air from the saddle, and nearly lost his hold on the handle-bars. "Look out!" cried Tom. "You'll smash into me!" "I'm--I'm--try--ing--not--to!" were the words that were rattled out of the middle-aged man. Tom gave his wheel a desperate twist to get out of the way. The motor-cyclist tried to do the same, but the machine he was on appeared to want matters its own way. He came straight for Tom, and a disastrous collision might have resulted had not another stone been in the way. The front wheel hit this, and was swerved to one side. The motor-cycle flashed past Tom, just grazing his wheel, and then was lost to sight beyond in a cloud of dust that seemed to follow it like a halo. "Why don't you learn to ride before you come out on the road!" cried Tom somewhat angrily. Like an echo from the dust-cloud came floating back these words: "I'm--try--ing--to!" Then the sound of the explosions became fainter. "Well, he's got lots to learn yet!" exclaimed Tom. "That's twice to-day I've nearly been run down. I expect I'd better look out for the third time. They say that's always fatal," and the lad leaped from his wheel. "Wonder if he bent any of my spokes?" the young inventor continued as he inspected his bicycle. CHAPTER II. TOM OVERHEARS SOMETHING "Everything seems to be all right," Tom remarked, "but another inch or so and he'd have crashed into me. I wonder who he was? I wish I had a machine like that. I could make better time than I can on my bicycle. Perhaps I'll get one some day. Well, I might as well ride on." Tom was soon at Mansburg, and going to the post-office handed in the letter for registry. Bearing in mind his father's words, he looked about to see if there were any suspicious characters, but the only person he noticed was a well-dressed man, with a black mustache, who seemed to be intently studying the schedule of the arrival and departure of the mails. "Do you want the receipt for the registered letter sent to you here or at Shopton?" asked the clerk of Tom. "Come to think of it, though, it will have to come here, and you can call for it. I'll have it returned to Mr. Barton Swift, care of general delivery, and you can get it the next time you are over," for the clerk knew Tom. "That will do," answered our hero, and as he turned away from the window he saw that the man who had been inquiring about the mails was regarding him curiously. Tom thought nothing of it at the time, but there came an occasion when he wished that he had taken more careful note of the well-dressed individual. As the youth passed out of the outer door he saw the man walk over to the registry window. "He seems to have considerable mail business," thought Tom, and then the matter passed from his mind as he mounted his wheel and hurried to the machine shop. "Say, I'm awfully sorry," announced Mr. Merton when Tom said he had come for the bolts, "but they're not quite done. They need polishing. I know I promised them to your father to-day, and he can have them, but he was very particular about the polish, and as one of my best workers was taken sick, I'm a little behind." "How long will it take to polish them?" asked Tom. "Oh, about an hour. In fact, a man is working on them now. If you could call this afternoon they'll be ready. Can you?" "I s'pose I've got to," replied Tom good-naturedly. "Guess I'll have to stay in Mansburg for dinner. I can't get back to Shopton in time now." "I'll be sure to have them for you after dinner," promised Mr. Merton. "Now, there's a matter I want to speak to you about, Tom. Has your father any idea of giving the work he has been turning over to me to some other firm?" "Not that I know of. Why?" and the lad showed his wonder. "Well, I'll tell you why. Some time ago there was a stranger in here, asking about your father's work. I told Mr. Swift of it at the time. The stranger said then that he and some others were thinking of opening a machine shop, and he wanted to find out whether they would be likely to get any jobs from your father. I told the man I knew nothing about Mr. Swift's business, and he went away. I didn't hear any more of it, though of course I didn't want to lose your father's trade. Now a funny thing happened. Only this morning the same man was back here, and he was making particular inquiries about your father's private machine shops." "He was?" exclaimed Tom excitedly. "Yes. He wanted to know where they were located, how they were laid out, and what sort of work he did in them." "What did you tell him?" "Nothing at all. I suspected something, and I said the best way for him to find out would be to go and see your father. Wasn't that right?" "Sure. Dad doesn't want his business known any more than he can help. What do you suppose they wanted?" "Well, the man talked as though he and his partners would like to buy your father's shops." "I don't believe he'd sell. He has them arranged just for his own use in making patents, and I'm sure he would not dispose of them." "Well, that's what I thought, but I didn't tell the man so. I judged it would be best for him to find out for himself." "What was the man's name?" "He didn't tell me, and I didn't ask him." "How did he look?" "Well, he was well dressed, wore kid gloves and all that, and he had a little black mustache." Tom started, and Mr. Merton noticed it. "Do you know him?" he asked. "No," replied Tom, "but I saw--" Then he stopped. He recalled the man he had seen in the post-office. He answered this description, but it was too vague to be certain. "Did you say you'd seen him?" asked Mr. Merton, regarding Tom curiously. "No--yes--that is--well, I'll tell my father about it," stammered Tom, who concluded that it would be best to say nothing of his suspicions. "I'll be back right after dinner, Mr. Merton. Please have the bolts ready for me, if you can." "I will. Is your father going to use them in a new machine?" "Yes; dad is always making new machines," answered the youth, as the most polite way of not giving the proprietor of the shop any information. "I'll be back right after dinner," he called as he went out to get on his wheel. Tom was much puzzled. He felt certain that the man in the post-office and the one who had questioned Mr. Merton were the same. "There is something going on, that dad should know about," reflected Tom. "I must tell him. I don't believe it will be wise to send any more of his patent work over to Merton. We must do it in the shops at home, and dad and I will have to keep our eyes open. There may be spies about seeking to discover something about his new turbine motor. I'll hurry back with those bolts and tell dad. But first I must get lunch. I'll go to the restaurant and have a good feed while I'm at it." Tom had plenty of spending money, some of which came from a small patent he had marketed himself. He left his wheel outside the restaurant, first taking the precaution to chain the wheels, and then went inside. Tom was hungry and ordered a good meal. He was about half way through it when some one called his name. "Hello, Ned!" he answered, looking up to see a youth about his own age. "Where did you blow in from?" "Oh, I came over from Shopton this morning," replied Ned Newton, taking a seat at the table with Tom. The two lads were chums, and in their younger days had often gone fishing, swimming and hunting together. Now Ned worked in the Shopton bank, and Tom was so busy helping his father, so they did not see each other so often. "On business or pleasure?" asked Tom, putting some more sugar in his coffee. "Business. I had to bring some papers over from our bank to the First National here. But what about you?" "Oh, I came on dad's account." "Invented anything new?" asked Ned as he gave his order to the waitress. "No, nothing since the egg-beater I was telling you about. But I'm working on some things." "Why don't you invent an automobile or an airship?" "Maybe I will some day, but, speaking of autos, did you see the one Andy Foger has?" "Yes; it's a beaut! Have you seen it?" "Altogether at too close range. He nearly ran over me this morning," and the young inventor related the occurrence. "Oh, Andy always was too fresh," commented Ned; "and since his father let him get the touring car I suppose he'll be worse than ever." "Well, if he tries to run me down again he'll get into trouble," declared Tom, calling for a second cup of coffee. The two chums began conversing on more congenial topics, and Ned was telling of a new camera he had, when, from a table directly behind him, Tom heard some one say in rather loud tones: "The plant is located in Shopton, all right, and the buildings are near Swift's house." Tom started, and listened more intently. "That will make it more difficult," one man answered. "But if the invention is as valuable as--" "Hush!" came a caution from another of the party. "This is too public a place to discuss the matter. Wait until we get out. One of us will have to see Swift, of course, and if he proves stubborn--" "I guess you'd better hush yourself," retorted the man who had first spoken, and then the voices subsided. But Tom Swift had overheard something which made him vaguely afraid. He started so at the sound of his father's name that he knocked a fork from the table. "What's the matter; getting nervous?" asked Ned with a laugh. "I guess so," replied Tom, and when he stooped to pick the fork up, not waiting for the girl who was serving at his table, he stole a look at the strangers who had just entered. He was startled to note that one of the men was the same he had seen in the post-office--the man who answered the description of the one who had been inquiring of Mr. Merton about the Swift shops. "I'm going to keep my ears open," thought Tom as he went on eating his dinner. CHAPTER III. IN A SMASH-UP Though the young inventor listened intently, in an endeavor to hear the conversation of the men at the table behind him, all he could catch was an indistinct murmur. The strangers appeared to have heeded the caution of one of their number and were speaking in low tones. Tom and Ned finished their meal, and started to leave the restaurant. As Mr. Swift's son passed the table where the men sat they looked up quickly at him. Two of them gave Tom but a passing glance, but one--he whom the young inventor had noticed in the post-office--stared long and intently. "I think he will know me the next time he sees me," thought Tom, and he boldly returned the glance of the stranger. The bolts were ready when the inventor's son called at the machine shop a second time, and making a package of them Tom fastened it to the saddle of his bicycle. He started for home at a fast pace, and was just turning from a cross road into the main highway when he saw ahead of him a woman driving a light wagon. As the sun flashed on Tom's shining wheel the horse gave a sudden leap, swerved to one side, and then bolted down the dusty stretch, the woman screaming at the top of her voice. "A runaway!" cried Tom; "and partly my fault, too!" Waiting not an instant the lad bent over his handle-bars and pedaled with all his force. His bicycle seemed fairly to leap forward after the galloping horse. "Sit still! Don't jump out! Don't jump!" yelled the young inventor. "I'll try to catch him!" for the woman was standing up in front of the seat and leaning forward, as if about to leap from the wagon. "She's lost her head," thought Tom. "No wonder! That's a skittish horse." Faster and faster he rode, bending all his energies to overtake the animal. The wagon was swaying from side to side, and more than once the woman just saved herself from being thrown out by grasping the edge of the seat. She found that her standing position was a dangerous one and crouched on the bottom of the swaying vehicle. "That's better!" shouted Tom, but it is doubtful if she heard him, for the rattling of the wagon and the hoofbeats of the horse drowned all other sounds. "Sit still!" he shouted. "I'll stop the horse for you!" Trying to imagine himself in a desperate race, in order to excite himself to greater speed, Tom continued on. He was now even with the tail-board of the wagon, and slowly creeping up. The woman was all huddled up in a lump. "Grab the reins! Grab the reins!" shouted Tom. "Saw on the bit! That will stop him!" The occupant of the wagon turned to look at the lad. Tom saw that she was a handsome young lady. "Grab the reins!" he cried again. "Pull hard!" "I--I can't!" she answered frightenedly. "They have dropped down! Oh, do please stop the horse! I'm so--so frightened!" "I'll stop him!" declared the youth firmly, and he set his teeth hard. Then he saw the reason the fair driver could not grasp the lines. They had slipped over the dashboard and were trailing on the ground. The horse was slacking speed a bit now, for the pace was telling on his wind. Tom saw his opportunity, and with a sudden burst of energy was at the animal's head. Steering his wheel with one hand, with the other the lad made a grab for the reins near the bit. The horse swerved frightenedly to one side, but Tom swung in the same direction. He grasped the leather and then, with a kick, he freed himself from the bicycle, giving it a shove to one side. He was now clinging to the reins with both hands, and, being a muscular lad and no lightweight, his bulk told. "Sit--still!" panted our hero to the young woman, who had arisen to the seat. "I'll have him stopped in half a minute now!" It was in less time than that, for the horse, finding it impossible to shake off the grip of Tom, began to slow from a gallop to a trot, then to a canter, and finally to a slow walk. A moment later the horse had stopped, breathing heavily from his run. "There, there, now!" spoke Tom soothingly. "You're all right, old fellow. I hope you're not hurt"--this to the young lady--and Tom made a motion to raise his cap, only to find that it had blown off. "Oh, no--no; I'm more frightened than hurt." "It was all my fault," declared the young inventor. "I should not have swung into the road so suddenly. My bicycle alarmed your horse." "Oh, I fancy Dobbin is easily disturbed," admitted the fair driver. "I can't thank you enough for stopping him. You saved me from a bad accident." "It was the least I could do. Are you all right now?" and he handed up the dangling reins. "I think Dobbin, as you call him, has had enough of running," went on Tom, for the horse was now quiet. "I hope so. Yes, I am all right. I trust your wheel is not damaged. If it is, my father, Mr. Amos Nestor, of Mansburg, will gladly pay for its repair." This reminded the young inventor of his bicycle, and making sure that the horse would not start up again, he went to where his wheel and his cap lay. He found that the only damage to the bicycle was a few bent spokes, and, straightening them and having again apologized to the young woman, receiving in turn her pardon and thanks, and learning that her name was Mary Nestor, Tom once more resumed his trip. The wagon followed him at a distance, the horse evincing no desire now to get out of a slow amble. "Well, things are certainly happening to me to-day," mused Tom as he pedaled on. "That might have been a serious runaway if there'd been anything in the road." Tom did not stop to think that he had been mainly instrumental in preventing a bad accident, as he had been the innocent cause of starting the runaway, but Tom was ever a modest lad. His arms were wrenched from jerking on the bridle, but he did not mind that much, and bent over the handle-bars to make up for lost time. Our hero was within a short distance of his house and was coasting easily along when, just ahead of him, he saw a cloud of dust, very similar to the one that had, some time before, concealed the inexperienced motor-cyclist. "I wonder if that's him again?" thought Tom. "If it is I'm going to hang back until I see which way he's headed. No use running any more risks." Almost at that moment a puff of wind blew some of the dust to one side. Tom had a glimpse of the man on the puffing machine. "It's the same chap!" he exclaimed aloud; "and he's going the same way I am. Well, I'll not try to catch up to him. I wonder what he's been doing all this while, that he hasn't gotten any farther than this? Either he's been riding back and forth, or else he's been resting. My, but he certainly is scooting along!" The wind carried to Tom the sound of the explosions of the motor, and he could see the man clinging tightly to the handle-bars. The rider was almost in front of Tom's house now, when, with a suddenness that caused the lad to utter an exclamation of alarm, the stranger turned his machine right toward a big oak tree. "What's he up to?" cried Tom excitedly. "Does he think he can climb that, or is he giving an exhibition by showing how close he can come and not hit it?" A moment later the motor-cyclist struck the tree a glancing blow. The man went flying over the handle-bars, the machine was shunted to the ditch along the road, and falling over on one side the motor raced furiously. The rider lay in a heap at the foot of the tree. "My, that was a smash!" cried Tom. "He must be killed!" and bending forward, he raced toward the scene of the accident. CHAPTER IV. TOM AND A MOTOR-CYCLE When Tom reached the prostrate figure on the grass at the foot of the old oak tree, the youth bent quickly over the man. There was an ugly cut on his head, and blood was flowing from it. But Tom quickly noticed that the stranger was breathing, though not very strongly. "Well, he's not dead--just yet!" exclaimed the youth with a sigh of relief. "But I guess he's pretty badly hurt. I must get help--no, I'll take him into our house. It's not far. I'll call dad." Leaning his wheel against the tree Tom started for his home, about three hundred feet away, and then he noticed that the stranger's motor-cycle was running at full speed on the ground. "Guess I'd better shut off the power!" he exclaimed. "No use letting the machine be ruined." Tom had a natural love for machinery, and it hurt him almost as much to see a piece of fine apparatus abused as it did to see an animal mistreated. It was the work of a moment to shut off the gasolene and spark, and then the youth raced on toward his house. "Where's dad?" he called to Mrs. Baggert, who was washing the dishes. "Out in one of the shops," replied the housekeeper. "Why, Tom," she went on hurriedly as she saw how excited he was, "whatever has happened?" "Man hurt--out in front--motor-cycle smash--I'm going to bring him in here--get some things ready--I'll find dad!" "Bless and save us!" cried Mrs. Baggert. "Whatever are we coming to? Who's hurt? How did it happen? Is he dead?" "Haven't time to talk now!" answered Tom, rushing from the house. "Dad and I will bring him in here." Tom found his father in one of the three small machine shops on the grounds about the Swift home. The youth hurriedly told what had happened. "Of course we'll bring him right in here!" assented Mr. Swift, putting aside the work upon which he was engaged. "Did you tell Mrs. Baggert?" "Yes, and she's all excited." "Well, she can't help it, being a woman, I suppose. But we'll manage. Do you know the man?" "Never saw him before to-day, when he tried to run me down. Guess he doesn't know much about motor-cycles. But come on, dad. He may bleed to death." Father and son hurried to where the stranger lay. As they bent over him he opened his eyes and asked faintly: "Where am I? What happened?" "You're all right--in good hands," said Mr. Swift. "Are you much hurt?" "Not much--mostly stunned, I guess. What happened?" he repeated. "You and your motor-cycle tried to climb a tree," remarked Tom with grim humor. "Oh, yes, I remember now. I couldn't seem to steer out of the way. And I couldn't shut off the power in time. Is the motor-cycle much damaged?" "The front wheel is," reported Tom, after an inspection, "and there are some other breaks, but I guess--" "I wish it was all smashed!" exclaimed the man vigorously. "I never want to see it again!" "Why, don't you like it?" asked Tom eagerly. "No, and I never will," the man spoke faintly but determinedly. "Never mind now," interposed Mr. Swift. "Don't excite yourself. My son and I will take you to our house and send for a doctor." "I'll bring the motor-cycle, after we've carried you in," added Tom. "Don't worry about the machine. I never want to see it again!" went on the man, rising to a sitting position. "It nearly killed me twice to-day. I'll never ride again." "You'll feel differently after the doctor fixes you up," said Mr. Swift with a smile. "Doctor! I don't need a doctor," cried the stranger. "I am only bruised and shaken up." "You have a bad cut on your head," said Tom. "It isn't very deep," went on the injured man, placing his fingers on it. "Fortunately I struck the tree a glancing blow. If you will allow me to rest in your house a little while and give me some plaster for the cut I shall be all right again." "Can you walk, or shall we carry you?" asked Tom's father. "Oh, I can walk, if you'll support me a little." And the stranger proved that he could do this by getting to his feet and taking a few steps. Mr. Swift and his son took hold of his arms and led him to the house. There he was placed on a lounge and given some simple restoratives by Mrs. Baggert, who, when she found the accident was not serious, recovered her composure. "I must have been unconscious for a few minutes," went on the man. "You were," explained Tom. "When I got up to you I thought you were dead, until I saw you breathe. Then I shut off the power of your machine and ran in for dad. I've got the motor-cycle outside. You can't ride it for some time, I'm afraid, Mr.--er--" and Tom stopped in some confusion, for he realized that he did not know the man's name. "I beg your pardon for not introducing myself before," went on the stranger. "I'm Wakefield Damon, of Waterfield. But don't worry about me riding that machine again. I never shall." "Oh, perhaps--" began Mr. Swift. "No, I never shall," went on Mr. Damon positively. "My doctor told me to get it, as he thought riding around the country would benefit my health. I shall tell him his prescription nearly killed me." "And me too," added Tom with a laugh. "How--why--are you the young man I nearly ran down this morning?" asked Mr. Damon, suddenly sitting up and looking at the youth. "I am," answered our hero. "Bless my soul! So you are!" cried Mr. Damon. "I was wondering who it could be. It's quite a coincidence. But I was in such a cloud of dust I couldn't make out who it was." "You had your muffler open, and that made considerable dust," explained Tom. "Was that it? Bless my existence! I thought something was wrong, but I couldn't tell what. I went over all the instructions in the book and those the agent told me, but I couldn't think of the right one. I tried all sorts of things to make less dust, but I couldn't. Then, bless my eyelashes, if the machine didn't stop just after I nearly ran into you. I tinkered over it for an hour or more before I could get it to going again. Then I ran into the tree. My doctor told me the machine would do my liver good, but, bless my happiness, I'd as soon be without a liver entirely as to do what I've done to-day. I am done with motor-cycling!" A hopeful look came over Tom's face, but he said nothing, that is, not just then. In a little while Mr. Damon felt so much better that he said he would start for home. "I'm afraid you'll have to leave your machine here," said Tom. "You can send for it any time you want to," added Mr. Swift. "Bless my hatband!" exclaimed Mr. Damon, who appeared to be very fond of blessing his various organs and his articles of wearing apparel. "Bless my hatband! I never want to see it again! If you will be so kind as to keep it for me, I will send a junk man after it. I will never spend anything on having it repaired. I am done with that form of exercise--liver or no liver--doctor or no doctor." He appeared very determined. Tom quickly made up his mind. Mr. Damon had gone to the bathroom to get rid of some of the mud on his hands and face. "Father," said Tom earnestly, "may I buy that machine off him?" "What? Buy a broken motor-cycle?" "I can easily fix it. It is a fine make, and in good condition. I can repair it. I've wanted a motor-cycle for some time, and here's a chance to get a good one cheap." "You don't need to do that," replied Mr. Swift. "You have money enough to buy a new one if you want it. I never knew you cared for them." "I didn't, until lately. But I'd rather buy this one and fix it up than get a new one. Besides, I have an idea for a new kind of transmission, and perhaps I can work it out on this machine." "Oh, well, if you want it for experimental purposes, I suppose it will be as good as any. Go ahead, get it if you wish, but don't give too much for it." "I'll not. I fancy I can get it cheap." Mr. Damon returned to the living-room, where he had first been carried. "I cannot thank you enough for what you have done for me," he said. "I might have lain there for hours. Bless my very existence! I have had a very narrow escape. Hereafter when I see anyone on a motor-cycle I shall turn my head away. The memory will be too painful," and he touched the plaster that covered a cut on his head. "Mr. Damon," said Tom quickly, "will you sell me that motor-cycle?" "Bless my finger rings! Sell you that mass of junk?" "It isn't all junk," went on the young inventor. "I can easily fix it; though, of course," he added prudently, "it will cost something. How much would you want for it?" "Well," replied Mr. Damon, "I paid two hundred and fifty dollars last week. I have ridden a hundred miles on it. That is at the rate of two dollars and a half a mile--pretty expensive riding. But if you are in earnest I will let you have the machine for fifty dollars, and then I fear that I will be taking advantage of you." "I'll give you fifty dollars," said Tom quickly, and Mr. Damon exclaimed: "Bless my liver--that is, if I have one. Do you mean it?" Tom nodded. "I'll fetch you the money right away," he said, starting for his room. He got the cash from a small safe he had arranged, which was fitted up with an ingenious burglar alarm, and was on his way downstairs when he heard his father call out: "Here! What do you want? Go away from that shop! No one is allowed there!" and looking from an upper window, Tom saw his father running toward a stranger, who was just stepping inside the shop where Mr. Swift was constructing his turbine motor. Tom started as he saw that the stranger was the same black-mustached man whom he had noticed in the post-office, and, later, in the restaurant at Mansburg. CHAPTER V. MR. SWIFT IS ALARMED Stuffing the money which he intended to give to Mr. Damon in his pocket, Tom ran downstairs. As he passed through the living-room, intending to see what the disturbance was about, and, if necessary, aid his father, the owner of the broken motor-cycle exclaimed: "What's the matter? What has happened? Bless my coat-tails, but is anything wrong?" "I don't know," answered Tom. "There is a stranger about the shop, and my father never allows that. I'll be back in a minute." "Take your time," advised the somewhat eccentric Mr. Damon. "I find my legs are a bit weaker than I suspected, and I will be glad to rest a while longer. Bless my shoelaces, but don't hurry!" Tom went into the rear yard, where the shops, in a small cluster of buildings, were located. He saw his father confronting the man with the black mustache, and Mr. Swift was saying: "What do you want? I allow no people to come in here unless I or my son invites them. Did you wish to see me?" "Are you Mr. Barton Swift?" asked the man. "Yes, that is my name." "The inventor of the Swift safety lamp, and the turbine motor?" At the mention of the motor Mr. Swift started. "I am the inventor of the safety lamp you mention," he said stiffly, "but I must decline to talk about the motor. May I ask where you obtained your information concerning it?" "Why, I am not at liberty to tell," went on the man. "I called to see if we could negotiate with you for the sale of it. Parties whom I represent--" At that moment Tom plucked his father by the sleeve. "Dad," whispered the youth, "I saw him in Mansburg. I think he is one of several who have been inquiring in Mr. Merton's shop about you and your patents. I wouldn't have anything to do with him until I found out more about him." "Is that so?" asked Mr. Swift quickly. Then, turning to the stranger, he said: "My son tells me--" But Mr. Swift got no further, for at that moment the stranger caught sight of Tom, whom he had not noticed before. "Ha!" exclaimed the man. "I have forgotten something--an important engagement--will be back directly--will see you again, Mr. Swift--excuse the trouble I have put you to--I am in a great hurry," and before father or son could stop him, had they any desire to, the man turned and walked quickly from the yard. Mr. Swift stood staring at him, and so did Tom. Then the inventor asked: "Do you know that man? What about him, Tom? Why did he leave so hurriedly?" "I don't know his name," replied Tom, "but I am suspicious regarding him, and I think he left because he suddenly recognized me." Thereupon he told his father of seeing the man in the post-office, and hearing the talk of the same individual and two companions in the restaurant. "And so you think they are up to some mischief, Tom?" asked the parent when the son had finished. "Well, I wouldn't go quite as far as that, but I think they are interested in your patents, and you ought to know whether you want them to be, or not." "I most certainly do not--especially in the turbine motor. That is my latest invention, and, I think, will prove very valuable. But, though I have not mentioned it before, I expect to have trouble with it. Soon after I perfected it, with the exception of some minor details, I received word from a syndicate of rich men that I was infringing on a motor, the patent of which they controlled." "This surprised me for two reasons. One was because I did not know that any one knew I had invented the motor. I had kept the matter secret, and I am at a loss to know how it leaked out. To prevent any further information concerning my plans becoming public, I sent you to Mansburg to-day. But it seems that the precaution was of little avail. Another matter of surprise was the information that I was infringing on the patent of some one else. I had a very careful examination made, and I found that the syndicate of rich men was wrong. I was not infringing. In fact, though the motor they have is somewhat like mine, there is one big difference--theirs does not work, while mine does. Their patents are worthless." "Then what do you think is their object?" "I think they want to get control of my invention of the turbine motor, Tom. That is what has been worrying me lately. I know these men to be unscrupulous, and, with plenty of money, they may make trouble for me." "But can't you fight them in the courts?" "Yes, I could do that. It is not as if I was a poor man, but I do not like lawsuits. I want to live quietly and invent things. I dislike litigation. However, if they force it on me I will fight!" exclaimed Mr. Swift determinedly. "Do you think this man was one of the crowd of financiers?" asked Tom. "It would be hard to say. I did not like his actions, and the fact that he sneaked in here, as if he was trying to get possession of some of my models or plans, makes it suspicious." "It certainly does," agreed Tom. "Now, if we only knew his name we could--" He suddenly paused in his remark and sprang forward. He picked up an envelope that had dropped where the stranger had been standing. "The man lost this from his pocket, dad," said Tom eagerly. "It's a telegram. Shall we look at it?" "I think we will be justified in protecting ourselves. Is the envelope open?" "Yes." "Then read the telegram." Tom drew out a folded yellow slip of paper. It was a short message. He read: "'Anson Morse, Mansburg. See Swift to-day. Make offer. If not accepted do the best you can. Spare no effort. Don't give plans away.'" "Is that all?" asked Mr. Swift. "All except the signature." "Who is the telegram signed by?" "By Smeak & Katch," answered Tom. "Those rascally lawyers!" exclaimed his father. "I was beginning to suspect this. That is the firm which represents the syndicate of wealthy men who are trying to get my turbine motor patents away from me. Tom, we must be on our guard! They will wage a fierce fight against me, for they have sunk many thousands of dollars in a worthless machine, and are desperate." "We'll fight 'em!" cried Tom. "You and I, dad! We'll show 'em that the firm of Swift & Son is swift by name and swift by nature!" "Good!" exclaimed the inventor. "I'm glad you feel that way about it, Tom. But we are going to have no easy task. Those men are rich and unscrupulous. We shall have to be on guard constantly. Let me have that telegram. It may come in useful. Now I must send word to Reid & Crawford, my attorneys in Washington, to be on the lookout. Matters are coming to a curious pass." As Mr. Swift and his son started for the house, they met Mr. Damon coming toward them. "Bless my very existence!" cried the eccentric man. "I was beginning to fear something had happened to you. I am glad that you are all right. I heard voices, and I imagined--" "It's all right," Mr. Swift reassured him. "There was a stranger about my shop, and I never allow that. Do you feel well enough to go? If not we shall be glad to have you remain with us. We have plenty of room." "Oh, thank you very much, but I must be going. I feel much better. Bless my gaiters, but I never will trust myself in even an automobile again! I will renounce gasolene from now on." "That reminds me," spoke Tom. "I have the money for the motor-cycle," and he drew out the bills. "You are sure you will not regret your bargain, Mr. Damon? The machine is new, and needs only slight repairs. Fifty dollars is--" "Tut, tut, young man! I feel as if I was getting the best of you. Bless my handkerchief! I hope you have no bad luck with it." "I'll try and be careful," promised Tom with a smile as he handed over the money. "I am going to gear it differently and put some improvements on it. Then I will use it instead of my bicycle." "It would have to be very much improved before I trusted myself on it again," declared Mr. Damon. "Well, I appreciate what you have done for me, and if at any time I can reciprocate the favor, I will only be too glad to do so. Bless my soul, though, I hope I don't have to rescue you from trying to climb a tree," and with a laugh, which showed that he had fully recovered from his mishap, he shook hands with father and son and left. "A very nice man, Tom," commented Mr. Swift. "Somewhat odd and out of the ordinary, but a very fine character, for all that." "That's what I say," added the son. "Now, dad, you'll see me scooting around the country on a motor-cycle. I've always wanted one, and now I have a bargain." "Do you think you can repair it?" "Of course, dad. I've done more difficult things than that. I'm going to take it apart now, and see what it needs." "Before you do that, Tom, I wish you would take a telegram to town for me. I must wire my lawyers at once." "Dad looks worried," thought Tom as he wheeled the broken motor-cycle into a machine shop, where he did most of his work. "Well, I don't blame him. But we'll get the best of those scoundrels yet!" CHAPTER VI. AN INTERVIEW IN THE DARK While Mr. Swift was writing the message he wished his son to take to the village, the young mechanic inspected the motor-cycle he had purchased. Tom found that a few repairs would suffice to put it in good shape, though an entire new front wheel would be needed. The motor had not been damaged, as he ascertained by a test. Tom rode into town on his bicycle, and as he hurried along he noticed in the west a bank of ugly-looking clouds that indicated a shower. "I'm in for a wetting before I get back," he mused, and he increased his speed, reaching the telegraph office shortly before seven o'clock. "Think this storm will hold off until I get home?" asked Tom. "I'm afraid not," answered the agent. "You'd better get a hustle on." Tom sprinted off. It was getting dark rapidly, and when he was about a mile from home he felt several warm drops on his face. "Here it comes!" exclaimed the youth. "Now for a little more speed!" Tom pressed harder on the pedals, too hard, in fact, for an instant later something snapped, and the next he knew he was flying over the handle-bars of the bicycle. At the same time there was a metallic, clinking sound. "Chain's busted!" exclaimed the lad as he picked himself up out of the dust. "Well, wouldn't that jar you!" and he walked back to where, in the dusk, he could dimly discern his wheel. The chain had come off the two sprockets and was lying to one side. Tom picked it up and ascertained by close observation that the screw and nut holding the two joining links together was lost. "Nice pickle!" he murmured. "How am I going to find it in all this dust and darkness?" he asked himself disgustedly. "I'll carry an extra screw next time. No, I won't, either. I'll ride my motor-cycle next time. Well, I may as well give a look around. I hate to walk, if I can fix it and ride." Tom had not spent more than two minutes looking about the dusty road, with the aid of matches, for the screw, when the rain suddenly began falling in a hard shower. "Guess there's no use lingering here any longer," he remarked. "I'll push the wheel and run for home." He started down the road in the storm and darkness. The highway soon became a long puddle of mud, through which he splashed, finding it more and more difficult every minute to push the bicycle in the thick, sticky clay. Above the roar of the wind and the swishing of the rain he heard another sound. It was a steady "puff-puff," and then the darkness was cut by a glare of light. "An automobile," said Tom aloud. "Guess I'd better get out of the way." He turned to one side, but the auto, instead of passing him when it got to the place where he was, made a sudden stop. "Want a ride?" asked the chauffeur, peering out from the side curtains which somewhat protected him from the storm. Tom saw that the car was a large, touring one. "Can I give you a lift?" went on the driver. "Well, I've got my bicycle with me," explained the young inventor. "My chain's broken, and I've got a mile to go." "Jump up in back," invited the man. "Leave your wheel here; I guess it will be safe." "Oh, I couldn't do that," said Tom. "I don't mind walking. I'm wet through now, and I can't get much wetter. I'm much obliged, though." "Well, I'm sorry, but I can hardly take you and the bicycle, too," continued the chauffeur. "Certainly not," added a voice from the tonneau of the car. "We can't have a muddy bicycle in here. Who is that person, Simpson?" "It's a young man," answered the driver. "Is he acquainted around here?" went on the voice from the rear of the car. "Ask him if he is acquainted around here, Simpson." Tom was wondering where he had heard that voice before. He had a vague notion that it was familiar. "Are you acquainted around here?" obediently asked the man at the wheel. "I live here," replied Tom. "Ask him if he knows any one named Swift?" continued the voice from the tonneau, and the driver started to repeat it. "I heard him," interrupted Tom. "Yes, I know a Mr. Swift;" but Tom, with a sudden resolve, and one he could hardly explain, decided that, for the present, he would not betray his own identity. "Ask him if Mr. Swift is an inventor." Once more the unseen person spoke in the voice Tom was trying vainly to recall. "Yes, he is an inventor," was the youth's answer. "Do you know much about him? What are his habits? Does he live near his workshops? Does he keep many servants? Does he--" The unseen questioner suddenly parted the side curtains and peered out at Tom, who stood in the muddy road, close to the automobile. At that moment there came a bright flash of lightning, illuminating not only Tom's face, but that of his questioner as well. And at the sight Tom started, no less than did the man. For Tom had recognized him as one of the three mysterious persons in the restaurant, and as for the man, he had also recognized Tom. "Ah--er--um--is--Why, it's you, isn't it?" cried the questioner, and he thrust his head farther out from between the curtains. "My, what a storm!" he exclaimed as the rain increased. "So you know Mr. Swift, eh? I saw you to-day in Mansburg, I think. I have a good memory for faces. Do you work for Mr. Swift? If you do I may be able to--" "I'm Tom Swift, son of Mr. Barton Swift," said Tom as quietly as he could. "Tom Swift! His son!" cried the man, and he seemed much agitated. "Why, I thought--that is, Morse said--Simpson, hurry back to Mansburg!" and with that, taking no more notice of Tom, the man in the auto hastily drew the curtains together. The chauffeur threw in the gears and swung the ponderous machine to one side. The road was wide, and he made the turn skilfully. A moment later the car was speeding back the way it had come, leaving Tom standing on the highway, alone in the mud and darkness, with the rain pouring down in torrents. CHAPTER VII. OFF ON A SPIN Tom's first impulse was to run after the automobile, the red tail-light of which glowed through the blackness like a ruby eye. Then he realized that it was going from him at such a swift pace that it would be impossible to get near it, even if his bicycle was in working order. "But if I had my motor-cycle I'd catch up to them," he murmured. "As it is, I must hurry home and tell dad. This is another link in the queer chain that seems to be winding around us. I wonder who that man was, and what he wanted by asking so many personal questions about dad?" Trundling his wheel before him, with the chain dangling from the handle-bar, Tom splashed on through the mud and rain. It was a lonesome, weary walk, tired as he was with the happenings of the day, and the young inventor breathed a sigh of thankfulness as the lights of his home shone out in the mist of the storm. As he tramped up the steps of the side porch, his wheel bumping along ahead of him, a door was thrown open. "Why, it's Tom!" exclaimed Mrs. Baggert. "Whatever happened to you?" and she hurried forward with kindly solicitude, for the housekeeper was almost a second mother to the youth. "Chain broke," answered the lad laconically. "Where's dad?" "Out in the shop, working at his latest invention, I expect. But are you hurt?" "Oh, no. I fell easily. The mud was like a feather-bed, you know, except that it isn't so good for the clothes," and the young inventor looked down at his splashed and bedraggled garments. Mr. Swift was very much surprised when Tom told him of the happening on the road, and related the conversation and the subsequent alarm of the man on learning Tom's identity. "Who do you suppose he could have been?" asked Tom, when he had finished. "I am pretty certain he was one of that crowd of financiers of whom Anson Morse seems to be a representative," said Mr. Swift. "Are you sure the man was one of those you saw in the restaurant?" "Positive. I had a good look at him both times. Do you think he imagined he could come here and get possession of some of your secrets?" "I hardly know what to think, Tom. But we will take every precaution. We will set the burglar alarm wires, which I have neglected for some time, as I fancied everything would be secure here. Then I will take my plans and the model of the turbine motor into the house. I'll run no chances to-night." Mr. Swift, who was adjusting some of the new bolts that Tom had brought home that day; began to gather up his tools and material. "I'll help you, dad," said Tom, and he began connecting the burglar alarm wires, there being an elaborate system of them about the house, shops and grounds. Neither Tom nor his father slept well that night. Several times one or the other of them arose, thinking they heard unusual noises, but it was only some disturbance caused by the storm, and morning arrived without anything unusual having taken place. The rain still continued, and Tom, looking from his window and seeing the downpour, remarked: "I'm glad of it!" "Why?" asked his father, who was in the next room. "Because I'll have a good excuse for staying in and working on my motor-cycle." "But you must do some studying," declared Mr. Swift. "I will hear you in mathematics right after breakfast." "All right, dad. I guess you'll find I have my lessons." Tom had graduated with honors from a local academy, and when it came to a question of going further in his studies, he had elected to continue with his father for a tutor, instead of going to college. Mr. Swift was a very learned man, and this arrangement was satisfactory to him, as it allowed Tom more time at home, so he could aid his father on the inventive work and also plan things for himself. Tom showed a taste for mechanics, and his father wisely decided that such training as his son needed could be given at home to better advantage than in a school or college. Lessons over, Tom hurried to his own particular shop, and began taking apart the damaged motor-cycle. "First I'll straighten the handle-bars, and then I'll fix the motor and transmission," he decided. "The front wheel I can buy in town, as this one would hardly pay for repairing." Tom was soon busy with wrenches, hammers, pliers and screw-driver. He was in his element, and was whistling over his task. The motor he found in good condition, but it was not such an easy task as he had hoped to change the transmission. He had finally to appeal to his father, in order to get the right proportion between the back and front gears, for the motor-cycle was operated by a sprocket chain, instead of a belt drive, as is the case with some. Mr. Swift showed Tom how to figure out the number of teeth needed on each sprocket, in order to get an increase of speed, and as there was a sprocket wheel from a disused piece of machinery available, Tom took that. He soon had it in place, and then tried the motor. To his delight the number of revolutions of the rear wheel were increased about fifteen per cent. "I guess I'll make some speed," he announced to his father. "But it will take more gasolene to run the motor; don't forget that. You know the great principle of mechanics--that you can't get out of a machine any more than you put into it, nor quite as much, as a matter of fact, for considerable is lost through friction." "Well, then, I'll enlarge the gasolene tank," declared Tom. "I want to go fast when I'm going." He reassembled the machine, and after several hours of work had it in shape to run, except that a front wheel was lacking. "I think I'll go to town and get one," he remarked. "The rain isn't quite so hard now." In spite of his father's mild objections Tom went, using his bicycle, the chain of which he had quickly repaired. He found just the front wheel needed, and that night his motor-cycle was ready to run. But it was too dark to try it then, especially as he had no good lantern, the one on the cycle having been smashed, and his own bicycle light not being powerful enough. So he had to postpone his trial trip until the next day. He was up early the following morning, and went out for a spin before breakfast. He came back, with flushed cheeks and bright eyes, just as Mr. Swift and Mrs. Baggert were sitting down to the table. "To Reedville and back," announced Tom proudly. "What, a round trip of thirty miles!" exclaimed Mr. Swift. "That's what!" declared his son. "I went like a greased pig most of the way. I had to slow up going through Mansburg, but the rest of at time I let it out for all it was worth." "You must be careful," cautioned his father. "You are not an expert yet." "No, I realize that. Several times, when I wanted to slow up, I began to back-pedal, forgetting that I wasn't on my bicycle. Then I thought to shut off the power and put on the brake. But it's glorious fun. I'm going out again as soon as I have something to eat. That is, unless you want me to help you, dad." "No, not this morning. Learn to ride the motor-cycle. It may come in handy." Neither Tom nor his father realized what an important part the machine was soon to play in their lives. Tom went out for another spin after breakfast, and in a different direction. He wanted to see what the machine would do on a hill, and there was a long, steep one about five miles from home. The roads were in fine shape after the rain, and he speeded up the incline at a rapid rate. "It certainly does eat up the road," the lad murmured. "I have improved this machine considerably. Wish I could take out a patent on it." Reaching the crest of the slope, he started down the incline. He turned off part of the power, and was gliding along joyously, when from a cross-road he suddenly saw turn into the main highway a mule, drawing a ramshackle wagon, loaded with fence posts. Beside the animal walked an old colored man. "I hope he gets out of the way in time," thought Tom. "He's moving as slow as molasses, and I'm going a bit faster than I like. Guess I'll shut off and put on the brakes." The mule and wagon were now squarely across the road. Tom was coming nearer and nearer. He turned the handle-grip, controlling the supply of gasolene, and to his horror he found that it was stuck. He could not stop the motor-cycle! "Look out! Look out!" cried Tom to the negro. "Get out of the way! I can't stop! Let me pass you!" The darky looked up. He saw the approaching machine, and he seemed to lose possession of his senses. "Whoa, Boomerang!" cried the negro. "Whoa! Suffin's gwine t' happen!" "That's what!" muttered Tom desperately, as he saw that there was not room for him to pass without going into the ditch, a proceeding that would mean an upset. "Pull out of the way!" he yelled again. But either the driver could not understand, or did not appreciate the necessity. The mule stopped and reared up. The colored man hurried to the head of the animal to quiet it. "Whoa, Boomerang! Jest yo' stand still!" he said. Tom, with a great effort, managed to twist the grip and finally shut off the gasolene. But it was too late. He struck the darky with the front wheel. Fortunately the youth had managed to somewhat reduce his speed by a quick application of the brake, or the result might have been serious. As it was, the colored man was gently lifted away from the mule's head and tossed into the long grass in the ditch. Tom, by a great effort, succeeded in maintaining his seat in the saddle, and then, bringing the machine to a stop, he leaped off and turned back. The colored man was sitting up, looking dazed. "Whoa, Boomerang!" he murmured. "Suffin's happened!" But the mule, who had quieted down, only waggled his ears lazily, and Tom, ready to laugh, now that he saw he had not committed manslaughter, hurried to where the colored man was sitting. CHAPTER VIII. SUSPICIOUS ACTIONS "Are you hurt?" asked Tom as he leaned his motor-cycle against the fence and stood beside the negro. "Hurt?" repeated the darky. "I'se killed, dat's what I is! I ain't got a whole bone in mah body! Good landy, but I suttinly am in a awful state! Would yo' mind tellin' me if dat ar' mule am still alive?" "Of course he is," answered Tom. "He isn't hurt a bit. But why can't you turn around and look for yourself?" "No, sah! No, indeedy, sah!" replied the colored man. "Yo' doan't catch dis yeah nigger lookin' around!" "Why not?" "Why not? 'Cause I'll tell yo' why not. I'm so stiff an' I'm so nearly broke t' pieces, dat if I turn mah head around it suah will twist offen mah body. No, sah! No, indeedy, sah, I ain't gwine t' turn 'round. But am yo' suah dat mah mule Boomerang ain't hurted?" "No, he's not hurt a bit, and I'm sure you are not. I didn't strike you hard, for I had almost stopped my machine. Try to get up. I'm positive you'll find yourself all right. I'm sorry it happened." "Oh, dat's all right. Doan't mind me," went on the colored man. "It was mah fault fer gittin in de road. But dat mule Boomerang am suttinly de most outrageous quadruped dat ever circumlocuted." "Why do you call him Boomerang?" asked Tom, wondering if the negro really was hurt. "What fo' I call him Boomerang? Did yo' eber see dem Australian black mans what go around wid a circus t'row dem crooked sticks dey calls boomerangs?" "Yes, I've seen them." "Well, Boomerang, mah mule, am jest laik dat. He's crooked, t' begin wid, an' anudder t'ing, yo' can't never tell when yo' start him whar he's gwine t' land up. Dat's why I calls him Boomerang." "I see. It's a very proper name. But why don't you try to get up?" "Does yo' t'ink I can?" "Sure. Try it. By the way, what's your name?" "My name? Why I was christened Eradicate Andrew Jackson Abraham Lincoln Sampson, but folks most ginnerally calls me Eradicate Sampson, an' some doan't eben go to dat length. Dey jest calls me Rad, fo' short." "Eradicate," mused Tom. "That's a queer name, too. Why were you called that?" "Well, yo' see I eradicates de dirt. I'm a cleaner an' a whitewasher by profession, an' somebody gib me dat name. Dey said it were fitten an' proper, an' I kept it eber sence. Yais, sah, I'se Eradicate Sampson, at yo' service. Yo' ain't got no chicken coops yo' wants cleaned out, has yo'? Or any stables or fences t' whitewash? I guarantees satisfaction." "Well, I might find some work for you to do," replied the young inventor, thinking this would be as good a means as any of placating the darky. "But come, now, try and see if you can't stand. I don't believe I broke any of your legs." "I guess not. I feels better now. Where am dat work yo' was speakin' ob?" and Eradicate Sampson, now that there seemed to be a prospect of earning money, rose quickly and easily. "Why, you're all right!" exclaimed Tom, glad to find that the accident had had no serious consequences. "Yais, sah, I guess I be. Whar did yo' say, yo' had some whitewashin' t' do?" "No place in particular, but there is always something that needs doing at our house. If you call I'll give you a job." "Yais, sah, I'll be sure to call," and Eradicate walked back to where Boomerang was patiently waiting. Tom told the colored man how to find the Swift home, and was debating with himself whether he ought not to offer Eradicate some money as compensation for knocking him into the air, when he noticed that the negro was tying one wheel of his wagon fast to the body of the vehicle with a rope. "What are you doing that for?" asked Tom. "Got to, t' git downhill wid dis load ob fence posts," was the answer. "Ef I didn't it would be right on to de heels ob Boomerang, an' wheneber he feels anyt'ing on his heels he does act wuss dan a circus mule." "But why don't you use your brake? I see you have one on the wagon. Use the brake to hold back going downhill." "'Scuse me, Mistah Swift, 'scuse me!" exclaimed Eradicate quickly. "But yo' doan't know dat brake. It's wuss dan none at all. It doan't work, fer a fact. No, indeedy, sah. I'se got to rope de wheel." Tom was interested at once. He made an examination of the brake, and soon saw why it would not hold the wheels. The foot lever was not properly connected with the brake bar. It was a simple matter to adjust it by changing a single bolt, and this Tom did with tools he took from the bag on his motor-cycle. The colored man looked on in open-mouthed amazement, and even Boomerang peered lazily around, as if taking an interest in the proceedings. "There," said Tom at length, as he tightened the nut. "That brake will work now, and hold the wagon on any hill. You won't need to rope the wheel. You didn't have the right leverage on it." "'Scuse me, Mistah Swift, but what's dat yo' said?" and Eradicate leaned forward to listen deferentially. "I said you didn't have the right leverage." "No, sah, Mistah Swift, 'scuse me, but yo' made a slight mistake. I ain't never had no liverage on dis yeah wagon. It ain't dat kind ob a wagon. I onct drove a livery rig, but dat were some years ago. I ain't worked fo' de livery stable in some time now. Dat's why I know dere ain't no livery on dis wagon. Yo'll 'scuse me, but yo' am slightly mistaken." "All right," rejoined Tom with a laugh, not thinking it worth while to explain what he meant by the lever force of the brake rod. "Let it go at that. Livery or no livery, your brake will work now. I guess you're all right. Now don't forget to come around and do some whitewashing," and seeing that the colored man was able to mount to the seat and start off Boomerang, who seemed to have deep-rooted objections about moving, Tom wheeled his motor-cycle back to the road. Eradicate Sampson drove his wagon a short distance and then suddenly applied the brake. It stopped short, and the mule looked around as if surprised. "It suah do work, Mistah Swift!" called the darky to Tom, who was waiting the result of his little repair job. "It suah do work!" "I'm glad of it." "Mah golly! But yo' am suttinly a conjure-man when it comes t' fixin' wagons! Did yo' eber work fer a blacksmith?" "No, not exactly. Well, good-by, Eradicate. I'll look for you some day next week." With that Tom leaped on his machine and speeded off ahead of the colored man and his rig. As he passed the load of fence posts the youth heard Eradicate remark in awestricken tones: "Mah golly! He suttinly go laik de wind! An' t' t'ink dat I were hit by dat monstrousness machine, an' not hurted! Mah golly! T'ings am suttinly happenin'! G'lang, Boomerang!" "This machine has more possibilities in it than I suspected," mused Tom. "But one thing I've got to change, and that is the gasolene and spark controls. I don't like them the way they are. I want a better leverage, just as Eradicate needed on his wagon. I'll fix them, too, when I get home." He rode for several hours, until he thought it was about dinner time, and then, heading the machine toward home, he put on all the speed possible, soon arriving where his father was at work in the shop. "Well, how goes it?" asked Mr. Swift with a smile as he looked at the flushed face of his son. "Fine, dad! I scooted along in great shape. Had an adventure, too." "You didn't meet any more of those men, did you? The men who are trying to get my invention?" asked Mr. Swift apprehensively. "No, indeed, dad. I simply had a little run-in with a chap named Eradicate Andrew Jackson Abraham Lincoln Sampson, otherwise known as Rad Sampson, and I engaged him to do some whitewashing for us. We do need some white washing done, don't we, dad?" "What's that?" asked Mr. Swift, thinking his son was joking. Then Tom told of the happening. "Yes, I think I can find some work for Eradicate to do," went on Mr. Swift. "There is some dirt in the boiler shop that needs eradicating, and I think he can do it. But dinner has been waiting some time. We'll go in now, or Mrs. Baggert will be out after us." Father and son were soon at the table, and Tom was explaining what he meant to do to improve his motor-cycle. His father offered some suggestions regarding the placing of the gasolene lever. "I'd put it here," he said, and with his pencil he began to draw a diagram on the white table cloth. "Oh, my goodness me, Mr. Swift!" exclaimed Mrs. Baggert. "Whatever are you doing?" and she sprang up in some alarm. "What's the matter? Did I upset my tea?" asked the inventor innocently. "No; but you are soiling a clean tablecloth. Pencil-marks are so hard to get out. Take a piece of paper, please." "Oh, is that all?" rejoined Mr. Swift with a smile. "Well, Tom, here is the way I would do that," and substituting the back of an envelope for the tablecloth, he continued the drawing. Tom was looking over his father's shoulder interestedly, when Mrs. Baggert, who was taking off some of the dinner dishes, suddenly asked: "Are you expecting a visitor, Mr. Swift?" "A visitor? No. Why?" asked the inventor quickly. "Because I just saw a man going in the machine shop," went on the housekeeper. "A man! In the machine shop!" exclaimed Tom, rising from his chair. Mr. Swift also got up, and the two hurried from the house. As they reached the yard they saw a man emerging from the building where Mr. Swift was constructing his turbine motor. The man had his back turned toward them and seemed to be sneaking around, as though desirous of escaping observation. "What do you want?" called Mr. Swift. The man turned quickly. At the sight of Mr. Swift and Tom he made a jump to one side and got behind a big packing-box. "That's queer," spoke Tom. "I wonder what he wants?" "I'll soon see," rejoined Mr. Swift, and he started on a run toward where the man was hiding. Tom followed his father, and as the two inventors reached the box the man sprang from behind it and down the yard to a lane that passed in back of the Swift house. As he ran he was seen to stuff some papers in his pocket. "My plans! He's stolen some of my plans!" cried Mr. Swift. "Catch him, Tom!" Tom ran after the stranger, whose curious actions had roused their suspicions, while Mr. Swift entered the motor shop to ascertain whether anything had been stolen. CHAPTER IX. A FRUITLESS PURSUIT Down through the yard Tom speeded, in and out among the buildings, looking on every side for a sight of the bold stranger. No one was to be seen. "He can't be very far ahead," thought Tom. "I ought to catch him before he gets to the woods. If he reaches there he has a good chance of getting away." There was a little patch of trees just back of the inventor's house, not much of a woods, perhaps, but that is what they were called. "I wonder if he was some ordinary tramp, looking for what he could steal, or if he was one of the gang after dad's invention?" thought Tom as he sprinted ahead. By this time the youth was clear of the group of buildings and in sight of a tall, board fence, which surrounded the Swift estate on three sides. Here and there, along the barrier, were piled old packing-cases, so that it would be easy for a fugitive to leap upon one of them and so get over the fence. Tom thought of this possibility in a moment. "I guess he got over ahead of me," the lad exclaimed, and he peered sharply about. "I'll catch him on the other side!" At that instant Tom tripped over a plank and went down full length, making quite a racket. When he picked himself up he was surprised to see the man he was after dart from inside a big box and start for the fence, near a point where there were some packing-cases piled up, making a good approach to the barrier. The fugitive had been hiding, waiting for a chance to escape, and Tom's fall had alarmed him. "Here! Hold on there! Come back!" cried the youth as he recovered his wind and leaped forward. But the man did not stay. With a bound he was up on the pile of boxes, and the next moment he was poised on top of the fence. Before leaping down on the other side, a jump at which even a practiced athlete might well hesitate, the fleeing stranger paused and looked back. Tom gazed at him and recognized the man in an instant. He was the third of the mysterious trio whom the lad had seen in the Mansburg restaurant. "Wait a minute! What do you want sneaking around here?" shouted Tom as he ran forward. The man returned no answer, and an instant later disappeared from view on the other side of the fence. "He jumped down!" thought Tom. "A big leap, too. Well, I've got to follow. This is a queer proceeding. First one, then the second, and now the third of those men seem determined to get something here. I wonder if this one succeeded? I'll soon find out." The lad was up on the pile of packing-cases and over the fence in almost record time. He caught a glimpse of the fugitive running toward the woods. Then the boy leaped down, jarring himself considerably, and took after the man. But though Tom was a good runner he was handicapped by the fact that the man had a start of him, and also by the fact that the stranger had had a chance to rest while hiding for the second time in the big box, while Tom had kept on running. So it is no great cause for wonder that Mr. Swift's son found himself being distanced. Once, twice he called on the fleeing one to halt, but the man paid no attention, and did not even turn around. Then the youth wisely concluded to save his wind for running. He did his best, but was chagrined to see the man reach the woods ahead of him. "I've lost him now," thought Tom. "Well, there's no help for it." Still he did not give up, but kept on through the patch of trees. On the farther side was Lake Carlopa, a broad and long sheet of water. "If he doesn't know the lake's there," thought our hero, "he may keep straight on. The water will be sure to stop him, and I can catch him. But what will I do with him after I get him? That's another question. I guess I've got a right to demand to know what he was doing around our place, though." But Tom need not have worried on this score. He could hear the fugitive ahead of him, and marked his progress by the crackling of the underbrush. "I'm almost up to him," exulted the young inventor. Then, at the same moment, he caught sight of the man running, and a glimpse of the sparkling water of Lake Carlopa. "I've got him! I've got him!" Tom almost cried aloud in his excitement. "Unless he takes to the water and swims for it, I've got him!" But Tom did not reckon on a very simple matter, and that was the possibility of the man having a boat at hand. For this is just what happened. Reaching the lake shore the fugitive with a final spurt managed to put considerable distance between himself and Tom. Drawn up on the beach was a little motor-boat. In this, after he had pushed it from shore, the stranger leaped. It was the work of but a second to set the engine in motion, and as Tom reached the edge of the woods and started across the narrow strip of sand and gravel that was between the water and the trees, he saw the man steering his craft toward the middle of the lake. "Well--I'll--be--jiggered!" exclaimed the youth. "Who would have thought he'd have a motor-boat waiting for him? He planned this well." There was nothing to do but turn back. Tom had a small rowboat and a sailing skiff on the lake, but his boathouse was some distance away, and even if he could get one of his craft out, the motor-boat would soon distance it. "He's gone!" thought the searcher regretfully. The man in the motor-boat did not look back. He sat in the bow, steering the little craft right across the broadest part of Lake Carlopa. "I wonder where he came from, and where he's going?" mused Tom. "That's a boat I never saw on this lake before. It must be a new one. Well, there's no help for it, I've got to go back and tell dad I couldn't catch him." And with a last look at the fugitive, who, with his boat, was becoming smaller and smaller every minute, Tom turned and retraced his steps. CHAPTER X. OFF TO ALBANY "Did you catch him, Tom?" asked Mr. Swift eagerly when his son returned, but the inventor needed but a glance at the lad's despondent face to have his question answered without words, "Never mind," he added, "there's not much harm done, fortunately." "Did he get anything? Any of your plans or models, dad?" "No; not as far as I can discover. My papers in the shop were not disturbed, but it looked as if the turbine model had been moved. The only thing missing seems to be a sheet of unimportant calculations. Luckily I had my most valuable drawings in the safe in the house." "Yet that man seemed to be putting papers in his pocket, dad. Maybe he made copies of some of your drawings." "That's possible, Tom, and I admit it worries me. I can't imagine who that man is, unless--" "Why, he's one of the three men I saw in Mansburg in the restaurant," said Tom eagerly. "Two of them tried to get information here, and now the third one comes. He got away in a motor-boat," and Tom told how the fugitive escaped. Mr. Swift looked worried. It was not the first time attempts had been made to steal his inventions, but on this occasion a desperate and well-organized plan appeared to be on foot. "What do you think they are up to, dad?" asked Tom. "I think they are trying to get hold of my turbine motor, Tom. You know I told you that the financiers were disappointed in the turbine motor they bought of another inventor. It does not work. To get back the money they spent in building an expensive plant they must have a motor that is successful. Hence their efforts to get control of mine. I don't know whether I told you or not, but some time ago I refused a very good offer for certain rights in my invention. I knew it was worth more. The offer came through Smeak & Katch, the lawyers, and when I refused it they seemed much disappointed. I think now that this same firm, and the financiers who have employed them, are trying by all the means in their power to get possession of my ideas, if not the invention and model itself." "What can you do, dad?" "Well, I must think. I certainly must take some means to protect myself. I have had trouble before, but never any like this. I did not think those men would be so unscrupulous." "Do you know their names?" "No, only from that telegram we found; the one which the first stranger dropped. One of them must be Anson Morse. Who the others are I don't know. But now I must make some plans to foil these sharpers. I may have to call on you for help, Tom." "And I'll be ready any time you call on me, dad," responded Tom, drawing himself up. "Can I do anything for you right away?" "No; I must think out a plan." "Then I am going to change my motor-cycle a bit. I'll put some more improvements on it." "And I will write some letters to my lawyers in Washington and ask their advice." It took Tom the remainder of that day, and part of the next, to arrange the gasolene and spark control of his machine to his satisfaction. He had to make two small levers and some connecting rods. This he did in his own particular machine shop, which was fitted up with a lathe and other apparatus. The lathe was run by power coming from a small engine, which was operated by an engineer, an elderly man to whom Mr. Swift had given employment for many years. He was Garret Jackson, and he kept so close to his engine and boiler-room that he was seldom seen outside of it except when the day's work was done. One afternoon, a few days after the unsuccessful chase after the fugitive had taken place, Tom went out for a spin on his motor-cycle. He found that the machine worked much better, and was easier to control. He rode about fifteen miles away from home, and then returned. As he entered the yard he saw, standing on the drive, a ramshackle old wagon, drawn by a big mule, which seemed, at the time Tom observed him, to be asleep. "I'll wager that's Boomerang," said Tom aloud, and the mule opened its eyes, wiggled its ears and started forward. "Whoa dar, Boomerang!" exclaimed a voice, and Eradicate Sampson hurried around the corner of the house. "Dat's jest lake yo'," went on the colored man. "Movin' when yo' ain't wanted to." Then, as he caught sight of Tom, he exclaimed, "Why, if it ain't young Mistah Swift! Good lordy! But dat livery brake yo' done fixed on mah wagon suttinly am fine. Ah kin go down de steepest hill widout ropin' de wheel." "Glad of it," replied Tom. "Did you come to do some work?" "Yais, sah, I done did. I found I had some time t' spah, an' thinks I dere might be some whitewashin' I could do. Yo' see, I lib only 'bout two mile from heah." "Well, I guess you can do a few jobs," said Tom. "Wait here." He hunted up his father, and obtained permission to set Eradicate at work cleaning out a chicken house and whitewashing it. The darky was soon at work. A little later Tom passing saw him putting the whitewash on thick. Eradicate stopped at the sight of Tom, and made some curious motions. "What's the matter, Rad?" asked the young inventor. "Why, de whitewash done persist in runnin' down de bresh handle an' inter mah sleeve. I'm soakin' wet from it now, an' I has t' stop ebery onct in a while 'case mah sleeve gits full." Tom saw what the trouble was. The white fluid did run down the long brush handle in a small rivulet. Tom had once seen a little rubber device on a window-cleaning brush that worked well, and he decided to try it for Eradicate. "Wait a minute," Tom advised. "I think I can stop that for you." The colored man was very willing to take a rest, but it did not last long, for Tom was soon back at the chicken coop. He had a small rubber disk, with a hole in the center, the size of the brush handle. Slipping the disk over the wood, he pushed it about half way along, and then, handing the brush back to the negro, told him to try it that way. "Did yo' done put a charm on mah bresh?" asked Eradicate somewhat doubtfully. "Yes, a sort of hoodoo charm. Try it now." The darky dipped his brush in the pail of whitewash, and then began to spread the disinfectant on the sides of the coop near the top. The surplus fluid started to run down the handle, but, meeting the piece of rubber, came no farther, and dripped off on the ground. It did not run down the sleeve of Eradicate. "Well, I 'clar t' goodness! That suttinly am a mighty fine charm!" cried the colored man. "Yo' suah am a pert gen'men, all right. Now I kin work widout stoppin' t' empty mah sleeve ob lime juice ebery minute. I'se suttinly obliged t' yo'." "You're welcome, I'm sure," replied Tom. "I think some day I'll invent a machine for whitewashing, and then--" "Doan't do dat! Doan't do dat!" begged Eradicate earnestly. "Dis, an' makin' dirt disappear, am de only perfessions I got. Doan't go 'ventin' no machine, Mistah Swift." "All right. I'll wait until you get rich." "Ha, ha! Den yo' gwine t' wait a pow'ful long time," chuckled Eradicate as he went on with his whitewashing. Tom went into the house. He found his father busy with some papers at his desk. "Ah, it's you, is it, Tom?" asked the inventor, looking up. "I was just wishing you would come in." "What for, dad?" "Well, I have quite an important mission for you. I want you to go on a journey." "A journey? Where?" "To Albany. You see, I've been thinking over matters, and I have been in correspondence with my lawyers in regard to my turbine motor. I must take measures to protect myself. You know I have not yet taken out a complete patent on the machine. I have not done so because I did not want to put my model on exhibition in Washington. I was afraid some of those unscrupulous men would take advantage of me. Another point was that I had not perfected a certain device that goes on the motor. That objection is now removed, and I am ready to send my model to Washington, and take out the complete patent." "But I thought you said you wanted me to go to Albany." "So I do. I will explain. I have just had a letter from Reid & Crawford, my Washington attorneys. Mr. Crawford, the junior member of the firm, will be in Albany this week on some law business. He agrees to receive my model and some papers there, and take them back to Washington with him. In this way they will be well protected. You see, I have to be on my guard, and if I send the model to Albany, instead of the national capital, I may throw the plotters off the track, for I feel that they are watching every move I make. As soon as you or I should start for Washington they would be on our trail. But you can go to Albany unsuspected. Mr. Crawford will wait for you there. I want you to start day after to-morrow." "All right, dad. I can start now, if you say so." "No, there is no special need for haste. I have some matters to arrange. You might go to the station and inquire about trains to the State capital." "Am I going by train?" "Certainly. How else could you go?" There was a look of excitement in Tom's eyes. He had a sudden idea. "Dad," he exclaimed, "why couldn't I go on my motor-cycle?" "Your motor-cycle?" "Yes. I could easily make the trip on it in one day. The roads are good, and I would enjoy it. I can carry the model back of me on the saddle. It is not very large." "Well," said Mr. Swift slowly, for the idea was a new one to him, "I suppose that part would be all right. But you have not had much experience riding a motor-cycle. Besides, you don't know the roads." "I can inquire. Will you let me go, dad?" Mr. Swift appeared to hesitate. "It will be fine!" went on Tom. "I would enjoy the trip, and there's another thing. If we want to keep this matter secret the best plan would be to let me go on my machine. If those men are on the watch, they will not think that I have the model. They will think I'm just going for a pleasure jaunt." "There's something in that," admitted Mr. Swift, and Tom, seeing that his father was favorably inclined, renewed his arguments, until the inventor finally agreed. "It will be a great trip!" exclaimed Tom. "I'll go all over my machine now, to see that it's in good shape. You get your papers and model ready, dad, and I'll take them to Albany for you. The motor-cycle will come in handy." But had Tom only known the dangers ahead of him, and the risks he was to run, he would not have whistled so light heartedly as he went over every nut and bolt on his machine. Two days later, the valuable model, having been made into a convenient package, and wrapped in water-proof paper, was fastened back of the saddle on the motor-cycle. Tom carefully pinned in an inside pocket the papers which were to be handed to Mr. Crawford. He was to meet the lawyer at a hotel in Albany. "Now take care of yourself, Tom," cautioned his father as he bade him good-by. "Don't try to make speed, as there is no special rush. And, above all, don't lose anything." "I'll not, dad," and with a wave of his hand to Mr. Swift and the housekeeper, who stood in the door to see him off, Tom jumped into the saddle, started the machine, and then, after sufficient momentum had been attained, he turned on the gasolene and set the spark lever. With rattles and bangs, which were quickly subdued by the muffler, the machine gathered speed. Tom was off for Albany. CHAPTER XI. A VINDICTIVE TRAMP Though Tom's father had told him there was no necessity for any great speed, the young inventor could not resist the opportunity for pushing his machine to the limit. The road was a level one and in good condition, so the motor-cycle fairly flew along. The day was pleasant, a warm sun shining overhead, and it was evident that early summer was crowding spring rather closely. "This is glorious!" exclaimed Tom aloud as he spun along. "I'm glad I persuaded dad to let me take this trip. It was a great idea. Wish Ned Newton was along, though. He'd be company for me, but, as Ned would say, there are two good reasons why he can't come. One is he has to work in the bank, and the other is that he has no motor-cycle." Tom swept past house after house along the road, heading in the opposite direction from that in which lay the town of Shopton and the city of Mansburg. For several miles Tom's route would lie through a country district. The first large town he would reach would be Centreford. He planned to get lunch there, and he had brought a few sandwiches with him to eat along the road in case he became hungry before he reached the place. "I hope the package containing the model doesn't jar off," mused the lad as he reached behind to make sure that the precious bundle was safe. "Dad would be in a bad way if that should disappear. And the papers, too." He put his hand to his inner pocket to feel that they were secure. Coming to a little down-grade, Tom shut off some of the power, the new levers he had arranged to control the gasolene and spark working well. "I think I'll take the old wood road and pass through Pompville," Tom decided, after covering another mile or two. He was approaching a division in the highway. "It's a bit sandy," he went on, "and the going will be heavy, but it will be a good chance to test my machine. Besides, I'll save five miles, and, while I don't have to hurry, I may need time on the other end. I'd rather arrive in Albany a little before dusk than after dark. I can deliver the model and papers and have a good night's sleep before starting back. So the old wood road it will be." The wood road, as Tom called it, was a seldom used highway, which, originally, was laid out for just what the name indicated, to bring wood from the forest. With the disappearance of most of the trees the road became more used for ordinary traffic between the towns of Pompville and Edgefield. But when the State built a new highway connecting these two places the old road fell into disuse, though it was several miles shorter than the new turnpike. He turned from the main thoroughfare, and was soon spinning along the sandy stretch, which was shaded with trees that in some places met overhead, forming a leafy arch. It was cool and pleasant, and Tom liked it. "It isn't as bad as I thought," he remarked. "The sand is pretty thick, but this machine of mine appears to be able to crawl through it." Indeed, the motor-cycle was doing remarkably well, but Tom found that he had to turn on full power, for the big rubber wheels went deep into the soft soil. Along Tom rode, picking out the firmest places in the road. He was so intent on this that he did not pay much attention to what was immediately ahead of him, knowing that he was not very likely to meet other vehicles or pedestrians. He was considerably startled therefore when, as he went around a turn in the highway where the bushes grew thick, right down to the edge of the road, to see a figure emerge from the underbrush and start across the path. So quickly did the man appear that Tom was almost upon him in an instant, and even though the young inventor shut off the power and applied the brake, the front wheel hit the man and knocked him down. "What's the matter with you? What are you trying to do--kill me? Why don't you ring a bell or blow a horn when you're coming?" The man had sprung up from the soft sand where the wheel from the motor-cycle had sent him and faced Tom angrily. Then the rider, who had quickly dismounted, saw that his victim was a ragged tramp. "I'm sorry," began Tom. "You came out of the bushes so quickly that I didn't have a chance to warn you. Did I hurt you much?" "Well, youse might have. 'Tain't your fault dat youse didn't," and the tramp began to brush the dirt from his ragged coat. Tom was instantly struck by a curious fact. The tramp in his second remarks used language more in keeping with his character, whereas, in his first surprise and anger, he had talked much as any other person would. "Youse fellers ain't got no right t' ride dem machines like lightnin' along de roads," the ragged chap went on, and he still clung to the use of words and expressions current among his fraternity. Tom wondered at it, and then, ascribing the use of the better language to the fright caused by being hit by the machine, the lad thought no more about it at the time. There was occasion, however, when he attached more meaning to it. "I'm very sorry," went on Tom. "I'm sure I didn't mean to. You see, I was going quite slowly, and--" "You call dat slow, when youse hit me an' knocked me down?" demanded the tramp. "I'd oughter have youse arrested, dat's what, an' I would if dere was a cop handy." "I wasn't going at all fast," said Tom, a little nettled that his conciliatory words should be so rudely received. "If I had been going full speed I'd have knocked you fifty feet." "It's a good thing. Cracky, den I'm glad dat youse wasn't goin' like dat," and the tramp seemed somewhat confused. This time Tom looked at him more closely, for the change in his language had been very plain. The fellow seemed uneasy, and turned his face away. As he did so Tom caught a glimpse of what he was sure was a false beard. It was altogether too well-kept a beard to be a natural one for such a dirty tramp as this one appeared to be. "That fellow's disguised!" Tom thought. "He's playing a part. I wonder if I'd better take chances and spring it on him that I'm on to his game?" Then the ragged man spoke again: "I s'pose it was part my fault, cully. I didn't know dat any guy was comin' along on one of dem buzz-machines, or I'd been more careful. I don't s'pose youse meant to upset me?" and he looked at Tom more boldly. This time his words seemed so natural, and his beard, now that Tom took a second look at it, so much a part of himself, that the young inventor wondered if he could have been mistaken in his first surmise. "Perhaps he was once a gentleman, and has turned tramp because of hard luck," thought Tom. "That would account for him using good language at times. Guess I'd better keep still." Then to the tramp he said: "I'm sure I didn't mean to hit you. I admit I wasn't looking where I was going, but I never expected to meet any one on this road. I certainly didn't expect to see a--" He paused in some confusion. He was about to use the term "tramp," and he hesitated, not knowing how it would be received by his victim. "Oh, dat's all right, cully. Call me a tramp--I know dat's what youse was goin' t' say. I'm used t' it. I've been a hobo so many years now dat I don't mind. De time was when I was a decent chap, though. But I'm a tramp now. Say, youse couldn't lend me a quarter, could youse?" He approached closer to Tom, and looked quickly up and down the road. The highway was deserted, nor was there any likelihood that any one would come along. Tom was somewhat apprehensive, for the tramp was a burly specimen. The young inventor, however, was not so much alarmed at the prospect of a personal encounter, as that he feared he might be robbed, not only of his money, but the valuable papers and model he carried. Even if the tramp was content with taking his money, it would mean that Tom would have to go back home for more, and so postpone his trip. So it was with no little alarm that he watched the ragged man coming nearer to him. Then a bright idea came into Tom's head. He quickly shifted his position so that he brought the heavy motor-cycle between the man and himself. He resolved, if the tramp showed a disposition to attack him, to push the machine over on him, and this would give Tom a chance to attack the thief to better advantage. However, the "hobo" showed no evidence of wanting to resort to highwayman methods. He paused a short distance from the machine, and said admiringly: "Dat's a pretty shebang youse has." "Yes, it's very fair," admitted Tom, who was not yet breathing easily. "Kin youse go far on it?" "Two hundred miles a day, easily." "Fer cats' sake! An' I can't make dat ridin' on de blind baggage; but dat's 'cause I gits put off so much. But say, is youse goin' to let me have dat quarter? I need it, honest I do. I ain't had nuttin' t' eat in two days." The man's tone was whining. Surely he seemed like a genuine tramp, and Tom felt a little sorry for him. Besides, he felt that he owed him something for the unceremonious manner in which he had knocked the fellow down. Tom reached his hand in his pocket for some change, taking care to keep the machine between himself and the tramp. "Are youse goin' far on dat rig-a-ma-jig?" went on the man as he looked carefully over the motor-cycle. "To Albany," answered Tom, and the moment the words were out of his mouth he wished he could recall them. All his suspicions regarding the tramp came back to him. But the ragged chap appeared to attach no significance to them. "Albany? Dat's in Jersey, ain't it?" he asked. "No, it's in New York," replied Tom, and then, to change the subject, he pulled out a half-dollar and handed it to the man. As he did so Tom noticed that the tramp had tattooed on the little finger of his left hand a blue ring. "Dat's de stuff! Youse is a reg'lar millionaire, youse is!" exclaimed the tramp, and his manner seemed in earnest. "I'll remember youse, I will. What's your name, anyhow, cully?" "Tom Swift," replied our hero, and again he wished he had not told. This time he was sure the tramp started and glanced at him quickly, but perhaps it was only his imagination. "Tom Swift," repeated the man musingly, and his tones were different from the whining ones in which he had asked for money. Then, as if recollecting the part he was playing, he added: "I s'pose dey calls youse dat because youse rides so quick on dat machine. But I'm certainly obliged to youse--Tom Swift, an' I hopes youse gits t' Albany, in Jersey, in good time." He turned away, and Tom was beginning to breathe more easily when the ragged man, with a quick gesture, reached out and grabbed hold of the motor-cycle. He gave it such a pull that it was nearly torn from Tom's grasp. The lad was so startled at the sudden exhibition of vindictiveness an the part of the tramp that he did not know what to do. Then, before he could recover himself, the tramp darted into the bushes. "I guess Happy Harry--dat's me--has spoiled your ride t' Albany!" the tramp cried. "Maybe next time youse won't run down poor fellers on de road," and with that, the ragged man, shaking his fist at Tom, was lost to sight in the underbrush. "Well, if that isn't a queer end up," mused Tom. "He must be crazy. I hope I don't meet you again, Happy Harry, or whatever your name is. Guess I'll get out of this neighborhood." CHAPTER XII. THE MEN IN THE AUTO Tom first made sure that the package containing the model was still safely in place back of his saddle on the motor-cycle. Finding it there he next put his hand in his pocket to see that he had the papers. "They're all right," spoke Tom aloud. "I didn't know but what that chap might have worked a pickpocket game on me. I'm glad I didn't meet him after dark. Well, it's a good thing it's no worse. I wonder if he tried to get my machine away from me? Don't believe he'd know how to ride it if he did." Tom wheeled his motor-cycle to a hard side-path along the old road, and jumped into the saddle. He worked the pedals preparatory to turning on the gasolene and spark to set the motor in motion. As he threw forward the levers, having acquired what he thought was the necessary momentum, he was surprised that no explosion followed. The motor seemed "dead." "That's queer," he thought, and he began to pedal more rapidly. "It always used to start easily. Maybe it doesn't like this sandy road." It was hard work sending the heavy machine along by "leg power," and once more, when he had acquired what he thought was sufficient speed, Tom turned on the power. But no explosions followed, and in some alarm he jumped to the ground. "Something's wrong," he said aloud. "That tramp must have damaged the machine when he yanked it so." Tom went quickly over the different parts. It did not take him long to discover what the trouble was. One of the wires, leading from the batteries to the motor, which wire served to carry the current of electricity that exploded the mixture of air and gasolene, was missing. It had been broken off close to the battery box and the spark plug. "That's what Happy Harry did!" exclaimed Tom. "He pulled that wire off when he yanked my machine. That's what he meant by hoping I'd get to Albany. That fellow was no tramp. He was disguised, and up to some game. And he knows something about motor-cycles, too, or he never would have taken that wire. I'm stalled, now, for I haven't got another piece. I ought to have brought some. I'll have to push this machine until I get to town, or else go back home." The young inventor looked up and down the lonely road, undecided what to do. To return home meant that he would be delayed in getting to Albany, for he would lose a day. If he pushed on to Pompville he might be able to get a bit of wire there. Tom decided that was his best plan, and plodded on through the thick sand. He had not gone more than a quarter of a mile, every step seeming harder than the preceding one, when he heard, from the woods close at his left hand, a gun fired. He jumped so that he nearly let the motor-cycle fall over, for a wild idea came into his head that the tramp had shot at him. With a quickly-beating heart the lad looked about him. "I wonder if that was Happy Harry?" he mused. There was a crackling in the bushes and Tom, wondering what he might do to protect himself, looked toward the place whence the noise proceeded. A moment later a hunter stepped into view. The man carried a gun and wore a canvas suit, a belt about his waist being filled with cartridges. "Hello!" he exclaimed pleasantly, Then, seeing a look of alarm on the lad's face, he went on: "I hope I didn't shoot in your direction, young man; did I?" "No--no, sir," replied the youthful inventor, who had hardly recovered his composure. "I heard your gun, and I imagined--" "Did you think you had been shot? You must have a very vivid imagination, for I fired in the air." "No, I didn't exactly think that," replied Tom, "but I just had an encounter with an ugly tramp, and I feared he might be using me for a target." "Is that so. I hadn't noticed any tramps around here, and I've been in these woods nearly all day. Did he harm you?" "No, not me, but my motor-cycle," and the lad explained. "Pshaw! That's too bad!" exclaimed the hunter. "I wish I could supply you with a bit of wire, but I haven't any. I'm just walking about, trying my new gun." "I shouldn't think you'd find anything to shoot this time of year," remarked Tom. "I don't expect to," answered the hunter, who had introduced himself as Theodore Duncan. "But I have just purchased a new gun, and I wanted to try it. I expect to do considerable hunting this fall, and so I'm getting ready for it." "Do you live near here?" "Well, about ten miles away, on the other side of Lake Carlopa, but I am fond of long walks in the woods. If you ever get to Waterford I wish you'd come and see me, Mr. Swift. I have heard of your father." "I will, Mr. Duncan; but if I don't get something to repair my machine with I'm not likely to get anywhere right away." "Well, I wish I could help you, but I haven't the least ingenuity when it comes to machinery. Now if I could help you track down that tramp--" "Oh, no, thank you, I'd rather not have anything more to do with him." "If I caught sight of him now," resumed the hunter, "I fancy I could make him halt, and, perhaps, give you back the wire. I'm a pretty good shot, even if this is a new gun. I've been practicing at improvised targets all day." "No; the less I have to do with him, the better I shall like it," answered Tom, "though I'm much obliged to you. I'll manage somehow until I get to Pompville." He started off again, the hunter disappearing in the woods, whence the sound of his gun was again heard. "He's a queer chap," murmured Tom, "but I like him. Perhaps I may see him when I go to Waterford, if I ever do." Tom was destined to see the hunter again, at no distant time, and under strange circumstances. But now the lad's whole attention was taken up with the difficulty in which he found himself. Vainly musing on what object the tramp could have had in breaking off the wire, the young inventor trudged on. "I guess he was one of the gang after dad's invention," thought Tom, "and he must have wanted to hinder me from getting to Albany, though why I can't imagine." With a dubious shake of his head Tom proceeded. It was hard work pushing the heavy machine through the sand, and he was puffing before he had gone very far. "I certainly am up against it," he murmured. "But if I can get a bit of wire in Pompville I'll be all right. If I can't--" Just then Tom saw something which caused him to utter an exclamation of delight. "That's the very thing!" he cried. "Why didn't I think of it before?" Leaving his motor-cycle standing against a tree Tom hurried to a fence that separated the road from a field. The fence was a barbed-wire one, and in a moment Tom had found a broken strand. "Guess no one will care if I take a piece of this," he reasoned. "It will answer until I can get more. I'll have it in place in a jiffy!" It did not take long to get his pliers from his toolbag and snip off a piece of the wire. Untwisting it he took out the sharp barbs, and then was ready to attach it to the binding posts of the battery box and the spark plug. "Hold on, though!" he exclaimed as he paused in the work. "It's got to be insulated, or it will vibrate against the metal of the machine and short circuit. I have it! My handkerchief! I s'pose Mrs. Baggert will kick at tearing up a good one, but I can't help it." Tom took a spare handkerchief from the bundle in which he had a few belongings carried with the idea of spending the night at an Albany hotel, and he was soon wrapping strips of linen around the wire, tying them with pieces of string. "There!" he exclaimed at length. "That's insulated good enough, I guess. Now to fasten it on and start." The young inventor, who was quick with tools, soon had the improvised wire in place. He tested the spark and found that it was almost as good as when the regular copper conductor was in place. Then, having taken a spare bit of the barbed-wire along in case of another emergency, he jumped on the motor-cycle, pedaled it until sufficient speed was attained, and turned on the power. "That's the stuff!" he cried as the welcome explosions sounded. "I guess I've fooled Happy Harry! I'll get to Albany pretty nearly on time, anyhow. But that tramp surely had me worried for a while." He rode into Pompville, and on inquiring in a plumbing shop managed to get a bit of copper wire that answered better than did the galvanized piece from the fence. The readjustment was quickly made, and he was on his way again. As it was getting close to noon he stopped near a little spring outside of Pompville and ate a sandwich, washing it down with the cold water. Then he started for Centreford. As he was coming into the city he heard an automobile behind him. He steered to one side of the road to give the big car plenty of room to pass, but it did not come on as speedily as he thought it would. He looked back and saw that it was going to stop near him. Accordingly he shut off the power of his machine. "Is this the road to Centreford?" asked one of the travelers in the auto. "Straight ahead," answered the lad. At the sound of his voice one of the men in the big touring car leaned forward and whispered something to one on the front seat. The second man nodded, and looked closely at Tom. The youth, in turn, stared at the men. He could not distinguish their faces, as they had on auto goggles. "How many miles is it?" asked the man who had whispered, and at the sound of his voice Tom felt a vague sense that he had heard it before. "Three," answered the young inventor, and once more he saw the men whisper among themselves. "Thanks," spoke the driver of the car, and he threw in the gears. As the big machine darted ahead the goggles which one of the men wore slipped off. Tom had a glimpse of his face. "Anson Morse!" he exclaimed. "If that isn't the man who was sneaking around dad's motor shop he's his twin brother! I wonder if those aren't the men who are after the patent model? I must be on my guard!" and Tom, watching the car fade out of sight on the road ahead of him, slowly started his motor-cycle. He was much puzzled and alarmed. CHAPTER XIII. CAUGHT IN A STORM The more Tom tried to reason out the cause of the men's actions, the more he dwelt upon his encounter with the tramp, and the harder he endeavored to seek a solution of the queer puzzle, the more complicated it seemed. He rode on until he saw in a valley below him the buildings of the town of Centreford, and, with a view of them, a new idea came into his mind. "I'll go get a good dinner," he decided, "and perhaps that will help me to think more clearly. That's what dad always does when he's puzzling over an invention." He was soon seated in a restaurant, where he ate a substantial dinner. "I'm just going to stop puzzling over this matter," he decided. "I'll push on to Albany and tell the lawyer, Mr. Crawford. Perhaps he can advise me." Once this decision was made Tom felt better. "That's just what I needed," he thought; "some one to shift the responsibility upon. I'll let the lawyers do the worrying. That's what they're paid for. Now for Albany, and I hope I don't have to stop, except for supper, until I get there. I've got to do some night riding, but I've got a powerful lamp, and the roads from now on are good." Tom was soon on his way again. The highway leading to Albany was a hard, macadam one, and he fairly flew along the level stretches. "This is making good time," he thought. "I won't be so very late, after all; that is, if nothing delays me." The young inventor looked up into the sky. The sun, which had been shining brightly all day, was now hidden behind a mass of hazy clouds, for which the rider was duly grateful, as it was becoming quite warm. "It's more like summer than I thought," said Tom to himself. "I shouldn't be surprised if we got rain to-morrow." Another look at the sky confirmed him in this belief, and he had not gone on many miles farther when his opinion was suddenly changed. This was brought about by a dull rumble in the west, and Tom noticed that a bank of low-lying clouds had formed, the black, inky masses of vapor being whirled upward as if by some powerful blast. "Guess my storm is going to arrive ahead of time," he said. "I'd better look for shelter." With a suddenness that characterizes summer showers, the whole sky became overcast. The thunder increased, and the flashes of lightning became more frequent and dazzling. A wind sprang up and blew clouds of dust in Tom's face. "It certainly is going to be a thunder storm," he admitted. "I'm bound to be delayed now, for the roads will be mucky. Well, there's no help for it. If I get to Albany before midnight I'll be doing well." A few drops of rain splashed on his hands, and as he looked up to note the state of the sky others fell in his face. They were big drops, and where they splashed on the road they formed little globules of mud. "I'll head for that big tree," thought Tom "It will give me some shelter. I'll wait there--" His words were interrupted by a deafening crash of thunder which followed close after a blinding flash. "No tree for mine!" murmured Tom. "I forgot that they're dangerous in a storm. I wonder where I can stay?" He turned on all the power possible and sprinted ahead. Around a curve in the road he went, leaning over to preserve his balance, and just as the rain came pelting down in a torrent he saw just ahead of him a white church on the lonely country road. To one side was a long shed, where the farmers were in the habit of leaving their teams when they came to service. "Just the thing!" cried the boy; "and just in time!" He turned his motor-cycle into the yard surrounding the church, and a moment later had come to a stop beneath the shed. It was broad and long, furnishing a good protection against the storm, which had now burst in all its fury. Tom was not very wet, and looking to see that the model, which was partly of wood, had suffered no damage, the lad gave his attention to his machine. "Seems to be all right," he murmured. "I'll just oil her up while I'm waiting. This can't last long; it's raining too hard." He busied himself over the motor-cycle, adjusting a nut that had been rattled loose, and putting some oil on the bearings. The rain kept up steadily, and when he had completed his attentions to his machine Tom looked out from under the protection of the shed. "It certainly is coming down for keeps," he murmured. "This trip is a regular hoodoo so far. Hope I have it better coming back." As he looked down the road he espied an automobile coming through the mist of rain. It was an open car, and as he saw the three men in it huddled up under the insufficient protection of some blankets, Tom said: "They'd ought to come in here. There's lots of room. Maybe they don't see it. I'll call to them." The car was almost opposite the shed which was close to the roadside. Tom was about to call when one of the men in the auto looked up. He saw the shelter and spoke to the chauffeur. The latter was preparing to steer up into the shed when the two men on the rear seat caught sight of Tom. "Why, that's the same car that passed me a while ago," said the young inventor half aloud. "The one that contained those men whom I suspected might be after dad's patent. I hope they--" He did not finish his sentence, for at that instant the chauffeur quickly swung the machine around and headed it back into the road. Clearly the men were not going to take advantage of the shelter of the shed. "That's mighty strange," murmured Tom. "They certainly saw me, and as soon as they did they turned away. Can they be afraid of me?" He went to the edge of the shelter and peered out. The auto had disappeared down the road behind a veil of rain, and, shaking his head over the strange occurrence, Tom went back to where he had left his motor-cycle. "Things are getting more and more muddled," he said. "I'm sure those were the same men, and yet--" He shrugged his shoulders. The puzzle was getting beyond him. CHAPTER XIV. ATTACKED FROM BEHIND Steadily the rain came down, the wind driving it under the shed until Tom was hard put to find a place where the drops would not reach him. He withdrew into a far corner, taking his motor-cycle with him, and then, sitting on a block of wood, under the rough mangers where the horses were fed while the farmers attended church, the lad thought over the situation. He could make little of it, and the more he tried the worse it seemed to become. He looked out across the wet landscape. "I wonder if this is ever going to stop?" he mused. "It looks as if it was in for an all-day pour, yet we ought only to have a summer shower by rights." "But then I guess what I think about it won't influence the weather man a bit. I might as well make myself comfortable, for I can't do anything. Let's see. If I get to Fordham by six o'clock I ought to be able to make Albany by nine, as it's only forty miles. I'll get supper in Fordham, and push on. That is, I will if the rain stops." That was the most necessary matter to have happen first, and Tom arising from his seat strolled over to the front of the shed to look out. "I believe it is getting lighter in the west," he told himself. "Yes, the clouds are lifting. It's going to clear. It's only a summer shower, after all." But just as he said that there came a sudden squall of wind and rain, fiercer than any which had preceded. Tom was driven back to his seat on the log. It was quite chilly now, and he noticed that near where he sat there was a big opening in the rear of the shed, where a couple of boards were off. "This must be a draughty place in winter," he observed. "If I could find a drier spot I'd sit there, but this seems to be the best," and he remained there, musing on many things. Suddenly in the midst of his thoughts he imagined he heard the sound of an automobile approaching. "I wonder if those men are coming back here?" he exclaimed. "If they are--" The youth again arose, and went to the front of the shed. He could see nothing, and came back to escape the rain. There was no doubt but that the shower would soon be over, and looking at his watch, Tom began to calculate when he might arrive in Albany. He was busy trying to figure out the best plan to pursue, and was hardly conscious of his surroundings. Seated on the log, with his back to the opening in the shed, the young inventor could not see a figure stealthily creeping up through the wet grass. Nor could he see an automobile, which had come to a stop back of the horse shelter--an automobile containing two rain-soaked men, who were anxiously watching the one stealing through the grass. Tom put his watch back into his pocket and looked out into the storm. It was almost over. The sun was trying to shine through the clouds, and only a few drops were falling. The youth stretched with a yawn, for he was tired of sitting still. At the moment when he raised his arms to relieve his muscles something was thrust through the opening behind him. It was a long club, and an instant later it descended on the lad's head. He went down in a heap, limp and motionless. Through the opening leaped a man. He bent over Tom, looked anxiously at him, and then, stepping to the place where the boards were off the shed, he motioned to the men in the automobile. They hurried from the machine, and were soon beside their companion. "I knocked him out, all right," observed the man who had reached through and dealt Tom the blow with the club. "Knocked him out! I should say you did, Featherton!" exclaimed one who appeared better dressed than the others. "Have you killed him?" "No; but I wish you wouldn't mention my name, Mr. Appleson. I--I don't like--" "Nonsense, Featherton. No one can hear us. But I'm afraid you've done for the chap. I didn't want him harmed." "Oh, I guess Featherton knows how to do it, Appleson," commented the third man. "He's had experience that way, eh, Featherton?" "Yes, Mr. Morse; but if you please I wish you wouldn't mention--" "All right, Featherton, I know what you mean," rejoined the man addressed as Morse. "Now let's see if we have drawn a blank or not. I think he has with him the very thing we want." "Doesn't seem to be about his person," observed Appleson, as he carefully felt about the clothing of the unfortunate Tom. "Very likely not. It's too bulky. But there's his motor-cycle over there. It looks as if what we wanted was on the back of the saddle. Jove, Featherton, but I think he's coming to!" Tom stirred uneasily and moved his arms, while a moan came from between his parted lips. "I've got some stuff that will fix him!" exclaimed the man addressed as Featherton, and who had been operating the automobile. He took something from his pocket and leaned over Tom. In a moment the young inventor was still again. "Quick now, see if it's there," directed Morse, and Appleson hurried over to the machine. "Here it is!" he called. "I'll take it to our car, and we can get away." "Are you going to leave him here like this?" asked Morse. "Yes; why not?" "Because some one might have seen him come in here, and also remember that we, too, came in this direction." "What would you do?" "Take him down the road a way and leave him. We can find some shed near a farmhouse where he and his machine will be out of sight until we get far enough away. Besides, I don't like to leave him so far from help, unconscious as he is." "Oh, you're getting chicken-hearted," said Appleson with a sneer. "However, have your way about it. I wonder what has become of Jake Burke? He was to meet us in Centreford, but he did not show up." "Oh, I shouldn't be surprised if he had trouble in that tramp rig he insisted on adopting. I told him he was running a risk, but he said he had masqueraded as a tramp before." "So he has. He's pretty good at it. Now, Simpson, if you will--" "Not Simpson! I thought you agreed to call me Featherton," interrupted the chauffeur, turning to Morse and Appleson. "Oh, so we did. I forgot that this lad met us one day, and heard me call you Simpson," admitted Morse. "Well, Featherton it shall be. But we haven't much time. It's stopped raining, and the roads will soon be well traveled. We must get away, and if we are to take the lad and his machine to some secluded place, we'd better be at it. No use waiting for Burke. He can look out after himself. Anyhow, we have the model now, and there's no use in him hanging around Swift's shop, as he intended to do, waiting for a chance to sneak in after it. Appleson, if you and Simpson--I mean Featherton--will carry young Swift, I'll shove his wheel along to the auto, and we can put it and him in." The two men, first looking through the hole in the shed to make sure they were not observed, went out, carrying Tom, who was no light load. Morse followed them, pushing the motor-cycle, and carrying under one arm the bundle containing the valuable model, which he had detached. "I think this is the time we get ahead of Mr. Swift," murmured Morse, pulling his black mustache, when he and his companions had reached the car in the field. "We have just what we want now." "Yes, but we had hard enough work getting it," observed Appleson. "Only by luck we saw this lad come in here, or we would have had to chase all over for him, and maybe then we would have missed him. Hurry, Simpson--I mean Featherton. It's getting late, and we've got lots to do." The chauffeur sprang to his seat, Appleson taking his place beside him. The motor-cycle was tied on behind the big touring car, and with the unconscious form of Tom in the tonneau, beside Morse, who stroked his mustache nervously, the auto started off. The storm had passed, and the sun was shining brightly, but Tom could not see it. CHAPTER XV. A VAIN SEARCH Several hours later Tom had a curious dream. He imagined he was wandering about in the polar regions, and that it was very cold. He was trying to reason with himself that he could not possibly be on an expedition searching for the North Pole, still he felt such a keen wind blowing over his scantily-covered body that he shivered. He shivered so hard, in fact, that he shivered himself awake, and when he tried to pierce the darkness that enveloped him he was startled, for a moment, with the idea that perhaps, after all, he had wandered off to some unknown country. For it was quite dark and cold. He was in a daze, and there was a curious smell about him--an odor that he tried to recall. Then, all at once, it came to him what it was--chloroform. Once his father had undergone an operation, and to deaden his pain chloroform had been used. "I've been chloroformed!" exclaimed the young inventor, and his words sounded strange in his ears. "That's it. I've met with an accident riding my motor-cycle. I must have hit my head, for it hurts fearful. They picked me up, carried me to a hospital and have operated on me. I wonder if they took off an arm or leg? I wonder what hospital I'm in? Why is it so dark and cold?" As he asked himself these questions his brain gradually cleared from the haze caused by the cowardly blow, and from the chloroform that had been administered by Featherton. Tom's first act was to feel first of one arm, then the other. Having satisfied himself that neither of these members were mutilated he reached down to his legs. "Why, they're all right, too," he murmured. "I wonder what they did to me? That's certainly, chloroform I smell, and my head feels as if some one had sat on it. I wonder--" Quickly he put up his hands to his head. There appeared to be nothing the matter with it, save that there was quite a lump on the back, where the club had struck. "I seem to be all here," went on Tom, much mystified. "But where am I? That's the question. It's a funny hospital, so cold and dark--" Just then his hands came in contact with the cold ground on which he was lying. "Why, I'm outdoors!" he exclaimed. Then in a flash it all came back to him--how he had gone to wait under the church shed until the rain was over. "I fell asleep, and now it's night," the youth went on. "No wonder I am sore and stiff. And that chloroform--" He could not account for that, and he paused, puzzled once more. Then he struggled to a sitting position. His head was strangely dizzy, but he persisted, and got to his feet. He could see nothing, and groped around in the dark, until he thought to strike a match. Fortunately he had a number in his pocket. As the little flame flared up Tom started in surprise. "This isn't the church shed!" he exclaimed. "It's much smaller! I'm in a different place! Great Scott! but what has happened to me?" The match burned Tom's fingers and he dropped it. The darkness closed in once more, but Tom was used to it by this time, and looking ahead of him he could make out that the shed was an open one, similar to the one where he had taken shelter. He could see the sky studded with stars, and could feel the cold night wind blowing in. "My motor-cycle!" he exclaimed in alarm. "The model of dad's invention--the papers!" Our hero thrust his hand into his pocket. The papers were gone! Hurriedly he lighted another match. It took but an instant to glance rapidly about the small shed. His machine was not in sight! Tom felt his heart sink. After all his precautions he had been robbed. The precious model was gone, and it had been his proposition to take it to Albany in this manner. What would his father say? The lad lighted match after match, and made a rapid tour of the shed. The motor-cycle was not to be seen. But what puzzled Tom more than anything else was how he had been brought from the church shed to the one where he had awakened from his stupor. "Let me try to think," said the boy, speaking aloud, for it seemed to help him. "The last I remember is seeing that automobile, with those mysterious men in, approaching. Then it disappeared in the rain. I thought I heard it again, but I couldn't see it. I was sitting on the log, and--and--well, that's all I can remember. I wonder if those men--" The young inventor paused. Like a flash it came to him that the men were responsible for his predicament. They had somehow made him insensible, stolen his motor-cycle, the papers and the model, and then brought him to this place, wherever it was. Tom was a shrewd reasoner, and he soon evolved a theory which he afterward learned was the correct one. He reasoned out almost every step in the crime of which he was the victim, and at last came to the conclusion that the men had stolen up behind the shed and attacked him. "Now, the next question to settle," spoke Tom, "is to learn where I am. How far did those scoundrels carry me, and what has become of my motor-cycle?" He walked toward the point of the shed where he could observe the stars gleaming, and there he lighted some more matches, hoping he might see his machine. By the gleam of the little flame he noted that he was in a farmyard, and he was just puzzling his brain over the question as to what city or town he might be near when he heard a voice shouting: "Here, what you lightin' them matches for? You want to set the place afire? Who be you, anyhow--a tramp?" It was unmistakably the voice of a farmer, and Tom could hear footsteps approaching on the run. "Who be you, anyhow?" the voice repeated. "I'll have the constable after you in a jiffy if you're a tramp." "I'm not a tramp," called Tom promptly. "I've met with an accident. Where am I?" "Humph! Mighty funny if you don't know where you are," commented the farmer. "Jed, bring a lantern until I take a look at who this is." "All right, pop," answered another voice, and a moment later Tom saw a tall man standing in front of him. "I'll give you a look at me without waiting for the lantern," said Tom quickly, and he struck a match, holding it so that the gleam fell upon his face. "Salt mackerel! It's a young feller!" exclaimed the farmer. "Who be you, anyhow, and what you doin' here?" "That's just what I would like to know," said Tom, passing his hand over his head, which was still paining him. "Am I near Albany? That's where I started for this morning." "Albany? You're a good way from Albany," replied the farmer. "You're in the village of Dunkirk." "How far is that from Centreford?" "About seventy miles." "As far as that?" cried Tom. "They must have carried me a good way in their automobile." "Was you in that automobile?" demanded the farmer. "Which one?" asked Tom quickly. "The one that stopped down the road just before supper. I see it, but I didn't pay no attention to it. If I'd 'a' knowed you fell out, though, I'd 'a' come to help you." "I didn't fall out, Mr.--er--" Tom paused. "Blackford is my name; Amos Blackford." "Well, Mr. Blackford, I didn't fall out. I was drugged and brought here." "Drugged! Salt mackerel! But there's been a crime committed, then. Jed, hurry up with that lantern an' git your deputy sheriff's badge on. There's been druggin' an' all sorts of crimes committed. I've caught one of the victims. Hurry up! My son's a deputy sheriff," he added, by way of an explanation. "Then I hope he can help me catch the scoundrels who robbed me," said Tom. "Robbed you, did they? Hurry up, Jed. There's been a robbery! We'll rouse the neighborhood an' search for the villains. Hurry up, Jed!" "I'd rather find my motor-cycle, and a valuable model which was on it, than locate those men," went on Tom. "They also took some papers from me." Then he told how he had started for Albany, adding his theory of how he had been attacked and carried away in the auto. The latter part of it was borne out by the testimony of Mr. Blackford. "What I know about it," said the farmer, when his son Jed had arrived on the scene with a lantern and his badge, "is that jest about supper time I saw an automobile stop down the road a bit, It was gittin' dusk, an' I saw some men git out. I didn't pay no attention to them, 'cause I was busy about the milkin'. The next I knowed I seen some one strikin' matches in my wagon shed, an' I come out to see what it was." "The men must have brought me all the way from the church shed near Centreford to here," declared Tom. "Then they lifted me out and put me in your shed. Maybe they left my motor-cycle also." "I didn't see nothin' like that," said the farmer. "Is that what you call one of them two-wheeled lickity-split things that a man sits on the middle of an' goes like chain-lightning?" "It is," said Tom. "I wish you'd help me look for it." The farmer and his son agreed, and other lanterns having been secured, a search was made. After about half an hour the motor-cycle was discovered in some bushes at the side of the road, near where the automobile had stopped. But the model was missing from it, and a careful search near where the machine had been hidden did not reveal it. Nor did as careful a hunt as they could make in the darkness disclose any clues to the scoundrels who had drugged and robbed Tom. CHAPTER XVI. BACK HOME "We've got to organize a regular searchin' party," declared Jed Blackford, after he and his father, together with Tom and the farmer's hired man, had searched up and down the road by the light of lanterns. "We'll organize a posse an' have a regular hunt. This is the worst crime that's been committed in this deestrict in many years, an' I'm goin' to run the scoundrels to earth." "Don't be talkin' nonsense, Jed," interrupted his father. "You won't catch them fellers in a hundred years. They're miles an' miles away from here by this time in their automobile. All you can do is to notify the sheriff. I guess we'd better give this young man some attention. Let's see, you said your name was Quick, didn't you?" "No, but it's very similar," answered Tom with a smile. "It's Swift." "I knowed it was something had to do with speed," went on Mr. Blackford. "Wa'al, now, s'pose you come in the house an' have a hot cup of tea. You look sort of draggled out." Tom was glad enough to avail himself of the kind invitation, and he was soon in the comfortable kitchen, relating his story, with more detail, to the farmer and his family. Mrs. Blackford applied some home-made remedies to the lump on the youth's head, and it felt much better. "I'd like to take a look at my motor-cycle," he said, after his second cup of tea. "I want to see if those men damaged it any. If they have I'm going to have trouble getting back home to tell my father of my bad luck. Poor dad! He will be very much worried when I tell him the model and his patent papers have been stolen." "It's too bad!" exclaimed Mrs. Blackford. "I wish I had hold of them scoundrels!" and her usually gentle face bore a severe frown. "Of course you can have your thing-a-ma-bob in to see if it's hurt, but please don't start it in here. They make a terrible racket." "No, I'll look it over in the woodshed," promised Tom. "If it's all right I think I'll start back home at once." "No, you can't do that," declared Mr. Blackford. "You're in no condition to travel. You might fall off an' git hurt. It's nearly ten o'clock now. You jest stay here all night, an' in the mornin', if you feel all right, you can start off. I couldn't let you go to-night." Indeed, Tom did not feel very much like undertaking the journey, for the blow on his head had made him dazed, and the chloroform caused a sick feeling. Mr. Blackford wheeled the motor-cycle into the woodhouse, which opened from the kitchen, and there the youth went over the machine. He was glad to find that it had sustained no damage. In the meanwhile Jed had gone off to tell the startling news to near-by farmers. Quite a throng, with lanterns, went up and down the road, but all the evidence they could find were the marks of the automobile wheels, which clues were not very satisfactory. "But we'll catch them in the mornin'," declared the deputy sheriff. "I'll know that automobile again if I see it. It was painted red." "That's the color of a number of automobiles," said Tom with a smile. "I'm afraid you'll have trouble identifying it by that means. I am surprised, though, that they did not carry my motor-cycle away with them. It is a valuable machine." "They were afraid to," declared Jed. "It would look queer to see a machine like that in an auto. Of course when they were going along country roads in the evening it didn't much matter, but when they headed for the city, as they probably did, they knew it would attract suspicion to 'em. I know, for I've been a deputy sheriff 'most a year." "I believe you're right," agreed Tom. "They didn't dare take the motor-cycle with them, but they hid it, hoping I would not find it. I'd rather have the model and the papers, though, than half a dozen motor-cycles." "Maybe the police will help you find them," said Mrs. Blackford. "Jed, you must telephone to the police the first thing in the morning. It's a shame the way criminals are allowed to go on. If honest people did those things, they'd be arrested in a minute, but it seems that scoundrels can do as they please." "You wait; I'll catch 'em!" declared Jed confidently. "I'll organize another posse in the mornin'." "Well, I know one thing, and that is that the place for this young man is in bed!" exclaimed motherly Mrs. Blackford, and she insisted on Tom retiring. He was somewhat restless at first, and the thought of the loss of the model and the papers preyed on his mind. Then, utterly exhausted, he sank into a heavy slumber, and did not awaken until the sun was shining in his window the next morning. A good breakfast made him feel somewhat better, and he was more like the resourceful Tom Swift of old when he went to get his motor-cycle in shape for the ride back to Shopton. "Well, I hope you find those criminals," said Mr. Blackford, as he watched Tom oiling the machine. "If you're ever out this way again, stop off and see us." "Yes, do," urged Mrs. Blackford, who was getting ready to churn. Her husband looked at the old-fashioned barrel and dasher arrangement, which she was filling with cream. "What's the matter with the new churn?" he asked in some surprise. "It's broken," she replied. "It's always the way with those new-fangled things. It works ever so much nicer than this old one, though," she went on to Tom, "but it gets out of order easy." "Let me look at it," suggested the young inventor. "I know something about machinery." The churn, which worked by a system of cogs and a handle, was brought from the woodshed. Tom soon saw what the trouble was. One of the cogs had become displaced. It did not take him five minutes, with the tools he carried on his motor-cycle, to put it back, and the churn was ready to use. "Well, I declare!" exclaimed Mrs. Blackford. "You are handy at such things!" "Oh, it's just a knack," replied Tom modestly. "Now I'll put a plug in there, and the cog wheel won't come loose again. The manufacturers of it ought to have done that. I imagine lots of people have this same trouble with these churns." "Indeed they do," asserted Mrs. Blackford. "Sallie Armstrong has one, and it got out of order the first week they had it. I'll let her look at mine, and maybe her husband can fix it." "I'd go and do it myself, but I want to get home," said Tom, and then he showed her how, by inserting a small iron plug in a certain place, there would be no danger of the cog coming loose again. "That's certainly slick!" exclaimed Mr. Blackford. "Well, I wish you good luck, Mr. Swift, and if I see those scoundrels around this neighborhood again I'll make 'em wish they'd let you alone." "That's what," added Jed, polishing his badge with his big, red handkerchief. Mrs. Blackford transferred the cream to the new churn which Tom had fixed, and as he rode off down the highway on his motor-cycle, she waved one hand to him, while with the other she operated the handle of the apparatus. "Now for a quick run to Shopton to tell dad the bad news," spoke Tom to himself as he turned on full speed and dashed away. "My trip has been a failure so far." CHAPTER XVII. MR. SWIFT IN DESPAIR Tom was thinking of many things as his speedy machine carried him mile after mile nearer home. By noon he was over half way on his journey, and he stopped in a small village for his dinner. "I think I'll make inquiries of the police here, to see if they caught sight of those men," decided Tom as he left the restaurant. "Though I am inclined to believe they kept on to Albany, or some large city, where they have their headquarters. They will want to make use of dad's model as soon as possible, though what they will do with it I don't know." He tried to telephone to his father, but could get no connection, as the wire was being repaired. The police force of the place where Tom had stopped for lunch was like the town itself--small and not of much consequence. The chief constable, for he was not what one could call a chief of police, had heard of the matter from the alarm sent out in all directions from Dunkirk, where Mr. Blackford lived. "You don't mean to tell me you're the young man who was chloroformed and robbed!" exclaimed the constable, looking at Tom as if he doubted his word. "I'm the young man," declared our hero. "Have you seen anything of the thieves?" "Not a thing, though I've instructed all my men to keep a sharp lookout for a red automobile, with three scoundrels in it. My men are to make an arrest on sight." "How many men have you?" "Two," was the rather surprising answer; "but one has to work on a farm daytimes, so I ain't really got but one in what you might call active service." Tom restrained a desire to laugh. At any rate, the aged constable meant well. "One of my men seen a red automobile, a little while before you come in my office," went on the official, "but it wasn't the one wanted, 'cause a young woman was running it all alone. It struck me as rather curious that a woman would trust herself all alone in one of them things; wouldn't it you?" "Oh, no, women and young ladies often operate them," said Tom. "I should think you'd find one handier than the two-wheeled apparatus you have out there," went on the constable, indicating the motor-cycle, which Tom had stood up against a tree. "I may have one some day," replied the young inventor. "But I guess I'll be moving on now. Here's my address, in case you hear anything of those men, but I don't imagine you will." "Me either. Fellows as slick as them are won't come back this way and run the chance of being arrested by my men. I have two on duty nights," he went on proudly, "besides myself, so you see we're pretty well protected." Tom thanked him for the trouble he had taken, and was soon on his way again. He swept on along the quiet country roads anxious for the time when he could consult with his father over what would be the best course to take. When Tom was about a mile away from his house he saw in the road ahead of him a rickety old wagon, and a second glance at it told him the outfit belonged to Eradicate Sampson, for the animal drawing the vehicle was none other than the mule, Boomerang. "But what in the world is Rad up to?" mused Tom, for the colored man was out of the wagon and was going up and down in the grass at the side of the highway in a curious fashion. "I guess he's lost something," decided Tom. When he got nearer he saw what Eradicate was doing. The colored man was pushing a lawn-mower slowly to and fro in the tall, rank grass that grew beside the thoroughfare, and at the sound of Tom's motor-cycle the negro looked up. There was such a woe-begone expression on his face that Tom at once stopped his machine and got off. "What's the matter, Rad?" Tom asked. "Mattah, Mistah Swift? Why, dere's a pow'ful lot de mattah, an' dat's de truff. I'se been swindled, dat's what I has." "Swindled? How?" "Well, it's dis-a-way. Yo' see dis yeah lawn-moah?" "Yes; it doesn't seem to work," and Tom glanced critically at it. As Eradicate pushed it slowly to and fro, the blades did not revolve, and the wheels slipped along on the grass. "No, sah, it doan't work, an' dat's how I've been swindled, Mistah Swift. Yo' see, I done traded mah ole grindstone off for dis yeah lawn-moah, an' I got stuck." "What, that old grindstone that was broken in two, and that you fastened together with concrete?" asked Tom, for he had seen the outfit with which Eradicate, in spare times between cleaning and whitewashing, had gone about the country, sharpening knives and scissors. "You don't mean that old, broken one?" "Dat's what I mean, Mistah Swift. Why, it was all right. I mended it so dat de break wouldn't show, an' it would sharpen things if yo' run it slow. But dis yeah lawn-moah won't wuk slow ner fast." "I guess it was an even exchange, then," went on Tom. "You didn't get bitten any worse than the other fellow did." "Yo' doan't s'pose yo' kin fix dis yeah moah so's I kin use it, does yo', Mistah Swift?" asked Eradicate, not bothering to go into the ethics of the matter. "I reckon now with summah comin' on I kin make mo' with a lawn-moah than I kin with a grindstone--dat is, ef I kin git it to wuk. I jest got it a while ago an' decided to try it, but it won't cut no grass." "I haven't much time," said Tom, "for I'm anxious to get home, but I'll take a look at it." Tom leaned his motor-cycle against the fence. He could no more pass a bit of broken machinery, which he thought he could mend, than some men and boys can pass by a baseball game without stopping to watch it, no matter how pressed they are for time. It was Tom's hobby, and he delighted in nothing so much as tinkering with machines, from lawn-mowers to steam engines. Tom took hold of the handle, which Eradicate gladly relinquished to him, and his trained touch told him at once what was the trouble. "Some one has had the wheels off and put them on wrong, Rad," he said. "The ratchet and pawl are reversed. This mower would work backwards, if that were possible." "Am dat so, Mistah Swift?" "That's it. All I have to do is to take off the wheels and reverse the pawl." "I--I didn't know mah lawn-moah was named Paul," said the colored man. "Is it writ on it anywhere?" "No, it's not the kind of Paul you mean," said Tom with a laugh. "It's spelled differently. A pawl is a sort of catch that fits into a ratchet wheel and pushes it around, or it may be used as a catch to prevent the backward motion of a windlass or the wheel on a derrick. I'll have it fixed in a jiffy for you." Tom worked rapidly. With a monkey-wrench he removed the two big wheels of the lawn-mower and reversed the pawl in the cogs. In five minutes he had replaced the wheels, and the machine, except for needed sharpening, did good work. "There you are, Rad!" exclaimed Tom at length. "Yo' suah am a wonder at inventin'!" cried the colored man gratefully. "I'll cut yo' grass all summah fo' yo' to pay fo' this, Mistah Swift." "Oh, that's too much. I didn't do a great deal, Rad." "Well, yo' saved me from bein' swindled, Mistah Swift, an' I suah does 'preciate dat." "How about the fellow you traded the cracked grindstone to, Rad?" "Oh, well, ef he done run it slow it won't fly apart, an' he'll do dat, anyhow, fo' he suah am a lazy coon. I guess we am about even there, Mistah Swift." "All right," spoke Tom with a laugh. "Sharpen it up, Rad, and start in to cut grass. It will soon be summer," and Tom, leaping upon his motor-cycle, was off like a shot. He found his father in his library, reading a book on scientific matters. Mr. Swift looked up in surprise at seeing his son. "What! Back so soon?" he asked. "You did make a flying trip. Did you give the model and papers to Mr. Crawford?" "No, dad, I was robbed yesterday. Those scoundrels got ahead of us, after all. They have your model. I tried to telephone to you, but the wires were down, or something." "What!" cried Mr. Swift. "Oh, Tom! That's too bad! I will lose ten thousand dollars if I can't get that model and those papers back!" and with a despairing gesture Mr. Swift rose and began to pace the floor. CHAPTER XVIII. HAPPY HARRY AGAIN Tom watched his father anxiously. The young inventor knew the loss had been a heavy one, and he blamed himself for not having been more careful. "Tell me all about it, Tom," said Mr. Swift at length. "Are you sure the model and papers are gone? How did it happen?" Then Tom related what had befallen him. "Oh, that's too bad!" cried Mr. Swift. "Are you much hurt, Tom? Shall I send for the doctor?" For the time being his anxiety over his son was greater than that concerning his loss. "No, indeed, dad. I'm all right now. I got a bad blow on the head, but Mrs. Blackford fixed me up. I'm awfully sorry---" "There, there! Now don't say another word," interrupted Mr. Swift. "It wasn't your fault. It might have happened to me. I dare say it would, for those scoundrels seemed very determined. They are desperate, and will stop at nothing to make good the loss they sustained on the patent motor they exploited. Now they will probably try to make use of my model and papers." "Do you think they'll do that, dad?" "Yes. They will either make a motor exactly like mine, or construct one so nearly similar that it will answer their purpose. I will have no redress against them, as my patent is not fully granted yet. Mr. Crawford was to attend to that." "Can't you do anything to stop them, dad? File an injunction, or something like that?" "I don't know. I must see Mr. Crawford at once. I wonder if he could come here? He might be able to advise me. I have had very little experience with legal difficulties. My specialty is in other lines of work. But I must do something. Every moment is valuable. I wonder who the men were?" "I'm sure one of them was the same man who came here that night--the man with the black mustache, who dropped the telegram," said Tom. "I had a pretty good look at him as the auto passed me, and I'm sure it was he. Of course I didn't see who it was that struck me down, but I imagine it was some one of the same gang." "Very likely. Well, Tom, I must do something. I suppose I might telegraph to Mr. Crawford--he will be expecting you in Albany--" Mr. Swift paused musingly. "No, I have it!" he suddenly exclaimed. "I'll go to Albany myself." "Go to Albany, dad?" "Yes; I must explain everything to the lawyers and then he can advise me what to do. Fortunately I have some papers, duplicates of those you took, which I can show him. Of course the originals will be necessary before I can prove my claim. The loss of the model is the most severe, however. Without that I can do little. But I will have Mr. Crawford take whatever steps are possible. I'll take the night train, Tom. I'll have to leave you to look after matters here, and I needn't caution you to be on your guard, though, having got what they were after, I fancy those financiers, or their tools, will not bother us again." "Very likely not," agreed Tom, "but I will keep my eyes open, just the same. Oh, but that reminds me, dad. Did you see anything of a tramp around here while I was away?" "A tramp? No; but you had better ask Mrs. Baggert. She usually attends to them. She's so kind-hearted that she frequently gives them a good meal." The housekeeper, when consulted, said that no tramps had applied in the last few days. "Why do you ask, Tom?" inquired his father. "Because I had an experience with one, and I believe he was a member of the same gang who robbed me." And thereupon Tom told of his encounter with Happy Harry, and how the latter had broken the wire on the motor-cycle. "You had a narrow escape," commented Mr. Swift. "If I had known the dangers involved I would never have allowed you to take the model to Albany." "Well, I didn't take it there, after all," said Tom with a grim smile, for he could appreciate a joke. "I must hurry and pack my valise," went on Mr. Swift. "Mrs. Baggert, we will have an early supper, and I will start at once for Albany." "I wish I could go with you, dad, to make up for the trouble I caused," spoke Tom. "Tut, tut! Don't talk that way," advised his father kindly. "I will be glad of the trip. It will ease my mind to be doing something." Tom felt rather lonesome after his father had left, but he laid out a plan of action for himself that he thought would keep him occupied until his father returned. In the first place he made a tour of the house and various machine shops to see that doors and windows were securely fastened. "What's the matter? Do you expect burglars, Master Tom?" asked Garret Jackson, the aged engineer. "Well, Garret, you never can tell," replied the young inventor, as he told of his experience and the necessity for Mr. Swift going to Albany. "Some of those scoundrels, finding how easy it was to rob me, may try it again, and get some at dad's other valuable models. I'm taking no chances." "That's right, Master Tom. I'll keep steam up in the boiler to-night, though we don't really need it, as your father told me you would probably not run any machinery when he was gone. But with a good head of steam up, and a hose handy, I can give any burglars a hot reception. I almost wish they'd come, so I could get square with them." "I don't, Garret. Well, I guess everything is in good shape. If you hear anything unusual, or the alarm goes off during the night, call me." "I will, Master Tom," and the old engineer, who had a living-room in a shack adjoining the boiler-room, locked the door after Tom left. The young inventor spent the early evening in attaching a new wire to his motor-cycle to replace the one he had purchased while on his disastrous trip. The temporary one was not just the proper thing, though it answered well enough. Then, having done some work on a new boat propeller he was contemplating patenting, Tom felt that it was time to go to bed, as he was tired. He made a second round of the house, looking to doors and windows, until Mrs. Baggert exclaimed: "Oh, Tom, do stop! You make me nervous, going around that way. I'm sure I shan't sleep a wink to-night, thinking of burglars and tramps." Tom laughingly desisted, and went up to his room. He sat up a few minutes, writing a letter to a girl of his acquaintance, for, in spite of the fact that the young inventor was very busy with his own and his father's work, he found time for lighter pleasures. Then, as his eyes seemed determined to close of their own accord, if he did not let them, he tumbled into bed. Tom fancied it was nearly morning when he suddenly awoke with a start. He heard a noise, and at first he could not locate it. Then his trained ear traced it to the dining-room. "Why, Mrs. Baggert must be getting breakfast, and is rattling the dishes," he thought. "But why is she up so early?" It was quite dark in Tom's room, save for a little gleam from the crescent moon, and by the light of this Tom arose and looked at his watch. "Two o'clock," he whispered. "That can't be Mrs. Baggert, unless she's sick, and got up to take some medicine." He listened intently. Below, in the dining-room, he could hear stealthy movements. "Mrs. Baggert would never move around like that," he decided. "She's too heavy. I wonder--it's a burglar--one of the gang has gotten in!" he exclaimed in tense tones. "I'm going to catch him at it!" Hurriedly he slipped on some clothes, and then, having softly turned on the electric light in his room, he took from a corner a small rifle, which he made sure was loaded. Then, having taken a small electric flashlight, of the kind used by police men, and sometimes by burglars, he started on tiptoe toward the lower floor. As Tom softly descended the stairs he could more plainly hear the movements of the intruder. He made out now that the burglar was in Mr. Swift's study, which opened from the dining-room. "He's after dad's papers!" thought Tom. "I wonder which one this is?" The youth had often gone hunting in the woods, and he knew how to approach cautiously. Thus he was able to reach the door of the dining-room without being detected. He had no need to flash his light, for the intruder was doing that so frequently with one he carried that Tom could see him perfectly. The fellow was working at the safe in which Mr. Swift kept his more valuable papers. Softly, very softly Tom brought his rifle to bear on the back of the thief. Then, holding the weapon with one hand, for it was very light, Tom extended the electric flash, so that the glare would be thrown on the intruder and would leave his own person in the black shadows. Pressing the spring which caused the lantern to throw out a powerful glow, Tom focused the rays on the kneeling man. "That will be about all!" the youth exclaimed in as steady a voice as he could manage. The burglar turned like a flash, and Tom had a glimpse of his face. It was the tramp--Happy Harry--whom he had encountered on the lonely road. CHAPTER XIX. TOM ON A HUNT Tom held his rifle in readiness, though he only intended it as a means of intimidation, and would not have fired at the burglar except to save his own life. But the sight of the weapon was enough for the tramp. He crouched motionless. His own light had gone out, but by the gleam of the electric he carried Tom could see that the man had in his hand some tool with which he had been endeavoring to force the safe. "I guess you've got me!" exclaimed the intruder, and there was in his tones no trace of the tramp dialect. "It looks like it," agreed Tom grimly. "Are you a tramp now, or in some other disguise?" "Can't you see?" asked the fellow sullenly, and then Tom did notice that the man still had on his tramp make-up. "What do you want?" asked Tom. "Hard to tell," replied the burglar calmly. "I hadn't got the safe open before you came down and disturbed me. I'm after money, naturally." "No, you're not!" exclaimed Tom. "What's that?" and the man seemed surprised. "No, you're not!" went on Tom, and he held his rifle in readiness. "You're after the patent papers and the model of the turbine motor. But it's gone. Your confederates got it away from me. They probably haven't told you yet, and you're still on the hunt for it. You'll not get it, but I've got you." "So I see," admitted Happy Harry, and he spoke with some culture. "If you don't mind," he went on, "would you just as soon move that gun a little? It's pointing right at my head, and it might go off." "It is going off--very soon!" exclaimed Tom grimly, and the tramp started in alarm. "Oh, I'm not going to shoot you," continued the young inventor. "I'm going to fire this as an alarm, and the engineer will come in here and tie you up. Then I'm going to hand you over to the police. This rifle is a repeater, and I am a pretty good shot. I'm going to fire once now, to summon assistance, and if you try to get away I'll be ready to fire a second time, and that won't be so comfortable for you. I've caught you, and I'm going to hold on to you until I get that model and those papers back." "Oh, you are, eh?" asked the burglar calmly. "Well, all I've got to say is that you have grit. Go ahead. I'm caught good and proper. I was foolish to come in here, but I thought I'd take a chance." "Who are you, anyhow? Who are the men working with you to defraud my father of his rights?" asked Tom somewhat bitterly. "I'll never tell you," answered the burglar. "I was hired to do certain work, and that's all there is to it. I'm not going to peach on my pals." "We'll see about that!" burst out Tom. Then he noticed that a dining-room window behind where the burglar was kneeling was open. Doubtless the intruder had entered that way, and intended to escape in the same manner. "I'm going to shoot," announced Tom, and, aiming his rifle at the open window, where the bullet would do no damage, he pressed the trigger. He noticed that the burglar was crouching low down on the floor, but Tom thought nothing of this at the time. He imagined that Happy Harry--or whatever his name was--might be afraid of getting hit. There was a flash of fire and a deafening report as Tom fired. The cloud of smoke obscured his vision for a moment, and as the echoes died away Tom could hear Mrs. Baggert screaming in her room. "It's all right!" cried the young inventor reassuringly. "No one is hurt, Mrs. Baggert!" Then he flashed his light on the spot where the burglar had crouched. As the smoke rolled away Tom peered in vain for a sight of the intruder. Happy Harry was gone! Holding his rifle in readiness, in case he should be attacked from some unexpected quarter, Tom strode forward. He flashed his light in every direction. There was no doubt about it. The intruder had fled. Taking advantage of the noise when the gun was fired, and under cover of the smoke, the burglar had leaped from the open window. Tom guessed as much. He hurried to the casement and peered out, at the same time noticing the cut wire of the burglar alarm. It was quite dark, and he fancied he could hear the noise of some one running rapidly. Aiming his rifle into the air, he fired again, at the same time crying out: "Hold on!" "All right, Master Tom, I'm coming!" called the voice of the engineer from his shack. "Are you hurt? Is Mrs. Baggert murdered? I hear her screaming." "That's pretty good evidence that she isn't murdered," said Tom with a grim smile. "Are you hurt?" again called Mr. Jackson. "No, I'm all right," answered Tom. "Did you see any one running away as you came up?" "No, Master Tom, I didn't. What happened?" "A burglar got in, and I had him cornered, but he got away when I fired to arouse you." By this time the engineer was at the stoop, on which the window opened. Tom unlocked a side door and admitted Mr. Jackson, and then, the incandescent light having been turned on, the two looked around the apartment. Nothing in it had been disturbed, and the safe had not been opened. "I heard him just in time," commented Tom, telling the engineer what had happened. "I wish I had thought to get between him and the window. Then he couldn't have gotten away." "He might have injured you, though," said Mr. Jackson. "We'll go outside now, and look--" "Is any one killed? Are you both murdered?" cried Mrs. Baggert at the dining-room door. "If any one is killed I'm not coming in there. I can't bear the sight of blood." "No one is hurt," declared Tom with a laugh. "Come on in, Mrs. Baggert," and the housekeeper entered, her hair all done up in curl papers. "Oh, my goodness me!" she exclaimed. "When I heard that cannon go off I was sure the house was coming down. How is it some one wasn't killed?" "That wasn't a cannon; it was only my little rifle," said Tom, and then he told again, for the benefit of the housekeeper, the story of what had happened. "We'd better hurry and look around the premises," suggested Mr. Jackson. "Maybe he is hiding, and will come back, or perhaps he has some confederates on the watch." "Not much danger of that," declared Tom. "Happy Harry is far enough away from here now, and so are his confederates, if he had any, which I doubt. Still, it will do no harm to take a look around." A search resulted in nothing, however, and the Swift household had soon settled down again, though no one slept soundly during the remainder of the night. In the morning Tom sent word of what had happened to the police of Shopton. Some officers came out to the house, but, beyond looking wisely at the window by which the burglar had entered and at some footprints in the garden, they could do nothing. Tom wanted to go off on his motor-cycle on a tour of the surrounding neighborhood to see if he could get any clues, but he did not think it would be wise in the absence of his father. He thought it would be better to remain at home, in case any further efforts were made to get possession of valuable models or papers. "There's not much likelihood of that, though," said Tom to the old engineer. "Those fellows have what they want, and are not going to bother us again. I would like to get that model back for dad, though. If they file it and take out a patent, even if he can prove that it is his, it will mean a long lawsuit and he may be defrauded of his rights, after all. Possession is nine points of the law, and part of the tenth, too, I guess." So Tom remained at home and busied himself as well as he could over some new machines he was constructing. He got a telegram from his father that afternoon, stating that Mr. Swift had safely arrived in Albany, and would return the following day. "Did you have any luck, dad?" asked the young inventor, when his father, tired and worn from the unaccustomed traveling, reached home in the evening. "Not much, Tom," was the reply. "Mr. Crawford has gone back to Washington, and he is going to do what he can to prevent those men taking advantage of me." "Did you get any trace of the thieves? Does Mr. Crawford think he can?" "No to both questions. His idea is that the men will remain in hiding for a while, and then, when the matter has quieted down, they will proceed to get a patent on the motor that I invented." "But, in the meanwhile, can't you make another model and get a patent yourself?" "No; there are certain legal difficulties in the way. Besides, those men have the original papers I need. As for the model, it will take me nearly a year to build a new one that will work properly, as it is very complicated. I am afraid, Tom, that all my labor on the turbine motor is thrown away. Those scoundrels will reap the benefit of it." "Oh, I hope not, dad! I'm sure those fellows will be caught. Now that you are back home again, I'm going out on a hunt on my own account. I don't put much faith in the police. It was through me, dad, that you lost your model and the papers, and I'll get them back!" "No, you must not think it was your fault, Tom," said his father. "You could not help it, though I appreciate your desire to recover the missing model." "And I'll do it, too, dad. I'll start to-morrow, and I'll make a complete circuit of the country for a hundred miles around. I can easily do it on my motor-cycle. If I can't get on the trail of the three men who robbed me, maybe I can find Happy Harry." "I doubt it, my son. Still, you may try. Now I must write to Mr. Crawford and tell him about the attempted burglary while I was away. It may give him a clue to work on. I'm afraid you ran quite a risk, Tom." "I didn't think about that, dad. I only wish I had managed to keep that rascal a prisoner." The next day Tom started off on a hunt. He planned to be gone overnight, as he intended to go first to Dunkirk, where Mr. Blackford lived, and begin his search from there. CHAPTER XX. ERADICATE SAWS WOOD The farmer's family, including the son who was a deputy sheriff, was glad to see Tom. Jed said he had "been on the job" ever since the mysterious robbery of Tom had taken place, but though he had seen many red automobiles he had no trace of the three men. From Dunkirk Tom went back over the route he had taken in going from Pompville to Centreford, and made some inquiries in the neighborhood of the church shed, where he had taken shelter. The locality was sparsely settled, however, and no one could give any clues to the robbers. The young inventor next made a trip over the lonely, sandy road, where he had met with the tramp, Happy Harry. But there were even fewer houses near that stretch than around the church, so he got no satisfaction there. Tom spent the night at a country inn, and resumed his search the next morning, but with no results. The men had apparently completely disappeared, leaving no traces behind them. "I may as well go home," thought Tom, as he was riding his motor-cycle along a pleasant country road. "Dad may be worried, and perhaps something has turned up in Shopton that will aid me. If there isn't, I'm going to start out again in a few days in another direction." There was no news in Shopton, however. Tom found his father scarcely able to work, so worried was he over the loss of his most important invention. Two weeks passed, the young machinist taking trips of several days' duration to different points near his home, in the hope of discovering something. But he was unsuccessful, and, in the meanwhile, no reassuring word was received from the lawyers in Washington. Mr. Crawford wrote that no move had yet been made by the thieves to take out patent papers, and while this, in a sense, was some aid to Mr. Swift, still he could not proceed on his own account to protect his new motor. All that could be done was to await the first movement on the part of the scoundrels. "I think I'll try a new plan to-morrow, dad," announced Tom one night, when he and his father had talked over again, for perhaps the twentieth time, the happenings of the last few weeks. "What is it, Tom?" asked the inventor. "Well, I think I'll take a week's trip on my machine. I'll visit all the small towns around here, but, instead of asking in houses for news of the tramp or his confederates, I'll go to the police and constables. I'll ask if they have arrested any tramps recently, and, if they have, I'll ask them to let me see the 'hobo' prisoners." "What good will that do?" "I'll tell you. I have an idea that though the burglar who got in here may not be a regular tramp, yet he disguises himself like one at times, and may be known to other tramps. If I can get on the trail of Happy Harry, as he calls himself, I may locate the other men. Tramps would be very likely to remember such a peculiar chap as Happy Harry, and they will tell me where they had last seen him. Then I will have a starting point." "Well, that may be a good plan," assented Mr. Swift. "At any rate it will do no harm to try. A tramp locked up in a country police station will very likely be willing to talk. Go ahead with that scheme, Tom, but don't get into any danger. How long will you be away?" "I don't know. A week, perhaps; maybe longer. I'll take plenty of money with me, and stop at country hotels overnight." Tom lost no time in putting his plan into execution. He packed some clothes in a grip, which he attached to the rear of his motor-cycle, and then having said good-by to his father, started off. The first three days he met with no success. He located several tramps in country lock-ups, where they had been sent for begging or loitering, but none of them knew Happy Harry or had ever heard of a tramp answering his description. "He ain't one of us, youse can make up your mind to dat," said one "hobo" whom Tom interviewed. "No real knight of de highway goes around in a disguise. We leaves dat for de story-book detectives. I'm de real article, I am, an' I don't know Happy Harry. But, fer dat matter, any of us is happy enough in de summer time, if we don't strike a burgh like dis, where dey jugs you fer panhandlin'." In general, Tom found the tramp willing enough to answer his questions, though some were sullen, and returned only surly growls to his inquiries. "I guess I'll have to give it up and go back home," he decided one night. But there was a small town, not many miles from Shopton, which he had not yet visited, and he resolved to try there before returning. Accordingly, the next morning found him inquiring of the police authorities in Meadton. But no tramps had been arrested in the last month, and no one had seen anything of a tramp like Happy Harry or three mysterious men in an automobile. Tom was beginning to despair. Riding along a silent road, that passed through a strip of woods, he was trying to think of some new line of procedure, when the silence of the highway, that, hitherto, had resounded only with the muffled explosions of his machine, was broken by several exclamations. "Now, Boomerang, yo' might jest as well start now as later," Tom heard a voice saying--a voice he recognized well. "Yo' hab got t' do dis yeah wuk, an' dere ain't no gittin' out ob it. Dis yeah wood am got to be sawed, an' yo' hab got to saw it. But it am jest laik yo' to go back on yo' ole friend Eradicate in dis yeah fashion. I neber could tell what yo' were gwine t' do next, an' I cain't now. G'lang, now, won't yo'? Let's git dis yeah sawmill started." Tom shut off the power and leaped from his wheel. From the woods at his left came the protesting "hee-haw" of a mule. "Boomerang and Eradicate Sampson!" exclaimed the young inventor. "What can they be doing here?" He leaned his motor-cycle against the fence and advanced toward where he had heard the voice of the colored man. In a little clearing he saw him. Eradicate was presiding over a portable sawmill, worked by a treadmill, on the incline of which was the mule, its ears laid back, and an unmistakable expression of anger on its face. "Why, Rad, what are you doing?" cried Tom. "Good land o' massy! Ef it ain't young Mistah Swift!" cried the darky. "Howdy, Mistah Swift! Howdy! I'm jest tryin' t' saw some wood, t' make a livin', but Boomerang he doan't seem t' want t' lib," and with that Eradicate looked reproachfully at the animal. "What seems to be the trouble, and how did you come to own this sawmill?" asked Tom. "I'll tell yo', Mistah Swift, I'll tell yo'," spoke Eradicate. "Sit right yeah on dis log, an' I'll explanation it to yo'." "The last time I saw you, you were preparing to go into the grass-cutting business," went on Tom. "Yais, sah! Dat's right. So I was. Yo' has got a memory, yo' suah has. But it am dis yeah way. Grass ain't growin' quick enough, an' so I traded off dat lawn-moah an' bought dis yeah mill. But now it won't go, an' I suah am in trouble," and once more Eradicate Sampson looked indignantly at Boomerang. CHAPTER XXI. ERADICATE GIVES A CLUE "Tell me all about it," urged Tom sympathetically, for he had a friendly feeling toward the aged darky. "Well," began Eradicate, "I suah thought I were gwine to make money cuttin' grass, 'specially after yo' done fixed mah moah. But 'peared laik nobody wanted any grass cut. I trabeled all ober, an' I couldn't git no jobs. Now me an' Boomerang has to eat, no mattah ef he is contrary, so I had t' look fo' some new wuk. I traded dat lawn-moah off fo' a cross-cut saw, but dat was such hard wuk dat I gib it up. Den I got a chance to buy dis yeah outfit cheap, an' I bought it." Eradicate then went on to tell how he had purchased the portable sawmill from a man who had no further use for it, and how he had managed to transport it from a distant village to the spot where Tom had met him. There he had secured permission to work a piece of woodland on shares, sawing up the smaller trees into cord wood. He had started in well enough, cutting down considerable timber, for the colored man was a willing worker, but when he tried to start his mill he met with trouble. "I counted on Boomerang helpin' me," he said to Tom. "All he has to do is walk on dat tread mill, an' keep goin'. Dat makes de saw go 'round, an' I saws de wood. But de trouble am dat I can't git Boomerang to move. I done tried ebery means I knows on, an' he won't go. I talked kind to him, an' I talked harsh. I done beat him wif a club, an' I rub his ears soft laik, an' he allers did laik dat, but he won't go. I fed him on carrots an' I gib him sugar, an' I eben starve him, but he won't go. Heah I been tryin' fo' three days now t' git him started, an' not a stick hab I sawed. De man what I'm wukin' wif on shares he git mad, an' he say ef I doan't saw wood pretty soon he gwine t' git annuder mill heah. Now I axes yo' fair, Mistah Swift, ain't I got lots ob trouble?" "You certainly seem to have," agreed Tom "But why is Boomerang so obstinate? Usually on a treadmill a horse or a mule has to work whether they like it or not. If they don't keep moving the platform slides out from under them, and they come up against the back bar." "Dat's what done happened to Boomerang," declared Eradicate. "He done back up against de bar, an' dere he stay." Tom went over and looked at the mill. The outfit was an old one, and had seen much service, but the trained eye of the young inventor saw that it could still be used effectively. Boomerang watched Tom, as though aware that something unusual was about to happen. "Heah I done gone an' 'vested mah money in dis yeah mill," complained Eradicate, "an' I ain't sawed up a single stick. Ef I wasn't so kind-hearted I'd chastise dat mule wuss dan I has, dat's what I would." Tom said nothing. He was stooping down, looking at the gearing that connected the tread mill with the shaft which revolved the saw. Suddenly he uttered an exclamation, "Rad, have you been monkeying with this machinery?" he asked. "Me? Good land, Mistah Swift, no, sah! I wouldn't tech it. It's jest as I got it from de man I bought it off. It worked when he had it, but he used a hoss. It's all due to de contrariness ob Boomerang, an' if I--" "No, it isn't the mule's fault at all!" exclaimed Tom. "The mill is out of gear, and tread is locked; that's all. The man you bought it off probably did it so you could haul it along the road. I'll have it fixed for you in a few minutes. Wait until I get some tools." From the bag on his motor-cycle Tom got his implements. He first unlocked the treadmill, so that the inclined platform, on which the animal slowly walked, could revolve. No sooner had he done this than Boomerang, feeling the slats under his hoofs moving away, started forward. With a rattle the treadmill slid around. "Good land o' massy! It's goin'!" cried Eradicate delightedly. "It suah am goin'!" he added as he saw the mule, with nimble feet, send the revolving, endless string of slats around and around. "But de saw doan't move, Mistah Swift. Yo' am pretty smart at fixin' it as much as yo' has, but I reckon it's too busted t' eber saw any wood. I'se got bad luck, dat's what I has." "Nonsense!" exclaimed Tom. "The sawmill will be going in a moment. All I have to do is to throw it into gear. See here, Rad. When you want the saw to go you just throw this handle forward. That makes the gears mesh." "What's dat 'bout mush?" asked Eradicate. "Mesh--not mush. I mean it makes the cogs fit together. See," and Tom pressed the lever. In an instant, with a musical whirr, the saw began revolving. "Hurrah! Dere it goes! Golly! see de saw move!" cried the delighted colored man. He seized a stick of wood, and in a trice it was sawed through. "Whoop!" yelled Eradicate. "I'm sabed now! Bless yo', Mistah Swift, yo' suttinly am a wondah!" "Now I'll show you how it works," went on Tom. "When you want to stop Boomerang, you just pull this handle. That locks the tread, and he can't move it," and, suiting the action to his words, Tom stopped the mill. "Then," he went on, "when you want him to move, you pull the handle this way," and he showed the darky how to do it. In a moment the mule was moving again. Then Tom illustrated how to throw the saw in and out of gear, and in a few minutes the sawmill was in full operation, with a most energetic colored man feeding in logs to be cut up into stove lengths. "You ought to have an assistant, Rad," said Tom, after he had watched the work for a while. "You could get more done then, and move on to some other wood-patch." "Dat's right, Mistah Swift, so I had. But I 'done tried, an' couldn't git any. I ast seberal colored men, but dey'd radder whitewash an' clean chicken coops. I guess I'll hab t' go it alone. I ast a white man yisterday ef he wouldn't like t' pitch in an' help, but he said he didn't like to wuk. He was a tramp, an' he had de nerve to ask me fer money--me, a hard-wukin' coon." "You didn't give it to him, I hope." "No, indeedy, but he come so close to me dat I was askeered he might take it from me, so I kept hold ob a club. He suah was a bad-lookin' tramp, an' he kept laffin' all de while, like he was happy." "What's that?" cried Tom, struck by the words of the colored man. "Did he have a thick, brown beard?" "Dat's what he had," answered Eradicate, pausing in the midst of his work. "He suah were a funny sort ob tramp. His hands done looked laik he neber wuked, an' he had a funny blue ring one finger, only it wasn't a reg'lar ring, yo' know. It was pushed right inter his skin, laik a man I seen at de circus once, all cobered wid funny figgers." Tom leaped to his feet. "Which finger was the blue ring tattooed on?" he asked, and he waited anxiously for the answer. "Let me see, it were on de right--no, it were on de little finger ob de left hand." "Are you sure, Rad?" "Suah, Mistah Swift. I took 'tic'lar notice, 'cause he carried a stick in dat same hand." "It must be my man--Happy Harry!" exclaimed Tom half aloud. "Which way did he go, Rad, after he left you?" "He went up de lake shore," replied the colored man. "He asked me if I knowed ob an ole big house up dere, what nobody libed in, an' I said I did. Den he left, an' I were glad ob it." "Which house did you mean, Rad?" "Why, dat ole mansion what General Harkness used t' lib in befo' de wah. Dere ain't nobody libed in it fo' some years now, an' it's deserted. Maybe a lot ob tramps stays in it, an' dat's where dis man were goin'." "Maybe," assented Tom, who was all excitement now. "Just where is this old house, Rad?" "Away up at de head ob Lake Carlopa. I uster wuk dere befo' de wah, but it's been a good many years since quality folks libed dere. Why, did yo' want t' see dat man, Mistah Swift?" "Yes, Rad, I did, and very badly, too. I think he is the very person I want. But don't say anything about it. I'm going to take a trip up to that strange mansion. Maybe I'll get on the trail of Happy Harry and the men who robbed me. I'm much obliged to you, Rad, for this information. It's a good clue, I think. Strange that you should meet the very tramp I've been searching for." "Well, I suah am obliged to yo', Mistah Swift, fo' fixin' mah sawmill." "That's all right. What you told me more than pays for what I did, Rad. Well, I'm going home now to tell dad, and then I'm going to start out. Yesterday, you said it was, you saw Happy Harry? Well, I'll get right after him," and leaving a somewhat surprised, but very much delighted, colored man behind him, Tom mounted his motor-cycle and started for home at a fast pace. CHAPTER XXII. THE STRANGE MANSION "Dad, I've got a clue!" exclaimed Tom, hurrying into the house late that afternoon, following a quick trip from where he had met Eradicate with his sawmill. "A good clue, and I'm going to start early in the morning to run it down." "Wait a minute, now, Tom," cautioned his father slowly. "You know what happens when you get excited. Nothing good was ever done in a hurry." "Well, I can't help being excited, dad. I think I'm on the trail of those scoundrels. I almost wish I could start to-night." "Suppose you tell me all about it," and Mr. Swift laid aside a scientific book he was reading. Whereupon Tom told of his meeting with the colored man, and what Eradicate had said about the tramp. "But he may not be the same Happy Harry you are looking for," interposed Mr. Swift. "Tramps who don't like to work, and who have a jolly disposition, also those who ask for money and have designs tattooed on their hands, are very common." "Oh, but I'm sure this is the same one," declared Tom. "He wants to stay in this neighborhood until he locates his confederates. That's why he's hanging around. Now I have an idea that the deserted mansion, where Eradicate used to work, and which once housed General Harkness and his family, is the rendezvous of this gang of thieves." "You are taking a great deal for granted, Tom." "I don't think so, dad. I've got to assume something, and maybe I'm wrong, but I don't think so. At any rate, I'm going to try, if you'll let me." "What do you mean to do?" "I want to go to that deserted mansion and see what I can find. If I locate the thieves, well--" "You may run into danger." "Then you admit I may be on the right track, dad?" "Not at all," and Mr. Swift smiled at the quick manner in which Tom turned the tables on him. "I admit there may be a band of tramps in that house. Very likely there is--almost any deserted place would be attractive to them. But they may not be the ones you seek. In fact, I hardly see how they can be. The men who stole my model and patent papers are wealthy. They would not be very likely to stay in deserted houses." "Perhaps some of the scoundrels whom they hired might, and through them I can get on the track of the principals." "Well, there is something in that," admitted Mr. Swift. "Then may I go, dad?" "I suppose so. We must leave nothing untried to get back the stolen model and papers. But I don't want you to run any risks. If you would only take some one with you. There's your chum, Ned Newton. Perhaps he would go." "No, I'd rather work it alone, dad. I'll be careful. Besides, Ned could not get away from the bank. I may have to be gone a week, and he has no motor-cycle. I can manage all right." Tom was off bright and early. He had carefully laid his plans, and had decided that he would not go direct to Pineford, which was the nearest village to the old Harkness mansion. "If those fellows are in hiding they will probably keep watch on who comes to the village," thought Tom. "The arrival of some one on a motor-cycle will be sure to be reported to them, and they may skip out. I've got to come up from another direction, so I think I'll circle around, and reach the mansion from the stretch of woods on the north." He had inquired from Eradicate as to the lay of the land, and had a good general idea of it. He knew there was a patch of woodland on one side of the mansion, while the other sides were open. "I may not be able to ride through the woods," mused Tom, "but I'll take my machine as close as I can, and walk the rest of the way. Once I discover whether or not the gang is in the place, I'll know what to do." To follow out the plan he had laid down for himself meant that Tom must take a roundabout way. It would necessitate being a whole day on the road, before he would be near the head of Lake Carlopa, where the Harkness house was located. The lake was a large one, and Tom had never been to the upper end. When he was within a few miles of Pineford, Tom took a road that branched off and went around it. Stopping at night in a lonely farmhouse, he pushed on the next morning, hoping to get to the woods that night. But a puncture to one of the tires delayed him, and after that was repaired he discovered something wrong with his batteries. He had to go five miles out of his way to get new cells, and it was dusk when he came to the stretch of woods which he knew lay between him and the old mansion. "I don't fancy starting in there at night," said Tom to himself. "Guess I'd better stay somewhere around here until morning, and then venture in. But the question is where to stay?" The country was deserted, and for a mile or more he had seen no houses. He kept on for some distance farther, the dusk falling rapidly, and when he was about to turn back to retrace his way to the last farmhouse he had passed, he saw a slab shanty at the side of the road. "That's better than nothing, provided they'll take me in for the night," murmured Tom. "I'm going to ask, anyhow." He found the shanty to be inhabited by an old man who made a living burning charcoal. The place was not very attractive, but Tom did not mind that, and finding the charcoal-burner a kindly old fellow, soon made a bargain with him to remain all night. Tom slept soundly, in spite of his strange surroundings, and after a simple breakfast in the morning inquired of the old man the best way of penetrating the forest. "You'd best strike right along the old wood road," said the charcoal-burner. "That leads right to the lake, and I think will take you where you want to go. The old mansion is not far from the lake shore." "Near the lake, eh?" mused Tom as he started off, after thanking the old fellow. "Now I wonder if I'd better try to get to it from the water or the land side?" He found it impossible to ride fast on the old wood road, and when he judged he was so close to the lake that the noise of his motor-cycle might be heard, he shut off the power, and walked along, pushing it. It was hard traveling, and he felt weary, but he kept on, and about noon was rewarded by a sight of something glittering through the trees. "That's the lake!" Tom exclaimed, half aloud. "I'm almost there." A little later, having hidden his motor-cycle in a clump of bushes, he made his way through the underbrush and stood on the shore of Lake Carlopa. Cautiously Tom looked about him. It was getting well on in the afternoon, and the sun was striking across the broad sheet of water. Tom glanced up along the shore. Something amid a clump of trees caught his eyes. It was the chimney of a house. The young inventor walked a little distance along the lake shore. Suddenly he saw, looming up in the forest, a large building. It needed but a glance to show that it was falling into ruins, and had no signs of life about it. Nor, for that matter, was there any life in the forest around him, or on the lake that stretched out before him. "I wonder if that can be the place?" whispered Tom, for, somehow, the silence of the place was getting on his nerves. "It must be it," he went on. "It's just as Rad described it." He stood looking at it, the sun striking full on the mysterious mansion, hidden there amid the trees. Suddenly, as Tom looked, he heard the "put-put" of a motor-boat. He turned to one side, and saw, putting out from a little dock that he had not noticed before, a small craft. It contained one man, and no sooner had the young inventor caught a glimpse of him than he cried out: "That's the man who jumped over our fence and escaped!" Then, before the occupant of the boat could catch sight of him, Tom turned and fled back into the bushes, out of view. CHAPTER XXIII. TOM IS PURSUED Tom was so excited that he hardly knew what to do. His first thought was to keep out of sight of the man in the boat, for the young inventor did not want the criminals to suspect that he was on their trail. To that end he ran back until he knew he could not be seen from the lake. There he paused and peered through the bushes. He caught a glimpse of the man in the motor-boat. The craft was making fast time across the water. "He didn't see me," murmured Tom. "Lucky I saw him first. Now what had I better do?" It was a hard question to answer. If he only had some one with whom to consult he would have felt better, but he knew he had to rely on himself. Tom was a resourceful lad, and he had often before been obliged to depend on his wits. But this time very much was at stake, and a false move might ruin everything. "This is certainly the house," went on Tom, "and that man in the boat is one of the fellows who helped rob me. Now the next thing to do is to find out if the others of the gang are in the old mansion, and, if they are, to see if dad's model and papers are there. Then the next thing to do will be to get our things away, and I fancy I'll have no easy job." Well might Tom think this, for the men with whom he had to deal were desperate characters, who had already dared much to accomplish their ends, and who would do more before they would suffer defeat. Still, they under-estimated the pluck of the lad who was pitted against them. "I might as well proceed on a certain plan, and have some system about this affair," reasoned the lad. "Dad is a great believer in system, so I'll lay out a plan and see how nearly I can follow it. Let's see--what is the first thing to do?" Tom considered a moment, going over the whole situation in his mind. Then he went on, talking to himself alone there in the woods: "It seems to me the first thing to do is to find out if the men are in the house. To do that I've got to get closer and look in through a window. Now, how to get closer?" He considered that problem from all sides. "It will hardly do to approach from the lake shore," he reasoned, "for if they have a motor-boat and a dock, there must be a path from the house to the water. If there is a path people are likely to walk up or down it at any minute. The man in the boat might come back unexpectedly and catch me. No, I can't risk approaching from the lake shore. I've got to work my way up to the house by going through the woods. That much is settled. Now to approach the house, and when I get within seeing distance I'll settle the next point. One thing at a time is a good rule, as dad used to say. Poor dad! I do hope I can get his model and papers back for him." Tom, who had been sitting on a log under a bush, staring at the lake, arose. He was feeling rather weak and faint, and was at a loss to account for it, until he remembered that he had had no dinner. "And I'm not likely to get any," he remarked. "I'm not going to eat until I see who's in that house. Maybe I won't then, and where supper is coming from I don't know. But this is too important to be considered in the same breath with a meal. Here goes." Cautiously Tom made his way forward, taking care not to make too much disturbance in the bushes. He had been on hunting trips, and knew the value of silence in the woods. He had no paths to follow, but he had noted the position of the sun, and though that luminary was now sinking lower and lower in the west, he could see the gleam of it through the trees, and knew in which direction from it lay the deserted mansion. Tom moved slowly, and stopped every now and then to listen. All the sounds he heard were those made by the creatures of the woods--birds, squirrels and rabbits. He went forward for half an hour, though in that time he did not cover much ground, and he was just beginning to think that the house must be near at hand when through a fringe of bushes he saw the old mansion. It stood in the midst of what had once been a fine park, but which was now overgrown with weeds and tangled briars. The paths that led to the house were almost out of sight, and the once beautiful home was partly in ruins. "I guess I can sneak up there and take a look in one of the windows," thought the young inventor. He was about to advance, when he suddenly stopped. He heard some one or some thing coming around the corner of the mansion. A moment later a man came into view, and Tom easily recognized him as one of those who had been in the automobile. The heart of the young inventor beat so hard that he was afraid the man would hear it, and Tom crouched down in the bushes to keep out of sight. The man evidently did not suspect the presence of a stranger, for, though he cast sharp glances into the tangled undergrowth that fringed the house like a hedge, he did not seek to investigate further. He walked slowly on, making a circuit of the grounds. Tom remained hidden for several minutes, and was about to proceed again, when the man reappeared. Then Tom saw the reason for it. "He's on guard!" the lad said to himself. "He's doing sentry duty. I can't approach the house when he's there." For an instant Tom felt a bitter disappointment. He had hoped to be able to carry out his plan as he had mapped it. Now he would have to make a change. "I'll have to wait until night," he thought. "Then I can sneak up and look in. The guard won't see me after dark. But it's going to be no fun to stay here, without anything to eat. Still, I've got to do it." He remained where he was in the bushes. Several times, before the sun set, the man doing sentry duty made the circuit of the house, and Tom noted that occasionally he was gone for a long period. He reasoned that the man had gone into the mansion to confer with his confederates. "If I only knew what was going on in there," thought Tom. "Maybe, after all, the men haven't got the model and papers here. Yet, if they haven't, why are they staying in the old house? I must get a look in and see what's going on. Lucky there are no shades to the windows. I wish it would get dark." It seemed that the sun would never go down and give place to dusk, but finally Tom, crouching in his hiding place, saw the shadows grow longer and longer, and finally the twilight of the woods gave place to a density that was hard to penetrate. Tom waited some time to see if the guard kept up the circuit, but with the approach of night the man seemed to have gone into the house. Tom saw a light gleam out from the lonely mansion. It came from a window on the ground floor. "There's my chance!" exclaimed the lad, and, crawling from his hiding place, he advanced cautiously toward it. Tom went forward only a few feet at a time, pausing almost every other step to listen. He heard no sounds, and was reassured. Nearer and nearer he came to the old house. The gleam of the light fell upon his face, and fearful that some one might be looking from the window, he shifted his course, so as to come up from one side. Slowly, very slowly he advanced, until he was right under the window. Then he found that it was too high up to admit of his looking in. He felt about until he had a stone to stand on. Softly he drew himself up inch by inch. He could hear the murmur of voices in the room. Now the top of his head was on a level with the sill. A few more inches and his eyes could take in the room and the occupants. He was scarcely breathing. Up, up he raised himself until he could look into the apartment, and the sight which met his eyes nearly caused him to lose his hold and topple backward. For grouped around a table in a big room were the three men whom he had seen in the automobile. But what attracted his attention more than the sight of the men was an object on the table. It was the stolen model! The men were inspecting it, and operating it, as he could see. One of the trio had a bundle of papers in his hand, and Tom was sure they were the ones stolen from him. But there could be no doubt about the model of the turbine motor. There it was in plain sight. He had tracked the thieves to their hiding place. Then, as he watched, Tom saw one of the men produce from under the table a box, into which the model was placed. The papers were next put in, and a cover was nailed on. Then the men appeared to consult among themselves. By their gestures Tom concluded that they were debating where to hide the box. One man pointed toward the lake, and another toward the forest. Tom was edging himself up farther, in order to see better, and, if possible, catch their words, when his foot slipped, and he made a slight noise. Instantly the men turned toward the window, but Tom had stooped down out of sight, just in time. A moment later, however, he heard some one approaching through the woods behind him, and a voice called out: "What are you doing? Get away from there!" Rapid footsteps sounded, and Tom, in a panic, turned and fled, with an unknown pursuer after him. CHAPTER XXIV. UNEXPECTED HELP Tom rushed on through the woods. The lighted room into which he had been looking had temporarily blinded him when it came to plunging into the darkness again, and he could not see where he was going. He crashed full-tilt into a tree, and was thrown backward. Bruised and cut, he picked himself up and rushed off in another direction. Fortunately he struck into some sort of a path, probably one made by cows, and then, as his eyes recovered their faculties, he could dimly distinguish the trees on either side of him and avoid them. His heart, that was beating fiercely, calmed down after his first fright, and when he had run on for several minutes he stopped. "That--that must--have been--the--the man--from the boat," panted our hero, whispering to himself. "He came back and saw me. I wonder if he's after me yet?" Tom listened. The only sound he could hear was the trill and chirp of the insects of the woods. The pursuit, which had lasted only a few minutes, was over. But it might be resumed at any moment. Tom was not safe yet, he thought, and he kept on. "I wonder where I am? I wonder where my motor-cycle is? I wonder what I had better do?" he asked himself. Three big questions, and no way of settling them; Tom pulled himself up sharply. "I've got to think this thing out," he resumed. "They can't find me in these woods to-night, that's sure, unless they get dogs, and they're not likely to do that. So I'm safe that far. But that's about all that is in my favor. I won't dare to go back to the house, even if I could find it in this blackness, which is doubtful. It wouldn't be safe, for they'll be on guard now. It looks as though I was up against it. I'm afraid they may imagine the police are after them, and go away. If they do, and take the model and papers with them, I'll have an awful job to locate them again, and probably I won't be able to. That's the worst of it. Here I have everything right under my hands, and I can't do a thing. If I only had some one to help me; some one to leave on guard while I went for the police. I'm one against three--no, four, for the man in the boat is back. Let's see what can I do?" Then a sudden plan came to him. "The lake shore!" he exclaimed, half aloud. "I'll go down there and keep watch. If they escape they'll probably go in the boat, for they wouldn't venture through the woods at night. That's it. I'll watch on shore, and if they do leave in the boat--" He paused again, undecided. "Why, if they do," he finished, "I'll sing out, and make such a row that they'll think the whole countryside is after them. That may drive them back, or they may drop the box containing the papers and model, and cut for it. If they do I'll be all right. I don't care about capturing them, if I can get dad's model back." He felt more like himself, now that he had mapped out another plan. "The first thing to do is to locate the lake," reasoned Tom. "Let's see; I ran in a straight line away from the house--that is, as nearly straight as I could. Now if I turn around and go straight back, bearing off a little to the left, I ought to come to the water. I'll do it." But it was not so easy as Tom imagined, and several times he found himself in the midst of almost impenetrable bushes. He kept on, however, and soon had the satisfaction of emerging from the woods out on the shore of the lake. Then, having gotten his bearings as well as he could in the darkness, he moved down until he was near the deserted house. The light was still showing from the window, and Tom judged by this that the men had not taken fright and fled. "I suppose I could sneak down and set the motor-boat adrift," he argued. "That would prevent them leaving by way of the lake, anyhow. That's what I'll do! I'll cut off one means of escape. I'll set the boat adrift!" Very cautiously he advanced toward where he had seen the small craft put out. He was on his guard, for he feared the men would be on the watch, but he reached the dock in safety, and was loosening the rope that tied the boat to the little wharf when another thought came to him. "Why set this boat adrift?" he reasoned. "It is too good a boat to treat that way, and, besides, it will make a good place for me to spend the rest of the night. I've got to stay around here until morning, and then I'll see if I can't get help. I'll just appropriate this boat for my own use. They have dad's model, and I'll take their boat." Softly he got into the craft, and with an oar which was kept in it to propel it in case the engine gave out, he poled it along the shore of the lake until he was some distance away from the dock. That afternoon he had seen a secluded place along the shore, a spot where overhanging bushes made a good hiding place, and for this he headed the craft. A little later it was completely out of sight, and Tom stretched out on the cushioned seats, pulling a tarpaulin over him. There he prepared to spend the rest of the night. "They can't get away except through the woods now, which I don't believe they'll do," he thought, "and this is better for me than staying out under a tree. I'm glad I thought of it." The youth, naturally, did not pass a very comfortable night, though his bed was not a half bad one. He fell into uneasy dozes, only to arouse, thinking the men in the old mansion were trying to escape. Then he would sit up and listen, but he could hear nothing. It seemed as if morning would never come, but at length the stars began to fade, and the sky seemed overcast with a filmy, white veil. Tom sat up, rubbed his smarting eyes, and stretched his cramped limbs. "Oh, for a hot cup of coffee!" he exclaimed. "But not for mine, until I land these chaps where they belong. Now the question is, how can I get help to capture them?" His hunger was forgotten in this. He stepped from the boat to a secluded spot on the shore. The craft, he noted, was well hidden. "I've got to go back to where I left my motor-cycle, jump on that, and ride for aid," he reasoned. "Maybe I can get the charcoal-burner to go for me, while I come back and stand guard. I guess that would be the best plan. I certainly ought to be on hand, for there is no telling when these fellows will skip out with the model, if they haven't gone already. I hate to leave, yet I've got to. It's the only way. I wish I'd done as dad suggested, and brought help. But it's too late for that. Well, I'm off." Tom took a last look at the motor-boat, which was a fine one. He wished it was his. Then he struck through the woods. He had his bearings now, and was soon at the place where he had left his machine. It had not been disturbed. He caught a glimpse of the old mansion on his way out of the woods. There appeared to be no one stirring about it. "I hope my birds haven't flown!" he exclaimed, and the thought gave him such uneasiness that he put it from him. Pushing his heavy machine ahead of him until he came to a good road, he mounted it, and was soon at the charcoal-burner's shack. There came no answer to his knock, and Tom pushed open the door. The old man was not in. Tom could not send him for help. "My luck seems to be against me!" he murmured. "But I can get something to eat here, anyhow. I'm almost starved!" He found the kitchen utensils, and made some coffee, also frying some bacon and eggs. Then, feeling much refreshed, and having left on the table some money to pay for the inroad he had made on the victuals, he started to go outside. As our hero stepped to the door he was greeted by a savage growl that made him start in alarm. "A dog!" he mused. "I didn't know there was one around." He looked outside and there, to his dismay, saw a big, savage-appearing bulldog standing close to where he had left his motor-cycle. The animal had been sniffing suspiciously at the machine. "Good dog!" called Tom. "Come here!" But the bulldog did not come. Instead the beast stood still, showed his teeth to Tom and growled in a low tone. "Wonder if the owner can be near?" mused the young inventor. "That dog won't let me get my machine, I am afraid." Tom spoke to the animal again and again the dog growled and showed his teeth. He next made a move as if to leap into the house, and Tom quickly stepped back and banged shut the door. "Well, if this isn't the worst yet!" cried the youth to himself. "Here, just at the time I want to be off, I must be held up by such a brute as that outside. Wonder how long he'll keep me a prisoner?" Tom went to a window and peered out. No person had appeared and the lad rightly surmised that the bulldog had come to the cottage alone. The beast appeared to be hungry, and this gave Tom a sudden idea. "Maybe if I feed him, he'll forget that I am around and give me a chance to get away," he reasoned. "Guess I had better try that dodge on him." Tom looked around the cottage and at last found the remains of a chicken dinner the owner had left behind. He picked up some of the bones and called the bulldog. The animal came up rather suspiciously. Tom threw him one bone, which he proceeded to crunch up vigorously. "He's hungry right enough," mused Tom. "I guess he'd like to sample my leg. But he's not going to do it--not if I can help it." At the back of the cottage was a little shed, the door to which stood open. Tom threw a bone near to the door of this shed and then managed to throw another bone inside the place. The bulldog found the first bone and then disappeared after the second. "Now is my time, I guess," the young inventor told himself, and watching his chance, he ran from the cottage toward his motor-cycle. He made no noise and quickly shoved the machine into the roadway. Just as he turned on the power the bulldog came out of the shed, barking furiously. "You've missed it!" said Tom grimly as the machine started, and quickly the cottage and the bulldog were left behind. The road was rough for a short distance and he had to pay strict attention to what he was doing. "I've got to ride to the nearest village," he said. "It's a long distance, and, in the meanwhile, the men may escape. But I can't do anything else. I dare not tackle them alone, and there is no telling when the charcoal-burner may come back. I've got to make speed, that's all." Out on the main road the lad sent his machine ahead at a fast pace. He was fairly humming along when, suddenly, from around a curve in the highway he heard the "honk-honk" of an automobile horn. For an instant his heart failed him. "I wonder if those are the thieves? Maybe they have left the house, and are in their auto!" he whispered as he slowed down his machine. The automobile appeared to have halted. As Tom came nearer the turn he heard voices. At the sound of one he started. The voice exclaimed: "Bless my spectacles! What's wrong now? I thought that when I got this automobile I would enjoy life, but it's as bad as my motor-cycle was for going wrong! Bless my very existence, but has anything happened?" "Mr. Damon!" exclaimed Tom, for he recognized the eccentric individual of whom he had obtained the motor-cycle. The next moment Tom was in sight of a big touring car, containing, not only Mr. Damon, whom Tom recognized at once, but three other gentlemen. "Oh, Mr. Damon," cried Tom, "will you help me capture a gang of thieves? They are in a deserted mansion in the woods, and they have one of my father's patent models! Will you help me, Mr. Damon?" "Why, bless my top-knots," exclaimed the odd gentleman. "If it isn't Tom Swift, the young inventor! Bless my very happiness! There's my motor-cycle, too! Help you? Why, of course we will. Bless my shoe-leather! Of course we'll help you!" CHAPTER XXV. THE CAPTURE--GOOD-BY Tom's story was soon told, and Mr. Damon quickly explained to his friends in the automobile how he had first made the acquaintance of the young inventor. "But how does it happen that you are trusting yourself in a car like this?" asked Tom. "I thought you were done with gasolene machines, Mr. Damon." "I thought so, too, Tom, but, bless my batteries, my doctor insisted that I must get out in the open air. I'm too stout to walk, and I can't run. The only solution was in an automobile, for I never would dream of a motor-cycle. I wonder that one of mine hasn't run away with you and killed you. But there! My automobile is nearly as bad. We went along very nicely yesterday, and now, just when I have a party of friends out, something goes wrong. Bless my liver! I do seem to have the worst luck!" Tom lost no time in looking for the trouble. He found it in the ignition, and soon had it fixed. Then a sort of council of war was held. "Do you think those scoundrels are there yet?" asked Mr. Damon. "I hope so," answered Tom. "So do I," went on the odd character. "Bless my soul, but I want a chance to pummel them. Come, gentlemen, let's be moving. Will you ride with us, Tom Swift, or on that dangerous motor-cycle?" "I think I'll stick to my machine, Mr. Damon. I can easily keep up with you." "Very well. Then we'll get along. We'll proceed until we get close to the old mansion, and then some of us will go down to the lake shore, and the rest of us will surround the house. We'll catch the villains red-handed, and I hope we bag that tramp among them." "I hardly think he is there," said Tom. In a short time the auto and the motor-cycle had carried the respective riders to the road through the woods. There the machines were left, and the party proceeded on foot. Tom had a revolver with him, and one member of Mr. Damon's party also had a small one, more to scare dogs than for any other purpose. Tom gave his weapon to one of the men, and cut a stout stick for himself, an example followed by those who had no firearms. "A club for mine!" exclaimed Mr. Damon. "The less I have to do with machinery the better I like it. Now, Tom Swift is just the other way around," he explained to his friends. Cautiously they approached the house, and when within seeing distance of it they paused for a consultation. There seemed to be no one stirring about the old mansion, and Tom was fearful lest the men had left. But this could not be determined until they came closer. Two of Mr. Damon's friends elected to go down to the shore of the lake and prevent any escape in that direction, while the others, including Tom, were to approach from the wood side. When the two who were to form the water attacking party were ready, one of them was to fire his revolver as a signal. Then Tom, Mr. Damon and the others would rush in. The young inventor, Mr. Damon, and his friend, whom he addressed as Mr. Benson, went as close to the house as they considered prudent. Then, screening themselves in the bushes, they waited. They conversed in whispers, Tom giving more details of his experience with the patent thieves. Suddenly the silence of the woods was broken by some one advancing through the underbrush. "Bless my gaiters, some one is coming!" exclaimed Mr. Damon in a hoarse whisper. "Can that be Munson or Dwight coming back?" He referred to his two friends who had gone to the lake. "Or perhaps the fellows are escaping," suggested Mr. Benson. "Suppose we take a look." At that moment the person approaching, whoever he was, began to sing. Tom started. "I'll wager that's Happy Harry, the tramp!" he exclaimed. "I know his voice." Cautiously Tom peered over the screen of bushes. "Who is it?" asked Mr. Damon. "It's Happy Harry!" said Tom. "We'll get them all, now. He's going up to the house." They watched the tramp. All unconscious of the eyes of the men and boy in the bushes, he kept on. Presently the door of the house opened, and a man came out. Tom recognized him as Anson Morse--the person who had dropped the telegram. "Say, Burke," called the man at the door, "have you taken the motor-boat?" "Motor-boat? No," answered the tramp. "I just came here. I've had a hard time--nearly got caught in Swift's house the other night by that cub of a boy. Is the boat gone?" "Yes. Appleson came back in it last night and saw some one looking in the window, but we thought it was only a farmer and chased him away. This morning the boat's gone. I thought maybe you had taken it for a joke." "Not a bit of it! Something's wrong!" exclaimed Happy Harry. "We'd better light out. I think the police are after us. That young Swift is too sharp for my liking. We'd better skip. I don't believe that was a farmer who looked in the window. Tell the others, get the stuff, and we'll leave this locality." "They're here still," whispered Tom. "That's good!" "I wonder if Munson and Dwight are at the lake yet?" asked Mr. Damon. "They ought to be--" At that instant a pistol shot rang out. The tramp, after a hasty glance around, started on the run for the house. The man in the doorway sprang out. Soon two others joined him. "Who fired that shot?" cried Morse. "Come on, Tom!" cried Mr. Damon, grabbing up his club and springing from the bushes. "Our friends have arrived!" The young inventor and Mr. Benson followed him. No sooner had they come into the open space in front of the house than they were seen. At the same instant, from the rear, in the direction of the lake, came Mr. Munson and Mr. Dwight. "We're caught!" cried Happy Harry. He made a dash for the house, just as a man, carrying a box, rushed out. "There it is! The model and papers are in that box!" cried Tom. "Don't let them get away with it!" The criminals were taken by surprise. With leveled weapons the attacking party closed in on them. Mr. Damon raised his club threateningly. "Surrender! Surrender!" he cried. "We have you! Bless my stars, but you're captured! Surrender!" "It certainly looks so," admitted Anson Morse. "I guess they have us, boys." The man with the box made a sudden dash toward the woods, but Tom was watching him. In an instant he sprang at him, and landed on the fellow's back. The two went down in a heap, and when Tom arose he had possession of the precious box. "I have it! I have it!" he cried. "I've got dad's model back!" The man who had had possession of the box quickly arose, and, before any one could stop him, darted into the bushes. "After him! Catch him! Bless my hat-band, stop him!" shouted Mr. Damon. Instinctively his friends turned to pursue the fugitive, forgetting, for the instant, the other criminals. The men were quick to take advantage of this, and in a moment had disappeared in the dense woods. Nor could any trace be found of the one with whom Tom had struggled. "Pshaw! They got away from us!" cried Mr. Damon regretfully. "Let's see if we can't catch them. Come on, we'll organize a posse and run them down." He was eager for the chase, but his companions dissuaded him. Tom had what he wanted, and he knew that his father would prefer not to prosecute the men. The lad opened the box, and saw that the model and papers were safe. "Let those fellows go," advised the young inventor, and Mr. Damon reluctantly agreed to this. "I guess we've seen the last of them," added the youth, but he and Mr. Swift had not, for the criminals made further trouble, which will be told of in the second volume of this series, to be called "Tom Swift and His Motor-Boat; or, The Rivals of Lake Carlopa." In that our hero will be met in adventures even more thrilling than those already related, and Andy Foger, who so nearly ran Tom down in the automobile, will have a part in them. "Now," said Mr. Damon, after it had been ascertained that no one was injured, and that the box contained all of value that had been stolen, "I suppose you are anxious to get back home, Tom, aren't you? Will you let me take you in my car? Bless my spark plug, but I'd like to have you along in case of another accident!" The lad politely declined, however, and, with the valuable model and papers safe on his motor-cycle, he started for Shopton. Arriving at the first village after leaving the woods, Tom telephoned the good news to his father, and that afternoon was safely at home, to the delight of Mr. Swift and Mrs. Baggert. The inventor lost no time in fully protecting his invention by patents. As for the unprincipled men who made an effort to secure it, they had so covered up their tracks that there was no way of prosecuting them, nor could any action be held against Smeak & Katch, the unscrupulous lawyers. "Well," remarked Mr. Swift to Tom, a few nights after the recovery of the model, "your motor-cycle certainly did us good service. Had it not been for it I might never have gotten back my invention." "Yes, it did come in handy," agreed the young inventor. "There's that motor-boat, too. I wish I had it. I don't believe those fellows will ever come back for it. I turned it over to the county authorities, and they take charge of it for a while. I certainly had some queer adventures since I got this machine from Mr. Damon," concluded Tom. I think my readers will agree with him. THE END 
4532	----	TOM SWIFT AND HIS PHOTO TELEPHONE OR THE PICTURE THAT SAVED A FORTUNE BY VICTOR APPLETON AUTHOR OF "TOM SWIFT AND HIS MOTOR CYCLE," "TOM SWIFT AND HIS GIANT CANNON," "THE MOVING PICTURE BOYS," "THE MOVING PICTURE BOYS IN THE JUNGLE," "THE MOTION PICTURE CHUMS' FIRST VENTURE," ETC. CONTENTS I. A MAN ON THE ROOF II. BAD NEWS III. TOM'S FAILURE IV. RUN DOWN V. SHARP WORDS VI. A WARNING VII. SOFT WORDS VIII. TOM IS BAFFLED IX. A GLEAM OF HOPE X. MIDNIGHT VISITORS XI. THE AIRSHIP IS TAKEN XII. A STRANGE DISAPPEARANCE XIII. THE TELEPHONE PICTURE XIV. MAKING IMPROVEMENTS XV. THE AIRSHIP CLUE XVI. SUCCESS XVII. THE MYSTERIOUS MESSAGE XVIII. ANOTHER CALL XIX. THE BUZZING SOUND XX. SETTING THE TRAP XXI. THE PHOTO TELEPHONE XXII. THE ESCAPE XXIII. ON THE TRAIL XXIV. THE LONELY HOUSE XXV. THE AIRSHIP CAPTURE TOM SWIFT AND HIS PHOTO TELEPHONE CHAPTER I A MAN ON THE ROOF "Tom, I don't believe it can be done!" "But, Dad, I'm sure it can!" Tom Swift looked over at his father, who was seated in an easy chair in the library. The elderly gentleman--his hair was quite white now--slowly shook his head, as he murmured again: "It can't be done, Tom! It can't be done! I admit that you've made a lot of wonderful things--things I never dreamed of--but this is too much. To transmit pictures over a telephone wire, so that persons cannot only see to whom they are talking, as well as hear them--well, to be frank with you, Tom, I should be sorry to see you waste your time trying to invent such a thing." "I don't agree with you. Not only do I think it can be done, but I'm going to do it. In fact, I've already started on it. As for wasting my time, well, I haven't anything in particular to do, now that my giant cannon has been perfected, so I might as well be working on my new photo telephone instead of sitting around idle." "Yes, Tom, I agree with you there," said Mr. Swift. "Sitting around idle isn't good for anyone--man or boy, young or old. So don't think I'm finding fault because you're busy." "It's only that I don't want to see you throw away your efforts, only to be disappointed in the end. It can't be done, Tom, it can't be done," and the aged inventor shook his head in pitying doubt. Tom only smiled confidently, and went on: "Well, Dad, all you'll have to do will be to wait and see. It isn't going to be easy--I grant that. In fact, I've run up against more snags, the little way I've gone so far, than I like to admit. But I'm going to stick at it, and before this year is out I'll guarantee, Father, that you can be at one end of the telephone wire, talking to me, at the other, and I'll see you and you'll see me--if not as plainly as we see each other now, at least plainly enough to make sure of each other." Mr. Swift chuckled silently, gradually breaking into a louder laugh. Instead of being angry, Tom only regarded his father with an indulgent smile, and continued: "All right, Dad. Go ahead, laugh!" "Well, Tom, I'm not exactly laughing at YOU--it's more at the idea than anything else. The idea of talking over a wire and, at the same time, having light waves, as well as electrical waves passing on the same conductor!" "All right, Dad, go ahead and laugh. I don't mind," said Tom, good-naturedly. "Folks laughed at Bell, when he said he could send a human voice over a copper spring; but Bell went ahead and to-day we can talk over a thousand miles by wire. That was the telephone." "Folks laughed at Morse when he said he could send a message over the wire. He let 'em laugh, but we have the telegraph. Folks laughed at Edison, when he said he could take the human voice--or any other sound--and fix it on a wax cylinder or a hard-rubber plate--but he did it, and we have the phonograph. And folks laughed at Santos Dumont, at the Wrights, and at all the other fellows, who said they could take a heavier-than-air machine, and skim above the clouds like a bird; but we do it--I've done it--you've done it." "Hold on, Tom!" protested Mr. Swift. "I give up! Don't rub it in on your old dad. I admit that folks did laugh at those inventors, with their seemingly impossible schemes, but they made good. And you've made good lots of times where I thought you wouldn't. But just stop to consider for a moment. This thing of sending a picture over a telephone wire is totally out of the question, and entirely opposed to all the principles of science." "What do I care for principles of science?" cried Tom, and he strode about the room so rapidly that Eradicate, the old colored servant, who came in with the mail, skipped out of the library with the remark: "Deed, an' Massa Tom must be pow'fully preragitated dis mawnin'!" "Some of the scientists said it was totally opposed to all natural laws when I planned my electric rifle," went on Tom. "But I made it, and it shot. They said my air glider would never stay up, but she did." "But, Tom, this is different. You are talking of sending light waves--one of the most delicate forms of motion in the world--over a material wire. It can't be done!" "Look here, Dad!" exclaimed Tom, coming to a halt in front of his parent. "What is light, anyhow? Merely another form of motion; isn't it?" "Well, yes, Tom, I suppose it is." "Of course it is," said Tom. "With vibrations of a certain length and rapidity we get sound--the faster the vibration per second the higher the sound note. Now, then, we have sound waves, or vibrations, traveling at the rate of a mile in a little less than five seconds; that is, with the air at a temperature of sixty degrees. With each increase of a degree of temperature we get an increase of about a foot per second in the rapidity with which sound travels." "Now, then, light shoots along at the rate of 186,000,000 miles a second. That is more than many times around the earth in a second of time. So we have sound, one kind of wave motion, or energy; we have light, a higher degree of vibration or wave motion, and then we come to electricity--and nobody has ever yet exactly measured the intensity or speed of the electric vibrations." "But what I'm getting at is this--that electricity must travel pretty nearly as fast as light--if not faster. So I believe that electricity and light have about the same kind of vibrations, or wave motion." "Now, then, if they do have--and I admit it's up to me to prove it," went on Tom, earnestly--"why can't I send light-waves over a wire, as well as electrical waves?" Mr. Swift was silent for a moment. Then he said, slowly: "Well, Tom, I never heard it argued just that way before. Maybe there's something in your photo telephone after all. But it never has been done. You can't deny that!" He looked at his son triumphantly. It was not because he wanted to get the better of him in argument, that Mr. Swift held to his own views; but he wanted to bring out the best that was in his offspring. Tom accepted the challenge instantly. "Yes, Dad, it has been done, in a way!" he said, earnestly. "No one has sent a picture over a telephone wire, as far as I know, but during the recent hydroplane tests at Monte Carlo, photographs taken of some of the events in the morning, and afternoon, were developed in the evening, and transmitted over five hundred miles of wire to Paris, and those same photographs were published in the Paris newspapers the next morning." "Is that right, Tom?" "It certainly is. The photographs weren't so very clear, but you could make out what they were. Of course that is a different system than the one I'm thinking of. In that case they took a photograph, and made a copper plate of it, as they would for a half-tone illustration. This gave them a picture with ridges and depressions in copper, little hills and valleys, so to speak, according to whether there were light or dark tints in the picture. The dark places meant that the copper lines stood up higher there than where there were light colors." "Now, by putting this copper plate on a wooden drum, and revolving this drum, with an electrical needle pressing lightly on the ridges of copper, they got a varying degree of electrical current. Where the needle touched a high place in the copper plate the contact was good, and there was a strong current. When the needle got to a light place in the copper--a depression, so to speak--the contact was not so good, and there was only a weak current." "At the receiving end of the apparatus there was a sensitized film placed on a similar wooden drum. This was to receive the image that came over the five hundred miles of wire. Now then, as the electrical needle, moving across the copper plate, made electrical contacts of different degrees of strength, it worked a delicate galvanometer on the receiving end. The galvanometer caused a beam of light to vary--to grow brighter or dimmer, according as the electrical current was stronger or weaker. And this light, falling on the sensitive plate, made a picture, just like the one on the copper plate in Monte Carlo." "In other words, where the copper plate was black, showing that considerable printing ink was needed, the negative on the other end was made light. Then when that negative was printed it would come out black, because more light comes through the light places on a photograph negative than through the dark places. And so, with the galvanometer making light flashes on the sensitive plate, the galvanometer being governed by the electrical contacts five hundred miles away, they transmitted a photograph by wire." "But not a telephone wire, Tom." "That doesn't make any difference, Dad. It was a wire just the same. But I'm not going into that just now, though later I may want to send photographs by wire. What I'm aiming at is to make an apparatus so that when you go into a telephone booth to talk to a friend, you can see him and he can see you, on a specially prepared plate that will be attached to the telephone." "You mean see him as in a looking-glass, Tom?" "Somewhat, yes. Though I shall probably use a metal plate instead of glass. It will be just as if you were talking over a telephone in an open field, where you could see the other party and he could see you." "But how are you going to do it, Tom?" "Well, I haven't quite decided. I shall probably have to use the metal called selenium, which is very sensitive to light, and which makes a good or a poor electrical conductor according as more or less light falls on it. After all, a photograph is only lights and shadows, fixed on sensitive paper or films." "Well, Tom, maybe you can do it, and maybe you can't. I admit you've used some good arguments," said Mr. Swift. "But then, it all comes down to this: What good will it be if you can succeed in sending a picture over a telephone wire?" "What good, Dad? Why, lots of good. Just think how important it will be in business, if you can make sure that you are talking to the party you think you are. As it is now, unless you know the person's voice, you can't tell that the man on the other end of the wire is the person he says he is. And even a voice can be imitated." "But if you know the person yourself, he can't be imitated. If you see him, as well as hear his voice, you are sure of what you are doing. Why, think of the big business deals that could be made over the telephone if the two parties could not only hear but see each other. It would be a dead sure thing then. And Mr. Brown wouldn't have to take Mr. Smith's word that it was he who was talking. He could even get witnesses to look at the wire-image if he wanted to, and so clinch the thing. It will prevent a lot of frauds." "Well, Tom, maybe you're right. Go ahead. I'll say no more against your plans. I wish you all success, and if I can help you, call on me." "Thanks, Dad. I knew you'd feel that way when you understood. Now I'm going--" But what Tom Swift was going to do he did not say just then, for above the heads of father and son sounded a rattling, crashing noise, and the whole house seemed to shake. Then the voice of Eradicate was heard yelling: "Good land! Good land ob massy! Come out yeah, Massa Tom! Come right out yeah! Dere's a man on de roof an' he am all tangled up suthin' scandalous! Come right out yeah befo' he falls and translocates his neck! Come on!" CHAPTER II BAD NEWS With startled glances at each other, Tom and his father rushed from the library to the side of the house, whence came the cries of Eradicate. "What is it, Rad! what is it?" questioned Tom. "Is someone hurt?" Mr. Swift wanted to know. "He mighty soon will be!" exclaimed the colored man. "Look where he am holdin' on! Lucky fo' him he grabbed dat chimbley!" Tom and his father looked to where Eradicate pointed, and saw a strange sight. A small biplane-airship had become entangled in some of the aerials of Tom's wireless apparatus, and the craft had turned turtle, being held from falling by some of the wire braces. The birdman had fallen out, but had managed to cling to the chimney, so that he had not reached the ground, and there he clung, while the motor of his airship was banging away, and revolving the propeller blades dangerously close to his head. "Are you hurt?" cried Tom, to the unknown birdman. "No, but I'm likely to be unless I get out of here!" was the gasped-out answer. "Hold fast!" cried Tom. "We'll have you down in a jiffy. Here, Rad, you get the long ladder. Where's Koku? That giant is never around when he's wanted. Find Koku, Rad, and send him here." "Yas, sah, Massa Tom; directly, sah!" and the colored man hastened off as fast as his aged legs would take him. And while preparations are thus under way to rescue the birdman from the roof, I will take just a few minutes to tell you a little something more about Tom Swift and his numerous inventions, as set forth in the previous books of this series. "Tom Swift and His Motor Cycle" was the first book, and in that I related how Tom made the acquaintance of a Mr. Wakefield Damon, of the neighboring town of Waterford, and how Tom bought that gentleman's motor cycle, after it had tried to climb a tree with its rider in the saddle. Mr. Wakefield Damon was an odd man, whose favorite expression was "Bless my shoelaces!" or something equally absurd. Waterford was not far from Shopton, where Tom and his father made their home. Mr. Swift was also an inventor of note, and Tom soon followed in his father's footsteps. They lived in a large house, with many shops about it, for their work at times required much machinery. Mrs. Baggert was the housekeeper who looked after Tom and his father, and got their meals, when they consented to take enough time from their inventive work to eat. Another member of the household was Eradicate Sampson, a genial old colored man, who said he was named Eradicate because he used to eradicate the dirt about the place. Koku, just referred to by Tom, was an immense man, a veritable giant, whom Tom had brought back with him from one of his trips, after escaping from captivity. The young inventor really brought two giants, brothers they were, but one had gone to a museum, and the other took service with our hero, making himself very useful when it came to lifting heavy machinery. Tom had a close friend in Ned Newton, who was employed in the Shopton bank. Another friend was Miss Mary Nestor, a young lady whose life Tom had once saved. He had many other friends, and some enemies, whom you will meet from time to time in this story. After Tom had had many adventures on his motor cycle he acquired a motor boat, and in that he and Ned went through some strenuous times on Lake Carlopa, near Tom's home. Then followed an airship, for Tom got that craze, and in the book concerning that machine I related some of the things that happened to him. He had even more wonderful adventures in his submarine, and with his electric runabout our hero was instrumental in saving a bank from ruin by making a trip in the speediest car on the road. After Tom Swift had sent his wireless message, and saved the castaways of Earthquake Island, he thought he would give up his inventive work for a time, and settle down to a life of ease and quiet. But the call of the spirit of adventure was still too strong for him to resist. That was why he sought out the diamond makers, and learned the secret of Phantom Mountain. And when he went to the Caves of Ice, and there saw his airship wrecked, Tom was well-nigh discouraged, But he managed to get back to civilization, and later undertook a journey to elephant land, with his powerful electric rifle. Marvelous adventures underground did Tom Swift have when he went to the City of Gold, and I have set down some of them in the book bearing the latter title. Later on he sought the platinum treasure in his air glider. And when Tom was taken captive, in giant land, only his speedy airship saved him from a hard fate. By this time moving pictures were beginning to occupy a large place in the scientific, as well as the amusement world, and Tom invented a Wizard Camera which did excellent work. Then came the need of a powerful light, to enable Uncle Sam's custom officers on the border to detect the smugglers, and Tom was successful in making his apparatus. He thought he would take a rest after that, but with the opening of the Panama Canal came the need of powerful guns to protect that important waterway, and Tom made a Giant Cannon, which enabled the longest shots on record to be fired. Now, some months had passed, after the successful trial of the big weapon, and Tom longed for new activities. He found them in the idea of a photo telephone, and he and his father were just talking of this when interrupted by the accident to the birdman on the roof of the Swift home. "Have you got that ladder, Rad?" cried the young inventor, anxiously, as he saw the dangerous position of the man from the airship. "Yas, sah, Massa Tom! I'se a-camin' wif it!" "And where's Koku? We'll need him!" "He's a-camin', too!" "Here Koku!" exclaimed a deep voice, and a big man came running around the corner of the house. "What is it, Master?" "We must get him down, Koku!" said Tom, simply. "I will go up on the roof. You had better come, too. Rad, go in the house and get a mattress from the bed. Put it down on the ground where he's likely to fall. Lively now!" "Yas, sah, Massa Tom!" "Me git my own ladder--dat one not strong 'nuff!" grunted Koku, who did not speak very good English. He had a very strong ladder, of his own make, built to hold his enormous bulk, and this he soon brought and placed against the side of the house. Meanwhile Tom and his father had raised the one Eradicate had brought, though Tom did most of the lifting, for his father was elderly, and had once suffered from heart trouble. "We're coming for you!" cried the young inventor as he began to ascend the ladder, at the same time observing that the giant was coming with his. "Can you hold on a little longer?" "Yes, I guess so. But I dare not move for fear the propellers will strike me." "I see. I'll soon shut off the motor," said Tom. "What happened, anyhow?" "Well, I was flying over your house. I was on my way to pay you a visit, but I didn't intend to do it in just this way," and the birdman smiled grimly. "I didn't see your wireless aerials until I was plumb into them, and then it was too late. I hope I haven't damaged them any." "Oh, they are easily fixed," said Tom. "I hope you and your biplane are not damaged. This way, Koku!" he called to the giant. "Say, is--is he real, or am I seeing things?" asked the aviator, as he looked at the big man. "Oh, he's real, all right," laughed Tom. "Now, then, I'm going to shut off your motor, and then you can quit hugging that chimney, and come down." "I'll be real glad to," said the birdman. Making his way cautiously along the gutters of the roof, Tom managed to reach the motor controls. He pulled out the electrical switch, and with a sort of cough and groan the motor stopped. The big propellers ceased revolving, and the aviator could leave his perch in safety. This he did, edging along until he could climb down and meet Tom, who stood near the ladder. "Much obliged," said the birdman, as he shook hands with Tom. "My name is Grant Halling. I'm a newcomer in Mansburg," he added, naming a town not far from Shopton. "I know you by reputation, so you don't need to introduce yourself." "Glad to meet you," said the young inventor, cordially. "Rather a queer place to meet a friend," he went on with a laugh and a glance down to the ground. "Can you climb?" "Oh, yes, I'm used to that. The next thing will be to get my machine down." "Oh, we can manage that with Koku's help," spoke Tom. "Koku, get some ropes, and see what you and Rad can do toward getting the aeroplane down," he added to the giant. "Let me know if you need any help." "Me can do!" exclaimed the big man. "Me fix him!" Tom and Mr. Halling made their way down the ladder, while the giant proceeded to study out a plan for getting the airship off the roof. "You say you were coming over to see me, when you ran into my wireless aerials?" asked Tom, curiously, when he had introduced his father to the birdman. "Yes," went on Mr. Halling. "I have been having some trouble with my motor, and I thought perhaps you could tell me what was wrong. My friend, Mr. Wakefield Damon, sent me to you." "What! Do you know Mr. Damon?" cried Tom. "I've known' him for some years. I met him in the West, but I hadn't seen him lately, until I came East. He sent me to see you, and said you would help me." "Well, any friend of Mr. Damon's is a friend of mine!" exclaimed Tom, genially. "I'll have a look at your machine as soon as Koku gets it down. How is Mr. Damon, anyhow? I haven't seen him in over two weeks." "I'm sorry to say he isn't very well, Mr. Swift." "Is he ill? What is the trouble?" "He isn't exactly ill," went on Mr. Halling, "but he is fretting himself into a sickness, worrying over his lost fortune." "His lost fortune!" cried Tom, in surprise at the bad news concerning his friend. "I didn't know he had lost his money!" "He hasn't yet, but he's in a fair way to, he says. It's something about bad investments, and he did speak of the trickery of one man, I didn't get the particulars. But he certainly feels very badly over it." "I should think he would," put in Mr. Swift. "Tom, we must look into this. If we can help Mr. Damon--" "We certainly will," interrupted Tom. "Now come in the house, Mr. Halling. I'm sure you must be quite shaken up by your upset." "I am, to tell you the truth, though it isn't the first accident I've had in my airship." They were proceeding toward the house, when there came a cry from Koku, who had fastened a rope about the airship to lower it. "Master! Master!" cried the giant. "The rope am slippin'. Grab the end of it!" CHAPTER III TOM'S FAILURE "Come on!" cried Tom, quickly, as, turning, he saw the accident about to happen. "Your craft will surely be smashed if she slips to the ground, Mr. Halling!" "You're right! This seems to be my unlucky day!" The birdman, limping slightly from his fall, hurried with Tom to where a rope trailed on the ground. Koku had fastened one end to the airship, and had taken a turn of the cable about the chimney. He had been lowering the biplane to the ground, but he had not allowed for its great weight, and the rope had slipped from his big hands. But Tom and Mr. Halling were just in time. They grabbed the slipping hempen strands, and thus checked the falling craft until Koku could get a better grip. "All right now," said the giant, when he had made fast the rope. "Me fix now. Master can go." "Think he can lower it?" asked Mr. Halling, doubtfully. "Oh, surely," said Tom. "Koku's as strong as a horse. You needn't worry. He'll get it down all right. But you are limping." "Yes, I jammed my leg a little." "Don't you want a doctor?" "Oh, no, not for a little thing like that." But Tom insisted on looking at his new friend's wound, and found quite a cut on the thigh, which the young inventor insisted on binding up. "That feels better," said the birdman, as he stretched out on a couch. "Now if you can look my machine over, and tell me what's the matter with it, I'll be much obliged to you, and I'll get on my way." "Not quite so fast as that!" laughed Tom. "I wouldn't want to see you start off with your lame leg, and certainly I would not want to see you use your aircraft after what she's gone through, until we've given her a test. You can't tell what part you might have strained." "Well, I suppose you are right. But I think I'd better go to a hotel, or send for an auto and go home." "Now you needn't do anything of the kind," spoke Tom, hospitably. "We've got lots of room here, and for that matter we have plenty of autos and airships, too, as well as a motor boat. You just rest yourself here. Later we'll look over your craft." After dinner, when Mr. Halling said he felt much better, Tom agreed to go out with him and look at the airship. As he feared, he found several things the matter with it, in addition to the motor trouble which had been the cause for Mr. Halling's call on the young inventor. "Can she be fixed?" asked the birdman, who explained that, as yet, he was only an amateur in the practice of flying. "Oh, yes, we can fix her up for you," said Tom. "But it will take several days. You'll have to leave it here." "Well, I'll be glad to do that, for I know she will be all the better when you get through with her. But I think I am able to go on home now, and I really ought to. There is some business I must attend to." "Speaking of business," remarked Tom, "can you tell me anything more of Mr. Damon's financial troubles?" "No, not much. All I know is that when I called on him the other day I found him with his check book out, and he was doing a lot of figuring. He looked pretty blue and downcast, I can tell you." "I'm sorry about that," spoke Tom, musingly. "Mr. Damon is a very good friend of mine, and I'd do anything to help him. I certainly wouldn't like to see him lose his fortune. Bad investments, you say it was?" "Partly so, and yet I'm inclined to think if he does lose his money it will be due to some trickery. Mr. Damon is not the man to make bad investments by himself." "Indeed he is not," agreed Tom. "You say he spoke of some man?" "Yes, but not definitely. He did not mention any name. But Mr. Damon was certainly quite blue." "That's unlike him," remarked Tom. "He is usually very jolly. He must be feeling quite badly. I'll go over and have a talk with him, as soon as I can." "Do. I think he would appreciate it. And now I must see about getting home." "I'll take you in one of my cars," said Tom, who had several automobiles. "I don't want to see you strain that injured leg of yours." "You're very good--especially after I tangled up your wireless aerials; but I didn't see them until I was right into them," apologized Mr. Halling. "They're a new kind of wire," said Tom, "and are not very plain to see. I must put up some warning signs. But don't worry about damaging them. They were only up temporarily anyhow, and I was going to take them down to arrange for my photo telephone." "Photo telephone, eh? Is that something new?" "It will be--if I can get it working," said Tom, with a smile. A little later Tom had taken Mr. Halling home, and then he set about making arrangements for repairing the damaged airship. This took him the better part of a week, but he did not regret the time, for while he was working he was busy making plans for his newest invention--the photo telephone. One afternoon, when Tom had completed the repairs to the airship, and had spent some time setting up an experimental telephone line, the young inventor received a call from his chum, Ned Newton. "Well, well, what are you up to now?" asked Ned, as he saw his chum seated in a booth, with a telephone receiver to his ear, meanwhile looking steadily at a polished metal plate in front of him. "Trying to hypnotize yourself, Tom?" "Not exactly. Quiet, Ned, please. I'm trying to listen." Ned was too familiar with his chum's work to take offense at this. The young banker took a seat on a box, and silently watched Tom. The inventor shifted several switches, pressed one button after another, and tilted the polished metal plate at different angles. Then he closed the door of the little telephone booth, and Ned, through the ground glass door, saw a light shining. "I wonder what new game Tom is up to?" Ned mused. Presently the door opened, and Tom stuck out his head. "Ned, come here," he invited. "Look at that metal plate and see if you can notice anything on it. I've been staring at it so steadily that my eyes are full of sticks. See what you can make out." "What is this?" asked Ned. "No trick; is it? I won't be blown up, or get my eyes full of pepper; will I?" "Nonsense! Of course not. I'm trying to make a photo telephone. I have the telephone part down pat, but I can't see anything of the photo image. See if you can." Ned stared at the polished plate, while Tom did things to it, making electrical connections, and tilting it at various angles. "See anything, Ned?" asked Tom. The other shook his head. "Whom am I supposed to see?" he asked. "Why, Koku is at the other end of the wire. I'm having him help me." Ned gazed from the polished plate out of a side window of the shop, into the yard. "Well, that Koku is certainly a wonderful giant," said Ned, with a laugh. "How so?" asked Tom. "Why he can not be in two places at once. You say he ought to be at the other end of this wire, and there he is out there, spading up the garden." Tom stared for a second and then exclaimed: "Well, if that isn't the limit! I put him in the telephone booth in the machine shop, and told him to stay there until I was through. What in the world is he doing out there?" "Koku!" he called to the giant, "why didn't you stay at the telephone where I put you? Why did you run away?" "Ha!" exclaimed the giant, who, for all his great size was a simple chap, "little thing go 'tick-tick' and then 'clap-clap!' Koku no like--Koku t'ink bad spirit in telumfoam--Koku come out!" "Well, no wonder I couldn't see any image on the plate!" exclaimed Tom. "There was nobody there. Now, Ned, you try it; will you, please?" "Sure. Anything to oblige!" "Then go in the other telephone booth. You can talk to me on the wire. Say anything you like--the telephone part is all right. Then you just stand so that the light in the booth shines on your face. The machine will do the rest--if it works." Ned hurried off and was soon talking to his chum over the wire from the branch telephone in the machine shop. Ned stood in the glare of an electric light, and looked at a polished plate similar to the one in the other booth. "Are you there, Ned?" asked Tom. "Yes, I'm here." "Is the light on?" "Yes." "And you're looking at the plate?" "Sure. Can you see any reflection in your plate?" "No, not a thing," answered Tom, and there was great discouragement in his voice. "The thing is a failure, Ned. Come on back," and the young banker could hear his chum hang up the telephone receiver at the other end. "That's too bad," murmured Ned, knowing how Tom must feel. "I'll have to cheer him up a bit." CHAPTER IV RUN DOWN When Ned Newton got back to where Tom sat in the small telephone booth, the young banker found his chum staring rather moodily at the polished metal plate on the shelf that held the talking instrument. "So it was no go; eh, Tom?" "No go at all, Ned, and I thought sure I had it right this time." "Then this isn't your first experiment?" "Land no! I've been at it, off and on, for over a month, and I can't seem to get any farther. I'm up against a snag now, good and hard." "Then there wasn't any image on your plate?" "Not a thing, Ned. I don't suppose you caught any glimpse of me in your plate?" asked Tom, half hopefully. "No. I couldn't see a thing. So you are going to try and make this thing work both ways, are you?" "That's my intention, But I can fix it so that a person can control the apparatus at his end, and only see the person he is talking to, not being seen himself, unless he wishes it. That is, I hope to do that. Just now nobody can see anybody," and Tom sighed. "Give it up," advised Ned. "It's too hard a nut to crack, Tom!" "Indeed, I'll not give it up, Ned! I'm going to work along a new line. I must try a different solution of selenium on the metal plate. Perhaps I may have to try using a sensitized plate, and develop it later, though I do want to get the machine down so you can see a perfect image without the need of developing. And I will, too!" cried Tom. "I'll get some new selenium." Eradicate, who came into the shop just then, heard the end of Tom's remarks. A strange look came over his honest black face, and he exclaimed: "What all am dat, Massa Tom? Yo'ah gwine t' bring de new millenium heah? Dat's de end of de world, ain't it-dat millenium? Golly! Dish yeah coon neber 'spected t' lib t' see dat. De millenium! Oh mah landy!" "No, Rad!" laughed Tom. "I was speaking about selenium, a sort of metallic combination that is a peculiar conductor of electricity. The more light that shines on it the better conductor it is, and the less light, the poorer." "It must be queer stuff," said Ned. "It is," declared Tom. "I think it is the only thing to use in this photo telephone experiment, though I might try the metal plate method, as they did between Monte Carlo and Paris. But I am not trying to make newspaper pictures." "What is selenium, anyhow?" asked Ned. "Remember, Tom, I'm not up on this scientific stuff as you are." "Selenium," went on Tom, "was discovered in 1817, by J. J. Berzelius, and he gave it that name from the Greek word for moon, on account of selenium being so similar, in some ways, to tellurium. That last is named after the Latin word tellus, the earth." "Do they dig it?" Ned wanted to know. "Well, sometimes selenium is found in combination with metals, in the form of selenides, the more important minerals of that kind being eucharite, crooksite, clausthalite, naumannite and zorgite--" "Good night!" interrupted Ned, with a laugh, holding up his hands. "Stop it, Tom!" he pleaded. "You'll give me a headache with all those big words." "Oh, they're easy, once you get used to them," said the young inventor, with a smile. "Perhaps it will be easier if I say that sometimes selenium is found in native sulphur. Selenium is usually obtained from the flue-dust or chamber deposits of some factory where sulphuric acid is made. They take this dust and treat it with acids until they get the pure selenium. Sometimes selenium comes in crystal forms, and again it is combined with various metals for different uses." "There's one good thing about it. There are several varieties, and I'll try them all before I give up." "That's the way to talk!" cried Ned. "Never say die! Don't give up the ship, and all that. But, Tom, what you need now is a little fun. You've been poking away at this too long. Come on out on the lake, and have a ride in the motor boat. It will do you good. It will do me good. I'm a bit rusty myself--been working hard lately. Come on--let's go out on the lake." "I believe I will!" exclaimed Tom, after thinking it over for a moment. "I need a little fresh air. Sitting in that telephone booth, trying to get an image on a plate, and not succeeding, has gotten on my nerves. I want to write out an order for Koku to take to town, though. I want to get some fresh selenium, and then I'm going to make new plates." Tom made some memoranda, and then, giving Koku the order for the chemist, the young inventor closed up his shop, and went with Ned down to Lake Carlopa, where the motor boat was moored. This was not the same boat Tom had first purchased, some years ago, but a comparatively new and powerful craft. "It sure is one grand little day for a ride," remarked Ned, as he got in the craft, while Tom looked over the engine. "Yes, I'm glad you came over, and routed me out," said the young inventor. "When I get going on a thing I don't know enough to stop. Oh, I forgot something!" "What?" asked Ned. "I forgot to leave word about Mr. Railing's airship. It's all fixed and ready for him, but I put on a new control, and I wanted to explain to him about it. He might not know how to work it. I left word with father, though, that if he came for it he must not try it until he had seen me. I guess it will be all right. I don't want to go back to the house now." "No, it's too far," agreed Ned. "I have it!" exclaimed Tom. "I'll telephone to dad from here, not to let Halling go up until I come back. He may not come for his machine; but, if he does, it's best to be on the safe side Ned." "Oh, sure." Accordingly, Tom 'phoned from his boat-house, and Mr. Swift promised to see the bird-man if he called. Then Ned and Tom gave themselves up to the delights of a trip on the water. The Kilo, which name Tom had selected for his new craft, was a powerful boat, and comfortable. It swept on down the lake, and many other persons, in their pleasure craft, turned to look at Tom's fine one. "Lots of folks out to-day," observed Ned, as they went around a point of the shore. "Yes, quite a number," agreed Tom, leaning forward to adjust the motor. "I wonder what's got into her?" he said, in some annoyance, as he made various adjustments. "One of the cylinders is missing." "Maybe it needs a new spark plug," suggested Ned. "Maybe. Guess I'll stop and put one in." Tom slowed down the motor, and headed his boat over toward shore, intending to tie up there for a while. As he shifted the wheel he heard a cry behind him, and at the same time a hoarse, domineering voice called out: "Here, what do you mean, changing your course that way? Look out, or I'll run you down! Get out of my way, you land-lubber, you!" Startled, Ned and Tom turned. They saw, rushing up on them from astern, a powerful red motor boat, at the wheel of which sat a stout man, with a very florid face and a commanding air. "Get out of my way!" he cried. "I can't stop so short! Look out, or I'll run you down!" Tom, with a fierce feeling of resentment at the fellow, was about to shift the course of the Kilo, but he was too late. A moment later there came a smashing blow on the stern port quarter and the Kilo heeled over at a dangerous angle, while, with a rending, splintering sound of wood, the big red motorboat swept on past Tom and Ned, her rubstreak grinding along the side of the Kilo. CHAPTER V SHARP WORDS "Great Scott, Tom! What happened?" "I know as much as you, Ned. That fellow ran us down, that's all." "Are we leaking?" and with this question Ned sprang from his place near the bow, and looked toward the stern, where the heaviest blow had been struck. The Kilo had swung back to an even keel again, but was still bobbing about on the water. "Any hole there?" cried Tom, as he swung the wheel over to point his craft toward shore, in case she showed a tendency to sink. "I can't see any hole," answered Ned. "But water is coming in here." "Then there's a leak all right! Probably some of the seams are opened, or it may be coming in around the shaft stuffing-box. Here, Ned, take the wheel, and I'll start up the engine again," for with the blow the motor had stopped. "What are you going to do?" asked Ned, as he again made his way forward. "Take her to shore, of course. It's deep out here and I don't want her to go down at this point." "Say, what do you think of that fellow, anyhow, Tom?" "I wouldn't like to tell you. Look, he's coming back." This was so, for, as the boys watched, the big red motor boat had swung about in a circle and was headed for them. "I'll tell him what I think of him, at any rate," murmured Tom, as he bent over his motor. "And, later on, I'll let the lawyers talk to him." "You mean you'll sue him, Tom?" "Well, I'm certainly not going to let him run into me and spring a leak, for nothing. That won't go with me!" By this time Tom had the motor started, but he throttled it down so that it just turned the propeller. With it running at full speed there was considerable vibration, and this would further open the leaking seams. So much water might thus be let in that the craft could not be gotten ashore. "Head her over, Ned," cried Tom, when he found he had sufficient headway. "Steer for Ramsey's dock. There's a marine railway next to him, and I can haul her out for repairs." "That's the talk, Tom!" cried his chum. By this time the big, red motor boat was close beside Tom's craft. The man at the wheel, a stout-bodied and stout-faced man, with a complexion nearly the color of his boat, glared at the two young men. "What do you fellows mean?" called out the man, in deep booming tones--tones that he tried to make imposing, but which, to the trained ears of Tom and Ned, sounded only like the enraged bellow of some bully. "What do you mean, I say? Getting on my course like that!" Ned could see Tom biting his lips, and clenching his hands to keep down his temper. But it was too much. To be run into, and then insulted, was more than Tom could stand. "Look here!" he cried, standing up and facing the red-faced man, "I don't know who you are, and I don't care. But I'll tell you one thing--you'll pay for the damage you did to my boat!" "I'll pay for it? Come, that's pretty good! Ha! Ha!" laughed the self-important man. "Why, I was thinking of making a complaint against you for crossing my course that way. If I find my boat is damaged I shall certainly do so anyhow. Have we suffered any damage, Snuffin?" and he looked back at a grimy-faced mechinician who was oiling the big, throbbing motor, which was now running with the clutch out. "No, sir, I don't think we're damaged, sir," answered the man, deferentially. "Well, it's a lucky thing for these land-lubbers that we aren't. I should certainly sue them. The idea of crossing my course the way they did. Weren't they in the wrong, Snuffin?" The man hesitated for a moment, and glanced at Tom and Ned, as though asking their indulgence. "Well, I asked you a question, Snuffin!" exclaimed the red-faced man sharply. "Yes--yes, sir, they shouldn't have turned the way they did," answered the man, in a low voice. "Well, of all the nerve!" murmured Tom, and stopped his motor. Then, stepping to the side of his disabled and leaking boat, he exclaimed: "Look here! Either you folks don't know anything about navigation rules, or you aren't heeding them. I had a perfect right to turn and go ashore when I did, for I found my engine was out of order, and I wanted to fix it. I blew the usual signal on the whistle, showing my intention to turn off my course, and if you had been listening you would have heard it." "If you had even been watching you would have seen me shift, and then, coming on at the speed you did, it was your place to warn me by a whistle, so that I could keep straight on until you had passed me." "But you did not. You kept right on and ran into me, and the only wonder is that you didn't sink me. Talk about me getting in your way! Why, you deliberately ran me down after I had given the right signal. I'll make a complaint against you, that's what I will." If possible the red-faced man got even more rosy than usual. He fairly puffed up, he was so angry. "Listen to that, will you, Snuffin!" he cried. "Listen to that! He says he blew his whistle to tell us he was going to turn in." "That's what I did!" said Tom, calmly. "Preposterous! Did you hear it, Snuffin?" puffed the important man. "Yes--yes, I think I did, sir," answered the machinist, in a hesitating voice. "You did? What! You mean to tell me you heard their whistle?" "Yes--yes, sir!" "Why--why--er--I--" the big man puffed and blew, but seemed to find no words in which to express himself. "Snuffin, I'll have a talk with you when we get home," he finally said, most significantly. "The idea of saying you heard a whistle blown! There was nothing of the kind! I shall make a complaint against these land-lubbers myself. Do you know who they are, Snuffin?" "Yes--yes, sir," was the answer, as the man glanced at Tom. "At least I know one of them, sir." "Very good. Give me his name. I'll attend to the rest." Tom looked at the big man sharply. He had never seen him before, as far as he could recall. As for the machinist, the young inventor had a dim recollection that once the man might have worked in his shop. "Go ahead, Snuffin!" said the big man, mopping his face with a large silk handkerchief, which, even at that distance, gave out a powerful perfume. "Go ahead, Snuffin, and we will settle this matter later," and, adjusting a large rose in his buttonhole, the self-important individual took his place on the cushioned seat at the wheel, while the big red motor boat drew off down the river. "Well, of all the nerve!" gasped Ned. "Isn't he the limit?" "Never mind," spoke Tom, with a little laugh. "I'm sorry I lost my temper, and even bothered to answer him. We'll let the lawyers do the rest of the talking. Take the wheel, Ned." "But are you going to let him get away like this, Tom? Without asking him to pay for the damage to your boat, when he was clearly in the wrong?" "Oh, I'll ask him to pay all right; but I'll do it the proper way. Now come on. If we stay here chinning much longer the Kilo will go down. I must find out who he is. I think I know Snuffin--he used to work for me, I now recall." "Don't you know who that big man is?" asked Ned, as he took the wheel, while Tom again started the motor. The water was now almost up to the lower rim of the fly wheel. "No; who is he?" asked Tom. "Shallock Peters." "Well, I know as much as I did before," laughed Tom. "That doesn't tell me anything." "Why, I thought everybody in the town knew Shallock Peters," went on Ned. "He tried to do some business with our bank, but was turned down. I hear he's gone to the other one, though. He's what we call a get-rich-quick schemer, Tom--a promoter." "I thought he acted like that sort of a character." "Well, that's what he is. He's got half a dozen schemes under way, and he hasn't been in town over a month. I wonder you haven't seen or heard of him." "I've been too busy over my photo telephone." "I suppose so. Well, this fellow Peters struck Shopton about a month ago. He bought the old Wardell homestead, and began to show off at once. He's got two autos, and this big motor boat. He always goes around with a silk hat and a flower in his buttonhole. A big bluff--that's what he is." "He acted so to me," was Tom's comment. "Well, he isn't going to scare me. The idea! Why, he seemed to think we were in the wrong; whereas he was, and his man knew it, too." "Yes, but the poor fellow was afraid to say so. I felt sorry for him." "So did I," added Tom. "Well, Kilo is out of commission for the present. Guess we'll have to finish our outing by walking, Ned." "Oh, I don't mind. But it makes me mad to have a fellow act the way he did." "Well, there's no good in getting mad," was Tom's smiling rejoinder. "We'll take it out of him legally. That's the best way in the end. But I can't help saying I don't like Mr. Shallock Peters." "And I don't either," added Ned. CHAPTER VI A WARNING "There, she's about right now, Ned. Hold her there!" "Aye, aye, Captain Tom!" "Jove, she's leaking like a sieve! We only got her here just in time!" "That's right," agreed Ned. Tom and his chum had managed to get the Kilo to Ramsey's dock, and over the ways of the inclined marine railway that led from the shop on shore down into the river. Then, poling the craft along, until she was in the "cradle," Ned held her there while Tom went on shore to wind up the windlass that pulled the car, containing the boat, up the incline. "I'll give you a hand, as soon as I find she sets level," called Ned, from his place in the boat. "All right--don't worry. There are good gears on this windlass, and she works easy," replied Tom. In a short time the boat was out of the water, but, as Tom grimly remarked, "the water was not out of her," for a stream poured from the stuffing-box, through which the propeller shaft entered, and water also ran out through the seams that had been opened by the collision. "Quite a smash, Tom," observed the boat repairer, when he had come out to look over the Kilo. "How'd it happen?" "Oh, Shallock Peters, with his big red boat, ran into us!" said Ned, sharply. "Ha, Peters; eh?" exclaimed the boatman. "That's the second craft he's damaged inside a week with his speed mania. There's Bert Johnson's little speeder over there," and he pointed to one over which some men were working. "Had to put a whole new stern in her, and what do you think that man Peters did?" "What?" asked Tom, as he bent down to see how much damage his craft had sustained. "He wouldn't pay young Johnson a cent of money for the repairs," went on Mr. Houston, the boatman. "It was all Peters's fault, too." "Couldn't he make him pay?" asked Tom. "Well, young Johnson asked for it--no more than right, too; but Peters only sneered and laughed at him." "Why didn't he sue?" asked Ned. "Costs too much money to hire lawyers, I reckon. So he played you the same trick; eh, Tom?" "Pretty much, yes. But he won't get off so easily, I can tell you that!" and there was a grim and determined look on the face of the young inventor. "How long will it take to fix my boat, Mr. Houston?" "Nigh onto two weeks, Tom. I'm terrible rushed now." Tom whistled ruefully. "I could do it myself quicker, if I could get her back to my shop," he said. "But she'd sink on the home trip. All right, do the best you can, Mr. Houston." "I will that, Tom." The two chums walked out of the boat-repair place. "What are you going to do, Tom?" asked Ned, as they strolled along. "Well, since we can't go motor boating, I guess I may as well go back and see if that new supply of selenium has come. I do want to get my photo telephone working, Ned." "And that's all the outing you're going to take--less than an hour!" exclaimed Ned, reproachfully. "Oh, well, all you wanted to do was to get me out of a rut, as you called it," laughed Tom. "And you've done it--you and Mr. Peters together. It jolted up my brain, and I guess I can think better now. Come on back and watch me tinker away, Ned." "Not much! I'm going to stay out and get some fresh air while I can. You'd better, too." "I will, later." So Tom turned back to his workshop, and Ned strolled on into the country, for his day's work at the bank was over. And for some time after that--until far into the night--Tom Swift worked at the knotty problem of the photo telephone. But the young inventor was baffled. Try as he might, he could not get the image to show on the metal plate, nor could he get any results by using a regular photographic plate, and developing it afterward. "There is something wrong with the transmission of the light waves over the wire," Tom confessed to his father. "You'll never do it, Tom," said the aged inventor. "You are only wasting a whole lot of time." "Well, as I haven't anything else to do now, it isn't much loss," spoke Tom, ruefully. "But I'm going to make this work, Dad!" "All right, son. It's up to you. Only I tell you it can't be done." Tom, himself, was almost ready to admit this, when, a week later, he seemed to be no nearer a solution of the problem than he was at first. He had tried everything he could think of, and he had Eradicate and Koku, the giant, almost distracted, by making them stay in small telephone booths for hours at a time, while the young inventor tried to get some reflection of one face or the other to come over the wire. Koku finally got so nervous over the matter, that he flatly refused to "pose" any longer, so Tom was forced to use Eradicate. As for that elderly man of all work, after many trials, all unsuccessful, he remarked: "Massa Tom, I reckon I knows what's wrong." "Yes, Rad? Well, what is it?" "Mah face am too black--dat's de trouble. You done want a white-complected gen'man to stand in dat booth an' look at dat lookin' glass plate. I'se too black! I suah is!" "No, that isn't it, Rad," laughed Tom, hopelessly. "If the thing works at all it will send a black man's face over the wire as well as a white man's. I guess the truth of it is that you're like Koku. You're getting tired. I don't know as I blame you. I'm getting a bit weary myself. I'm going to take a rest. I'll send for another kind of selenium crystals I've heard of, and we'll try them. In the meanwhile--I'll take a little vacation." "Get out my small airship, Rad, and I'll take a little flight." "Dat's de way to talk, Massa Tom," was the glad rejoinder. "I'm going over to see Mr. Damon, Father," announced Tom to Mr. Swift a little later, when his speedy monoplane was waiting for him. "I haven't seen him in some time, and I'd like to get at the truth of what Mr. Halling said about Mr. Damon's fortune being in danger. I'll be back soon." "All right, Tom. And say--" "Yes, Dad, what is it?" asked Tom, as he paused in the act of getting in the seat. "If he wants any ready cash, you know we've got plenty." "Oh, sure. I was going to tell him we'd help him out." Then, as Koku spun the propeller blades, Tom grasped the steering wheel, and, tilting the elevating rudder, he was soon soaring into the air, he and his craft becoming smaller and smaller as they were lost to sight in the distance, while the rattle and roar of the powerful motor became fainter. In a comparatively short time Tom had made a successful landing in the big yard in front of Mr. Damon's house, and, walking up the path, kept a lookout for his friend. "I wonder why he didn't come out to meet me?" mused Tom, for usually when the eccentric man heard the throbbing of Tom's motor, he was out waiting for the young inventor. But this time it was not the case. "Is Mr. Damon in?" Tom asked of the maid who answered his ring. "Yes, Mr. Swift. You'll find him in the library," and she ushered him in. "Oh, hello, Tom," greeted Mr. Damon, but the tone was so listless, and his friend's manner so gloomy that the young inventor was quite embarrassed. "Have a chair," went on Mr. Damon. "I'll talk to you in a minute, Tom. I've got to finish this letter, and it's a hard one to write, let me tell you." Now Tom was more astonished than ever. Not once had Mr. Damon "blessed," anything, and when this did not happen Tom was sure something was wrong. He waited until his friend had sealed the letter, and turned to him with a sigh. Then Tom said boldly: "Mr. Damon, is it true that you're having hard luck--in money matters?" "Why, yes, Tom, I'm afraid I am," was the quick answer. "But who told you?" "Grant Halling. He was over to get me to fix his airship," and Tom briefly related what had happened. "Oh, yes, I did mention the matter to him," went on Mr. Damon, and his tone was still listless. "So he told you; did he? Well, matters aren't any better, Tom. In fact, they're worse. I just had to write to a man who was asking for help, and I had to refuse him, though he needs it very much. The truth is I hadn't the money. Tom, I'm afraid I'm going to be a very poor man soon." "Impossible, Mr. Damon! Why, I thought your investments--" "I've made some bad ones of late, Tom. I've been pretty foolish, I'm afraid. I drew out some money I had in government bonds, and invested in certain stocks sold by a Mr. Shallock Peters." "Shallock Peters!" cried Tom, almost jumping out of his chair. "Why, I know him--I mean I've met him." "Have you, Tom? Well, then, all I've got to say is to steer clear of him, my boy. Don't have anything to do with him," and, with something of a return of his usual energy Mr. Damon banged his fist down on his desk. "Give him a wide berth, Tom, and if you see him coming, turn your back. He'd talk a miser into giving him his last cent. Keep away from Shallock Peters, Tom. Bless my necktie, he's a scoundrel, that's what he is!" and again Mr. Damon banged his desk forcibly. CHAPTER VII SOFT WORDS "Well, I'm glad of one thing!" exclaimed Tom, when the ink bottle and the paper cutter on Mr. Damon's desk had ceased rattling, because of the violence of the blow. "I'm glad of one thing." "What's that, Tom?" asked his friend. "I heard you bless something at last--the first time since I came in." "Oh!" and Mr. Damon laughed. "Well, Tom, I haven't been blessing things lately--that's a fact. I haven't had the heart for it. There are too many business complications. I wish I'd never met this Peters." "So do I," said Tom. "My motor boat would not have been damaged then." "Did he do that, Tom?" "He certainly did, and then he accused me of being at fault." "That would be just like him. Tell me about it, Tom." When the young inventor finished the story of the collision Mr. Damon sat silent for a moment. Then he remarked slowly: "That's just like Peters. A big bluff--that's what he is. I wish I'd discovered that fact sooner--I'd be money in pocket. But I allowed myself to be deceived by his talk about big profits. At first he seemed like a smart business man, and he certainly had fine recommendations. But I am inclined to believe, now, that the recommendations were forged." "What did he do to you, Mr. Damon?" asked Tom, with ready sympathy. "It's too complicated to go into details over, Tom, but to make a long story short, he got me to invest nearly all my fortune in some enterprises that, I fear, are doomed to failure. And if they do fail, I'll be a ruined man." "No, you won't!" exclaimed Tom. "That's one reason why I came here to-day. Father told me to offer you all the ready money you needed to get out of your trouble. How much do you need, Mr. Damon?" "Bless my collar button! That's like your father, Tom," and now Mr. Damon seemed more like his old self. "Bless my shoes, a man never knows who his real friends are until trouble comes. I can't say how I thank you and your father, Tom. But I'm not going to take advantage of him." "It wouldn't be taking any advantage of him, Mr. Damon. He has money lying idle, and he'd like to have you use it." "Well, Tom, I might use it, if I had only myself to think about. But there's no use in throwing good money after bad. If I took yours now this fellow Peters would only get it, and that would be the last of it." "No, Tom, thank you and your father just the same, but I'll try to weather the storm a bit longer myself. Then, if I do go down I won't drag anybody else with me. I'll hang on to the wreck a bit longer. The storm may blow over, or--or something may happen to this fellow Peters." "Has he really got you in his grip, Mr. Damon?" "He has, and, to a certain extent, it's my own fault. I should have been suspicious of him. And now, Tom, let me give you a further word of warning. You heard me say to steer clear of this Peters?" "Yes, and I'm going to. But I'm going to make him pay for damaging my boat, if I possibly can." "Maybe it would be wiser not to try that, Tom. I tell you he's a tricky man. And one thing more. I have heard that this man Peters makes a specialty of organizing companies to take up new inventions." "Is that so?" asked Tom, interestedly. "Yes, but that's as far as it goes. Peters gets the invention, and the man, out of whose brain it came, gets nothing." "In other words, he swindles them?" "That's it, Tom. If not in one way, then in another. He cheats them out of the profits of their inventions. So I want to warn you to be on the lookout." "Don't worry," said Tom. "Peters will get nothing from my father or me. We'll be on our guard. Not that I think he will try it, but it's just as well to be warned. I didn't like him from the moment he ran into me, and, now that I know what he has done to you, I like him still less. He won't get anything from me!" "I'm glad to hear you say so, Tom. I wish he'd gotten nothing out of me." "Are you sure you won't let my father help you, financially, Mr. Damon?" "No, Tom, at least not for the present. I'm going to make another fight to hold on to my fortune. If I find I can't do it alone, then I'll call on you. I'm real glad you called. Bless my shoestring! I feel better now." "I'm glad of it," laughed Tom, and he saw that his friend was in a better state of mind, as his "blessings" showed. Tom remained for a little longer, talking to Mr. Damon, and then took his leave, flying back home in the airship. "Gen'man t' see yo', Massa Tom," announced Eradicate, as he helped Tom wheel the monoplane back into the shed. "Is that so, Rad? Where is he?" "Settin' in th' library. Yo' father am out, so I asted him in dere." "That's right, Rad. Who is he, do you know?" "No, sah, Massa Tom, I doan't. He shore does use a pow'ful nice perfume on his pocket hanky, though. Yum-yum!" "Perfume!" exclaimed Tom, his mind going back to the day he had had the trouble with Mr. Peters. "Is he a big, red-faced man, Rad?" "No, sah, Massa Tom. He's a white-faced, skinny man." "Then it can't be Peters," mused Tom. "I guess perhaps it's that lawyer I wrote to about bringing suit to get back what it cost me to have the Kilo fixed. I'll see him at once. Oh, by the way, it isn't Mr. Grant Halling; is it? The gentleman who got tangled up in our aerials with his airship? Is it he?" "No, sah, Massa Tom. 'Tain't him." "I thought perhaps he had gotten into more trouble," mused Tom, as he took off his airship "togs," and started for the house. For Mr. Halling had called for his repaired airship some time ago, and had promised to pay Tom another and more conventional visit, some future day. Tom did not know the visitor whom he greeted in the library a little later. The man, as Eradicate had said, was rather pale of face, and certainly he was not very fleshy. "Mr. Tom Swift, I think?" said the man, rising and holding out his hand. "That's my name. I don't believe I know you, though." "No, I haven't your reputation," said the man, with a laugh that Tom did not like. "We can't all be great inventors like you," and, somehow, Tom liked the man less than before, for he detected an undertone of sneering patronage in the words. Tom disliked praise, and he felt that this was not sincere. "I have called on a little matter of business," went on the man. "My name is Harrison Boylan, and I represent Mr. Shallock Peters." Instinctively Tom stiffened. Receiving a call from a representative of the man against whom Mr. Damon had warned him only a short time before was a strange coincidence, Tom thought. "You had some little accident, when your motor boat and that of Mr. Peters collided, a brief time ago; did you not?" went on Mr. Boylan. "I did," said Tom, and, as he motioned the caller to be seated Tom saw, with a start, that some of the drawings of his photo telephone were lying on a desk in plain sight. They were within easy reach of the man, and Tom thought the sheets looked as though they had been recently handled. They were not in the orderly array Tom had made of them before going out. "If he is a spy, and has been looking at them," mused Tom, "he may steal my invention." Then he calmed himself, as he realized that he, himself, had not yet perfected his latest idea. "I guess he couldn't make much of the drawings," Tom thought. "Yes, the collision was most unfortunate," went on Mr. Boylan, "and Mr. Peters has instructed me to say--" "If he's told you to say that it was my fault, you may as well save your time," cut in Tom. "I don't want to be impolite, but I have my own opinion of the affair. And I might add that I have instructed a lawyer to begin a suit against Mr. Peters--" "No necessity for that at all!" interrupted the man, in soft accents. "No necessity at all. I am sorry you did that, for there was no need. Mr. Peters has instructed me to say that he realizes the accident was entirely his own fault, and he is very willing--nay, anxious, to pay all damages. In fact, that is why I am here, and I am empowered, my dear Mr. Swift, to offer you five hundred dollars, to pay for the repairs to your motor boat. If that is not enough--" The man paused, and drew a thick wallet from his pocket. Tom felt a little embarrassed over what he had said. "Oh," spoke the young inventor, "the repair bill is only about three hundred dollars. I'm sorry--" "Now that's all right, Mr. Swift! It's all right," and the man, with his soft words, raised a white, restraining hand. "Not another word. Mr. Peters did not know who you were that day he so unfortunately ran into you. If he had, he would not have spoken as he did. He supposed you were some amateur motor-boatist, and he was--well, he admits it--he was provoked." "Since then he has made inquiries, and, learning who you were, he at once authorized me to make a settlement in full. So if five hundred dollars--" "The repair bill," said Tom, and his voice was not very cordial, in spite of the other's persuasive smile, "the bill came to three hundred forty-seven dollars. Here is the receipted bill. I paid it, and, to be frank with you, I intended bringing suit against Mr. Peters for that sum." "No need, no need at all, I assure you!" interrupted Mr. Boylan, as he counted off some bills. "There you are, and I regret that you and Mr. Peters had such a misunderstanding. It was all his fault, and he wants to apologize to you." "The apology is accepted," said Tom, and he smiled a trifle. "Also the money. I take it merely as a matter of justice, for I assure you that Mr. Peters's own machinist will say the accident was his employer's fault." "No doubt of it, not the least in the world," said the caller. "And now that I have this disagreeable business over, let me speak of something more pleasant." Instinctively Tom felt that now the real object of the man's call would be made plain--that the matter of paying the damages was only a blind. Tom steeled himself for what was to come. "You know, I suppose," went on Mr. Boylan, smiling at Tom, "that Mr. Peters is a man of many and large interests." "I have heard something like that," said Tom, cautiously. "Yes. Well, he is an organizer--a promoter, if you like. He supplies the money for large enterprises, and is, therefore, a benefactor of the human race. Where persons have no cash with which to exploit their--well, say their inventions. Mr. Peters takes them, and makes money out of them." "No doubt," thought Tom, grimly. "In other cases, where an inventor is working at a handicap, say with too many interests, Mr. Peters takes hold of one of his ideas, and makes it pay much better than the inventor has been able to do." "Now, Mr. Peters has heard of you, and he would like to do you good." "Yes, I guess he would," thought Tom. "He would like to do me--and do me good and brown. Here's where I've got to play a game myself." "And so," went on Mr. Boylan, "Mr. Peters has sent me to you to ask you to allow him to exploit one, or several, of your inventions. He will form a large stock company, put one of your inventions on the market, and make you a rich man. Now what do you say?" and he looked at Tom and smiled--smiled, the young inventor could not help thinking, like a cat looking at a mouse. "What do you say, Mr. Swift?" For a moment Tom did not answer. Then getting up and opening the library door, to indicate that the interview was at an end, the young inventor smiled, and said: "Tell Mr. Peters that I thank him, but that I have nothing for him to exploit, or with which to form a company to market." "Wha--what!" faltered the visitor. "Do you mean to say you will not take advantage of his remarkable offer?" "That's just what I mean to say," replied Tom, with a smile. "You won't do business with Mr. Peters? You won't let him do you good?" "No," said Tom, quietly. "Why--why, that's the strangest--the most preposterous thing I ever heard of!" protested Mr. Boylan. "What--what shall I say to Mr. Peters?" "Tell him," said Tom, "tell him, from me, and excuse the slang, if you like, but tell him there is--nothing doing!" CHAPTER VIII TOM IS BAFFLED Amazement held Mr. Boylan silent for a moment, and then, staring at Tom, as though he could not believe what he had heard the young inventor say, the representative of Mr. Peters exclaimed: "Nothing doing?" "That's what I said," repeated Tom, calmly. "But--but you don't understand, I'm afraid." "Oh, but indeed I do." "Then you refuse to let my friend, Mr. Peters, exploit some of your inventions?" "I refuse absolutely." "Oh, come now. Take an invention that hasn't been very successful." "Well, I don't like to boast," said Tom with a smile, "but all of my inventions have been successful. They don't need any aid from Mr. Peters, thank you." "But this one!" went on the visitor eagerly, "this one about some new kind of telephone," and he motioned to the drawings on the table. "Has that been a success? Excuse me for having looked at the plans, but I did not think you would mind. Has that telephone been a success? If it has not perhaps Mr. Peters could form a company to--" "How did you know those drawings referred to a telephone?" asked Tom, suspiciously, for the papers did not make it clear just what the invention was. "Why, I understood--I heard, in fact, that you were working on a new photo telephone, and--" "Who told you?" asked Tom quickly. "Oh, no one in particular. The colored man who sent me here mentioned--" "Eradicate!" thought Tom. "He must have been talking. That isn't like him. I must look into this." Then to his caller he said: "Really, you must excuse me, Mr. Boylan, but I don't care to do any business with Mr. Peters. Tell him, with my thanks, that there is really nothing doing in his line. I prefer to exploit my own inventions." "That is your last word?" "Yes," returned Tom, as he gathered up the drawings. "Well," said Mr. Boylan, and Tom could not help thinking there was a veiled threat in his tones, "you will regret this. You will be sorry for not having accepted this offer." "I think not," replied Tom, confidently. "Good-day." The young inventor sat for some time thinking deeply, when his visitor had gone. He called Eradicate to him, and gently questioned the old colored man, for Eradicate was ageing fast of late, and Tom did not want him to feel badly. It developed that the servant had been closely cross-questioned by Mr. Boylan, while he was waiting for Tom, and it was small wonder that the old colored man had let slip a reference to the photo telephone. But he really knew nothing of the details of the invention, so he could have given out no secrets. "But at the same time," mused Tom, "I must be on guard against these fellows. That Boylan seems a pretty slick sort of a chap. As for Peters, he's a big 'bluff,' to be perfectly frank. I'm glad I had Mr. Damon's warning in mind, or I might have been tempted to do business with him." "Now to get busy at this photo telephone again. I'm going to try a totally different system of transmission. I'll use an alternating current on the third wire, and see if that makes it any better. And I'll put in the most sensitive selenium plate I can make. I'm going to have this thing a success." Tom carefully examined the drawings of his invention, at which papers Mr. Boylan had confessed to looking. As far as the young inventor could tell none was missing, and as they were not completed it would be hard work for anyone not familiar with them to have gotten any of Tom's ideas. "But at the same time I'm going to be on my guard," mused Tom. "And now for another trial." Tom Swift worked hard during the following week, and so closely did he stick to his home and workshop that he did not even pay a visit to Mr. Damon, so he did not learn in what condition that gentleman's affairs were. Tom even denied himself to his chum Ned, so taken up was the young inventor with working out the telephone problem, until Ned fairly forced himself into the shop one day, and insisted on Tom coming out. "You need some fresh air!" exclaimed Ned. "Come on out in the motor boat again. She's all fixed now; isn't she?" "Yes," answered Tom, "but--" "Oh, 'but me no buts,' as Mr. Shakespeare would say. Come on, Tom. It will do you good. I want a spin myself." "All right, I will go for a little while," agreed Tom. "I am feeling a bit rusty, and my head seems filled with cobwebs." "Can't get the old thing to come out properly; eh?" "No. I guess dad was more than half right when he said it couldn't be done. But I haven't given up. Maybe I'll think of some new plan if I take a little run. Come along." They went down to the boat house, and soon were out on the lake in the Kilo. "She runs better since you had her fixed," remarked Ned. "Yes, they did a good job." "Did you sue Peters?" "Didn't have to. He sent the money," and Tom told of his interview with Mr. Boylan. This was news to Ned, as was also the financial trouble of Mr. Damon. "Well," said the young banker, "that bears out what I had heard of Peters--that he was a get-rich-quick chap, and a good one to steer clear of." "Speaking of steering clear," laughed Tom, "there he is now, in his big boat," and he pointed to a red blur coming up the lake. "I'll give him a wide enough berth this time." But though Mr. Peters, in his powerful motor boat, passed close to Tom's more modest craft, the big man did not glance toward our hero and his chum. Nor did Mr. Boylan, who was with his friend, look over. "I guess they've had enough of you," chuckled Ned. "Probably he wishes he hadn't paid me that money," said Tom. "Very likely he thought, after he handed it over, that I'd be only too willing to let him manage one of my inventions. But he has another guess coming." Tom and Ned rode on for some distance, thoroughly enjoying the spin on the lake that fine Summer day. They stopped for lunch at a picnic resort, and coming back in the cool of the evening they found themselves in the midst of a little flotilla of pleasure craft, all decorated with Japanese lanterns. "Better slow down a bit," Ned advised Tom, for many of the pleasure craft were canoes and light row boats. "Our wash may upset some of them." "Guess you're right, old man," agreed Tom, as he closed the gasoline throttle, to reduce speed. Hardly had he done so than there broke in upon the merry shouts and singing of the pleasure-seekers the staccato exhaust of a powerful motor boat, coming directly behind Tom's craft. Then came the shrill warning of an electrical siren horn. "Somebody's in a hurry," observed Tom. "Yes," answered Ned. "It sounds like Peters's boat, too." "It is!" exclaimed Tom. "Here he comes. He ought to know better than to cut through this raft of boats at that speed." "Is he headed toward us?" "No, I guess he's had enough of that. But look at him!" With undiminished speed the burly promoter was driving his boat on. The big vibrating horn kept up its clamor, and a powerful searchlight in front dazzled the eyes. "Look out! Look out!" cried several. Many of the rowers and paddlers made haste to clear a lane for the big, speedy motor craft, and Peters and his friends (for there were several men in his boat now) seemed to accept this as a matter of course, and their right. "Somebody'll be swamped!" exclaimed Ned. Hardly had he spoken than, as the big red boat dashed past in a smother of foam, there came a startled cry in girls' voices. "Look!" cried Tom. "That canoe's upset! Speed her up, Ned! We've got to get 'em!" CHAPTER IX A GLEAM OF HOPE "Where are they?" "Who are they?" "Over this way! There's their canoe!" "Look out for that motor boat!" "Who was it ran them down? They ought to be arrested!" These were only a few of the cries that followed the upsetting of the frail canoe by the wash from the powerful red boat. On Tom's Kilo there was a small, electrical searchlight which he had not yet switched on. But, with his call to Ned Newton to speed up the motor, that had been slowed down, Tom, with one turn of his fingers, set the lamp aglow, while, with the other hand, he whirled the wheel over to head his craft for the spot where he saw two figures struggling in the water. Fortunately the lanterns on the various canoes and row-boats, as well as the light on the bow of Tom's Kilo, made an illumination that gave the rescuers a good chance to work. Many other boats besides Tom's had headed for the scene, but his was the more practical, since the others--all quite small ones--were pretty well filled. "There they are, Ned!" Tom suddenly cried. "Throw out the clutch! I'll get 'em!" "Want any help?" "No, you stay at the engine, and mind what I say. Reverse now! We're going to pass them!" Ned threw in the backing gear, and the screw churned the water to foam under the stern of the Kilo. Tom leaned over the bow, and made a grab for the gasping, struggling figure of a girl in the water. At the same time he had tossed overboard a cork life ring, attached to a rope which, in turn, was made fast to the forward deck-cleat. "Grab that!" cried Tom. "Hold on, and I'll have you out in a second! That's enough, Ned! Shut her off!" The Kilo came to a standstill, and, a second later, Tom had pulled into his boat one of the girls. She would have collapsed, and fallen in a heap on the bottom boards, had not Ned, who had come forward from the engine, caught her. Then Tom, again leaning over the side, pulled in the other girl, who was clinging to the life ring. "You're all right," Tom assured her, as she came up, gasping, choking and crying hysterically. "You're all right!" "Is--is Minnie saved?" she sobbed. "Yes, Grace! I'm here," answered the one Ned was supporting. "Oh, wasn't it terrible!" cried the second girl Tom had saved. "I thought we would be drowned, even though we can swim." "Yes, it--it was so--so sudden!" gasped her companion. "What happened?" "The wash from that big boat upset you," explained Tom. "That fellow ought to be ashamed of himself, rushing along the way he did. Now, can I take you girls anywhere? Your canoe seems to have drifted off." "I have it!" someone called. "It's turned over, but I can tow it to shore." "And I'll take the girls home," offered a gentleman in a large rowboat. "My wife will look after them. They live near us," and he mentioned his own name and the names of the two girls Tom had saved. The young inventor did not know them, but he introduced himself and Ned. "This is the annual moonlight outing of our little boat club," explained the man who had offered to look after the girls, "and it is the first time we ever had an accident. This was not our fault, though." "Indeed it was not," agreed Tom, after he had helped the two dripping young ladies into the rowboat. "It was due to Mr. Peters's speed mania." "I shall make a complaint against him to the navigation authorities," said Mr. Ralston, who was looking after the girls. "He must think he, alone, has any rights on this lake." With renewed thanks to Tom and Ned, the rescued girls were rowed off to their homes, while the interrupted water carnival was continued. "Some little excitement; eh, Tom?" remarked Ned, when they were once more under way. "Yes. We seem to run into that fellow Peters, or some of his doings, quite often lately." "And it isn't a good sign, either," murmured Ned. For some minutes after that Tom did not speak. In fact he was so silent that Ned at last inquired: "What's the matter, Tom--in love?" "Far from it. But, Ned, I've got an idea." "And I've got a wet suit of clothes where that nice young lady fainted in my arms. I'm soaked." "That's what gave me the idea--the water, I mean. I noticed how everything was reflected in it, and, do you know, Ned, I believe I have been working on the wrong principle for my photo telephone." "Wrong, Tom, how is that?" "Why, I've been using a dry plate, and I think I should have used a wet one. You know how even in a little puddle of water on the sidewalk you can see yourself reflected?" "Yes, I've often seen that." "Well then, 'bless my watch chain!' as Mr. Damon would say, I think I've got just what I want. I'm going to try a wet plate now, and I think it will work. Come on now. Speed up! I'm in a great big hurry to get home and try it!" "Well, Tom, I sure will be glad if you've got the right idea," laughed Ned. "It will be worth getting wet through for, if you strike something. Good luck!" Tom could hardly wait to fasten up his boat for the night, so eager was he to get to his shop laboratory and try the new idea. A gleam of hope had come to him. It was still early evening, and Tom, when enticed out by Ned, had left his photo telephone apparatus in readiness to go on with his trials as soon as he should have come back. "Now for it, Ned!" exclaimed the young inventor, as he took off his coat. "First I'll sensitize a selenium plate, and then I'll wet it. Water is always a good conductor of electricity, and it's a wonder that I forgot that when I was planning this photo telephone. But seeing the sparkle of lights, and the reflection of ourselves in the lake to-night, brought it back to me. Now then, you haven't anything special to do; have you?" "Not a thing, Tom." "That's good. Then you get in this other telephone closet--the one in the casting shop. I'll put a prepared plate in there, and one in the booth where I'm to sit. Then I'll switch on the current, and we'll see if I can make you out, and you notice whether my image appears on your plate." It took some little time to make ready for this new test. Tom was filled with enthusiasm, and he was sure it was going to be successful this time. Ned watched him prepare the selenium plates--plates that were so sensitive to illumination that, in the dark, the metal would hardly transmit a current of electricity, but in the light would do so readily, its conductivity depending on the amount of light it received. "There, I guess we're all ready, Ned," announced Tom, at last. "Now you go to your little coop, and I'll shut myself up in mine. We can talk over the telephone." Seated in the little booth in one of the smaller of Tom's shops, Ned proceeded with his part in the new experiment. A small shelf had been fitted up in the booth, or closet, and on this was the apparatus, consisting of a portable telephone set, and a small box, in which was set a selenium plate. This plate had been wet by a spray of water in order to test Tom's new theory. In a similar booth, several hundred feet away, and in another building, Tom took his place. The two booths were connected by wires, and in each one was an electric light. "All ready, Ned?" asked Tom, through the telephone. "All ready," came the answer. "Now then, turn on your switch--the one I showed you--and look right at the sensitized plate. Then turn out your light, and slowly turn it on. It's a new kind, and the light comes up gradually, like gas or an oil lamp. Turn it on easily." "I get you, Tom." Ned did as requested. Slowly the illumination in the booth increased. "Do you get anything, Tom?" asked Ned, over the wire. "Not yet," was the somewhat discouraged answer. "Go ahead, turn on more light, and keep your face close to the plate." Ned did so. "How about it now?" he asked, a moment later. "Nothing--yet," was the answer. And then suddenly Tom's voice rose to a scream over the wire. "Ned--Ned! Quick!" he called. "Come here--I--I--" The voice died off into a meaningless gurgle. CHAPTER X MIDNIGHT VISITORS Ned Newton never knew exactly how he got out of the telephone booth. He seemed to give but one jump, tearing the clamped receiver from his ear, and almost upsetting the photo apparatus in his mad rush to help Tom. Certain it is, however, that he did get out, and a few seconds later he was speeding toward the shop where Tom had taken his position in a booth. Ned burst in, crying out: "Tom! What is it? What happened? What's the matter?" There was no answer. Fearing the worst, Ned hurried to the small booth, in one corner of the big, dimly lighted shop. He could see Tom's lamp burning in the telephone compartment. "Tom! Tom!" called the young banker. Still there was no answer, and Ned, springing forward, threw open the double, sound-proof door of the booth. Then he saw Tom lying unconscious, with his head and arms on the table in front of him, while the low buzzing of the electrical apparatus in the transmitting box told that the current had not been shut off. "Tom! Tom!" cried Ned in his chum's ear. He shook him by the shoulder. "Are you hurt? What is the matter?" The young inventor seemed unconscious, and for a moment Ned had a wild idea that Tom had been shocked to death, possibly by some crossed live wire coming in contact with the telephone circuit. "But that couldn't have happened, or I'd have been shocked myself," mused Ned. Then he became aware of a curious, sweet, sickish odor in the booth. It was overpowering. Ned felt himself growing dizzy. "I have it--chloroform!" he gasped. "In some way Tom has been overcome by chloroform. I've got to get him to the fresh air." Once he had solved the puzzle of Tom's unconsciousness, Ned was quick to act. He caught Tom under the arms, and dragged him out of the booth, and to the outer door of the shop. Almost before Ned had reached there with his limp burden, Tom began to revive, and soon the fresh, cool night air completed the work. "I--I," began the young inventor. "Ned, I--I--" "Now take it easy, Tom," advised his chum. "You'll be all right in a few minutes. What happened? Shall I call your father, or Koku?" "No--don't. It would only--only alarm dad," faltered Tom. "I'm getting all right now. But he--he nearly had me, Ned!" "He had you? What do you mean, Tom? Who had you?" "I don't know who it was, but when I was talking to you over the wire, all of a sudden I felt a hand behind me. It slipped over my mouth and nose, and I smelled chloroform. I knew right away something was wrong, and I called to you. That's all I remember. I guess I must have gone off." "You did," spoke Ned. "You were unconscious when I got to you. I couldn't imagine what had happened. First I thought it was an electrical shock. Then I smelled that chloroform. But who could it have been, Tom?" "Give it up, Ned! I haven't the slightest idea." "Could they have been going to rob you?" "I haven't a thing but a nickel watch on me," went on Tom. "I left all my cash in the house. If it was robbery, it wasn't me, personally, they were after." "What then? Some of your inventions?" "That's my idea now, Ned. You remember some years ago Jake Burke and his gang held me up and took one of dad's patents away from me?" "Yes, I've heard you mention that. It was when you first got your motor cycle; wasn't it?" "That's right. Well, what I was going to say was that they used chloroform on me then, and--" "You think this is the same crowd? Why, I thought they were captured." "No, they got away, but I haven't heard anything of them in years. Now it may be they have come back for revenge, for you know we got back the stolen property." "That's right. Say, Tom, it might be so. What are you going to do about it?" "I hardly know. If it was Jake Burke, alias Happy Harry, and his crowd, including Appleson, Morse and Featherton, they're a bad lot. I wouldn't want father to know they were around, for he'd be sure to worry himself sick. He never really got over the time they attacked me, and got the patent away. Dad sure thought he was ruined then." "Now if I tell him I was chloroformed again to-night, and that I think it was Burke and his crowd, he'd be sure to get ill over it. So I'm just going to keep mum." "Well, perhaps it's the best plan. But you ought to do something." "Oh, I will, Ned, don't worry about that. I feel much better now." "How did it happen?" asked Ned, his curiosity not yet satisfied. "I don't know, exactly. I was in the booth, talking to you, and not paying much attention to anything else. I was adjusting and readjusting the current, trying to get that image to appear on the plate. All at once, I felt someone back of me, and, before I could turn, that hand, with the chloroform sponge, was over my mouth and nose. I struggled, and called out, but it wasn't much use." "But they didn't do anything else--they didn't take anything; did they, Tom?" "I don't know, Ned. We'll have to look around. They must have sneaked into the shop. I left the door open, you see. It would have been easy enough." "How many were there?" "I couldn't tell. I only felt one fellow at me; but he may have had others with him." "What particular invention were they after, Tom?" "I'm sure I don't know. There are several models in here that would be valuable. I know one thing, though, they couldn't have been after my photo telephone," and Tom laughed grimly. "Why not?" Ned wanted to know. "Because it's a failure--that's what! It's a dead, sure failure, Ned, and I'm going to give it up!" and Tom spoke bitterly. "Oh, don't say that!" urged his chum. "You may be right on the verge of perfecting it, Tom. Didn't you see any image at all on the plate?" "Not a shadow. I must be on the wrong track. Well, never mind about that now. I'm going to look around, and see if those fellows took anything." Tom was feeling more like himself again, the effects of the chloroform having passed away. He had breathed the fumes of it for only a little while, so no harm had been done. He and Ned made an examination of the shop, but found nothing missing. There were no traces of the intruders, however, though the two chums looked carefully about outside the building. "You were too quick for them, Ned," said Tom. "You came as soon as I called. They heard me speaking, and must have known that I had given the alarm." "Yes, I didn't lose any time," admitted Ned, "but I didn't see a sign of anyone as I ran up." "They must have been pretty quick at getting away. Well, now to decide what's best to do to-night." After some consultation and consideration it was decided to set the burglar alarms in every building of the Swift plant. Some time previous, when he had been working on a number of valuable inventions, unscrupulous men had tried to steal his ideas and models. To prevent this Tom had arranged a system of burglar alarms, and had also fitted up a wizard camera that would take moving pictures of anyone coming within its focus. The camera could be set to work at night, in connection with the burglar alarms. The apparatus was effective, and thus an end was put to the efforts of the criminals. But now it seemed Tom would have to take new precautionary measures. His camera, however, was not available, as he had loaned it to a scientific society for exhibition. "But we'll attach the burglar wires," decided Tom, "and see what happens." "It might be a good plan to have Koku on guard," said Tom's chum. "That giant could handle four or five of the chaps as easily as you and I could tackle one." "That's right," agreed Tom. "I'll put him on guard. Whew! That chloroform is giving me a headache. Guess I'll go to bed. I wish you'd stay over to-night, Ned, if you haven't anything else to do. I may need you." "Then of course I'll stay, Tom. I'll telephone home that I won't be in." A little later Tom had put away his new photo telephone apparatus, and had prepared for the warm reception of any unbidden callers. "I wish I hadn't started on this new invention," said Tom, half bitterly, as he locked up the main parts of his machine, "I know it will never work." "Oh, yes it will," spoke Ned, cheerfully. "You never failed yet, Tom Swift, in anything you undertook, and you're not going to now." "Well, that's good of you to say, Ned, but I think you're wrong this time. But I'm not going to think any more about it to-night, anyhow. Now to find Koku and put him on watch." The giant listened carefully to Tom's simple instructions. "If any bad men come in the night, Koku," said the young inventor, "you catch them!" "Yes, master, me catch!" said Koku, grimly. "Me catch!" and he stretched out his powerful arms, and clenched his big hands in a way that boded no good to evildoers. Nothing was said to Mr. Swift, to Mrs. Baggert, or to Eradicate about what had happened, for Tom did not want to worry them. The burglar alarms were set, Koku took his place where he could watch the signals, and at the same time be ready to rush out, for, somehow, Tom had an idea that the men who had attacked him would come back. Tom and Ned occupied adjoining rooms, and soon were ready for bed. But, somehow, Tom could not sleep. He lay awake, tossing from side to side, and, in spite of his resolution not to think about his photo telephone invention, his mind ran on nothing but that. "I can't see what next to do to make it work," he told himself, over and over again. "Something is wrong--but what?" At length he fell into a fitful doze, and he had a wild dream that he was sliding down hill on a big mirror in which all sorts of reflections were seen--reflections that he could not get to show in the selenium plates. Then Tom felt the mirror bobbing up and down like a motor boat in a storm. He felt the vibration, and he heard a voice calling in his ear: "Get up, Tom! Get up!" "Yes! What is it?" he sleepily exclaimed, "Hush!" was the caution he heard, and then he realized that his dream had been caused by Ned shaking him. "Well?" whispered Tom, in tense tones. "Midnight visitors!" answered his chum "The burglar alarm has just gone off! The airship hangar drop fell. Koku has gone out. Come on!" CHAPTER XI THE AIRSHIP IS TAKEN Tom leaped silently out of bed, and stood for a moment half dazed, so soundly had he been sleeping. "Come on!" urged Ned softly, realizing that his chum had not fully comprehended. "Koku will hold them until we get there. I haven't roused anyone else." "That's right," whispered Tom, as he began putting on his clothes. "I don't want father to know. When did it happen?" "Just a little while ago. I couldn't sleep very well, but I fell into a doze, and then I heard the buzzer of the alarm go off. I saw that the drop, showing that the hangar had been entered, had fallen. I got to the window in time to see Koku going toward the shed from his little coop. Then I came to you." "Glad you did," answered Tom. "I didn't think I was sleeping so soundly." Together the two chums made their way from their rooms down the dimly-lighted hall to a side door, whence they could reach the airship hangar, or shed. "Won't we need something--a gun or--" began Ned. "Clubs are better--especially at night when you can't see to aim very well," whispered back Tom. "I've got a couple of good ones downstairs. I could use my electric rifle, and set it merely to disable temporarily whoever the charge hit, but it's a little too risky. Koku has a habit of getting in the way at the most unexpected times. He's so big, you know. I think clubs will be best." "All right, Tom, just as you say," agreed Ned. "But who do you think it can be?" "I haven't the least idea. Probably the same fellows who were after me before, though. This time I'll find out what their game is, and what they're after." The chums reached the lower hall, and there Tom picked out two African war clubs which he had brought back with him from one of his many trips into wild lands. "These are just the thing!" exclaimed Ned, swinging his about. "Careful," cautioned Tom, "If you hit something you'll rouse the house, and I don't want my father and Mrs. Baggert, to say nothing of Eradicate, awakened." "Excuse me," murmured Ned. "But we'd better be getting a move on." "That's right," agreed Tom. He dropped into a side pocket a small but powerful electric flash lamp, and then he and Ned let themselves out. There had been a bright moon, but it was now overcast by clouds. However, there was sufficient light to enable the two lads to see objects quite clearly. All about them were the various buildings that made up the manufacturing and experimental plant of Tom Swift and his father. Farthest away from the house was the big shed where once Tom had kept a balloon, but which was now given over to his several airships. In front of it was a big, level grassy space, needed to enable the aircraft to get a "running start" before they could mount into the clouds. "See anything of Koku?" whispered Ned. "No," answered Tom, in the same cautious voice. "I guess he must be hiding--" "There he goes now!" hissed Ned, pointing to a big figure that was approaching the hangar. It was undoubtedly that of the giant, and he could be seen, in the dim light, stalking cautiously along. "I wonder where the uninvited guests are?" asked Tom. "Probably in the airship shed," answered Ned. "Koku was after them as soon as the alarm went off, and they couldn't have gotten away. They must be inside there yet. But what can their game be?" "It's hard to say," admitted Tom. "They may be trying to get something belonging to me, or they may imagine they can pick up some valuable secrets. Or they may--" He stopped suddenly, and then exclaimed: "Come on, Ned! They're after one of the airships! That's it! My big biplane is all ready to start, and they can get it in motion inside of a few seconds. Oh, why didn't I hurry?" he added, bitterly. But the hangar was still some distance away, and it would take two or three minutes of running to reach it. Meanwhile, and at the instant Tom had his thought of the possible theft of his biggest aircraft, something happened. The doors of the shed were suddenly thrown open, and the two boys could see the large airship being wheeled out. The hazy light of the moon behind the clouds shone on the expanse of white planes, and on the fish-tail rudder, one of Tom's latest ideas. "Hey, there!" cried Tom, warningly. "Leave that alone!" yelled Ned. "Koku! Koku!" shouted Tom, shrilly. "Get after those fellows!" "Me get!" boomed out the giant, in his deep voice. He had been standing near the entrance to the hangar, probably waiting for developments, and watching for the arrival of Tom and Ned. The big form was seen to leap forward, and then several dark shadows swarmed from around the airship, and were seen to fling themselves upon the giant. "That's a fight!" cried Ned. "They're attacking him!" "Koku can take care of himself!" murmured Tom. "But come on. I don't see what their game is." He understood a moment later, however, for while several of the midnight visitors were engaged in a hand-to-hand tussle with the giant there came a sharp, throbbing roar of the airship motor in motion. The propellers were being whirled rapidly about. "Koku! Koku!" cried Tom, for he was still some distance off. "Never mind them! Don't let the airship be taken!" But Koku could only grunt. Big and strong as he was, half a dozen men attacking him at once hampered him. He threw them from him, one after another, and was gradually making his way toward the now slowly-moving airship. But would he be in time? Tom and Ned could not hope to reach the machine before Koku, though they were running at top speed. "Koku! Koku!" yelled Tom. "Don't let them get away!" But Koku could only grunt--harder this time--for he fell heavily, being tripped by a stick thrust between his legs. He lay for a moment stunned. "They're going to get away!" panted Tom, making an effort to increase his speed. "That's what!" agreed Ned. Even as they spoke the roar of the airship motor increased. Several of the dark forms which had been engaged in the struggle with Koku were seen to pick themselves up, and run toward the airship, that was now in motion, moving on the bicycle wheels over the grass plot, preparatory to mounting upward in the sky. "Stop! Stop!" commanded Tom. But it was all in vain. The men leaped aboard the airship, which could carry six persons, and a moment later, with a deafening roar, as the engine opened up full, the big craft shot upward, taking away all but two of the midnight visitors. These, who had seemingly been stunned by Koku, now arose from the ground, and staggered off in the darkness. "Get them!" cried Tom. "We must see to Koku!" added Ned, "Look, there goes your airship, Tom!" "Yes, I know. But we can't stop that now. Let's see if we can get a clue in these fellows!" He pointed toward the two who had run off in the dark underbrush surrounding the hangar plaza, and he and Ned trailed them as well as they could. But from the first they knew it would be useless, for there were many hiding places, and, a little way beyond, was a clump of trees. After a short search Tom gave up reluctantly, and came back to where Koku was now sitting on the ground. "Are you hurt?" he asked of the giant. "My mind hurt--that all," said the big man. "I guess he means his feelings are hurt," Tom explained. "Do you know who they were, Koku?" "No, master." "But we must do something!" cried Ned. "They've got your airship, Tom." "I know it," said the young inventor, calmly. "But we can't do anything now. You can hardly hear her, let alone see her. She's moving fast!" He pointed upward to the darkness. Like some black bird of prey the airship was already lost to sight, though it would have seemed as if her white planes might render her visible. But she had moved so swiftly that, during the short search, she had already disappeared. "Aren't you going to do anything?" asked Ned. "Certainly," spoke Tom. "I'm going to telephone an alarm to all the nearby towns. This is certainly a queer game, Ned." CHAPTER XII A STRANGE DISAPPEARANCE Disappointed and puzzled, Tom and Ned went to where Koku was standing in rather a dazed attitude. The giant, like all large bodies, moved slowly, not only bodily but mentally. He could understand exactly what had happened, except that he had not prevailed over the "pygmies" who had attacked him. They had been too many for him. "Let's take a look inside," suggested Tom, when, by another glance upward, he had made sure that all trace of his big airship was gone. "Maybe we can get a clue. Then, Koku, you tell us what happened." "It all happened to me," said the giant, simply. "Me no make anything happen to them." "That's about right," laughed Tom, ruefully. "It all happened to us." The lights in the hangar were switched on, but a careful search revealed little. The men, half a dozen or more, had come evidently well prepared for the taking away of Tom Swift's airship, and they had done so. Entrance had been effected by forcing a small side door. True, the burglar alarm had given notice of the presence of the men, but Tom and Ned had not acted quite quickly enough. Koku had been at the hangar almost as soon as the men themselves, but he had watched and waited for orders, instead of going in at once, and this had given the intruders time to wheel out the craft and start the motor. "Why didn't you jump right in on them when you saw what they were up to, Koku?" asked Tom. "Me wait for master. Me think master want to see who men were. Me go in--they run." "Well, of course that's so, in a way," admitted Tom. "They probably would have run, but they'd have run WITHOUT my airship instead of WITH it, if they hadn't had time to get it outside the hangar. However, there's no use in crying over lost biplanes. The next thing is how to get her back. Did you know any of the men, Koku?" "No, master." "Then we haven't any clue that way. They laid their plans well. They just let you tangle yourself up with them, Koku, while the head ones got the motor going; an easy matter, since it was all ready to start. Then they tripped you, Koku, and as many of them as could, made a jump for the machine. Then they were off." "Well, what's the next thing to do?" asked Ned, when another look about the shed had shown that not the slightest clue was available. "I'm going to do some telephoning," Tom stated. "A big airship like mine can't go scooting around the country without being noticed. And those fellows can't go on forever. They've got to have gasoline and oil, and to get them they'll have to come down. I'll get it back, sooner or later; but the question is: Why did they take her?" "To sell," suggested Ned. "I think not," Tom said. "A big airship like mine isn't easy to sell. People who would buy it would ask questions that might not easily be answered. I'm inclined to think that some other reason made them take her, and it's up to us to find out what it was. Let's go into the house." "Hark!" suddenly exclaimed Ned, holding up his hand for silence. They all heard footsteps outside the hangar. Tom sprang to the door, flashing his electric light, and a voice exclaimed: "Golly! Chicken thieves!" "Oh, is it you, Eradicate?" asked the young inventor, with a laugh. "No, it isn't chicken thieves--they were after bigger game this time." "Suffin happen?" asked the colored man. "Massa Swift he heah a noise, an' see a light, an' he sent me out yeah t' see what all am gwine on." "Yes, something happened," admitted Tom. "They got the Eagle, Rad." "What! Yo' big airship?" "Yes." "Huh! Dat's too bad, Massa Tom. I suah am sorry t' heah dat. Who done it?" "We don't know, Rad." "Maybe it was dat low-down cousin ob mine what tried t' git mah chickens, onct!" "No, Rad, it wasn't your cousin. But I'll telephone the alarm to the police. They may be able to help me get the Eagle back." Within the next hour several messages were sent to the authorities of nearby towns, asking them to be on the watch for the stolen airship. This was about all that could be done, and after Mr. Swift had been told the story of the night's happenings, everyone went back to bed again. Further search the next morning brought forth no clues, though Tom, Ned and the others beat about in the bushes where the men had disappeared. One or two reports were heard from surrounding towns, to the effect that several persons had heard a strange throbbing sound in the night, that, possibly, was caused by the passage of the airship overhead. One such report came from Waterford, the home town of Mr. Damon. "Let's go over there," suggested Ned, to his chum. "I'd like to see our friend, and maybe we can get some other clues by circulating around there." "Oh, I don't know," spoke Tom, rather listlessly. "Why not?" Ned wanted to know. "Well, I ought to be working on my photo telephone," was the answer. "I've got a new idea now. I'm going to try a different kind of current, and use a more sensitive plate. And I'll use a tungsten filament lamp in the sending booth." "Oh, let your experiments go for a little while, Tom," suggested Ned. "Come on over to Mr. Damon's. The trouble with you is that you keep too long at a thing, once you start." "That's the only way to succeed," remarked Tom. "Really, Ned, while I feel sorry about the airship, of course, I ought to be working on my telephone. I'll get the Eagle back sooner or later." "That's not the way to talk, Tom. Let's follow up this clue." "Well, if you insist on it I suppose I may as well go. We'll take the little monoplane. I've fixed her up to carry double. I guess--" Tom Swift broke off suddenly, as the telephone at his elbow rang. "Hello," he said, taking off the receiver. "Yes, this is Tom Swift. Oh, good morning, Mrs. Damon! Eh! What's that? Mr. Damon has disappeared? You don't tell me! Disappeared! Yes, yes, I can come right over. Be there in a few minutes. Eh? You don't know what to make of it? Oh, well, maybe it can easily be explained. Yes, Ned Newton and I will be right over. Don't worry." Tom hung up the receiver and turned to his chum. "What do you think of that?" he asked. "What is it?" "Why, Mr. Damon mysteriously vanished last night, and this morning word came from his bankers that every cent of his fortune had disappeared! He's lost everything!" "Maybe--maybe--" hesitated Ned. "No, Mr. Damon isn't that kind of a man," said Tom, stoutly. "He hasn't made away with himself." "But something is wrong!" "Evidently, and it's up to us to find out what it is. I shouldn't be surprised but that he knew of this coming trouble and started out to prevent it if he could." "But he wouldn't disappear and make his wife worry." "No, that's so. Well, we'll have to go over there and find out all about it." "Say, Tom!" exclaimed Ned, as they were getting the small, but swift monoplane ready for the flight, "could there be any connection with the disappearance of Mr. Damon and the taking of the Eagle?" Tom started in surprise. "How could there be?" he asked. "Oh, I don't know," answered Ned. "It was only an idea." "Well, we'll see what Mrs. Damon has to say," spoke the young inventor, as he took his seat beside Ned, and motioned to Koku to twirl the propeller. CHAPTER XIII THE TELEPHONE PICTURE "Oh, Tom Swift! I'm so glad to see you!" Mrs. Damon clasped her arms, in motherly fashion, about the young inventor. He held her close, and his own eyes were not free from tears as he witnessed the grief of his best friend's wife. "Now, don't worry, Mrs. Damon," said Tom, sympathetically. "Everything will be all right," and he led her to a chair. "All right, Tom! How can it be?" and the lady raised a tear-stained face. "My husband has disappeared, without a word! It's just as if the earth had opened and swallowed him up! I can't find a trace of him! How can it be all right?" "Well, we'll find him, Mrs. Damon. Don't worry. Ned and I will get right to work, and I'll have all the police and detectives within fifty miles on the search--if we have to go that far." "Oh, it's awfully good of you, Tom. I--I didn't know who else to turn to in my trouble but you." "And why shouldn't you come to me? I'd do anything for you and Mr. Damon. Now tell me all about it." Tom and Ned had just arrived at the Damon home in the airship, to find the wife of the eccentric man almost distracted over her husband's strange disappearance. "It happened last night," Mrs. Damon said, when she was somewhat composed. "Last night about twelve o'clock." "Twelve o'clock!" cried Tom, in surprise "Why that's about the time--" He stopped suddenly. "What were you going to say?" asked Mrs. Damon. "Oh--nothing," answered Tom. "I--I'll tell you later. Go on, please." "It is all so confusing," proceeded Mrs. Damon. "You know my husband has been in trouble of late--financial trouble?" "Yes," responded Tom, "he mentioned it to me." "I don't know any of the details," sighed Mrs. Damon, "but I know he was mixed up with a man named Peters." "I know him, too," spoke Tom, grimly. "My husband has been very gloomy of late," went on Mrs. Damon. "He foolishly entrusted almost his entire fortune to that man, and last night he told me it was probably all gone. He said he saw only the barest chance to save it, but that he was going to take that chance." "Did he go into details?" asked Tom. "No, that was all he said. That was about ten o'clock. He didn't want to go to bed. He just sat about, and he kept saying over and over again: 'Bless my tombstone!' 'Bless the cemetery!' and all such stuff as that. You know how he was," and she smiled through her tears. "Yes," said Tom. "I know. Only it wasn't like him to bless such grewsome things. He was more jolly." "He hasn't been, of late," sighed his wife. "Well, he sat about all the evening, and he kept figuring away, trying, I suppose, to find some way out of his trouble." "Why didn't he come to my father?" cried Tom. "I told him he could have all the money he needed to tide him over." "Well, Mr. Damon was queer that way," said his wife. "He wanted to be independent. I urged him to call you up, but he said he'd fight it out alone." "As I said, we sat there, and he kept feeling more and more blue, and blessing his funeral, and the hearse and all such things as that. He kept looking at the clock, too, and I wondered at that." "'Are you expecting someone?' I asked him. He said he wasn't, exactly, but I made sure he was, and finally, about half-past eleven, he put on his hat and went out." "'Where are you going?' I asked him." "'Oh, just to get a breath of air. I can't sleep,' he said. I didn't think much of that, as he often used to go out and walk about a bit before going to bed. So he went out, and I began to see about locking up, for I never trust the servants." "It must have been about an hour later when I heard voices out in front. I looked, and I saw Mr. Damon talking to a man." "Who was he?" asked Tom, eagerly, on the alert for the slightest clue. "I thought at the time," said Mrs. Damon, "that it was one of the neighbors. I have learned since, however, that it was not. Anyhow, this man and Mr. Damon stood talking for a little while, and then they went off together. I didn't think it strange at the time, supposing he was merely strolling up and down in front with Mr. Blackson, who lives next door, He often had done that before." "Well, I saw that the house was locked up, and then I sat down in a chair to wait for Mr. Damon to come back. I was getting sleepy, for we don't usually stay up so late. I suppose I must have dozed off, but I was suddenly awakened by hearing a peculiar noise. I sat up in alarm, and then I realized that Mr. Damon had not come in." "I was frightened then, and I called my maid. It was nearly one o'clock, and my husband never stays out as late as that. We went next door, and found that Mr. Blackson had not been out of his house that evening. So it could not have been he to whom Mr. Damon was speaking." "We roused up other neighbors, and they searched all about the grounds, thinking he might have been overcome by a sudden faint. But we could not find him. My husband had disappeared--mysteriously disappeared!" and the lady broke into sobs. "Now don't worry," said Tom, soothingly, as he put his arms about her as he would have done to his own mother, had she been alive, "We'll get him back!" "But how can you? No one knows where he is." "Oh, yes!" said Tom, confidently, "Mr. Damon himself knows where he is, and unless he has gone away voluntarily, I think you will soon hear from him." "What do you mean by--voluntarily?" asked the wife. "First let me ask you a question," came from Tom. "You said you were awakened by a peculiar noise. What sort of a sound was it?" "Why, a whirring, throbbing noise, like--like--" She paused for a comparison. "Like an airship?" asked Tom, with a good deal of eagerness. "That was it!" cried Mrs. Damon. "I was trying to think where I had heard the sound before. It was just like the noise your airship makes, Tom!" "That settles it!" exclaimed the young inventor. "Settles what?" asked Ned. "The manner of Mr. Damon's disappearance. He was taken away--or went away--in my airship--the airship that was stolen from my shed last night!" Mrs. Damon stared at Tom in amazement. "Why--why--how could that be?" she asked. Quickly Tom told of what had happened at his place. "I begin to see through it," he said. "There is some plot here, and we've got to get to the bottom of it. Mr. Damon either went with these men in the airship willingly, or he was taken away by force. I'm inclined to think he went of his own accord, or you would have heard some outcry, Mrs. Damon." "Well, perhaps so," she admitted. "But would he go away in that manner without telling me?" "He might," said Tom, willing to test his theory on all sides. "He might not have wanted you to worry, for you know you dislike him to go up an airships." "Yes, I do. Oh, if I only thought he did go away of his own accord, I could understand it. He went, if he did, to try and save his fortune." "It does look as though he had an appointment with someone, Tom," suggested Ned. "His looking at the clock, and then going out, and all that." "Yes," admitted the young inventor, "and now I'm inclined to change my theory a bit. It may have been some other airship than mine that was used." "How so?" asked Ned. "Because the men who took mine were unprincipled fellows. Mr. Damon would not have gone away with men who would steal an airship." "Not if he knew it," admitted Ned. "Well, then, let's consider two airships--yours and the other that came to keep the appointment with Mr. Damon. If the last is true, why should he want to go away in an airship at midnight? Why couldn't he take a train, or an auto?" "Well, we don't know all the ins and outs," admitted Tom. "Taking a midnight airship ride is rather strange, but that may have been the only course open. We'll have to let the explanation go until later. At any rate, Mrs. Damon, I feel sure that your husband did go off through the air--either in my Eagle or in some other craft." "Well, I'm glad to hear you say so, Tom Swift, though it sounds a dreadful thing to say. But if he did go off of his own accord, I know he did it for the best. And he may not have told me, for fear I would worry. I can understand that. But why isn't he back now?" Tom had been rather dreading that question. It was one he had asked himself, and he had found no good answer for it. If there had been such need of haste, that an airship had to be used, why had not Mr. Damon come back ere this? Unless, as Tom feared to admit, even to himself, there had been some accident. Half a dozen theories flashed through his mind, but he could not select a good, working one,--particularly as there were no clues. Disappearing in an airship was the one best means of not leaving a trace behind. An auto, a motor boat, a train, a horse and carriage--all these could be more or less easily traced. But an airship-- If Mr. Damon wanted to cover up his tracks, or if he had been taken away, and his captors wanted to baffle pursuit, the best means had been adopted. "Now don't you worry," advised Tom to Mrs. Damon. "I know it looks funny, but I think it will come out all right. Ned and I will do all we can. Mr. Damon must have known what he was about. But, to be on the safe side, we'll send out a general alarm through the police." "Oh, I don't know what I'd done if you hadn't come to help me!" exclaimed Mrs. Damon. "Just you leave it to me!" said the young inventor, cheerfully. "I'll find Mr. Damon!" But, though he spoke thus confidently, Tom Swift had not the slightest notion, just then, of how to set about his difficult task. He had had hard problems to solve before, so he was not going to give up this one. First he wanted to think matters out, and arrange a plan of action. He and Ned made a careful examination of the grounds of the Damon homestead. There was little they could learn, though they did find where an airship had landed in a meadow, not far away, and where it had made a flying start off again. Carefully Tom looked at the marks made by the wheels of the airship. "They're the same distance apart as those on the Eagle," he said to his chum, "and the tires are the same. But that isn't saying anything, as lots of airships have the same equipment. So we won't jump to any conclusions that way." Tom and Ned interviewed several of the neighbors, but beyond learning that some of them had heard the throbbing of the midnight airship, that was as far as they got on that line. There was nothing more they could do in Waterford, and, leaving Mrs. Damon, who had summoned a relative to stay with her, the two chums made a quick trip back through the air to Shopton. As Eradicate came out to help put away the monoplane Tom noticed that the colored man was holding one hand as though it hurt him. "What's the matter, Rad?" asked the young investor. "Oh, nuffin--jest natcherly nuffin, Massa Tom." But Eradicate spoke evasively and in a manner that roused Tom's suspicions. "Boomerang, your mule, didn't kick you; did he?" "No, sah, Massa Tom, no sah. 'Twern't nuffin laik dat." "But what was it? Your hand is hurt!" "Well, Massa Tom, I s'pose I done bettah tell yo' all. I'se had a shock!" "A shock?" "Yas, sah. A shock. A lickrish shock." "Oh, you mean an electrical shock. That's too bad. I suppose you must have touched a live wire." "No, sah. 'Twern't dat way." "How was it, then?" "Well, yo' see, Massa Tom, I were playin' a joke on Koku." "Oh, you were; eh? Then I suppose Koku shocked you," laughed Tom. "No, sah. I--I'll tell you. Dat giant man he were in de telefoam boof in de pattern shop--you know--de one where yo' all been tryin' to make pishures." "Yes, I know. Go on!" exclaimed Tom, impatiently. "Well, he were in dere, Massa Tom, an' I slipped into de boof in de next shop--de odder place where yo' all been 'speermentin'. I called out on de telefoam, loud laik de Angel Gabriel gwine t' holler at de last trump: 'Look out, yo' ole sinnah!' I yell it jest t' scare Koku." "I see," said Tom, a bit severely, for he did not like Eradicate interfering with the instruments. "And did you scare Koku?" "Oh, yas, sah, Massa Tom. I skeered him all right; but suffin else done happen. When I put down de telefoam I got a terrible shock. It hurts yit!" "Well," remarked Tom, "I suppose I ought to feel sorry for you, but I can't. You should let things alone. Now I've got to see if you did any damage. Come along, Ned." Tom was the first to enter the telephone booth where Eradicate had played the part of the Angel Gabriel. He looked at the wires and apparatus, but could see nothing wrong. Then he glanced at the selenium plate, on which he hoped, some day, to imprint an image from over the wire. And, as he saw the smooth surface he started, and cried. "Ned! Ned, come here quick!" "What is it?" asked his chum, crowding into the booth. "Look at that plate! Tell me what you see!" Ned looked. "Why--why it's Koku's picture!" he gasped. "Exactly!" cried Tom. "In some way my experiment has succeeded when I was away. Eradicate must have made some new connection by his monkeying. Ned, it's a success! I've got my first photo telephone picture! Hurray!" CHAPTER XIV MAKING IMPROVEMENTS Tom Swift was so overjoyed and excited that for a few moments he capered about, inside the booth, and outside, knocking against his chum Ned, clapping him on the back, and doing all manner of boyish "stunts." "It's a success, Ned! I've struck it!" cried Tom, in delight. "Ouch! You struck ME, you mean!" replied Ned, rubbing his shoulder, where the young inventor had imparted a resounding blow of joy. "What of it?" exclaimed Tom. "My apparatus works! I can send a picture by telephone! It's great, Ned!" "But I don't exactly understand how it happened," said Ned, in some bewilderment, as he gazed at the selenium plate. "Neither do I," admitted Tom, when he had somewhat calmed down. "That is, I don't exactly understand what made the thing succeed now, when it wouldn't work for me a little while ago. But I've got to go into that. I'll have to interview that rascal Eradicate, and learn what he did when he played that trick on Koku. Yes, and I'll have to see Koku, too. We've got to get at the bottom of this, Ned." "I suppose so. You've got your hands full, Tom, with your photo telephone, and the disappearance of Mr. Damon." "Yes, and my own airship, too. I must get after that. Whew! A lot of things to do! But I like work, Ned. The more the better." "Yes, that's like you, Tom. But what are you going to get at first?" "Let me see; the telephone, I think. I'll have Rad and Koku in here and talk to them. I say, you Eradicate!" he called out of the door of the shop, as he saw the colored man going past, holding his shocked arm tenderly. "Yas, sah, Massa Tom, I'se comin'! What is it yo' all wants, Massa Tom?" "I want you to show me exactly what you did to the wires, and other things in here, when you played that Angel Gabriel trick on your partner Koku." "Partner! He ain't mah partner!" exclaimed Eradicate with a scowl, for there was not the best of feeling between the two. Eradicate had served in the Swift family many years, and he rather resented the coming of the giant, who performed many services formerly the province of the colored man. "Well, never mind what he is, Rad," laughed Tom. "You just show me what you did. Come now, something happened in here, and I want to find out what it was." "Oh, suffin done happened all right, Massa Tom. Yas, sah! Suffin done happened!" cried Eradicate, with such odd emphasis that Tom and Ned both laughed. "An' suffin happened to me," went on the colored man, rubbing his shocked arm. "Well, tell us about it," suggested Tom. "It was dish yeah way," proceeded Eradicate. And he told more in detail how, seeing Koku cleaning and sweeping out the other telephone booth, he had thought of the trick to play on him. Both telephones had what are called "amplifiers" attached, that could be switched on when needed. These amplifiers were somewhat like the horn of a phonograph--they increased, or magnified the sound, so that one could hear a voice from any part of the shop, and need not necessarily have the telephone receiver at his ear. Seeing Koku near the instrument, Eradicate had switched on the amplifier, and had called into his instrument, trying to scare the giant. And he did startle Koku, for the loud voice, coming so suddenly, sent the giant out of the booth on the run. "But you must have done something else," insisted Tom. "Look here, Rad," and the young inventor pointed to the picture on the plate. "Mah gracious sakes!" gasped the colored man. "Why dat's Koku hisse'f!" and he looked in awe at the likeness. "That's what you did, Rad!" "Me? I done dat? No, sah, Massa Tom. I neber did! No, sah!" Eradicate spoke emphatically. "Yes you did, Rad. You took that picture of Koku over my photo telephone, and I want you to show me exactly what you did--what wires and switches you touched and changed, and all that." "Yo--yo' done say I tuck dat pishure, Massa Tom?" "You sure did, Rad." "Well--well, good land o' massy! An' I done dat!" Eradicate stared in wonder at the image of the giant on the plate, and shook his head doubtingly. "I--I didn't know I could do it. I never knowed I had it in me!" he murmured. Tom and Ned laughed long and loud, and then the young inventor said: "Now look here, Rad. You've done me a mighty big service, though you didn't know it, and I want to thank you. I'm sorry about your arm, and I'll have the doctor look at it. But now I want you to show me all the things you touched when you played that joke on Koku. In some way you did what I haven't been able to do, You took the picture. There's probably just one little thing I've overlooked, and you stumbled on it by accident. Now go ahead and show me." Eradicate thought for a moment, and then said: "Well, I done turned on de current, laik I seen you done, Massa Tom." "Yes, go on. You connected the telephone." "Yas, sah. Den I switched on that flyer thing yo' all has rigged up." "You switched on the amplifier, yes. Go on." "An'--an' den I plugged in dish year wire," and the colored man pointed to one near the top of the booth. "You switched on that wire, Rad! Why, great Scott, man! That's connected to the arc light circuit--it carries over a thousand volts. And you switched that into the telephone circuit?" "Dat's what I done did, Massa Tom; yas, sah!" "What for?" "Why, I done want t' make mah voice good an' loud t' skeer dat rascal Koku!" Tom stared at the colored man in amazement. "No wonder you got a shock!" exclaimed the young inventor. "You didn't get all the thousand volts, for part of it was shunted off; but you got a good charge, all right. So that's what did the business; eh? It was the combination of the two electrical circuits that sent the photograph over the wire." "I understand it now, Rad; but you did more than I've been able to do. I never, in a hundred years, would have thought of switching on that current. It never occurred to me. But you, doing it by accident, brought out the truth. It's often that way in discoveries. And Koku was standing in the other telephone booth, near the plate there, when you switched in this current, Rad?" "Yas, sah, Massa Tom. He were. An' yo' ought t' see him hop when he heard mah voice yellin' at him. Ha! ha! ha!" Eradicate chuckled at the thought. Then a pain in his shocked arm made him wince. A wry look passed over his face. "Yas, sah, Koku done jump about ten feet," he said. "An'--an' den I jump too. Ain't no use in denyin' dat fact. I done jump when I got dat shock!" "All right, Rad. You may go now. I think I'm on the right track!" exclaimed Tom. "Come on, Ned, we'll try some experiments, and we'll see what we can do." "No shocks though--cut out the shocks, Tom," stipulated his chum. "Oh, sure! No shocks! Now crowding busy and improve on Eradicate's Angel Gabriel system." Tom made a quick examination of the apparatus. "I understand it, I think," he said. "Koku was near the plate in the other booth when Rad put on the double current. There was a light there, and in an instant his likeness was sent over the wire, and imprinted on this plate. Now let's see what we can do. You go to that other booth, Ned. I'll see if I can get your picture, and send you mine. Here, take some extra selenium plates along. You know how to connect them." "I think so," answered Ned. "This image is really too faint to be of much use," went on Tom, as he looked at the one of Koku. "I think I can improve on it. But we're on the right track." A little later Ned stood in the other booth, while Tom arranged the wires, and made the connections in the way accidently discovered by Eradicate. The young inventor had put in a new plate, carefully putting away the one with the picture of the giant, This plate could be used again, when the film, into which the image was imprinted, had been washed off. "All ready, Ned," called Tom, over the wire, when he was about to turn the switch. "Stand still, and I'll get you." The connection was made, and Tom uttered a cry of joy. For there, staring at him from the plate in front of him was the face of Ned. It was somewhat reduced in size, of course, and was not extra clear, but anyone who knew Ned could have told he was at the other end of the wire. "Do you get me, Tom?" called Ned, over the telephone. "I sure do! Now see if you can get me." Tom made other connections, and then looked at the sending plate of his instrument, there being both a sending and receiving plate in each booth, just as there was a receiver and a transmitter to the telephone. "Hurray! I see you, Tom!" cried Ned, over the wire. "Say, this is great!" "It isn't as good as I want it," went on Tom. "But it proves that I'm right. The photo telephone is a fact, and now persons using the wire can be sure of the other person they are conversing with. I must tell dad. He wouldn't believe I could do it!" And indeed Mr. Swift was surprised when Tom proved, by actual demonstration, that a picture could be sent over the wire. "Tom, I congratulate you!" declared the aged inventor. "It is good news!" "Yes, but we have bad news of Mr. Damon," said Tom, and he told his father of the disappearance of the eccentric man. Mr. Swift at once telephoned his sympathy to Mrs. Damon, and offered to do anything he could for her. "But Tom can help you more than I can," he said. "You can depend on Tom." "I know that," replied Mrs. Damon, over the wire. And certainly Tom Swift had many things to do now. He hardly knew at what to begin first, but now, since he was on the right road in regard to his photo telephone, he would work at improving it. And to this end he devoted himself, after he had sent out a general alarm to the police of nearby towns, in regard to the disappearance of Mr. Damon. The airship clue, he believed, as did the police, would be a good one to work on. For several days after this nothing of moment occurred. Mr. Damon could not be located, and Tom's airship might still be sailing above the clouds as far as getting any trace of it was concerned. Meanwhile the young inventor, with the help of Ned, who was given a leave of absence from the bank, worked hard to improve the photo telephone. CHAPTER XV THE AIRSHIP CLUE "Now Ned, we'll try again. I'm going to use a still stronger current, and this is the most sensitive selenium plate I've turned out yet. We'll see if we can't get a better likeness of you--one that will be plainer." It was Tom Swift who was speaking, and he and his chum had just completed some hard work on the new photo telephone. Though the apparatus did what Tom had claimed for it, still he was far from satisfied. He could transmit over the wire the picture of a person talking at the telephone, but the likeness was too faint to make the apparatus commercially profitable. "It's like the first moving pictures," said Tom. "They moved, but that was about all they did." "I say," remarked Ned, as he was about to take his place in the booth where the telephone and apparatus were located, "this double-strength electrical current you're speaking of won't shock me; will it? I don't want what happened to Eradicate to happen to me, Tom." "Don't worry. Nothing will happen. The trouble with Rad was that he didn't have the wires insulated when he turned that arc current switch by mistake--or, rather, to play his joke. But he's all right now." "Yes, but I'm not going to take any chances," insisted Ned. "I want to be insulated myself." "I'll see to that," promised Tom. "Now get to your booth." For the purpose of experiments Tom had strung a new line between two of his shops, They were both within sight, and the line was not very long; but, as I have said, Tom knew that if his apparatus would work over a short distance, it would also be successful over a long one, provided he could maintain the proper force of current, which he was sure could be accomplished. "And if they can send pictures from Monte Carlo to Paris I can do the same," declared Tom, though his system of photo telephony was different from sending by a telegraph system--a reproduction of a picture on a copper plate. Tom's apparatus transmitted the likeness of the living person. It took some little time for the young inventor, and Ned working with him, to fix up the new wires and switch on the current. But at last it was complete, and Ned took his place at one telephone, with the two sensitive plates before him. Tom did the same, and they proceeded to talk over the wire, first making sure that the vocal connection was perfect. "All ready now, Ned! We'll try it," called Tom to his chum, over the wire. "Look straight at the plate. I want to get your image first, and then I'll send mine, if it's a success." Ned did as requested, and in a few minutes he could hear Tom exclaim, joyfully: "It's better, Ned! It's coming out real clear. I can see you almost as plainly as if you were right in the booth with me. But turn on your light a little stronger." Tom could hear, through the telephone, his chum moving about, and then he caught a startled exclamation. "What's the matter?" asked Tom anxiously. "I got a shock!" cried Ned. "I thought you said you had this thing fixed. Great Scott, Tom! It nearly yanked the arm off me! Is this a joke?" "No, old man. No, of course not! Something must be wrong. I didn't mean that. Wait, I'll take a look. Say, it does seem as if everything was going wrong with this invention. But I'm on the right track, and soon I'll have it all right. Wait a second. I'll be right over." Tom found that it was only a simple displacement of a wire that had given Ned a shock, and he soon had this remedied. "Now we'll try again," he said. This time nothing wrong occurred, and soon Tom saw the clearest image he had yet observed on his telephone photo plate. "Switch me on now, Ned," he called to his chum, and Ned reported that he could see Tom very plainly. "So far--so good," observed Tom, as he came from the booth. "But there are several things I want yet to do." "Such as what?" questioned Ned. "Well, I want to arrange to have two kinds of pictures come over the wire. I want it so that a person can go into a booth, call up a friend, and then switch on the picture plate, so he can see his friend as well as talk to him. I want this plate to be like a mirror, so that any number of images can be made to appear on it. In that way it can be used over and over again. In fact it will be exactly like a mirror, or a telescope. No matter how far two persons may be apart they can both see and talk to one another." "That's a big contract, Tom." "Yes, but you've seen that it can be done. Then another thing I want to do is to have it arranged so that I can make a photograph of a person over a wire." "Meaning what?" "Meaning that if a certain person talks to me over the wire, I can turn my switch, and get a picture of him here at my apparatus connected with my telephone. To do that I'll merely need a sending apparatus at the other end of the telephone line--not a receiving machine." "Could you arrange it so that the person who was talking to you would have his picture taken whether he wanted it or not?" asked Ned. "Yes, it might be done," spoke Tom, thoughtfully. "I could conceal the sending plate somewhere in the telephone booth, and arrange the proper light, I suppose." "That might be a good way in which to catch a criminal," went on Ned. "Often crooks call up on the telephone, but they know they are safe. The authorities can't see them--they can only hear them. Now if you could get a photograph of them while they were telephoning--" "I see!" cried Tom, excitedly. "That's a great idea! I'll work on that, Ned." And, all enthusiasm, Tom began to plan new schemes with his photo telephone. The young inventor did not forget his promise to help Mrs. Damon. But he could get absolutely no clue to her husband's whereabouts. Mr. Damon had completely and mysteriously disappeared. His fortune, too, seemed to have been swallowed up by the sharpers, though lawyers engaged by Tom could fasten no criminal acts on Mr. Peters, who indignantly denied that he had done anything unlawful. If he had, he had done it in such a way that he could not be brought to justice. The promoter was still about Shopton, as well groomed as ever, with his rose in his buttonhole, and wearing his silk hat. He still speeded up and down Lake Carlopa in his powerful motor boat. But he gave Tom Swift a wide berth. Late one night, when Tom and Ned had been working at the new photo telephone, after all the rest of the household had retired, Tom suddenly looked up from his drawings and exclaimed: "What's that?" "What's what?" inquired Ned. "That sound? Don't you hear it? Listen!" "It's an airship--maybe yours coming back!" cried the young banker. As he spoke Ned did hear, seemingly in the air above the house, a curious, throbbing, pulsating sound. "That's so! It is an airship motor!" exclaimed Tom. "Come on out!" Together they rushed from the house, but, ere they reached the yard, the sound had ceased. They looked up into the sky, but could see nothing, though the night was light from a full moon. "I certainly heard it," said Tom. "So did I," asserted Ned. "But where is it now?" They advanced toward the group of work-buildings. Something showing white in the moonlight, before the hangar, caught Ned's eyes. "Look!" he exclaimed. "There's an airship, Tom!" The two rushed over to the level landing place before the big shed. And there, as if she had just been run out for a flight, was the Eagle. She had come back in the night, as mysteriously as she had been taken away. CHAPTER XVI SUCCESS "Well, this gets me!" exclaimed Tom. "It sure is strange," agreed Ned. "How did she come here?" "She didn't come alone--that's sure," went on Tom. "Someone brought her here, made a landing, and got away before we could get out." The two chums were standing near the Eagle, which had come back so mysteriously. "Just a couple of seconds sooner and we'd have seen who brought her here," went on Tom. "But they must have shut off the motor some distance up, and then they volplaned down. That's why we didn't hear them." Ned went over and put his hand on the motor. "Ouch!" he cried, jumping back. "It's hot!" "Showing that she's been running up to within a few minutes ago," said Tom. "Well, as I said before, this sure does get me. First these mysterious men take my airship, and then they bring her back again, without so much as thanking me for the use of her." "Who in the world can they be?" asked Ned. "I haven't the least idea. But I'm going to find out, if it's at all possible. We'll look the machine over in the morning, and see if we can get any clues. No use in doing that now. Come on, we'll put her back in the hangar." "Say!" exclaimed Ned, as a sudden idea came to him. "It couldn't be Mr. Damon who had your airship; could it, Tom?" "I don't know. Why do you ask that?" "Well, he might have wanted to get away from his enemies for a while, and he might have taken your Eagle, and--" "Mr. Damon wouldn't trail along with a crowd like the one that took away my airship," said Tom, decidedly. "You've got another guess coming, Ned. Mr. Damon had nothing to do with this." "And yet the night he disappeared an airship was heard near his house." "That's so. Well, I give up. This is sure a mystery. We'll have a look at it in the morning. One thing I'll do, though, I'll telephone over to Mr. Damon's house and see if his wife has heard any news. I've been doing that quite often of late, so she won't think anything of it. In that way we can find out if he had anything to do with my airship. But let's run her into the shed first." This was done, and Koku, the giant, was sent to sleep in the hangar to guard against another theft. But it was not likely that the mysterious men, once having brought the airship back, would come for it again. Tom called up Mrs. Damon on the telephone, but there was no news of the missing man. He expressed his sympathy, and said he would come and see her soon. He told Mrs. Damon not to get discouraged, adding that he, and others, were doing all that was possible. But, in spite of this, Mrs. Damon, naturally, did worry. The next morning the two chums inspected the airship, so mysteriously returned to them. Part after part they went over, and found nothing wrong. The motor ran perfectly, and there was not so much as a bent spoke in the landing wheels. For all that could be told by an inspection of the craft she might never have been out of the hangar. "Hello, here's something!" cried Tom, as he got up from the operator's seat, where he had taken his place to test the various controls. "What is it?" asked Ned. "A button. A queer sort of a button. I never had any like that on my clothes, and I'm sure you didn't. Look!" and Tom held out a large, metal button of curious design. "It must have come off the coat of one of the men who had your airship, Tom," said his chum. "Save it. You may find that it's a clue." "I will. No telling what it may lead to. Well, I guess that's all we can find." And it was. But Tom little realized what a clue the button was going to be. Nothing more could be learned by staring at the returned airship, so he and Ned went back to the house. Tom Swift had many things to do, but his chief concern was for the photo telephone. Now that he was near the goal of success he worked harder than ever. The idea Ned had given him of being able to take the picture of a person at the instrument--without the knowledge of that person--appealed strongly to Tom. "That's going to be a valuable invention!" he declared, but little he knew how valuable it would prove to him and to others. It was about a week later when Tom was ready to try the new apparatus. Meanwhile he had prepared different plates, and had changed his wiring system. In the days that had passed nothing new had been learned concerning the whereabouts of Mr. Damon, nor of the men who had so mysteriously taken away Tom's airship. All was in readiness for the trial. Tom sent Ned to the booth that he had constructed in the airship hangar, some distance away from the house. The other booth Tom had placed in his library, an entirely new system of wires being used. "Now Ned," explained Tom, "the idea is this! You go into that booth, just as if it were a public one, and ring me up in the regular way. Of course we haven't a central here, but that doesn't matter. Now while I'm talking to you I want to see you. You don't know that, of course." "The point is to see if I can get your picture while you're talking to me, and not let you know a thing about it." "Think you can do it, Tom?" "I'm going to try. We'll soon know. Go ahead." A little later Ned was calling up his chum, as casually as he could, under the circumstances. "All right!" called Tom to his chum. "Start in and talk. Say anything you like--it doesn't matter. I want to see if I can get your picture. Is the light burning in your booth?" "Yes, Tom." "All right then. Go ahead." Ned talked of the weather--of anything. Meanwhile Tom was busy. Concealed in the booth occupied by Ned was a sending plate. It could not be seen unless one knew just where to look for it. In Tom's booth was a receiving plate. The experiment did not take long. Presently Tom called to Ned that he need stay there no longer. "Come on to the house," invited the young inventor, "and we'll develope this plate." For in this system it was necessary to develope the receiving plate, as is done with an ordinary photographic one. Tom wanted a permanent record. Eagerly the chums in the dark room looked down into the tray containing the plate and the developing solution. "Something's coming out!" cried Ned, eagerly. "Yes! And it's you!" exclaimed Tom. "See, Ned, I got your picture over the telephone. Success! I've struck it! This is the best yet!" At that moment, as the picture came out more and more plainly, someone knocked on the door of the dark room. "Who is it?" asked Tom. "Gen'man t' see you," said Eradicate. "He say he come from Mistah Peters!" "Mr. Peters--that rascally promoter!" whispered Tom to his chum. "What does this mean?" CHAPTER XVII THE MYSTERIOUS MESSAGE Tom Swift and his chum looked at one another strangely for a moment in the dim, red light of the dark room. Then the young inventor spoke: "I'm not going to see him. Tell him so, Rad!" "Hold on a second," suggested Ned. "Maybe you had better see him, Tom. It may have something to with Mr. Damon's lost fortune." "That's so! I didn't think of that. And I may get a clue to his disappearance, though I don't imagine Peters had anything to do with that. Wait, Rad. Tell the gentleman I'll see him. Did he give any name, Rad?" "Yas, sah. Him done say him Mistah Boylan." "The same man who called to see me once before, trying to get me to do some business with Peters," murmured Tom. "Very well, I'll see him as soon as this picture is fixed. Tell him to wait, Rad." A little later Tom went to where his caller awaited in the library. This time there were no plans to be looked at, the young inventor having made a practice of keeping all his valuable papers locked in a safe. "You go into the next room, Ned," Tom had said to his chum. "Leave the door open, so you can hear what is said." "Why, do you think there'll be trouble? Maybe we'd better have Koku on hand to--" "Oh, no, nothing like that," laughed Tom. "I just want you to listen to what's said so, if need be, you can be a witness later. I don't know what their game is, but I don't trust Peters and his crowd. They may want to get control of some of my patents, and they may try some underhanded work. If they do I want to be in a position to stop them." "All right," agreed Ned, and he took his place. But Mr. Boylan's errand was not at all sensational, it would seem. He bowed to Tom, perhaps a little distantly, for they had not parted the best of friends on a former occasion. "I suppose you are surprised to see me," began Mr. Boylan. "Well, I am, to tell the truth," Tom said, calmly. "I am here at the request of my employer, Mr. Peters," went on the caller. "He says he is forming a new and very powerful company to exploit airships, and he wants to know whether you would not reconsider your determination not to let him do some business for you." "No, I'm afraid I don't care to go into anything like that," said Tom. "It would be a good thing for you," proceeded Mr. Boylan, eagerly. "Mr. Peters is able to command large capital, and if you would permit the use of your airships--or one of them--as a model, and would supervise the construction of others, we could confidently expect large sales. Thus you would profit, and I am frank to admit that the company, and Mr. Peters, also, would make money. Mr. Peters is perfectly free to confess that he is in business to make money, but he is also willing to let others share with him. Come now, what do you say?" "I am sorry, but I shall have to say the same thing I said before," replied Tom. "Nothing doing!" Mr. Boylan glanced rather angrily at the young inventor, and then, with a shrug of his shoulders, remarked: "Well, you have the say, of course. But I would like to remind you that this is going to be a very large airship company, and if your inventions are not exploited some others will be. And Mr. Peters also desired me to say that this is the last offer he would make you." "Tell him," said Tom, "that I am much obliged, but that I have no business that I can entrust to him. If he wishes to make some other type of airship, that is his affair. Good-day." As Mr. Boylan was going out Tom noticed a button dangling from the back of his caller's coat. It hung by a thread, being one of the pair usually sewed on the back of a cutaway garment. "I think you had better take off that button before it falls," suggested Tom. "You may lose it, and perhaps it would be hard to match." "That's so. Thank you!" said Mr. Boylan. He tried to reach around and get it, but he was too stout to turn easily, especially as the coat was tight-fitting. "I'll get it for you," offered Tom, as he pulled it off. "There is one missing, though," he said, as he handed the button to the man. And then Tom started as he saw the pattern of the one in his hand. "One gone? That's too bad," murmured Mr. Boylan. "Those buttons were imported, and I doubt if I can replace them. They are rather odd." "Yes," agreed Tom, gazing as if fascinated at the one he still held. "They are rather odd." And then, as he passed it over, like a flash it came to him where he had seen a button like that before. He had found it in his airship, which had been so mysteriously taken away and returned. Tom could hardly restrain his impatience until Mr. Boylan had gone. The young inventor had half a notion to produce the other button, matching the one he had just pulled off his visitor's coat, and tell where he had found it. But he held himself back. He wanted to talk first to Ned. And, when his chum came in, Tom cried: "Ned, what do you think? I know who had my airship!" "How?" asked Ned, in wonder. "By that button clue! Yes, it's the same kind--they're as alike as twins!" and Tom brought out the button which he had put away in his desk. "See, Boylan had one just like this on the back of his coat. The other was missing. Here it is--it was in the seat of my airship, where it was probably pulled off as he moved about. Ned, I think I've got the right clue at last." Ned said nothing for several seconds. Then he remarked slowly: "Well, Tom, it proves one thing; but not the other." "What do you mean?" "I mean that it may be perfectly true that the button came off Mr. Boylan's coat, but that doesn't prove that he wore it. You can be reasonably sure that the coat was having a ride in your Eagle, but was Boylan in the coat? That's the question." "In the coat? Of course he was in it!" cried Tom. "You can't be sure. Someone may have borrowed his coat to take a midnight ride in the airship." "Mr. Boylan doesn't look to be the kind of a man who would lend his clothes," remarked Tom. "You never can tell. Someone may have borrowed it without his knowledge. You'd better go a bit slow, Tom." "Well, maybe I had. But it's a clue, anyhow." Ned agreed to this. "And all I've got to do is to find out who was in the coat when it was riding about in my airship," went on Tom. "Yes," said Ned, "and then maybe you'll have some clue to the disappearance of Mr. Damon." "Right you are! Come on, let's get busy!" "As if we hadn't been busy all the while!" laughed Ned. "I'll lose my place at the bank if I don't get back soon." "Oh, stay a little longer--a few days," urged Tom. "I'm sure that something is going to happen soon. Anyhow my photo telephone is about perfected. But I've just thought of another improvement." "What is it?" "I'm going to arrange a sort of dictaphone, or phonograph, so I can get a permanent record of what a person says over the wire, as well as get a picture of him saying it. Then everything will be complete. This last won't be hard to do, as there are several machines on the market now, for preserving a record of telephone conversations. I'll make mine a bit different, though." "Tom, is there any limit to what you're going to do?" asked Ned, admiringly. "Oh, yes, I'm going to stop soon, and retire," laughed the young inventor. After talking the matter over, Tom and his chum decided to wait a day or so before taking any action in regard to the button clue to the takers of the airship. After all, no great harm had been done, and Tom was more anxious to locate Mr. Damon, and try to get back his fortune, as well as to perfect his photo telephone, than he was to discover those who had helped themselves to the Eagle. Tom and Ned put in some busy days, arranging the phonograph attachment. It was easy, compared to the hard work of sending a picture over the wire. They paid several visits to Mrs. Damon, but she had no news of her missing husband, and, as the days went by, she suffered more and more under the strain. Finally Tom's new invention was fully completed. It was a great success, and he not only secured pictures of Ned and others over the wire, as he talked to them, but he imprinted on wax cylinders, to be reproduced later, the very things they said. It was a day or so after he had demonstrated his new attachment for the first time, that Tom received a most urgent message from Mrs. Damon. "Tom," she said, over the telephone, "I wish you would call. Something very mysterious has happened." "Mr. Damon hasn't come back; has he?" asked Tom eagerly. "No--but I wish I could say he had. This concerns him, however. Can you come?" "I'll be there right away." In his speedy monoplane Tom soon reached Waterford. Ned did not accompany him this time. "Now what is it, Mrs. Damon?" asked the young inventor. "About half an hour before I called you," she said, "I received a mysterious message." "Who brought it?" asked Tom quickly. "No one. It came over the telephone. Someone, whose voice I did not know, said to me: 'Sign the land papers, and send them to us, and your husband will be released.'" "That message came over the wire?" cried Tom, excitedly. "Yes," answered Mrs. Damon. "Oh, I am so frightened! I don't know what to do!" and the lady burst into tears. CHAPTER XVIII ANOTHER CALL Tom Swift, for the moment, did not know what to do. It was a strange situation, and one he had never thought of. What did the mysterious message mean? He must think it all out, and plan some line of action. Clearly Mrs. Damon was not able to do so. "Now let's get at this in some kind of order," suggested the youth, when Mrs. Damon had calmed herself. It was his habit to have a method about doing things. "And don't worry," he advised. "I am certain some good will come of this. It proves one thing, that's sure." "What is it, Tom?" "That Mr. Damon is alive and well. Otherwise the message would not have said he would be 'released.' It wasn't from anyone you know; was it?" "No, I'm sure I never heard the voice before." Tom paused a moment to think how useful his photo telephone and phonograph arrangement might have been in this case. "How did the telephone call come in?" inquired the young inventor. "In the usual way," answered Mrs. Damon. "The bell rang, and, as I happened to be near the instrument, I answered it, as I often do, when the maid is busy. A voice asked if I was Mrs. Damon, and of course I said I was. Then I heard this: 'Sign the land papers, and send them to us, and your husband will be released.'" "Was that all?" Tom asked. "I think so--I made a note of it at the time." Mrs. Damon looked into a small red book. "No, that wasn't all," she said, quickly. "I was so astonished, at hearing those strange words about my husband, that I didn't know what to say. Before I could ask any questions the voice went on to say, rather abruptly: 'We will call you again.'" "That's good!" cried Tom. "I only hope they do it while I am here. Perhaps I can get some clue as to who it was called you. But was this all you heard?" "Yes, I'm sure that was all. I had forgotten about the last words, but I see I have them written down in my note book." "Did you ask any questions?" inquired Tom. "Oh, indeed I did! As soon as I got over being stunned by what I heard, I asked all sorts of questions. I demanded to know who was speaking, what they meant, where they were, and all that. I begged them to tell me something of my husband." "And what did they say?" "Not a thing. There wasn't a sound in the telephone. The receiver was hung up, breaking the connection after that message to me--that mysterious message." "Yes, it was mysterious," agreed Tom, thoughtfully. "I can't understand it. But didn't you try to learn from the central operator where the call had come from?" "Oh, yes, indeed, Tom! As soon as I found out the person speaking to me had rung off, I got the girl in the exchange." "And what did she say?" "That the call came from an automatic pay station in a drug store in town. I have the address. It was one of those telephones where you put your money for the call in a slot." "I see. Well, the first thing to do is for me to go to that drug store and find out, if I can, who used the telephone about that time. It's a slim chance, but we'll have to take it. Was it a man's voice, or a woman's?" "Oh, a man's, I'm sure. It was very deep and heavy. No woman could speak like that." "So much is settled, anyhow. Now about the land papers--what was meant?" "I'll tell you," said Mrs. Damon. "You know part of our property--considerable land and some buildings--is in my name. Mr. Damon had it fixed so a number of years ago, in order to protect me. No one could get this property, and land, unless I signed the deeds, or agreed to sign them. Now all of Mr. Damon's fortune is tied up in some of Mr. Peters's companies. That is why my husband has disappeared." "He didn't disappear--he was taken away against his will; I'm positive of that!" exclaimed Tom. "Perhaps so," agreed Mrs. Damon, sadly. "But those are the papers referred to, I'm sure." "Probably," assented Tom. "The rascals want to get control of everything--even your possessions. Not satisfied with ruining Mr. Damon, they want to make you a beggar, too. So they are playing on your fears. They promise to release your husband if you will give them the land." "Yes, that must be it, Tom. What would you advise me to do? I am so frightened over this!" "Do? Don't you do anything!" cried Tom. "We'll fool these rascals yet. If they got those papers they might release Mr. Damon, or they might not--fearing he would cause their arrest later. But we'll have him released anyhow, and we'll save what is left of your fortune. Put those land papers in a safe-deposit box, and let me do the rest. I'm going to catch those fellows!" "But how, Tom? You don't know who they are. And a mere message over a telephone won't give you a clue to where they are." "Perhaps not an ordinary message," agreed Tom. "But I'm going to try some of my new inventions. You said they told you they were going to call again?" "That's what they said, Tom." "Well, when they do, I want to be here. I want to listen to that message. If you will allow me, I'll take up my residence here for a while, Mrs. Damon." "Allow you? I'll be only too glad if you will, Tom. But I thought you were going to try to get some clue from the drug store where the mysterious message came from." "I'll let Ned Newton do that. I want to stay here." Tom telephoned to Ned to meet him at Mrs. Damon's house, and also to bring with him certain things from the laboratory. And when Ned arrived in an auto, with various bits of apparatus, Tom put in some busy hours. Meanwhile Ned was sent to the drug store, to see if any clues could be obtained there as to who had sent the message. As Tom had feared, nothing could be learned. There were several automatic 'phones in the place, and they were used very often during the day by the public. The drug clerks took little or no notice of the persons entering or leaving the booths, since the dropping of a coin in the slot was all that was necessary to be connected with central. "Well, we've got to wait for the second call here," said Tom, who had been busy during Ned's absence. He had fitted to Mrs. Damon's telephone a recording wax phonograph cylinder, to get a record of the speaker's voice. And he had also put in an extension telephone, so that he could listen while Mrs. Damon talked to the unknown. "There, I guess we're ready for them," said Tom, late that afternoon. But no queer call came in that day. It was the next morning, about ten o'clock, after Mrs. Damon had passed a restless night, that the telephone bell rang. Tom, who was on the alert, was at his auxiliary instrument in a flash. He motioned to Mrs. Damon to answer on the main wire. "Hello," she spoke into the transmitter. "Who is this?" "Are you Mrs. Damon?" Tom heard come over the wire in a deep voice, and by the manner in which Mrs. Damon signalled the young inventor knew that, at the other end of the line, was the mysterious man who had spoken before. CHAPTER XIX THE BUZZING SOUND "Are you Mrs. Damon?" came the question again--rather more impatiently this time, Tom thought. "Yes," answered the lady, glancing over at Tom. The extension telephone was in the same room. Softly Tom switched on the phonograph attachment. The little wax cylinder began to revolve noiselessly, ready to record the faintest word that came over the wire. "You got a message from me yesterday," went on the hoarse voice. In vain Tom tried to recall whether or not he had heard it before. He could not place it. "Who are you?" asked Mrs. Damon. She and Tom had previously agreed on a line of talk. "Tell me your name, please." "There's no need for any names to be used," went on the unknown at the other end of the wire. "You heard what I said yesterday. Are you willing to send me those land title papers, if we release your husband?" "But where shall I send them?" asked Mrs. Damon, to gain time. "You'll be told where. And listen--no tricks! You needn't try to find out who I am, nor where I am. Just send those papers if you want to see your husband again." "Oh, how is he? Tell me about him! You are cruel to keep him a prisoner like this! I demand that you release him!" Tom had not told Mrs. Damon to say this. It came out of her own heart--she could not prevent the agonized outburst. "Never mind about that, now," came the gruff voice over the wire. "Are you willing to send the papers?" Mrs. Damon looked over to Tom for silent instructions. He nodded his head in assent. "Yes, I--I will send them if you tell me where to get them to you--if you will release Mr. Damon," said the anxious wife. "But tell me who you are--and where you are!" she begged. "None of that! I'm not looking to be arrested. You get the papers ready, and I'll let you know to-morrow, about this time, where to send them." "Wait a minute!" called Mrs. Damon, to gain more time. "I must know just what papers you want." "All right, I'll tell you," and he began to describe the different ones. It took a little time for the unknown to give this information to Mrs. Damon. The man was very particular about the papers. There were trust deeds, among other things, and he probably thought that once he had possession of them, with Mrs. Damon's signature, even though it had been obtained under a threat, he could claim the property. Later it was learned that such was not the case, for Mrs. Damon, with Tom's aid, could have proved the fraud, had the scoundrels tried to get the remainder of the Damon fortune. But at the time it seemed to the helpless woman that everything she owned would be taken from her. Though she said she did not care, as long as Mr. Damon was restored to her. As I have said, the telephoning of the instructions about the papers took some time. Tom had counted on this, and had made his plans accordingly. As soon as the telephone call had come in, Tom had communicated with a private detective who was in waiting, and this man had gone to the drug store whence the first call had come. He was going to try to make the arrest of the man telephoning. But for fear the scoundrel would go to a different instrument, Tom took another precaution. This was to have one of the operators in the central exchange on the watch. As soon as Mrs. Damon's house was in connection with another telephone, the location of the latter would be noted, and another private detective would be sent there. Thus Tom hoped to catch the man at the 'phone. Meanwhile Tom listened to the hoarse voice at the other end of the wire, giving the directions to Mrs. Damon. Tom hoped that soon there would be an arrest made. Meanwhile the talk was being faithfully recorded on the phonograph cylinder. And, as the man talked on, Tom became aware of a curious undercurrent of sound. It was a buzzing noise, that Tom knew did not come from the instrument itself. It was not the peculiar tapping, singing noise heard in a telephone receiver, caused by induced electrical currents, or by wire trouble. "This is certainly different," mused Tom. He was trying to recall where he had heard the noise before. Sometimes it was faint, and then it would gradually increase, droning off into faintness once more. Occasionally it was so loud that Mrs. Damon could not hear the talk about the papers, and the man would have to repeat. But finally he came to an end. "This is all now," he said, sharply. Tom heard the words above the queer, buzzing, humming sound. "You are keeping me too long. I think you are up to some game, but it won't do you any good, Mrs. Damon. I'll 'phone you to-morrow where to send the papers. And if you don't send them--if you try any tricks--it will be the worse for you and Mr. Damon!" There was a click, that told of a receiver being placed back on the hook, and the voice ceased. So, also, did the queer, buzzing sound over which Tom puzzled. "What can it have been?" he asked. "Did you hear it, Mrs. Damon?" "What, Tom?" "That buzzing sound." "Yes, I heard, but I didn't know what it was. Oh, Tom, what shall I do?" "Don't worry. We'll see if anything happened. They may have caught that fellow. If not I'll plan another scheme." Tom's first act was to call up the telephone exchange to learn where the second call had come from. He got the information at once. The address was in the suburbs. The man had not gone to the drug store this time. "Did the detective get out to that address?" asked Tom eagerly of the manager. "Yes. As soon as we were certain that he was the party you wanted, your man got right after him, Mr. Swift." "That's good, I hope he catches him!" cried the young inventor. "We'll have to wait and find out." "He said he'd call up and let you know as soon as he reached the place," the telephone manager informed Tom. There was nothing to do but wait, and meanwhile Tom did what he could to comfort Mrs. Damon. She was quite nervous and inclined to be hysterical, and the youth thought it wise to have a cousin, who had come to stay with her, summon the doctor. "But, Tom, what shall I do about those papers?" Mrs. Damon asked him. "Shall I send them?" "Indeed not!" "But I want Mr. Damon restored to me," she pleaded. "I don't care about the money. He can make more." "Well, we'll not give those scoundrels the satisfaction of getting any money out of you. Just wait now, I'll work this thing out, and find a way to catch that fellow. If I could only think what that buzzing sound was--" Then, in a flash, it came to Tom. "A sawmill! A planing mill!" he cried. "That's what it was! That fellow was telephoning from some place near a sawmill!" The telephone rang in the midst of Tom's excited comments. "Yes--yes!" he called eagerly. "Who is it--what is it?" "This is Larsen--the private detective you sent." "Oh, yes, you were at the drug store." "Yes, Mr. Swift. Well, that party didn't call up from here." "I know, Larsen. It was from another station. We're after him. Much obliged to you. Come on back." Tom was sure his theory was right. The man had called up the Damon house from some telephone near a sawmill. And a little later Tom's theory was proved to be true. He got a report from the second detective. Unfortunately the man had not been able to reach the telephone station before the unknown speaker had departed. "Was the place near a sawmill?" asked Tom, eagerly. "It was," answered the detective over the wire. "The telephone is right next door to one. It's an automatic pay station and no one seems to have noticed who the man was who telephoned. I couldn't get a single clue. I'm sorry." "Never mind," said Tom, as cheerfully as he could. "I think I'm on the right track now. I'm going to lay a trap for this fellow." CHAPTER XX SETTING THE TRAP Troublesome problems seemed to be multiplying for Tom Swift. He admitted as much himself after the failure to capture the man who had telephoned to Mrs. Damon. He had hoped that his plan of sending detectives to the location of the telephones would succeed. Since it had not the youth must try other means. "Now, Ned," he said to his chum, when they were on their way from Mrs. Damon's, it being impossible to do anything further there. "Now, Ned, we've got to think this thing out together." "I'm willing, Tom. I'll do what I can." "I know you will. Now the thing to do is to go at this thing systematically. Otherwise we'll be working around in a circle, and won't get anywhere. In the first place, let's set down what we do know. Then we'll put down what we don't know, and go after that." "Put down what you don't know?" exclaimed Ned. "How are you going to put down a thing when you don't know it?" "I mean we can put a question mark after it, so to speak. For instance we don't know where Mr. Damon is, but we want to find out." "Oh, I see. Well, let's start off with the things we do know." The two friends were at Tom's house by now, having come from Waterford in Tom's airship. After thinking over all the exciting happenings of the past few days, Tom remarked: "Now, Ned, for the things we do know. In the first place Mr. Damon is missing, and his fortune is about gone. There is considerable left to Mrs. Damon, however, but those scoundrels may get that away from her, if we don't watch out. Secondly, my airship was taken and brought back, with a button more than it had when it went away. Said button exactly matched one off Mr. Boylan's coat." "Thirdly, Mr. Damon was either taken away or went away, in an airship--either in mine or someone else's. Fourthly, Mrs. Damon has received telephonic communications from the man, or men, who have her husband. Fifthly, Mr. Peters, either legally or illegally, is responsible for the loss of Mr. Damon's fortune. Now: there you are--for the things we do know." "Now for the things we don't know. We don't know who has taken Mr. Damon away, nor where he is, to begin with the most important." "Hold on, Tom, I think you're wrong," broke in Ned. "In what way?" "About not knowing who is responsible for the taking away of Mr. Damon. I think it's as plain as the nose on your face that Peters is responsible." "I can't see it that way," said Tom, quickly. "I will admit that it looks as though Boylan had been in my airship, but as for Peters taking Mr. Damon away--why, Peters is around town all the while, and if he had a hand in the disappearance of Mr. Damon, do you think he'd stay here, when he knows we are working on the case? And would he send Boylan to see me if Boylan had been one of those who had a hand in it? They wouldn't dare, especially as they know I'm working on the case." "Peters is a bad lot. I'll grant you, though, he was fair enough to pay for my motor boat. I don't believe he had anything to do with taking Mr. Damon away." "Do you think he was the person who was talking to Mrs. Damon about the papers?" "No, Ned. I don't. I listened to that fellow's voice carefully. It wasn't like Peters's. I'm going to put it in the phonograph, too, and let you listen to it. Then see what you say." Tom did this, a little later. The record of the voice, as it came over the wire, was listened to from the wax cylinder, and Ned had to admit that it was not much like that of the promoter. "Well, what's next to be done?" asked the young banker. "I'm going to set a trap," replied Tom, with a grin. "Set a trap?" "Yes, a sort of mouse-trap. I'm glad my photo telephone is now perfected, Ned." "What has that got to do with it?" "That's going to be my trap, Ned. Here is my game. You know this fellow--this strange unknown--is going to call up Mrs. Damon to-morrow. Well, I'll be ready for him. I'm going to put in the booth where he will telephone from, one of my photo telephones--that is, the sending apparatus. In Mrs. Damon's house, attached to her telephone, will be the receiving plate, as well as the phonograph cylinder." "When this fellow starts to talk he'll be sending us his picture, though he won't know it, and we'll be getting a record of his voice. Then we'll have him just where we want him." "Good!" cried Ned. "But, Tom, there's a weak spot in your mouse-trap." "What is it?" "How are you going to know which telephone the unknown will call up from? He may go to any of a hundred, more or less." "He might--yes. But that's a chance we've got to take. It isn't so much of a chance, though when you stop to think that he will probably go to some public telephone in an isolated spot, and, unless I'm much mistaken he will go to a telephone near where he was to-day. He knows that was safe, since we didn't capture him, and he's very likely to come back." "But to make the thing as sure as possible, I'm going to attach my apparatus to a number of public telephones in the vicinity of the one near the sawmill. So if the fellow doesn't get caught in one, he will in another. I admit it's taking a chance; but what else can we do?" "I suppose you're right, Tom. It's like setting a number of traps." "Exactly. A trapper can't be sure where he is going to get his catch, so he picks out the place, or run-way, where the game has been in the habit of coming. He hides his traps about that place, and trusts to luck that the animal will blunder into one of them." "Criminals, to my way of thinking, are a good bit like animals. They seem to come back to their old haunts. Nearly any police story proves this. And it's that on which I am counting to capture this criminal. So I'm going to fit up as many telephones with my photo and phonograph outfit, as I can in the time we have. You'll have to help me. Luckily I've got plenty of selenium plates for the sending end. I'll only need one at the receiving end. Now we'll have to go and have a talk with the telephone manager, after which we'll get busy." "You've overlooked one thing, Tom." "What's that, Ned?" "Why, if you know about which telephone this fellow is going to use, why can't you have police stationed near it to capture him as soon as he begins to talk?" "Well, I did think of that, Ned; but it won't work." "Why not?" "Because, in the first place this man, or some of his friends, will be on the watch. When he goes into the place to telephone there'll be a look-out, I'm sure, and he'd either put off talking to Mrs. Damon, or he'd escape before we had any evidence against him." "You see I've got to get evidence that will stand in the courts to convict this fellow, and if he's scared off before we get that, the game will be up." "That's what my photo telephone will do--it will get the evidence, just as a dictaphone does. In fact, I'm thinking of working it out on those lines, after I clear up this business." "Just suppose we had detectives stationed at all the telephones near the sawmill, where this fellow would be likely to go. In the first place no one has seen him, as far as we know, so there's no telling what sort of a chap he is. And you can't go up to a perfect stranger and arrest him because you think he is the man who has spirited away Mr. Damon." "Another thing. Until this fellow has talked, and made his offer to Mrs. Damon, to restore her husband, in exchange for certain papers, we have no hold over him." "But he has done that, Tom. You heard him, and you have his voice down on the wax cylinder." "Yes, but I haven't had a glimpse of his face. That's what I want, and what I'm going to get. Suppose he does go into the telephone booth, and tell Mrs. Damon an address where she is to send the papers. Even if a detective was near at hand he might not catch what was said. Or, if he did, on what ground could he arrest a man who, very likely, would be a perfect stranger to him? The detective couldn't say: 'I take you into custody for telephoning an address to Mrs. Damon.' That, in itself, is no crime." "No, I suppose not," admitted Ned. "You've got this all thought out, Tom." "I hope I have. You see it takes quite a combination to get evidence against a criminal--evidence that will convict him. That's why I have to be so careful in setting my trap." "I see, Tom. Well, it's about time for us to get busy; isn't it?" "It sure is. There's lots to do. First we'll go see the telephone people." Tom explained to the 'phone manager the necessity for what he was about to do. The manager at once agreed to let the young inventor have a free hand. He was much interested in the photo telephone, and Tom promised to give his company a chance to use it on their lines, later. The telephone near the sawmill was easily located. It was in a general store, and the instrument was in a booth. To this instrument Tom attached his sending plate, and he also substituted for the ordinary incandescent light, a powerful tungsten one, that would give illumination enough to cause the likeness to be transmitted over the wire. The same thing was done to a number of the public telephones in that vicinity, each one being fitted up so that the picture of whoever talked would be transmitted over the wire when Tom turned the switch. To help the plan further the telephone manager marked a number of other 'phones, "Out of Order," for the time being. "Now, I think we're done!" exclaimed the young inventor, with a sigh, late that night. He and Ned and the line manager had worked hard. "Yes," answered the young banker, "the traps are set. The question is: Will our rat be caught?" CHAPTER XXI THE PHOTO TELEPHONE Tom Swift was taking, as he afterward confessed, "a mighty big chance." But it seemed the only way. He was working against cunning men, and had to be as cunning as they. True, the man he hoped to capture, through the combination of his photo telephone and the phonograph, might go to some other instrument than one of those Tom had adjusted. But this could not be helped. In all he had put his new attachment on eight 'phones in the vicinity of the sawmill. So he had eight chances in his favor, and as many against him as there were other telephones in use. "It's a mighty small margin in our favor," sighed Tom. "It sure is," agreed Ned. They were at Mrs. Damon's house, waiting for the call to come in. "But we couldn't do anything else," went on Tom. "No," spoke Ned, "and I have a great deal of hope in the proverbial Swift luck, Tom." "Well, I only hope it holds good this time!" laughed the young inventor. "There are a good many things that can go wrong," observed Ned. "The least little slip-up may spoil your traps, Tom." "I know it, Ned. But I've got to take the chance. We've just got to do something for Mrs. Damon. She's wearing herself out by worrying," he added in a low voice, for indeed the wife of his friend felt the absence of her husband greatly. She had lost flesh, she ate scarcely anything, and her nights were wakeful ones of terror. "What if this fails?" asked Ned. "Then I'm going to work that button clue to the limit," replied Tom. "I'll go to Boylan and see what he and Peters have to say." "If you'd done as I suggested you'd have gone to them first," spoke Ned. "You'll find they're mixed up in this." "Maybe; but I doubt it. I tell you there isn't a clue leading to Peters--as yet." "But there will be," insisted Ned. "You'll see that that I'm right this time." "I can't see it, Ned. As a matter of fact, I would have gone to Boylan about that button I found in my airship only I've been so busy on this photo telephone, and in arranging the trap, that I haven't had time. But if this fails--and I'm hoping it won't--I'll get after him," and there was a grim look on the young inventor's face. It was wearying and nervous work--this waiting. Tom and Ned felt the strain as they sat there in Mrs. Damon's library, near the telephone. It had been fitted up in readiness. Attached to the receiving wires was a sensitive plate, on which Tom hoped would be imprinted the image of the man at the other end of the wire--the criminal who, in exchange for the valuable land papers, would give Mr. Damon his liberty. There was also the phonograph cylinder to record the man's voice. Several times, while waiting for the call to come in, Tom got up to test the apparatus. It was in perfect working order. As before, there was an extension telephone, so that Mrs. Damon could talk to the unknown, while Tom could hear as well. But he planned to take no part in the conversation unless something unforeseen occurred. Mr. Damon was an enthusiastic photographer, and he had a dark room adjoining his library. It was in this dark room that Tom planned to develop the photo telephone plate. On this occasion he was not going to use the metal plate in which, ordinarily, the image of the person talking appeared. That record was but a fleeting one, as in a mirror. This time Tom wanted a permanent picture that could, if necessary, be used in a court of justice. Tom's plan was this: If the person who had demanded the papers came to one of the photo telephones, and spoke to Mrs. Damon, Tom would switch on the receiving apparatus. Thus, while the man was talking, his picture would be taken, though he would not know of the thing being done. His voice would also be recorded on the wax cylinder, and he would be equally unaware of this. When Tom had imprinted the fellow's image on the prepared plate, he would go quickly to the dark room and develop it. A wet print could be made, and with this as evidence, and to use in identification, a quick trip could be made to the place whence the man had telephoned. Tom hoped thus to capture him. To this end he had his airship in waiting, and as soon as he had developed the picture he planned to rush off to the vicinity of the sawmill, and make a prisoner of the man whose features would be revealed to him over the wire. It was a hazardous plan--a risky one--but it was the best that he could evolve. Tom had instructed Mrs. Damon to keep the man in conversation as long as possible, in order to give the young inventor himself time to rush off in his airship. But of course the man might get suspicious and leave. That was another chance that had to be taken. "If I had thought of it in time," said Tom, musingly, as he paced up and down in the library waiting for the 'phone to ring, "if I had thought of it in time I would have rigged up two plates--one for a temporary, or looking-glass, picture, and the other for a permanent one. In that way I could rush off as soon as I got a glimpse of the fellow. But it's too late to do that now. I'll have to develop this plate." Waiting is the most wearisome work there is. Tom and Ned found this to be the case, as they sat there, hoping each moment that the telephone bell would ring, and that the man at the other end of the wire would be the mysterious stranger. Mrs. Damon, too, felt the nervous strain. "This is about the hour he called up yesterday," said Tom, in a low voice, after coming back from a trip to the window to see that his airship was in readiness. He had brought Koku over to help in starting it, for he was using his most powerful and speedy craft, and the propellers were hard to turn. "Yes," answered Mrs. Damon. "It was just about this hour, Tom. Oh, I do hope--" She was interrupted by the jingle of the telephone bell. With a jump Tom was at the auxiliary instrument, while Mrs. Damon lifted off the receiver of her own telephone. "Yes; what is it?" she asked, in a voice that she tried to make calm. "Do you know who this is?" Tom heard come over the wire. "Are you the--er--the person who was to give me an address where I am to send certain papers?" "Yes. I'm the same one. I'm glad to see that you have acted sensibly. If I get the papers all right, you'll soon have your husband back. Now do as I say. Take down this address." "Very well," assented Mrs. Damon. She looked over at Tom. He was intently listening, and he, too, would note the address given. The trap was about to be sprung. The game had walked into it. Just which telephone was being used Tom could not as yet tell. It was evidently not the one nearest the planing mill, for Tom could not hear the buzzing sound. It was well he had put his attachment on several instruments. "One moment, please," said Mrs. Damon, to the unknown at the other end of the wire. This was in accordance with the pre-arranged plan. "Well, what is it?" asked the man, impatiently. "I have no time to waste." Tom heard again the same gruff tones, and he tried in vain to recognize them. "I want you take down a message to Mr. Damon," said his wife. "This is very important. It can do you no harm to give him this message; but I want you to get it exact. If you do not promise to deliver it I shall call all negotiations off." "Oh, all right I'll take the message; but be quick about it. Then I'll give you the address where you are to send the papers." "This is the message," went on Mrs. Damon. "Please write it down. It is very important to me. Have you a pencil?" "Yes, I have one. Wait until I get a bit of paper. It's so dark in this booth--wait until I turn on the light." Tom could not repress a pleased and joyful exclamation. It was just what he had hoped the man would do--turn on the light in the booth. Indeed, it was necessary for the success of the trap that the light be switched on. Otherwise no picture could be transmitted over the wire. And the plan of having the man write down a message to Mr. Damon was arranged with that end in view. The man would need a light to see to write, and Tom's apparatus must be lighted in order to make it work. The plot was coming along finely. "There!" exclaimed the man at the other end of the wire. "I have a light now. Go ahead with your message, Mrs. Damon. But make it short. I can't stay here long." Then Mrs. Damon began dictating the message she and Tom had agreed upon. It was as long as they dared make it, for they wanted to keep the man in the booth to the last second. "Dear Husband," began Mrs. Damon. What the message was does not matter. It has nothing to do with this story. Sufficient to say that the moment the man began writing it down, as Tom could tell over the sensitive wire, by the scratching of the pencil--at that moment Tom, knowing the light was on in the distant telephone booth, switched on the picture-taking apparatus. His receiving apparatus at once indicated that the image was being made on the sensitive plate. It took only a few seconds of time, and with the plate in the holder Tom hastened to the dark room to develop it. Ned took his chum's place at the telephone, to see that all worked smoothly. The photo telephone had done it's work. Whose image would be found imprinted on the sensitive plate? Tom's hands trembled so that he could scarcely put it in the developing solution. CHAPTER XXII THE ESCAPE Ned Newton, listening at the auxiliary telephone heard the man, to whom Mrs. Damon was dictating her message to her husband, utter an exclamation of impatience. "I'm afraid I can't take down any more," he called. "That is enough. Now you listen. I want you to send me those papers." "And I am willing to," went on Mrs. Damon, while Ned listened to the talk, the phonograph faithfully recording it. "I wonder whose picture Tom will find," mused Ned. The unknown, at the other end of the wire, began giving Mrs. Damon a description of just what papers he wanted, and how to mail them to him. He gave an address that Ned recognized as that of a cigar store, where many persons received their mail under assumed names. The postal authorities had, for a long time, tried to get evidence against it. "That's going to make it hard to get him, when he comes for the papers," thought Ned. "He's a foxy criminal, all right. But I guess Tom will turn the trick." Mrs. Damon was carefully noting down the address. She really intended to send the papers, if it proved that there was no other way in which she could secure the release of her husband. But she did not count on all of Tom's plans. "Why doesn't he develop that plate?" thought Ned. "He'll be too late, in spite of his airship. That fellow will skip." It was at that moment that Tom came into the library. He moved cautiously, for he realized that a loud sound in the room would carry to the man at the other end of the wire. Tom motioned for Ned to come to him. He held out a dripping photographic plate. "It's Peters!" said Tom, in a hoarse whisper. "Peters?" gasped Ned. "How could it be? His voice--" "I know. It didn't sound a bit like Peters over the 'phone, but there's his picture, all right!" Tom held up the plate. There, imprinted on it by the wonderful power of the young inventor's latest appliance, was the image of the rascally promoter. As plainly as in life he was shown, even to his silk hat and the flower in his button-hole. He was in a telephone booth--that much could be told from the photograph that had been transmitted over the wire, but which booth could not be said--they were nearly all alike. "Peters!" gasped Ned. "I thought he was the fellow, Tom." "Yes, I know. You were right, and I was wrong. But I did not recognize his voice. It was very hoarse. He must have a bad cold." Later this was learned to have been the case. "There's no time to lose," whispered Tom, while Mrs. Damon was doing her best to prolong the conversation in order to hold the man at the other end of the wire. "Ned, get central on the other telephone, and see where this call came from. Then we'll get there as fast as the airship will take us." A second and temporary telephone line had been installed in the Damon home, and on this Ned was soon talking, while Tom, putting the photographic plate away for future use, rushed out to get his airship in shape for a quick flight. He had modified his plans. Instead of having a detective take a print of the photo telephone image, and make the arrest, Tom was going to try to capture Peters himself. He believed he could do it. One look at the wet plate was enough. He knew Peters, though it upset some of his theories to learn that it was the promoter who was responsible for Mr. Damon's disappearance. The man at the other end of the wire was evidently getting impatient. Possibly he suspected some trick. "I've got to go now," he called to Mrs. Damon. "If I don't get those papers in the morning it will be the worse for Mr. Damon." "Oh, I'll send you the papers," she said. By this time Ned had gotten into communication with the manager of the central telephone exchange, and had learned the location of the instrument Peters was using. It was about a mile from the one near the sawmill. "Come on!" called Tom to his chum, as the latter gave him this information. "The Firefly is tuned up for a hundred miles an hour! We'll be there in ten minutes! We must catch him red-handed, if possible!" "He's gone!" gasped Mrs. Damon as she came to the outer door, and watched Tom and Ned taking their places in the airship, while Koku prepared to twirl the propellers. "Gone!" echoed Tom, blankly. "Yes, he hung up the receiver." "See if you can't get him back," suggested the young inventor. "Ask Central to ring that number again. We'll be there in a jiffy. Maybe he'll come to the telephone again. Or he may even call up his partners and tell them the game is working his way. Try to get him back, Mrs. Damon." "I will," she said. And, as she hurried back to the instrument, Tom and Ned shot up toward the blue sky in an endeavor to capture the man at the other telephone. "And to think it was Peters!" cried Tom into Ned's ear, shouting to be heard above the roar of the motor exhaust. "I thought he'd turn out to be mixed up in the affair," said Ned. "Well, you were right. I was off, that time," admitted Tom, as he guided his powerful craft above the trees. "I was willing to admit that he had something to do with Mr. Damon's financial trouble, but as for kidnapping him--well, you never can tell." They drove on at a breath-catching pace, and it seemed hardly a minute after leaving Mrs. Damon's house before Tom called: "There's the building where the telephone is located." "And now for that rascal Peters!" cried Ned. The airship swooped down, to the great astonishment of some workmen nearby. Hardly had the wheels ceased revolving on the ground, as Tom made a quick landing, than he was out of his seat, and running toward the telephone. He knew the place at once from having heard Ned's description, and besides, this was one of the places where he had installed his apparatus. Into the store Tom burst, and made a rush for the 'phone booth. He threw open the door. The place was empty! "The man--the man who was telephoning!" Tom called to the proprietor of the place. "You mean that big man, with the tall hat, who was in there so long?" "Yes, where is he?" "Gone. About two minutes ago." "Which way?" "Over toward Shopton, and in one of the fastest autos that ever scattered dust in this section." "He's escaped us!" said Tom to Ned. "But we'll get him yet! Come on!" "I'm with you. Say, do you know what this looks like to me?" "What?" "It looks as if Peters was scared and was going to run away to stay!" CHAPTER XXIII ON THE TRAIL Such a crowd had quickly gathered about Tom's airship that it was impossible to start it. Men and boys, and even some girls and women, coming from no one knew where, stood about the machine, making wondering remarks about it. "Stand back, if you please!" cried Tom, good-naturedly. "We've got to get after the fellow in the auto." "You'll have hard work catching him, friend, in that rig," remarked a man. "He was fracturing all the speed laws ever passed. I reckon he was going nigh onto sixty miles an hour." "We can make a hundred," spoke Ned, quietly. "A hundred! Get out!" cried the man. "Nothing can go as fast as that!" "We'll show you, if we once get started," said Tom. "I guess we'll have to get one of these fellows to twirl the propellers for us, Ned," he added. "I didn't think, or I'd have brought the self-starting machine," for this one of Tom's had to be started by someone turning over the propellers, once or twice, to enable the motor to begin to speed. On some of his aircraft the young inventor had attached a starter, something like the ones on the newest autos. "What are you going to do?" asked Ned, as Tom looked to the priming of the cylinders. "I'm going to get on the trail of Peters," he said. "He's at the bottom of the whole business; and it's a surprise to me. I'm going to trail him right down to the ground now, and make him give up Mr. Damon and his fortune." "But you don't know where he is, Tom." "I'll find out. He isn't such an easy man to miss--he's too conspicuous. Besides, if he's just left in his auto we may catch him before he gets to Shopton." "Do you think he's going there?" "I think so. And I think, Ned, that he's become suspicious and will light out. Something must have happened, while he was telephoning, and he got frightened, as big a bluff as he is. But we'll get him. Come on! Will you turn over the propellers, please? I'll show you how to do it," Tom went on to a big, strong man standing close to the blades. "Sure I'll do it," was the answer. "I was a helper once at an airship meet, and I know how." "Get back out of the way in time," the young inventor warned him. "They start very suddenly, sometimes." "All right, friend, I'll watch out," was the reply, and with Tom and Ned in their seats, the former at the steering wheel, the craft of the air was soon throbbing and trembling under the first turn, for the cylinders were still warm from the run from Mrs. Damon's house. The telephone was in an outlying section of Waterford--a section devoted in the main to shops and factories, and the homes of those employed in various lines of manufacture. Peters had chosen his place well, for there were many roads leading to and from this section, and he could easily make his escape. "But we'll get after him," thought Tom, grimly, as he let the airship run down the straight road a short distance on the bicycle wheels, to give it momentum enough so that it would rise. Then, with the tilting of the elevation rudder, the craft rose gracefully, amid admiring cheers from the crowd. Tom did not go up very far, as he wanted to hover near the ground, to pick out the speeding auto containing Peters. But this time luck was not with Tom. He and Ned did sight a number of cars speeding along the highway toward Shopton, but when they got near enough to observe the occupants they were disappointed not to behold the man they sought. Tom circled about for some time, but it was of no use, and then he headed his craft back toward Waterford. "Where are you going?" asked Ned, yelling the words into the ear of his chum. "Back to Mrs. Damon's," answered Tom, in equally loud tones. It was impossible to talk above the roaring and throbbing of the motor, so the two lads kept silent until the airship had landed near Mrs. Damon's home. "I want to see if Mrs. Damon is all right," Tom explained, as he jumped from the still moving machine. "Then we'll go to Shopton, and cause Peters's arrest. I can make a charge against him now, and the evidence of the photo telephone will convict him, I'm sure. And I also want to see if Mrs. Damon has had any other word." She had not, however, though she was more nervous and worried than ever. "Oh, Tom, what shall I do?" she exclaimed. "I am so frightened! What do you suppose they will do to Mr. Damon?" "Nothing at all!" Tom assured her. "He will be all right. I think matters are coming to a crisis now, and very likely he'll be with you inside of twenty-four hours. The game is up, and I guess Peters knows it. I'm going to have him arrested at once." "Shall I send those land papers, Tom?" "Indeed you must not! But I'll talk to you about that later. Just put away that phonograph record of Peters's talk. I'll take along the photo telephone negative, and have some prints made--or, I guess, since we're going in the airship, that I'd better leave it here for the present. We'll use it as evidence against Peters. Come on, Ned." "Where to now?" "Peters's house. He's probably there, arranging to cover up his tracks when he lights out." But Shallock Peters did better than merely cover up his tracks. He covered himself up, so to speak. For when Ned and Tom, after a quick flight in the airship, reached his house, the promoter had left, and the servants, who were quite excited, did not know where he had gone. "He just packed up a few clothes and ran out," said one of the maids. "He didn't say anything about our wages, either, and he owes me over a month." "Me too," said another. "Well, if he doesn't pay me some of my back wages soon, I'll sue him!" declared the gardener. "He owes me more than three months, but he kept putting me off." And, so it seemed, Peters had done with several of his employes. When the promoter came to Shopton he had taken an elaborate house and engaged a staff of servants. Peters was not married, but he gave a number of entertainments to which the wealthy men of Shopton and their wives came. Later it was found that the bills for these had never been paid. In short, Peters was a "bluff" in more ways than one. Tom told enough of his story to the servants to get them on his side. Indeed, now that their employer had gone, and under such queer circumstances, they had no sympathy for him. They were only concerned about their own money, and Tom was given admittance to the house. Tom made a casual search, hoping to find some clue to the whereabouts of Mr. Damon, or to get some papers that would save his fortune. But the search was unsuccessful. There was a safe in the room Peters used for an office, but when Tom got there the strong box was open, and only some worthless documents remained. "He smelled a rat, all right," said Tom, grimly. "After he telephoned to Mrs. Damon something happened that gave him an intimation that someone was after him. So he got away as soon as he could." "But what are you going to do about it, Tom?" "Get right after him. He can't have gotten very far. I want him and I want Boylan. We're getting close to the end of the trail, Ned." "Yes, but we haven't found Mr. Damon yet, and his fortune seems to have vanished." "Well, we'll do the best we can," said Tom, grimly. "Now I'm going to get a warrant for the arrest of Peters, and one for Boylan, and I'm going to get myself appointed a special officer with power to serve them. We've got our work cut out for us, Ned." "Well, I'm with you to the end." "I know you are!" cried Tom. CHAPTER XXIV THE LONELY HOUSE The young inventor had little difficulty in getting the warrants he sought. In the case of Boylan, who seemed to be Peters's right-hand man, when it came to criminal work, Tom made a charge of unlawfully taking the airship. This would be enough to hold the man on until other evidence could be obtained against him. As for Peters, he was accused of taking certain valuable bonds and stocks belonging to Mr. Damon. Mrs. Damon gave the necessary evidence in this case, and the authorities were told that later, when Peters should have been arrested, other evidence so skillfully gotten by Tom's photo telephone, would be brought before the court. "It's a new way of convicting a man--by a photo telephone--but I guess it's a good one," said the judge who signed the warrants. "Well, now that we've got what we want, the next thing to do is to get the men--Peters, and the others," said Tom, as he and Ned sat in Tom's library after several hours of strenuous work. "How are you going to start?" the young banker wanted to know. "It seems a strange thing that a man like Mr. Damon could be made away with, and kept in hiding so long without something being heard of him. I'm afraid, Tom, that something must have happened to him." "I think so too, Ned. Nothing serious, though," Tom added, quickly, as he saw the look of alarm on his chum's face. "I think Mr. Damon at first went away of his own accord." "Of his own accord?" "Yes. I think Peters induced him to go with him, on the pretense that he could recover his fortune. After getting Mr. Damon in their power they kept him, probably to get the rest of his fortune away from him." "But you stopped that, Tom," said Ned, proud of his chum's abilities. "Well, I hope so," admitted the young inventor. "But I've still got plenty to do." "Have you a starting point?" "For one thing," Tom answered, "I'm going to have Mrs. Damon mail a fake package to the address Peters gave. If he, or any of his men, call for it, we'll have a detective on the watch, and arrest them." "Good!" "Of course it may not work," spoke Tom; "but it's something to try, and we can't miss any chances." Accordingly, the next day, a package containing only blank paper, made up to represent the documents demanded by Peters as the price of releasing Mr. Damon, was mailed to the address Mrs. Damon had received over the wire from the rascally promoter. Then a private detective was engaged to be on the watch, to take into custody whoever called for the bundle. Tom, though, had not much hope of anything coming of this, as it was evident that Peters had taken the alarm, and left. "And now," said Tom, when he had safely put away the wax record, containing the incriminating talk of Peters, and had printed several photographs, so wonderfully taken over the wire, "now to get on the trail again." It was not an easy one to follow. Tom began at the deserted home of the alleged financier. The establishment was broken up, for many tradesmen came with bills that had not been paid, and some of them levied on what little personal property there was to satisfy their claims. The servants left, sorrowful enough over their missing wages. The place was closed up under the sheriff's orders. But of Peters and his men not a trace could be found. Tom and Ned traveled all over the surrounding country, looking for clues, but in vain. They made several trips in the airship, but finally decided that an automobile was more practical for their work, and kept to that. They did find some traces of Peters. As Tom had said, the man was too prominent not to be noticed. He might have disguised himself, though it seemed that the promoter was a proud man, and liked to be seen in flashy clothes, a silk hat, and with a buttonhole bouquet. This made it easy to get the first trace of him. He had been seen to take a train at the Shopton station, though he had not bought a ticket. The promoter had paid his fare to Branchford, a junction point, but there all trace of him was lost. It was not even certain that he went there. "He may have done that to throw us off," said Tom. "Just because he paid his way to Branchford, doesn't say he went there. He may have gotten off at the next station beyond Shopton." "Do you think he's still lingering around here?" asked Ned. "I shouldn't be surprised," was Tom's answer. "He knows that there is still some of the Damon property left, and he is probably hungry for that. We'll get him yet, Ned." But at the end of several days Tom's hopes did not seem in a fair way to be realized. He and Ned followed one useless clue after another. All the trails seemed blind ones. But Tom never gave up. He was devoting all his time now to the finding of his friend Mr. Damon, and to the recovery of his fortune. In fact the latter was not so important to Tom as was the former. For Mrs. Damon was on the verge of a nervous collapse on account of the absence of her husband. "If I could only have some word from him, Tom!" she cried, helplessly. To Tom the matter was very puzzling. It seemed utterly impossible that Mr. Damon could be kept so close a prisoner that he could not manage to get some word to his friends. It was not as if he was a child. He was a man of more than ordinary abilities. Surely he might find a way to outwit his enemies. But the days passed, and no word came. A number of detectives had been employed, but they were no more successful than Tom. The latter had given up his inventive work, for the time being, to devote all his time to the solution of the mystery. Tom and Ned had been away from Shopton for three days, following the most promising clue they had yet received. But it had failed at the end, and one afternoon they found themselves in a small town, about a hundred miles from Shopton. They had been motoring. "I think I'll call up the house," said Tom. "Dad may have received some news, or Mrs. Damon may have sent him some word. I'll get my father on the wire." Connection to Tom's house was soon made, and Ned, who was listening to his chum's remarks, was startled to hear him cry out: "What's that you say? My airship taken again? When did it happen? Yes, I'm listening. Go on, Father!" Then followed a silence while Tom listened, breaking in now and then with an excited remark, Suddenly he called: "Good-by, Dad! I'm coming right home!" Tom hung up the receiver with a bang, and turned to his chum. "What do you think!" he cried. "The Eagle was taken again last night! The same way as before. Nobody got a glimpse of the thieves, though. Dad has been trying to get in communication with me ever since. I'm glad I called up. Now we'll get right back to Shopton, and see what we can do. This is the limit! Peters and his crowd will be kidnapping us, next." "That's right," agreed Ned. He and Tom were soon off again, speeding in the auto toward Shopton. But the roads were bad, after a heavy rain, and they did not make fast time. The coming of dusk found them with more than thirty miles to go. They were in an almost deserted section of the country when suddenly, as they were running slowly up a hill, there was a sudden crack, the auto gave a lurch to one side of the roadway and then settled heavily. Tom clapped on both brakes quickly, and gave a cry of dismay. "Broken front axle!" he said. "We're dished, Ned!" They got out, being no more harmed than by the jolting. The car was out of commission. The two chums looked around. Except for a lonely house, that bore every mark of being deserted, not a dwelling was in sight where they might ask for aid or shelter. And, as they looked, from that lonely house came a strange cry--a cry as though for help! CHAPTER XXV THE AIRSHIP CAPTURE "Did you hear that?" cried Ned. "I certainly did," answered Tom. "What was it." "Sounded to me like a cry of some sort." "It was. An animal, I'd say." The two chums moved away from the broken auto, and looked at each other. Then, by a common impulse, they started toward the lonely house, which was set back some distance from the road. "Let's see who it was," suggested Tom, "After all, though it looks deserted, there may be someone in the house, and we've got to have some kind of help. I don't want to leave my car on the road all night, though it will have to be repaired before I can use it again." "It sure is a bad break," agreed Ned. As they walked toward the deserted House they heard the strange cry again. It was louder this time, and following it the boys heard a sound as if a blow had been struck. "Someone is being attacked!" cried Tom. "Maybe some poor tramp has taken shelter in there and a dog is after them. Come on, Ned, we've got to help!" They started on a run for the lonely house, but while still some distance away a curious thing happened. There was a sudden cry--an appeal for help it seemed--but this time in the open. And, as Tom and Ned looked, they saw several men running from the rear of the old house. Between them they carried an inert form. "Something's wrong!" exclaimed Tom, "There's crooked work going on here, Ned." "You're right! It's up to us to stop it! Come on!" But before the boys had taken half a dozen more steps they heard that which caused them great surprise. For from a shed behind the house came the unmistakable throb and roar of a motor. "They're going off in an auto!" cried Ned. "And they're carrying someone with them!" exclaimed Tom. By this time they had gotten to a point where they could see the shed, and what was their astonishment to see being rolled from it a big biplane. At the sight of it Tom cried: "It's the Eagle! That's my airship, Ned!" "You're right! How did it get here?" "That's for us to find out. I shouldn't wonder, Ned, but what we're at last on the trail of Peters and his crowd!" The men--there were four or five of them, Ned guessed--now broke into a run, still carrying among them the inert form of another. The cries for help had ceased, and it seemed as if the unfortunate one was unconscious. A moment later, and before the boys could do anything, had they the power, the men fairly jumped aboard Tom Swift's biggest airship. The unconscious one was carried with them. Then the motor was speeded up. The roar and throbbing were almost deafening. "Stop that! Hold on! That's my machine!" yelled Tom. He might as well have spoken to the wind. With a rush and a roar the big Eagle shot away and upward, carrying the men and their mysterious, unconscious companion. It was getting too dark for Tom and Ned to make out the forms or features of the strangers. "We're too late!" said Ned, hopelessly. "Yes, they got away," agreed Tom. "Oh, if only I had my speedy little monoplane!" "But who can they be? How did your airship get here? And who is that man they carried out of the house?" cried Ned. "I don't know the last--maybe one of their crowd who was injured in a fight." "What crowd?" "The Peters gang, of course. Can't you see it, Ned?" Unable to do anything, the two youths watched the flight of the Eagle. She did not move at her usual speed, for she was carrying too heavy a load. Presently from the air overhead, and slightly behind them, the boys heard the sound of another motor. They turned quickly. "Look!" cried Ned. "Another airship, by all that's wonderful!" "If we could only stop them!" exclaimed Tom. "That's a big machine, and they could take us aboard. Then we could chase the Eagle. We could catch her, too, for she's overloaded!" Frantically he and Tom waved their caps at the man who was now almost overhead in his airship. The boys did not call. They well knew, with the noise of the motor, the occupant of the airship could not hear them. But they waved and pointed to the slowly-moving Eagle. To their surprise and delight the man above them shut off his engine, and seemed about to come down. Then Tom cried, knowing he could be heard: "Help us capture that airship? It's mine and they've stolen it!" "All right! Be with you in a minute!" came back the answer from above. The second biplane came down to earth, and as it ceased running along on its bicycle wheels, the occupant jumped out. "Hello, Tom Swift!" he called, as he took off his goggles. "Why--why it's Mr. Halling!" cried the young inventor, in delight, recognizing the birdman who had brought him the first news of Mr. Damon's trouble, the day the airship became entangled in the aerials of the wireless on Tom's house. "What are you doing here, Tom?" asked Mr. Hailing. "What has happened?" "We're looking for Mr. Damon. That's a bad crowd there," and he pointed toward the other aircraft. "They have my Eagle. Can you help me catch them?" "I certainly can--and will! Get aboard! I can carry four." "Then you have a new machine?" "Yes, and a dandy! All the latest improvements--self-starter and all! I'm glad of a chance to show it to you." "And I'm glad, too!" cried Tom. "It was providential that you happened along. What were you doing here?" "Just out on a trial spin. But come on, if we're going to catch those fellows!" Quickly Tom, Ned, and Mr. Halling climbed into the seats of the new airship. It was started from a switch, and in a few seconds it was on the wing, chasing after the Eagle. Then began a strange race, a race in the air after the unknown strangers who had Tom's machine. Had the Eagle not been so heavily laden it might have escaped, for Tom's craft was a speedy one. But this time it had to give the palm to Mr. Grant Halling's. Faster and faster in pursuit flew the Star, as the new craft was called. Faster and faster, until at last, coming directly over the Eagle, Mr. Halling sent his craft down in such a manner as to "blanket" the other. In an instant she began to sink, and with cries of alarm the men shut off the motor and started to volplane to the earth. But they made an unskillful landing. The Eagle tilted to one side, and came down with a crash. There were cries of pain, then silence, and a few seconds later two men ran away from the disabled airship. But there were three senseless forms on the ground beside the craft when Tom, Ned and Mr. Halling ran up. In the fading light Tom saw a face he knew--three faces in fact. "Mr. Damon!" he cried. "We've found him, Ned!" "But--too late--maybe!" answered Ned, in a low voice, as he, too, recognized the man who had been missing so long. Mr. Halling was bending over the unconscious form of his friend. "He's alive!" he cried, joyfully. "And not much hurt, either. But he has been ill, and looks half starved. Who are these men?" Tom gave a hasty look. "Shallock Peters and Harrison Boylan!" he cried. "Ned, at last we've caught the scoundrels!" It was true. Chance had played into the hands of Tom Swift. While Mr. Halling was looking after Mr. Damon, reviving him, the young inventor and Ned quickly bound the hands and feet of the two plotters with pieces of wire from the broken airship. Presently Mr. Damon opened his eyes. "Where am I? What happened? Oh, bless my watch chain--it's Tom Swift! Bless my cigar case, I--" "He's all right!" cried Tom, joyfully. "When Mr. Damon blesses something beside his tombstone he's all right." Peters and Boylan soon revived, both being merely stunned, as was Mr. Damon. They looked about in wonder, and then, feeling that they were prisoners, resigned themselves to their fate. Both men were shabbily dressed, and Tom would hardly have known the once spick and span Mr. Peters. He had no rose in his buttonhole now. "Well, you have me, I see," he said, coolly. "I was afraid we were playing for too high a stake." "Yes, we've got you," replied Tom, "But you can't prove much against me," went on Peters. "I'll deny everything." "We'll see about that," added the young inventor, grimly, and thought of the picture in the plate and the record on the wax cylinder. "We've got to get Mr. Damon to some place where he can be looked after," broke in Mr. Halling. "Then we'll hear the story." A passing farmer was prevailed on to take the party in his big wagon to the nearest town, Mr. Hailing going on ahead in his airship. Tom's craft could not be moved, being badly damaged. Once in town Peters and Boylan were put in jail, on the charges for which Tom carried warrants. Mr. Damon was taken to a hotel and a doctor summoned. It was as Mr. Halling had guessed. His friend had been ill, and so weak that he could not get out of bed. It was this that enabled the plotters to so easily keep him a prisoner. By degrees Mr. Damon told his story. He had rashly allowed Peters to get control of most of his fortune, and, in a vain hope of getting back some of his losses, had, one night--the night he disappeared, in fact--agreed to meet Peters and some of his men to talk matters over. Of this Mr. Damon said nothing to his wife. He went out that night to meet Peters in the garden, but the plotters had changed their plans. They boldly kidnapped their victim, chloroformed him and took him away in Tom's airship, which Boylan and some of his tools daringly stole a short time previously. Later they returned it, as they had no use for it at the lonely house. Mr. Damon was taken to the house, and there kept a prisoner. The men hoped to prevail on the fears of his wife to make her give up the valuable property. But we have seen how Tom foiled Peters. The experience of Mr. Damon, coupled with rough treatment he received, and lack of good food, soon made him ill. He was so weak that he could not help himself, and with that he was kept under guard. So he had no chance to escape or send his wife or friends any word. "But I'm all right now, Tom, thanks to you!" said he. "Bless my pocketbook, I don't care if my fortune is lost, as long as I'm alive and can get back to my wife." "But I don't believe your fortune will be lost," said Tom. "I think I have the picture and other evidence that will save it," and he told of his photo telephone, and of what it had accomplished. "Bless my eyelashes!" cried Mr. Damon. "What a young man you are, Tom Swift!" Tom smiled gladly. He knew now that his old friend was himself once more. There is little left to tell. Chance had aided Tom in a most wonderful way--chance and the presence of Mr. Halling with his airship at just the right moment. Tom made a diligent effort to find out who it was that had chloroformed him in the telephone booth that time, but learned nothing definite. Peters and Boylan were both examined as to this on their trials, but denied it, and the young inventor was forced to conclude that it must have been some of the unscrupulous men who had taken his father's patent some time before. "They may have heard of your prosperity, and thought it a good chance to rob you," suggested Ned. "Maybe," agreed Tom. "Well, we'll let it go at that. Only I hope they don't come again." Mr. Damon was soon home with his wife again, and Peters and Boylan were held in heavy bail. They had secreted most of Mr. Damon's wealth, falsely telling him it was lost, and they were forced to give back his fortune. The evidence against them was clear and conclusive. When Tom went into court with his phonograph record of the talk of Peters, even though the man's voice was hoarse from a cold when he talked, and when his picture was shown, in the telephone booth, the jury at once convicted him. Boylan, when he learned of the missing button in Tom's possession, confessed that he and some of his men who were birdmen had taken Tom's airship. They wanted a means of getting Mr. Damon to the lonely house without being traced, and they accomplished it. As Tom had surmised, Peters had become suspicious after his last talk with Mrs. Damon, and had fled. He disguised himself and went into hiding with the others at the lonely house. Then he learned that the authorities of another city, where he had swindled many, were on his trail, and he decided to decamp with his gang, taking Mr. Damon with them. For this purpose Tom's airship was taken the second time, and a wholesale escape, with Mr. Damon a prisoner, was planned. But fate was against the plotters. Two of them did manage to get away, but they were not really wanted. The big fish were Peters and Boylan, and they were securely caught in the net of the law. Peters was greatly surprised when he learned of Tom's trap, and of the photo telephone. He had no idea he had been incriminating himself when he talked over the wire. "Well, it's all over," remarked Ned to Tom, one day, when the disabled auto and the airship had been brought home and repaired. "The plotters are in prison for long terms, and Mr. Damon is found, together with his fortune. The photo telephone did it, Tom." "Not all of it--but a good bit," admitted the young inventor, with a smile. "What are you going to do next, Tom?" "I hardly know. I think--" Before Tom could finish, a voice was heard in the hall outside the library. "Bless my overshoes! Where's Tom? I want to thank him again for what he did for me," and Mr. Damon, now fully recovered, came in. "Bless my suspender button, but it's good to be alive, Tom!" he cried. "It certainly is," agreed Tom. "And the next time you go for a conference with such men as Peters, look out for airships." "I will, Tom, I will!" exclaimed Mr. Damon. "Bless my watch chain, I will!" And now, for a time, we will say good-bye to Tom Swift, leaving him to perfect his other inventions. 
4608	----	TOM SWIFT IN CAPTIVITY OR A Daring Escape by Airship BY VICTOR APPLETON AUTHOR OF "TOM SWIFT AND HIS MOTOR-CYCLE," "TOM SWIFT AND HIS WIRELESS MESSAGE," "TOM SWIFT IN THE CITY OF GOLD," ETC. ILLUSTRATED CONTENTS I A STRANGE REQUEST II THE CIRCUS MAN III TOM WILL GO IV "LOOK OUT FOR MY RIVAL!" V ANDY FOGER LEARNS SOMETHING VI ALARMING NEWS VII FIRE ON BOARD VIII A NARROW ESCAPE IX "FORWARD MARCH!" X A WILD HORSE STAMPEDE XI CAUGHT IN A LIVING ROPE XII A NATIVE BATTLE XIII THE DESERTION XIV IN GIANT LAND XV IN THE "PALACE" OF THE KING XVI THE RIVAL CIRCUS MAN XVII HELD CAPTIVES XVIII TOM'S MYSTERIOUS BOX XIX WEAK GIANTS XX THE LONE CAPTIVE XXI A ROYAL CONSPIRACY XXII THE TWIN GIANTS XXIII A SURPRISE IN THE NIGHT XXIV THE AIRSHIP FLIGHT XXV TOM'S GIANT--CONCLUSION CHAPTER I A STRANGE REQUEST Tom Swift closed the book of adventures he had been reading, tossed it on the table, and got up. Then he yawned. "What's the matter?" asked his chum, Ned Newton, who was deep in another volume. "Oh, I thought this was going to be something exciting," replied Tom, motioning toward the book he had discarded. "But say! the make-believe adventures that fellow had, weren't anything compared to those we went through in the city of gold, or while rescuing the exiles of Siberia." "Well," remarked Ned, "they would have to be pretty classy adventures to lay over those you and I have had lately. But where are you going?" he continued, for Tom had taken his cap and started for the door. "I thought I'd go out and take a little run in the aeroplane. Want to come along? It's more fun than sitting in the house reading about exciting things that never have happened. Come on out and--" "Yes, and have a tumble from the aeroplane, I suppose you were going to say," interrupted Ned with a laugh. "Not much! I'm going to stay here and finish this book." "Say," demanded Tom indignantly. "Did you ever know me to have a tumble since I knew how to run an airship?" "No, I can't say that I did. I was only joking." "Then you carried the joke too far, as the policeman said to the man he found lugging off money from the bank. And to make up for it you've got to come along with me." "Where are you going?" "Oh, anywhere. Just to take a little run in the upper regions, and clear some of the cobwebs out of my head. I declare, I guess I've got the spring fever. I haven't done anything since we got back from Russia last fall, and I'm getting rusty." "You haven't done ANYTHING!" exclaimed Ned, following his chum's example by tossing aside the book. "Do you call working on your new invention of a noiseless airship nothing?" "Well, I haven't finished that yet. I'm tired of inventing things. I just want to go off, and have some good fun, like getting shipwrecked on a desert island, or being lost in the mountains, or something like that. I want action. I want to get off in the jungle, and fight wild beasts, and escape from the savages!" "Say! you don't want much," commented Ned. "But I feel the same way, Tom." "Then come on out and take a run, and maybe we'll get on the track of an adventure," urged the young inventor. "We won't go far, just twenty or thirty miles or so." The two youths emerged from the house and started across the big lawn toward the aeroplane sheds, for Tom Swift owned several speedy aircrafts, from a big combined aeroplane and dirigible balloon, to a little monoplane not much larger than a big bird, but which was the most rapid flier that ever breathed the fumes of gasolene. "Which one you going to take, Tom?" asked Ned, as his chum paused in front of the row of hangars. "Oh, the little double-seated monoplane, I guess that's in good shape, and it's easy to manage. When I'm out for fun I hate to be tinkering with levers and warping wing tips all the while. The Lark practically flies herself, and we can sit back and take it easy. I'll have Eradicate fill up the gasolene tank, while I look at the magneto. It needs a little adjusting, though it works nearly to perfection since I put in some of that new platinum we got from the lost mine in Siberia." "Yes, that was a trip that amounted to something. I wouldn't mind going on another like that, though we ran lots of risks." "We sure did," agreed Tom, and then, raising his voice he called out: "Rad, I say Rad! Where are you? I want you!" "Comin', massa Tom, comin'," answered an aged colored man, as he shuffled around the corner of the shed. "What do yo'-all want ob me?" "Put some gasolene in the Lark, Rad. Ned and I are going to take a little flight. What were you doing?" "Jest groomin' mah mule Boomerang, Massa Tom, dat's all. Po' Boomerang he's gittin' old jest same laik I be. He's gittin' old, an' he needs lots ob 'tention. He has t' hab mo' oats dan usual, Massa Tom, an' he doan't feel 'em laik he uster, dat's a fac', Massa Tom." "Well, Rad, give him all he wants. Boomerang was a good mule in his day." "An' he's good yet, Massa Tom, he's good yet!" said Eradicate Sampson eagerly. "Doan't yo' all forgit dat, Massa Tom." And the colored man proceeded to fill the gasolene tank, while Tom adjusted the electrical mechanism of his aeroplane, Ned assisting by handing him the tools needed. Eradicate, who said he was named that because he "eradicated" dirt, was a colored man of all work, who had been in the service of the Swift household for several years. He and his mule Boomerang were fixtures. "There, I guess that will do," remarked Tom, after testing the magneto, and finding that it gave a fat, hot spark. "That ought to send us along in good shape. Got all the gas in, Rad?" "Every drop, Massa Tom." "Then catch hold and help wheel the Lark out. Ned, you steady her on that side. How are the tires? Do they need pumping up?" "Hard as rocks," answered Tom's chum, as he tapped his toe against the rubber circlets of the small bicycle wheels on which the aeroplane rested. "Then they'll do, I guess. Come on now, and we'll give her a test before we start off. I ought to get a few hundred more revolutions per minute out of the motor with the way I've adjusted the magneto. Rad, you and Ned hold back, while I turn the engine over." The youth and the colored man grasped the rear supports of the long, tail-like part of the monoplane while Tom stepped to the front to twist the propeller blades. The first two times there was no explosion as he swung the delicate wooden blades about, but the third time the engine started off with a roar, and a succession of explosions that were deafening, until Tom switched in the muffler, thereby cutting down the noise. Faster and faster the propeller whirled about as the motor warmed up, until the young inventor exclaimed: "That's the stuff! She's better than ever! Climb up Ned, and we'll start off. You can turn her over, Rad; can't you?" "Suah, Massa Tom," was the reply, for Eradicate had been on so many trips with Tom, and had had so much to do with airships, that to merely start one was child's play for him. The two youths had scarcely taken their seats, and the colored man was about to twist around the fan-like blades of the big propeller in front, when from behind there came a hail. "Hold on there! Wait a minute, Tom Swift! Bless my admission ticket, don't go! I've got something important to tell you! Hold on!" "Humph! I know who that is!" cried Tom, motioning to Eradicate to cease trying to start the motor. "Mr. Damon, of course," agreed Ned. "I wonder what he wants?" "A ride, maybe," went on Tom. "If he does we've got to take the Scooter instead of this one. That holds four. Well, we may as well see what he wants." He jumped lightly from his seat in the monoplane and was followed by Ned. They saw coming toward them, from the direction of the house, a stout man, who seemed very much excited. He was walking so fast that he fairly waddled, and he was smiling at the lads, for he was one of their best friends. "Glad I caught you, Tom." he panted, for his haste had almost deprived him of breath. "I've got something important to tell you. I hurried over as soon as I heard about it." "Well, you're just in time," commented Ned with a laugh. "In another minute we'd have been up in the clouds." "What is it, Mr. Damon?" asked Tom. "Have you got wind of a city of diamonds, or has some one sent you a map telling where we can go to pick up ten thousand dollar bills by the basket?" "Neither one, Tom, neither one. It's something better than either of those, and if you don't jump at the chance I'm mistaken in you, that's all I've got to say. Come over here." He turned a quick glance over his shoulder as he spoke and advanced toward the two lads on tiptoe as though he feared some one would see or hear him. Yet it was broad daylight, the place was the starting ground for Tom's aeroplanes and save Eradicate there was no one present except Mr. Damon, Ned and the young inventor himself. "What's up?" asked Tom in wonderment. "Hush!" cautioned the odd gentleman. "Bless my walking stick, Tom! but this is going to be a great chance for you--for us,--for I'm going along." "Going where, Mr. Damon?" "I'll tell you in a minute. Is there any one here?" "No one but us?" "You are sure that Andy Foger isn't around." "Sure. He's out of town, you know." "Yes, but you never can tell when he's going to appear on the scene. Come over here," and taking hold of the coat of each of the youths, Mr. Damon led them behind the big swinging door of the aeroplane shed. "You haven't anything on hand; have you, Tom?" asked the odd gentleman, after peering through the crack to make sure they were unobserved. "Nothing at all, if you mean in the line of going off on an adventure trip." "That's what I mean. Bless my earlaps! but I'm glad of that. I've got just the thing for you. Tom, I want you to go to a strange land, and bring back one of the biggest men there--a giant! Tom Swift, you and I and Ned--if he wants to go--are going after a giant!" Mr. Damon gleefully clapped Tom on the back, with such vigor that our hero coughed, and then the odd gentleman stepped back and gazed at the two lads, a look of triumph shining in his eyes. For a moment there was a silence. Tom looked at Ned, and Ned gave his chum a quick glance. Then they both looked sharply at Mr. Damon. "A--a giant," murmured Tom faintly. "That's what I said," replied Mr. Damon. "I want you to help me capture a giant, Tom." Once more the two youths exchanged significant glances, and then Tom, in a low and gentle voice said: "Yes, Mr. Damon, that's all right. We'll get you a giant right away. Won't we, Ned? Now you'd better come in the house and lie down, I'll have Mrs. Baggert make you a cup of tea, and after you have had a sleep you'll feel better. Come on," and the young inventor gently tried to lead his friend out from behind the shed door. "Look here, Tom Swift!" exclaimed the odd gentleman indignantly. "Do you think I'm crazy? Lie down? Rest myself? Go to sleep? Say, I'm not crazy! I'm not tired! I'm not sleepy! This is the greatest chance you ever had, and if we get one of those giants--" "Yes, yes, we'll get one," put in Ned soothingly. "Of course," added Tom. "Come on, now, Mr. Damon. You'll feel better after you've had a rest. Dr. Perkinby is coming over to see father and I'll have him--" Mr. Damon gave one startled glance at the young inventor and his chum, and then burst into a peal of hearty laughter. "Oh, my!" he exclaimed at intervals in his paroxysms. "Oh, dear! He thinks I'm out of my head! He can't stand that talk about giants! Oh dear! Tom Swift, this is the greatest chance you ever had! Come on in the house and I'll tell you all I know about giant land, and then if you want to think I'm crazy you can, that's all I've got to say!" CHAPTER II THE CIRCUS MAN Without a word Tom and Ned followed Mr. Damon toward the Swift house. Truth to tell the youths did not know what to say, or they would have been bubbling over with questions. But the talk of the odd man, and his strange request to Tom to go off and capture a giant had so startled the young inventor and his chum that they did not know whether to think that Mr. Damon was joking, or whether he had suddenly taken leave of his senses. And while I have a few minutes that are occupied in the journey to the house I will introduce my new readers more formally to Tom Swift and his friends. Tom though only a young man, was an inventor of note, as his father was before him. Father and son lived in a fine house in the town of Shopton, in New York state, and Mrs. Swift being dead, the two were well looked after by Mrs. Baggert their housekeeper. Eradicate Sampson, as I have said, was the man of all work about the place. Ned Newton who had a position in a Shopton bank, was Tom's particular chum, and Mr. Wakefeld Damon, of the neighboring town of Waterfield, was a friend to all who knew him. He had the odd habit of blessing anything and everything he could think of, interspersing it in his talk. In the first volume of this series, called "Tom Swift and His Motor-Cycle," I related how Tom made the acquaintance of Mr. Damon, afterward purchasing a damaged motor-cycle from the odd gentleman. On this machine Tom had many adventures, incidentally saving some of his father's valuable patents from a gang of conspirators. Later Tom got a motor boat, and had many races with his rivals on Lake Carlopa, beating Andy Foger, the red-haired bully of the town, in signal fashion. After his adventures on the water Tom sighed for some in the air, and he had them in his airship the Red Cloud. "Tom Swift and His Submarine Boat." is a story of a search after sunken treasure, and, returning from that quest Tom built an electric runabout, the speediest car on the road. By means of a wireless message, later, Tom was able to save himself and the castaways of Earthquake Island, and, as a direct outcome of that experience, he was able to go in search of the diamond makers, and solve the secret of Phantom Mountain, as told in the book dealing with that subject. When he went to the caves of ice Tom had bad luck, for his airship was wrecked, and he endured many hardships in getting home with his companions, particularly as Andy Foger sought revenge on him. But Tom pluckily overcame all obstacles and, later, he built a sky racer, in which he made the quickest trip on record. After that, with his electric rifle, he went after elephants in the interior of Africa and was successful in rescuing some missionaries from the terrible red pygmies. One of the mission workers, later, sent Tom details about a buried city of gold in Mexico, and Tom and his chum together with Mr. Damon located this mysterious place after much trouble, as told in the book entitled, "Tom Swift in the City of Gold." The gold did not prove as valuable as they expected, as it was of low grade, but they got considerable money for it, and were then ready for more adventures. The adventures soon came, as those of you who have read the book called, "Tom Swift and His Air Glider," can testify. In that I told how Tom went to Siberia, and after rescuing some Russian political exiles, found a valuable deposit of platinum, which to-day is a more valuable metal than gold. Tom needed some platinum for his electrical machines, and it proved very useful. He had been back from Russia all winter and, now that Spring had come again, our hero sighed for more activity, and fresh adventures. And with the advent of Mr. Damon, and his mysterious talk about giants, Tom seemed likely to be gratified. The two chums and the odd gentleman continued on to the house, no one speaking, until finally, when they were seated in the library, Mr. Damon said: "Well, Tom, are you ready to listen to me now, and have me explain what I meant when I asked you to get a giant?" "I--I suppose so," hesitated the young inventor. "But hadn't I better call dad? And are you sure you don't want to lie down and collect your thoughts? A nice hot cup of tea--" "There, there, Tom Swift; If you tell me to lie down again, or propose any more tea I'll use you as a punching bag, bless my boxing gloves if I don't!" cried Mr. Damon and he laughed heartily. "I know what you think, Tom, and you, too, Ned," he went on, still chuckling. "You think I don't know what I'm saying, but I'll soon prove that I do. I'm fully in my senses, I'm not crazy, I'm not talking in my sleep, and I'm very much in earnest. Tom, this is the chance of your life to get a giant, and pay a visit to giant land. Will you take it?" "Mr. Damon, I--er--that is I--" Tom stammered and looked at Ned. "Now look here, Tom Swift!" exclaimed the odd man. "When you got word about the buried city of gold in Mexico you didn't hesitate a minute about making up your mind to go there; did you?" "No, I didn't." "Well, that wasn't any more of a strain on your imagination than this giant business; was it?" "Well, I don't know, as--" "Bless my spectacles! Of course it wasn't! Now, look here. Tom, you just make up your mind that I know what I'm talking about, and we'll get along better. I don't blame you for being a bit puzzled at first, but just you listen. You believe there are such things as giants; don't you?" "I saw a man in the circus once, seven feet high. They called him a giant," spoke Ned. "A giant! He was a baby compared to the kind of giants I mean," said Mr. Damon quickly. "Tom, we are going after a race of giants, the smallest one of which is probably eight feet high, and from that they go on up to nearly ten feet, and they're not slim fellows either, but big in proportion. Now in giant land--" "Here's Mrs. Baggert with a quieting cup of tea," interrupted Tom. "I spoke to her as we came in, and asked her to have some ready. If you'll drink this, Mr. Damon, I'm sure--" "Bless my sugar bowl, Tom! You make a man nervous, with your cups of tea. I'm more quiet than you, but I'll drink it to please you. Now listen to me." "All right, go ahead." "A friend of mine has asked me if I knew any one who could undertake to go to giant land, and get him one or two specimens of the big men there. I at once thought of you, and I said I believed you would go. And I'll go with you, Tom! Think of that! I've got faith enough in the proposition to go myself!" There was no mistaking Mr. Damon's manner. He was very much in earnest, and Tom and Ned looked at each other with a different light in their eyes. "Who is your friend, and where in the world is giant land?" asked Tom. "I haven't heard of such a place since I read the accounts of the early travelers, before this continent was discovered. Who is your friend that wants a giant?" "If you'll let me, I'll have him here in a minute, Tom." "Of course I will. But good land! Have you got him concealed up your sleeve, or under some of the chairs? Is he a dwarf?" and Tom looked about the room as if he expected to see some one in hiding. "I left him outside in the garden, Tom," replied the odd man. "I told him I'd come on ahead, and see how you took the proposition. Don't tell him you thought me insane at first. I'll have him here in a jiffy. I'll signal to him." Not waiting for a word from either of the boys, Mr. Damon went to one of the low library windows, opened it, gave a shrill whistle and waved his handkerchief vigorously. In a moment there came an answering whistle. "He's coming," announced the odd gentleman. "But who is he?" insisted Tom. "Is he some professor who wants a giant to examine, or is he a millionaire who wants one for a body guard?" "Neither one, Tom. He's the proprietor of a number of circuses, and a string of museums, and he wants a giant, or even two of them, for exhibition purposes. There's lots of money in giants. He's had some seven, and even eight feet tall, but he has lately heard of a land where the tallest man is nearly ten feet high, and very big, and he'll pay ten thousand dollars for a giant alive and in good condition, as the animal men say. I believe we can get one for him, and--Ah, here he is now," and Mr. Damon interrupted himself as a small, dark-complexioned man, with a very black mustache, black eyes, a watch chain as big around as his thumb, a red vest, a large white hat, and a suit of large-sized checked clothes appeared at the open library window. "Is it all right?" this strange-appearing man asked of Mr. Damon. "I believe so," replied the odd gentleman. "Come in, Sam." With one bound, though the window was some distance from the ground, the little man leaped into the library. He landed lightly on his feet, quickly turned two hand springs in rapid succession, and then, without breathing in the least rapidly, as most men would have done after that exertion, he made a low bow to Tom and Ned. "Boys, let me introduce you to my friend, Sam Preston, an old acrobat and now a circus proprietor," said Mr. Damon. "Mr. Preston, this is Tom Swift, of whom I told you, and his chum, Ned Newton." "And will they get the giant for me?" asked the circus man quickly. "I think they will," replied Mr. Damon. "I had a little difficulty in making the matter clear to them, and that's why I sent for you. You can explain everything." "Have a chair," invited Tom politely. "This is a new one on me--going after giants. I've done almost everything else, though." "So Mr. Damon said," spoke Mr. Preston gravely. He was much more sedate and composed than one would have supposed after his sensational entrance into the room. "I am very glad to meet you, Tom Swift, and I hope we can do business together. Now, if you have a few minutes to spare, I'll tell you all I know about giant land." CHAPTER III TOM WILL GO "Jove! That sounds interesting!" exclaimed Ned, as he settled himself comfortably in his chair. "It is interesting," replied the circus man. "At least I found it so when I first listened to one of my men tell it. But whether it is possible to get to giant land, and, what is more bring away some of the big men, is something I leave to you, Tom Swift. After you have heard my story, if you decide to go, I'll stand all the expenses of fitting out an expedition, and if you fail I won't have a word to say. If, on the other hand, you bring me back a giant or two, I'll pay you ten thousand dollars and all expenses. Is it a bargain?" "Let me hear the story first," suggested our hero, who was a cautious lad when there was need for it. Yet he liked Mr. Preston, even at first sight, in spite of his "loud" attire, and the rather "circusy" manner in which he had entered the room. Then too, if he was a friend of Mr. Damon, that was a great deal in his favor. "I am, as you know, in the circus business," began Mr. Preston. "I have a number of traveling shows, and several large museums in the big cities. I am always on the lookout for new attractions, for the public demands them. Once get in the rut of having nothing new, and your business will fall off. I know, for I've been in the business, man and boy, for nearly forty years. I began as a performer, and I can still do a double somersault over fifteen elephants in a row. I always keep in practice for there's nothing like showing a performer how to do a thing yourself." "But about the giants, which is what I'm interested in most now. Of course I've had giants in my circuses and museums, from the beginning. The public wanted 'em and we had to have 'em. Some of 'em were fakes--men on stilts with long pants to cover up their legs, and others were the real, genuine, all-wool-and-a-yard-wide article. But none of them were very big. A shade under eight feet was the limit with me." "I also have lots of wild animals, and it was when some of my men were out after some tapirs, jaguars and leopards that I got on the track of the giants. It was about a year ago, but up to this time I haven't seen my way clear to send after the big men. It was this way:" Mr. Preston assumed a more comfortable position in his chair, nodded at Mr. Damon, who was listening attentively to all that was said, and resumed. "As I said I had sent Jake Poddington, one of my best men, after tapirs and some other South American animals. He didn't have very good luck hunting along the Amazon. In the first place that region has been pretty well cleaned out of circus animals, and another thing it's getting too well populated. Another thing is that you can't get the native hunters and beaters to work for you as they did years ago." "So Poddington wrote to me that he was going to take his assistants, make a big jump, and hike it for the Argentine Republic. He had a tip that along the Salado river there might be something doing, and I told him to go ahead." "He shipped me what few animals he had, and lit out for a three thousand mile journey. I didn't hear from him for some time, and, when I did, I got the finest collection of animals I had ever laid eyes on. I got them about the same time I did a letter from Jake, for the mail service ain't what you could call rushing in that part of South America." "But what about the giants?" interrupted Mr. Damon. "I'm coming to them," replied the circus man calmly. "It was this way: At the tail of his letter which he sent with the shipment of animals Jake said this, and I remember it almost word for word:" "'If all goes well,' he wrote, 'I'll have a big surprise for you soon. I've heard a story about a race of big natives that have their stamping ground in this section, and I'm going to try for a few specimens. I know how much you want a giant.'" "Well?" asked Tom, after a pause, for the circus man had ceased talking and was staring out of the opened library window into the garden that was just becoming green. "That was all I ever heard from poor Jake," said Mr. Preston softly. "Bless my insurance policy!" gasped Mr. Damon. "You didn't tell me that! What happened to him." "I never could find out," resumed Mr. Preston. "I never heard another word from him, and I've never seen him from the time I parted with him to go after the animals. The letter saying he was going after the giants was the last line of his I've seen." "But didn't you try to locate him?" asked Tom. "Didn't he have some companions--some one who could tell what became of him?" "Of course I tried!" exclaimed Mr. Preston. "Do you think I'd let a man like Jake disappear without making some effort to find him? But he was the only white man in his party, the rest were natives. That was Jake's way. Well, when some time past and I didn't hear from him, I got busy. I wrote to our consuls and even some South American merchants with whom I had done business. But it didn't amount to anything." "Couldn't you get any news?" asked Ned softly. "Oh, yes, some, but it didn't amount to much. After a long time, and no end of trouble, I had a man locate a native named Zacatas, who was the head beater of the black men under Jake." "Zacatas said that he and Jake and the others got safely to the Salado river section, but I knew that before, for that was where the fine shipment of animals came from. Then Jake got that tip about the giants, and set off alone into the interior to locate them, for all the natives were afraid to go. That was the last seen of poor Jake." "Bless my fire shovel!" cried Mr. Damon. "What did Zacatas say became of the poor fellow?" "No one knew. Whether he reached giant land and was killed there, or whether he was struck down by some wild beast in the jungle, I never could find out. The natives under Zacatas waited in camp for him for some time, and then went back to the Amazon region where they belonged. That's all the news I could get." "But I'm sure there are giants in the interior of South America, for Jake always knew what he was talking about. Now I want to do two things. I want to get on the trail of poor Jake Poddington if I can, and I want a giant--two or three of them if it can be managed." "Ever since Jake disappeared I've been trying to arrange things to make a search for him, and for the giants, but up to now something has been in the way. I happened to mention the matter to my friend, Mr. Damon, and he at once spoke of you, Tom Swift." "Now, what I want to know is this: Will you undertake to get a giant for me, rescue Jake Poddington if he is alive in the interior of South America, or, if he is dead, find out how it happened and give him decent burial? Will you do this, Tom Swift?" There was a silence in the room following the dramatic and simple recital of the circus man. Tom was strangely moved, as was his chum Ned. As for Mr. Damon, he was softly blessing every thing he could think of. Tom looked out of the long, opened windows of the library. In fancy he could see the forest and jungles of South America. He saw a sluggish river flowing along between rank green banks, while, from the overhanging trees, long festoons of moss hung down, writhing now and then as the big water anacondas or boa constrictors looped their sinuous folds over the low limbs. In fancy he saw dark-skinned natives slinking along with their deadly blow guns, and poisoned arrows. He thought he could hear the low growls and whines of the treacherous jaguars and see their lithe bodies slinking along. He saw the brilliant-hued flowers, saw the birds of gorgeous plumage, and listened in fancy to their discordant cries. Then, too, he saw a lonely white man in a miserable native hut thousands of miles from civilization, waiting, waiting, waiting for he knew not what fate. Again he saw monstrous men stalking along--men who towered ten feet or more, and who were big and brawny. All this passed through the mind of Tom in an instant. "Well?" asked Mr. Preston softly. "I'll go!" suddenly cried the young inventor. "I don't know whether I can get you a giant or not, Mr. Preston, but if it's possible I'll get poor Jake Poddington, dead or alive!" "Good!" cried the circus man, jumping up and clasping Tom's hand. "I thought you were that kind of a lad, after I heard Mr. Damon describe you. You've taken a big load off my heart, Tom Swift. Now to talk of ways and means! I'll have a giant yet, and maybe I'll get back the best man who ever shipped a consignment of wild animals, good Jake Poddington! Now to business!" CHAPTER IV "LOOK OUT FOR MY RIVAL!" "You'll go in an airship of course; won't you, Tom?" asked Mr. Damon, when they had pulled their chairs up around a library table, and Mr. Preston had taken some papers from his pocket. "An airship? No, I don't believe I shall," replied the young inventor. "In the first place, I'm a bit tired of scooting through the air so much, though it isn't to be denied that it's the quickest way of going. But in South America there are so many jungles that it will be hard to find a level starting ground for a take-off, after we land. Of course we could go up as a balloon, but this expedition is going to be different from any we were ever on before." "How so?" asked Ned. "Well, in the first place we've got to start at one end of a trail, and make careful inquiries all along the way. It isn't like when we went for the city of gold. There we had to look for a certain ruined temple, which was the landmark. When we went after the platinum in Siberia we had to look for the place of the high winds, so I could use my air glider. But now we're trying to locate a man who traveled on foot through the jungles, and if we went in an airship we might just miss the connecting link." "So, I think the best way will be to do just as Mr. Poddington did--travel on foot or by horses and mules, and go slowly, making inquiries from time to time. Then we MAY get to giant land, we MAY find him." "I don't hope for all that," said the circus man, "but if you can only get some news of him it will be a relief. If he died peaceably it would be better than to be a captive among some of those savage tribes. It's been a year now since I heard the last of him. But I agree with Tom that an airship won't be much good in the jungle. You might take along a small one, if you could pack it, to scare the natives with. In fact it might be a good thing to show to the giants, if you find them." "That is my idea," declared Tom. "I'll take the Lark with me. That's a mighty powerful machine for its size, and it can be taken apart in sections. It will carry three on a pinch, and I have had five in her with two auxiliary seats. I'll take the Lark, and she may come in handy." "When can you start?" asked Mr. Preston. "As soon as we can fit out an expedition," answered Tom. "It oughtn't to take long. I don't have to build an air glider this time. It won't take long to take the Lark apart. I haven't finished work on my noiseless airship yet, but that can wait. Yes, we'll be ready as soon as you want us to start, Mr. Preston." "It can't be too soon for me. I'll deposit a certain sum in the bank to your credit, Tom, and you can draw on it for expenses. I'll pay any amount to get word of poor Jake, to say nothing of having a giant for my circus. Now as to ways of getting there. Have you a large map of South America?" Tom had one, and he and the others were pouring over it when Tom's father came into the room. "Well, well!" he exclaimed. "What's this? What are you up to now, Tom, my boy? Mrs. Baggert said you took down the South American map. What's up?" "Lots, dad? I'm going after giants this time!" "Giants, Tom? Are you joking?" "Not a bit of it, Mr. Swift," answered Mr. Damon. "Bless my check book! I believe if some one wanted the moon Tom Swift would try to get it for them." Then Mr. Swift noticed the stranger present, and was introduced to the circus man. "Is it really true, Tom," asked the aged inventor, when the story had been related, "are you going to have a try for giant land?" "That's what I am, dad, and I wish you were going along." "No, Tom, I'm getting too old for that. But I did hope you'd stay home for a while, and help me work on my gyroscope invention. It is almost completed." "I will help you, dad, as soon as I get back with a giant or two. Who knows? maybe I'll get one myself." "What would you do with one?" asked Ned with a laugh. "Have him help Eradicate," answered the young inventor. "Rad is getting pretty old, and he needs an assistant." "But are these giants black?" asked Mr. Swift. "That's a point I don't know," answered the circus man frankly. "Jake didn't say in his letter. They may be black, white or midway between. That's what Tom has got to find out for us." "And I'll do it!" exclaimed our hero. "Now let's see. I suppose the best plan would be to take a ship right to the Rio de la Plata, landing say at Buenos Ayres or Montevideo, and then organize an expedition to strike into the interior." "Why don't you do just as Mr. Poddington did?" asked Ned, "start from the Amazon and work south?" "It would take too long," declared Tom. "We know that the giants are somewhere in the northern part of Argentina, or in Paraguay or Uruguay. Or they may be on the other side of the Uruguay river in Brazil. It's quite a stretch of territory, and we've got to take our time exploring it. That's why I don't want to waste time working down from the Amazon. We'll go right to Buenos Ayres, I think." "That's what I'd do," advised the old circus man. "Now I can give you some points on what to take, and how to act when you get there. The South Americans are a queer people--very nice when treated right, but very bad if not," and then he told some of his experiences as a circus man in South America, for he had traveled there. "I'd go again, if my business didn't keep me here," he concluded, "for I'd ask nothing better than to hunt for giant land, or try to rescue poor Jake. But I can't. I'm depending on you, Tom Swift." "What's that? Giant land?" exclaimed Mrs. Baggert, the motherly housekeeper, as she came in to announce that dinner was ready. "You don't mean to tell me, Tom, that you're going off again?" "That's what I am, Mrs. Baggert. You'd better put me up a few sandwiches, for I don't know when I'll be back," and Tom winked at his chum. "Oh, of all things I ever heard in all my born days!" cried the housekeeper, throwing up her hands. "Will you ever settle down, Tom Swift?" "Maybe he will when Miss Mary Nestor is ready to settle down too," said Ned mischievously, referring to a girl of whom Tom was very fond. "Say, I'll fix you for that!" cried our hero, as he made an unsuccessful grab for Ned. "But, Mrs. Baggert, can you put on a couple of extra plates? Mr. Damon and Mr. Preston will stay to lunch." "Not if it's going to put you out, Tom," objected the circus man. "I can go to the hotel, and--" "No, indeed!" exclaimed Mrs. Baggert graciously, for she prided herself on her housekeeping arrangements, and she used to say that unexpected company never "flustrated" her. Soon the little party was seated around the table, where the talk went from grave to gay, the subject of the giants being uppermost. Mr. Preston told many funny stories of his circus days, and some of them had the spice of danger in them, for he had been all over the world, either as a performer or as the owner of amusement enterprises. "Now, the next question to be settled," said the old circus man, when they were once more gathered in the library, "is how many are going?" "I am, for one!" exclaimed Ned quickly. "I'm sure my folks will let me. Especially as we aren't going to use an airship, but will travel just as ordinary folks do." "Except in case of emergency," explained Tom. "We'll have the Lark to use if we need her." "Oh, of course," agreed Ned. "How about you, Mr. Damon? Will you go?" The odd man looked around the room before replying, as though he feared someone might be listening on the sly. "Go on, Andy Foger isn't here," invited Tom with a laugh. "I'll go--if I can pursuade my wife to let me," said the odd man in a whisper, as if, even then, the good lady might overhear him. "I'm not going to say anything about giants. I'll tell her we are going to rescue a poor fellow from--er--well from the natives of South America, and I'm sure she'll consent. Of course I'll go." "That's three," remarked Tom. "I think I can get Eradicate to go. He doesn't like airships, and when he knows we're not going in one it will please him. Then he likes it hot, and I guess South America is about as warm as they come. I am almost sure we can count on Rad." "That will make a nice party," commented the circus man. "Now I'll make out a list of the supplies you'd better take, and tell you what to do about getting native helpers, and so on," and with that he plunged into the midst of details that took up most of the remainder of the day. "Well, then I guess that settles most everything," remarked Tom, several hours later. "I'll begin at once to take the Lark apart for shipment, and begin ordering the things we need." "Oh, there's one thing I almost forgot about," said Mr. Preston suddenly. "Queer, how I should overlook that, too. I don't suppose you mind a fight or two; do you?" he asked, looking sharply at Tom. "Well, it all depends. We've had several fights on other expeditions, though I can't say that I like 'em," replied the young inventor. "Why do you ask?" "Because you may have one--or several," was the answer of the circus man. "You'll have to beware of my rival." "Your rival?" "Yes, the bitterest foe I have is a rival circus man named Wayland Waydell. He, or some of his men, are always camping on my trail when I send out after a new consignment of wild animals, and I shouldn't be a bit surprised but what he'd try to get ahead of me on the giant game." "But how does he know you want giants?" asked Tom. "Because news of circus expeditions always leaks out somehow or other. I'm sure Waydell will learn that you are acting for me, and so I warn you in time. In fact, he tried to get ahead of me when I sent Jake Poddington out over a year ago, and I always had my suspicions that he had a hand in Jake's disappearance, but maybe I'm wrong. So that's what I mean when I say beware of Wayland Waydell, Tom." "I will!" exclaimed Tom. "He'll have to get up early to get ahead of us." But Tom little knew the man against whom he was to pit himself in the search for giants. CHAPTER V ANDY FOGER LEARNS SOMETHING Once Tom Swift made up his mind to do a thing, he did not waste time in setting about it. He had decided to go to giant land, and that was all there was to it. His father talked with him about the matter, pointed out the dangers, and suggested that, as the young inventor had had many adventures in the last few years, and had made considerable money from the discovery of the city of gold, and the platinum mines, the prize offered for a giant was not much of an inducement. "But it isn't that so much, dad," explained Tom. "There's that poor circus man, maybe suffering in the centre of South America. I want to find him, if I can, or get some news that he died a natural death, and is decently buried." "You never can do it, Tom." "Well dad, I'm going to make a big try!" he returned; and that settled it as far as Tom was concerned. For several days after the visit of Mr. Preston Tom was busy making plans for his trip to South America. He wanted to lay out a regular schedule before proceeding. Ned Newton had had hard work to persuade his folks to let him go, but they finally consented, and as for Mr. Damon, his plan was simple. Without mentioning giants at all, he took Mr. Preston home with him, and the circus man's tale of his assistant lost in the wilds of South America was too much for Mrs. Damon. "Go? Of course you'll go!" she said to her husband. "I demand that you go, and I want you to find that poor man and rescue him. If you could rescue the exiles from uncivilized Siberia I'm sure you can get a man out of a civilized country." Mr. Damon did not stop to point out that South America was far less civilized, in some ways, than was Russia. He just kept still, and made his preparations to go. Mr. Preston was a distant relative of the odd man, and that was how he had happened to meet him and hear the story which was destined to play such an important part in the life of Tom Swift. "Do you think we'll have much trouble after we get to South America, and strike into the interior?" asked Mr. Damon one afternoon, when he and Mr. Preston were helping Tom in the delicate work of packing the wing planes of the Lark. "No, South America isn't a bad country to travel in," replied the circus man. "The natives are fairly friendly, and with a well-organized party, and plenty of money, which I shall see that you have, you ought to get along swimmingly. Only one thing bothers me." "What's that?" asked Tom quickly. "That's my rival, Waydell. He's sure to make trouble if he gets on your trail." "Have you heard from him?" "No, and that's what makes me all the more suspicious. If he'd come out and fight me in the open it wouldn't be so bad. But this underhand business gets on my nerves. I don't know what he's up to." "Maybe he isn't up to anything," suggested Ned. "He may not even know you are going to make another try for the giants." "Oh, yes, he does," replied the circus man. "He didn't succeed in beating me when poor Jake was after them, for the simple reason that it was a snap case, and even I didn't know that Poddington was trying for the giants until he had started. But Waydell was soon after him, and he knows that when I once set out for a freak or a certain kind of animal I keep on until I get it. So he has probably already figured out that I'm making new plans to get a giant." "But how will he know that I am going?" inquired Tom. "I don't know how he will know, but he will. We circus men have queer ways of finding out things. I shouldn't be a bit surprised but what he was already plotting and scheming to send an expedition on my trail, to take advantage of anything you may learn." "Well, we'll try and fool him, the same as we did the Mexicans when we hunted for the city of gold," spoke Tom; and then putting aside that worry, he and the others labored hard to get matters in shape for a departure to South America. "I suppose Eradicate is going," remarked Ned, in the intervals of packing the aeroplane. "Well, I've hinted it to him," replied Tom, "but I haven't asked him outright. He said he wouldn't mind going to a hot country though. Here he comes now. Guess I'll see how he takes it." The colored man shuffled up with a hammer and nails, for he had been putting covers on packing boxes. "Then you are coming with us to South America; aren't you, Rad?" asked Tom, winking at Ned. "Souf America? Am dat de hot country yo'-all was referencin' to?" asked Eradicate. "That's it, Rad. It's nice and warm there. All you have to do is to lie under a tree and cocoanuts will drop off into your mouth." "Cocoanuts in mah mouf, Massa Tom! 'Scuse me! I doan't want t' go to no sich country as dat. Cocoanuts in mah mouf! Why I ain't got but a few teef left, an' a cocoanut droppin' offen a tree would shorely knock dem teef out, shorely!" "Oh, Rad, I didn't mean cocoanuts! I meant oranges and bananas-- they're soft," and Tom glanced quickly at Ned, for he saw that he had made a mistake. "Oh, well, den dat's diffunt, Massa Tom. I jes lubs oranges an' bananas, an' ef yo'-all is shore dat I'll find some, why, I'll come along." "Find 'em? Of course you will!" cried Ned. "And cocoanuts, too," added Tom. "Only, Rad, I meant to say that the monkeys would throw the cocoanuts down to you from the trees. That breaks the hard shells you see, and all you have to do is to take out the meat, and drink the milk. Then the monkeys throw you down a palm leaf fan to cool yourself off, while you're eating it. Oh, I tell you, Rad, South America is the place to go to have a good time." "I believe you, Massa Tom. When do we-all start?" "Pretty soon now." "An' what all am yo' gwine arter, Massa Tom?" The young inventor thought a moment. In times past he had not hesitated to confide in his colored helper, but of late years Eradicate had become somewhat childish, and he talked more than was necessary. Tom wondered whether it would be safe to trust the giant secret to him. After a moment's thought he realized that it would not be. But, at the same time, he knew that if he did not give some kind of an answer Eradicate would become suspicious, and that would be worse. The colored helper had been with Tom on too many trips not to know that his master never went without some object. "Well, Rad, we're after big game this time," Tom said. "I don't know what it will be that we'll get, whether animals or plants, and--" "Oh, I knows, Massa Tom. Yo'-all means dem orchard plants that lib on air--dem big orchard plants." Eradicate meant orchids, of which many rare and beautiful kinds are found in South America. "Yes, Rad, I guess we will get some big orchids," agreed Tom. "An' I shorely will help climb de trees arter 'em. Or maybe we kin git de monkeys to frow em down, same as dey will de cocoanuts." "Maybe, Rad. Well, now go ahead and nail up the rest of these boxes. We want to get started as soon as we can," and the colored man got busy, murmuring from time to time something about oranges and bananas and cocoanuts. Everyone was occupied in getting matters in shape for the trip to South America, even Mr. Swift laying aside his work on his pet invention--a gyroscope--while he helped his son. And had Tom not been quite so engrossed with his preparations he might have gone about town more, in which case he would have learned something that might have saved him and the others considerable trouble and no little danger. And this fact was that Andy Foger had been in Shopton several times lately. After the trouble which the red-haired bully and his father caused Tom and his friends on their trip to the city of gold, Mr. Foger moved away from Shopton. He had lost his fortune and had to begin all over again. The Foger homestead was closed up, and Andy ceased to be a fixture of the town, for which Tom and Ned were very glad. But of late Andy had been seen in Shopton several times, and it was noticed that, on one or two occasions, he had a man with him--a man who seemed to have plenty of money--a man with an air about him not unlike that of Mr. Preston. A man with what newspaper men would have called a circus or theatrical "air." This man had visited Shopton soon after Mr. Preston made the giant proposition to Tom, and before meeting Andy Foger had made special inquiries about Tom Swift. "Who are the people who have a hard feeling against this young inventor in town?" the man had asked of several persons. "Tom Swift has more friends than enemies," was the general reply. "Oh, surely he must have some enemies," the man insisted. "He's been running his aeroplanes and autos around town a long time, and surely there must be some one who has a grudge against him. I suppose he has lots of friends, but who are his enemies?" Then he learned about Andy Foger, and, hearing that Andy now lived in a nearby town, the man had at once gone there. It was not long before he reappeared--and the red-haired bully was with him. "And you haven't learned anything yet, Andy?" asked this mysterious man one afternoon, when he met his tool in a quiet resort in Shopton. "Nothing yet, Mr. Waydell. But give me a little more time." "Time! You've had more time now than you need. When I agreed to pay you for finding out what part of South America Tom Swift would head for to get some sort of a freak or animal for Preston's circus I thought you'd make good quicker than this." "So did I. But you see Tom is suspicious of me, and so is his chum, Ned Newton. I can't go to them, and if I'm seen sneaking around the house or shop, after what happened last, I'll be driven off." "Well, it's up to you. I paid you to get the information and I expect you to do it. Why don't you tackle that old colored man whom, I understand, works for him? He ought to be simple enough to give the game away." "Eradicate? I will! I never thought of that I'll get that information for you, Mr. Waydell, in a few days." "You'd better, if you want to keep that money." The two plotters parted, and that very afternoon gave Andy the chance he wanted. He met Eradicate on his way to the village where he was going after something Tom needed. "Hello, Rad!" called Andy with a show of good feeling. "I haven't seen you in some time. I suppose you're getting too old to travel around with Tom any more?" "Gittin' too old!" exclaimed the colored man indignantly, for that was his sore point. "What yo'-all mean, Andy Foger? I ain't gittin' old, an' neider am Boomerang." "Oh, I thought you were, as you haven't been on any trips lately." "I ain't, hey? Well I's gwine on one right soon, let me tell you dat, Andy Foger!" "No! Is that so? Glad to hear it. Up to the North Pole I suppose?" "No, sah; not much! No cold country for this coon! I's gwine where it's nice an 'warm, an' where de cocoanuts fall in yo' mouf--I mean where de bananas an' oranges fall in you mouf, an' de monkeys frow down cocoanuts an' palm leaf fans to yo'!" "Where's that, Rad?" asked Andy, and he tried to make his voice sound indifferent, as though the matter did not interest him. "South America, dat's where it am, an' I's gwine wif Massa Tom. We's gwine t' git a monstrous big orchard plant." "Oh, yes; I've heard about them. Well, I hope you get all the oranges and bananas you want. South America, eh? I suppose along the Amazon river, where they have crocodiles forty feet long, that are always hungry." "No, sah! No crockermiles fo' me! We ain't goin' neah de Amerzon riber at all. We's gwine away down in de middle part of South America. It's a place suffin laik Gomeonaway--or Goonaway, or suffin' laik dat." "Oh, yes; I know where you mean!" and Andy could hardly conceal the note of triumph in his voice. He had the very information he wanted from the simple colored man. "Yes, I guess there are no crocodiles there, and plenty of monkeys and cocoanuts. Well, I hope you have a good time," and Andy hurried away to seek out the rival circus man. CHAPTER VI ALARMING NEWS "Hand me that hammer, Ned." "There it is, right behind you, on the bench." "Oh, so it is. Here are those nails you were asking for." "Good. Now we'll make things hum," and Ned Newton's voice was drowned in the rapid driving of nails into boards. "Bless my screw driver!" suddenly exclaimed Mr. Damon, who was sawing planks to make covers for boxes. "What's the matter?" asked Tom, looking up from a bundle he was tying up. It contained the magneto of his aeroplane and he was putting waterproof paper about it. "Did you cut your finger?" "No, but I just happened to think that I nailed my watch up in that last box." "Nailed up your watch!" cried Mr. Preston, who, after a trip to New York to make arrangements for passages on a steamer, had come back to help Tom pack up. "Yes, I took it out to see how long it took me to make a box cover, and then Tom asked me to nail up that box containing the motor parts, and I laid my watch right down on top, and put the boards over it." "Well, the only thing to do is to take off the cover," remarked Tom grimly. "Bless my chronometer! That will delay things," said the odd man with a sigh. "But I suppose there is no hope for it," and he proceeded to open the box, while Tom, Ned, the circus man and Eradicate busied themselves over the hundred and one things to be done before they would be ready for the trip to the interior of South America. "Look out, Ned!" called Tom. "You're making those top boards too long. They'll stick out over the edge, and be ripped off if the box catches on anything." "Yes, you can't be too careful," cautioned Mr. Preston. "Each box or package must be the right weight, or the porters and mule drivers won't carry them into the interior. You may have to cross rough trails, and even ford rivers. And as for bridges! well, the less said about them the better. You aren't going to have any picnic, and if you want to back out, Tom Swift, now is the time to say so." "What! Back out?" cried our hero. "Never! I said I'd go and I'm going. Ned, pass that brace and bit over, will you. I've got to bore a hole for these screws." And so the work went on in the big aeroplane shed, which they had made their packing headquarters. The Lark, that small, but strong and speedy aeroplane, had been safely packed, and most of it had been sent on ahead to New York, where the travellers were to take the steamer. There remained to be transported their clothing, weapons and ammunition, and several bundles and cases of trinkets which would be of more value in bartering with the natives than money. Tom and Mr. Preston had selected the things with great care, and at the last moment the young inventor had packed a box of his own, and said nothing about it. Included in it were some of his own and his father's inventions, and had one been given a glance into that same box he would have wondered at the queer things. "What in the world are you taking with you, anyhow?" asked Ned, of his chum, noticing the mysterious box. "'You'll see, if we ever get to giant land," replied Tom with a smile. "How long before we can start?" asked Mr. Damon, late that day, when most of the hard work had been finished. He was as anxious and as eager as either of the youths to make a start. "We ought to be ready at least a week from to-day," replied Tom, "and perhaps sooner." "Sooner, if you can make it," suggested Mr. Preston. "The steamer sails a week from to-day, and if you miss that one you'll have to wait two weeks more." "Then a week from to-day we'll sail," decided Tom, with emphasis. "We'll work nights getting things in shape." Really, though, not much more remained to be done, and the next day Mr. Preston again went to New York, accompanying a shipment of boxes and cases that Tom sent on ahead. The two chums were busy in the aeroplane hangar a few days after this, nailing up the last of some light cases containing medicines, personal effects and comforts that would accompany them on their trip. "Well, I'm glad of one thing," remarked Tom thoughtfully, as he drove home the last nail in a box, "and that is that we won't be bothered with that Andy Foger on this trip. I haven't seen hide nor hair of him in some time. I guess he and his father are down and out." "I guess so. I haven't seen him either." "Massa Andy were in town a few days ago," ventured Eradicate. "He was?" cried Tom. "Did you see him? What was he doing, Rad?" "Nuffin, same as usual. He done say I were too old to go on any more hexpiditions wif yo' an' I proved dat I wasn't." "Proved that you weren't, Rad? How?" And Tom looked anxiously at his colored helper. "Why, I done say t' him dat I was gwine wif yo'-all dis time, t' dat Comeaway country after a big orchard plant. Dat's how I done prove it to dat Andy Foger." "Rad, you didn't tell him we were going to South America?" asked Tom reproachfully. "Suah I done so, Massa Tom. Dat were de only way t' prove t' him dat I wa'an't gittin' too old." "Oh, Rad! I'm afraid--" and Tom hesitated. "Oh, I don't believe it amounted to anything," interposed Ned. "Andy didn't have any one with him, did he, Rad?" "No, Massa Ned. He were all alone by hisse'f." "Then I guess it's all right, Tom. Andy was only rigging Eradicate, and he didn't pay any attention to what he said." "Well, I hope so," and the young inventor wore a thoughtful air as he resumed the finish of the packing. The colored man, blissfully unconscious that he had been the innocent cause of a grave danger that overhung Tom and his friends, whistled gaily as he gathered the boxes, bales and packages into a pile, ready for the expressman, who was to call in the morning. Tom, together with Ned, Mr. Damon and Eradicate, were to leave the following afternoon, and stay in New York until the sailing of the steamer. They preferred to be a day or so ahead of time than half an hour late, and were taking no chances. "Bless my timetable!" exclaimed Mr. Damon that night, as they sat in the library of the Swift home, checking over the lists to make sure that nothing had been forgotten, "bless my timetable, but it doesn't seem possible that we are going to start at last." "Yes, we'll soon be on the way to giant land," spoke Tom in a low voice. Somehow the young inventor did not seem to be in his usually bright spirits. "You don't seem very enthusiastic," remarked Ned. "What's the matter, Tom?" "Oh, nothing much. Though I would feel better if I knew that Andy Foger didn't have any inkling of what our plans were," he added, for Eradicate was not present. "Oh, nonsense!" exclaimed his chum. "Mr. Preston will be here in the morning, and he'll know whether his rival has any idea of camping on our trail. Cheer up!" "Yes, I suppose I am foolish to worry," admitted Tom, "but, somehow I can't help it. I wish Mr. Preston was here now to tell us that Wayland Waydell had gone off to the centre of Africa for a dwarf. Then I'd know we had nothing to fear. But I guess--" Tom did not finish his sentence for, at that moment, there came a peal at the door bell. Instinctively every one started, and Mr. Damon exclaimed: "Bless my burglar alarm! What's that?" "Someone at the door, Tom," replied Mr. Swift calmly. "That's nothing unusual. It's early yet." But, in spite of his reassuring words, there was a feeling of vague alarm. "I'll see who it is," volunteered Ned. "If it's Andy Foger--" Mrs. Baggert entered the room at that moment. She had hurried to the door, and, as she entered she announced: "Mr. Preston!" "Yes, it is I!" added the circus man following her quickly into the room. "I came on to-night instead of waiting for the morning, Tom. I have bad news for you!" "Bad news!" gasped the young inventor. "Has Waydell got hold of your plans." "I'll wager it has something to do with Andy Foger!" exclaimed Ned. "Neither one," spoke the circus man. "But I have just had a cable dispatch from one of my animal agents in Brazil, saying that war has broken out among the tribes in the central part of South America. A big native war is being waged all around giant land, as near as we can figure it out." "War among the native tribes!" exclaimed Mr. Swift. "Yes, and one of the worst in years. Of course, Tom, after such alarming news as this I won't hold you to your promise to go. It's all off. I'm sorry, but you'd better wait. It won't be safe to go there now. Better unpack, Tom." For a moment there was a silence in the room. Then the young inventor leaped to his feet and faced the circus man. "Unpack?" cried Tom in ringing tones. "Never! I'm going to giant land, fight or no fight! Ned, come with me and we'll put in some of my electric rifles. I wasn't going to take them along, but I will now. Unpack? I guess not! I'm going to get a giant for you, Mr. Preston, and save Jake Poddington if he's alive. Come on, Ned." CHAPTER VII FIRE ON BOARD "Your electric rifles!" exclaimed Ned Newton, as he followed his chum to the storeroom, where Tom kept a number of spare guns. "It's a good thing you thought of them, Tom." "Yes, I didn't think we'd need them, for I believe peaceable means are the best to use on natives. But if there's a war, and we have to defend ourselves against the tribes, we'll take along something that will do more damage than an ordinary rifle, and yet I can regulate it so that it will only stun, and not kill." "That's the stuff, Tom. No use in being needlessly cruel. How many will you take?" "Two or three. We may need 'em all." A little later the two lads returned to the library where Mr. Damon, Mr. Swift and the circus man were anxiously awaiting them. Mr. Preston looked curiously at several objects which Tom and Ned carried. The objects looked like guns but were different from any the giant-seeker had seen. "What are they?" he asked Tom. "Electric rifles. One of my inventions," and Tom showed how the weapon worked. Those of you who have read the volume entitled, "Tom Swift and His Electric Rifle" will remember this curious weapon. It was worked by a stored charge of magnetism of the wireless kind. By this a concentrated globule of electricity was projected from the muzzle, and it could be made strong or weak at the will of the marksman. It could be made so powerful that it would totally annihilate a whale, as Tom had once proved, or it could be made so mild that it would put an enemy, or several of them, to sleep almost as gently as some narcotic, and they would awaken after several hours, little the worse for their experience. A charge of electricity as powerful as five thousand volts could be concentrated into a small wireless globule the size of a bullet, and this would fly through space, or even through solid objects until, reaching the limit of the range set, would strike the object aimed at. With his wonderful electric rifle Tom had not only killed elephants, and other big game, but fought off the red pygmies of Africa. "And we may have a use for it in South America," he added as he explained the workings to Mr. Preston. "Well, I'm glad you didn't back out," commented the circus man, "and this may come in mighty handy. I'll feel easier about you now, Tom, when I know you have some electric rifles with you." The circus man was told of what Eradicate had said to Andy, but he was of the opinion that no harm would result from it. "As far as I can learn," went on Mr. Preston, "my old rival Waydell has given up the giant idea. He is looking for a two-headed crocodile, said to be somewhere along the Nile river, and he's fitting out an expedition there I understand. I guess we won't be bothered with him. But the giant for mine! If I get that sort of an attraction his two-headed crocodile won't be in it. I hope you have luck, Tom Swift." The last details of the expedition were considered. Nothing seemed to have been left undone, and though carrying the electric rifles would make a little more baggage, no one minded that. "I kin carry dem," said Eradicate. "I ain't got much baggage of mah own." So it was arranged, and early the next morning the little band of intrepid travelers, who were going in search of giant land, started for New York. They little knew what was ahead of them, nor what dire perils they were to pass through. Of course Tom had said good-bye to Mary Nestor and half-jokingly, he had promised to bring back a giant of his own, that she might see one outside of a circus. "But, Tom," Mary exclaimed with a laugh, "what will you do with one of the big creatures if you get one?" "Have him help me on my newest invention--the noiseless airship," answered the young inventor. "I need some one to lift heavy weights. It will save putting up a derrick. Yes, I think I'll get a giant of my own." The last good-byes were said, and the parting between Tom and his father was affecting. "I'll soon be back, dad," he said in as cheerful a tone as he could assume, "and I'll help you finish your gyroscope." "I hope you will, Tom," and then, with a pressure of his son's hand, Mr. Swift turned away and went into the house, closing the door after him. The first part of the trip to New York was rather a silent one, no one caring to talk much. Eradicate was the only cheerful member of the party, which included the circus man, who was going as far as the steamer with Tom and his friends. "Say," Ned exclaimed finally, "any one would think we were going to a funeral!" "That's right," agreed Tom. "I guess something is on all our nerves. Let's do something to take it off. Here comes a boy with some funny papers. We'll buy some and read all the jokes." This proved a diversion, and before the train had gone many miles more the giant-hunters were talking and laughing as though they were merely starting on a short pleasure trip, instead of an expedition to the dangerous jungles of South America. They put up at a good hotel in New York, and as soon as they were established Tom and Mr. Preston went to the steamer Calaban which was to land them at Buenos Ayres. They found that there was some confusion about their luggage and boxes, and it took them the better part of a day to get the tangle straightened out, and their stuff stored together in one hold. "It will be easier to get it out if it's all together," said Tom, at the conclusion of their labors, and then he and the circus man returned to the hotel. The ship was to sail two days later, and, several hours before the time set for the departure, Tom and his friends were on board. "You don't see anything of your rival circus friend, do you?" asked Tom, of the man who wanted a giant. "Not a sign," was the answer, as Mr. Preston glanced over the throng of on-coming passengers. "I guess we've either given him the slip, or he's given up the game. You won't have to worry about him. Just take it easy until you start for the interior, and from then on you'll have hard work enough." The last of the cargo was being taken aboard, the late passengers had arrived and were anxiously watching to see that their baggage was not lost. As Mr. Preston stood talking with Tom near the gangplank, a clerical looking gentleman approached the circus man. "I beg your pardon," he began in mild accents, "but could you tell me where my stateroom is?" and he showed his ticket. "I'm not used to traveling," he needlessly added for that fact was very evident. Mr. Preston informed him how to get to his berth, and the gentleman went on: "Are you going all the way to Buenos Ayres?" "No, but my friend is," and the circus man nodded at Tom. "Oh, I'm so glad!" the stranger exclaimed. "Then I shall have someone of whom I can ask questions. I am quite lost when I travel." "I'll help you all I can," volunteered Tom, "and I'll show you to your stateroom now." "Ah, thank you. Your name is--" "Tom Swift," supplied the young inventor. "Ah, yes, I believe I have read about your airships. I am the Reverend Josiah Blinderpool. I am taking a little vacation. I trust we shall become good friends." "Humph, he's a regular infant, to be away from civilization," mused Tom, when he had showed the clergyman to the proper stateroom. "He'll get into trouble, he's so innocent." If he could have seen that same "clergyman" double up with mirth when he had closed his stateroom door after him, Tom would not have felt so sure about that same "innocence." "To think that I was talking face to face with Sam Preston and he never tumbled to who I was!" exclaimed the newcomer softly. "That's rich! Now if I play my cards right I shouldn't be surprised but what they'd invite me to come along with them. That would just suit me. I wouldn't have any trouble then, getting on the track of those giants. The information Waydell got from that red-haired Foger chap wasn't any too definite," and once more the man wearing the garb of a minister chuckled. "Well, I'll say good-bye," remarked Mr. Preston, a little later, when the warning bell had rung. "I guess you'll get along all right. I haven't seen a sign of Waydell, or any of his slick agents. You'll have no trouble I guess." But if the circus man could have seen the "clergyman" at that same time looking over letters addressed to "Hank Delby," and signed "Wayland Waydell" he would not have been so confident. Mr. Preston bade good-bye to his friends, the gangplank was hauled up, and a hoarse blast came from the whistle of the Calaban. "Bless my pocketbook!" cried Mr. Damon. "We're off!" "Yep, off t' git dat big, giant orchard plant," chimed in Eradicate. "Hush!" exclaimed Tom, who did not like the use of the word "giant" even in that connection. "Don't tell everyone our business, Rad." "Dat's right, Massa Tom. I clean done forgot dat it's a sort of secret. I'll keep mighty still 'bout it." The Calaban swung out into the river and began steaming down the bay. The first week of the voyage was uneventful. The weather was exceptionally fine, and hardly any one was seasick. The Reverend Mr. Blinderpool was often on deck, and he made it a point to cultivate the acquaintance of Tom and his friends. In spite of the fact that he said he had traveled very little, he seemed to know much about hidden corners of the world, but always, as on an occasion when he had accidentally let slip some remark that showed he had been in far-off China or Asia, he would suddenly change the conversation when it verged to travel. "There's something queer about that minister," said Ned after one of these occasions, "but I can't decide what it is." "Nonsense!" exclaimed Tom, who rather liked the man. "No nonsense about it. Why should a minister take a trip like this when he isn't sick, and when he isn't going to establish a mission in South America? There's something queer about it, for, by his own words he just took this voyage as a whim." "Oh, you're too fussy," declared Tom; and for the time the subject was dropped. They ran into a storm when about ten days out, and for a while they had a rough time of it, and then the weather cleared again. It was one evening, after the formal dinner, when Tom and Ned were strolling about on deck, before turning in, that, the quiet of the ship was broken by what is always an alarming cry at sea. "Fire! Fire!" shouted a man, pointing to a thin wisp of smoke curling up from the deck amidships. "Keep quiet!" yelled one of the stewards. "It is nothing!" "It's a fire, I tell you!" insisted the man, and several others took up the cry. A panic was imminent, and the captain came running from his quarters. "What is it?" he asked. An officer hurried to his side, and said something but in such a low voice that Tom, who was standing close beside the two, scarcely heard it. But he did hear this: "There's a fire, sir, in hold number seventeen. We have turned the hose in there, and the pumps are working." "Very good, Mr. Meld. Now try and quiet the passengers. Tell them it doesn't amount to much, and if it does we can flood that compartment." Tom started at that. "Come on, Ned!" he cried, grabbing his chum by the arm. "Why, what's up? What's the matter?" "Matter? Matter enough! The fire is in the hold where all our stuff is stored, and if the flames reach that box I packed last--well, I wouldn't give much for the ship!" and fairly dragging his chum along, Tom raced for the place where the smoke was now coming up in thicker clouds. CHAPTER VIII A NARROW ESCAPE "Here, come back! You can't go past here!" "But I've got to go! I tell you I must go! It's important!" The first speaker was one of the ship's officers, and the other was Tom Swift, who, accompanied by his chum, was trying to get past a rope that had been hastily stretched in front of the hold where the smoke was rolling up in ever-thickening clouds. "It's important that you stay where you are," insisted the officer. "Look here young man, do you want to start a panic? You know what that is on board ship. Keep cool, we'll get the fire out all right." "I am cool," responded Tom, and, though he did look a bit excited, he was calm enough to know what he was doing. "Then keep back!" insisted the officer. A crowd was gathering and there were ominous whispers sent back and forth. Some hysterical women were beginning to scream, and there were anxious looks on all faces. "I tell you it's important that I go down there," insisted Tom. "I want to get a box--" "We'll look after the baggage of the passengers," declared the officer. "You don't need to worry, young man." "But I tell you I do!" and Tom's voice was loud now. "It isn't so much on my account, as--" and then, stepping quickly to the side of the officer he whispered something. "What!" cried the officer. "You don't tell me? That was a risk! I guess I'll have to help you get it out. Here, Mr. Simm," he called to one of the mates, "stand guard here. I'm going down into the hold with this young man." "Shall I come?" cried Ned. "No, you go stay with Mr. Damon and Eradicate," answered Tom. "Tell them everything is all right. And for cats' sake keep Rad cool. Don't let him get excited and start a panic. I'll be back in a minute." With that Tom and the officer disappeared from view, and Ned, after wondering what it was all about, hastened to reassure Mr. Damon and the colored man that there was no danger, though from the manner in which Tom had acted his chum was convinced that something was wrong. Meanwhile our hero, accompanied by the officer, was groping his way through the thick smoke in the compartment. The officer had switched on the electric lights, and they shone with a yellow haze through the clouds of choking vapor. "Can you see it?" asked the officer anxiously. "I had it put where I could easily get at it," answered Tom with a cough, for some of the smoke had got down his throat. "I had an idea I might need it in a hurry. Here it is!" and he pointed to a large box, marked with his initials in red paint. "Give me a hand and we'll get it out." "Yes, and send it on deck. See, there's the fire!" and the officer pointed to where a glow could be seen amid some bales of cotton. "It will be slow burning, that's one good thing, and by turning steam into this compartment we can soon put it out." "It's pretty close to my box," commented Tom, "but there isn't as much danger as I thought." It did not take him and the officer long to move the box away from its proximity to the fire, for the case was not heavy, though it was of good size, and then the officer having called up an order to some of his fellow seamen on deck, a rope was let down, and the box hoisted up. "Whew! That was a narrow escape!" exclaimed Tom as he saw his case go up on deck. "I suppose I shouldn't have had that stored here. But there were so many things to think of that I forgot." "Yes, it was a risk," commented the officer. "But what are you going to do with that sort of stuff, anyhow?" "I may need it when we get among the wild tribes of South American Indians," answered Tom non-commitally. "I'm much obliged for your help." "Oh, that's nothing. Anything to save the ship." At that moment there were confused cries, and a series of shouts and commands up on deck. "We'd better hurry out of here," said the officer. "Why?" "The captain has just ordered steam turned in here. I hope there isn't anything of yours that will be damaged by it." "No, everything else is in waterproof coverings. Come on, we'll climb out." They hurried from the compartment and, a little later clouds of quenching steam were poured in from a hose run from the boiler room. The hatch was battened down, and then the smoke ceased to come up. "The danger is practically over," the captain assured the frightened passengers. "The fire will be all out by morning. You may go to your staterooms in perfect safety." Some did, and others, disbelieving, hung around the hatch-cover, sniffing and peering to discover traces of smoke. But the sailors had done their work well, and a stranger would not have known that a fire was in the hold. The captain had spoken truly, and in the morning the fire was completely out, a few charred bales of cotton being the only things damaged. They were hauled up and dumped into the sea, while Tom, making a hasty inspection of his other goods placed in that compartment saw, to his relief, that beyond one case of trinkets, designed for barter with the natives, nothing had been damaged, and even the trinkets could be used on a pinch. "But what was in that box?" asked Ned, that night as they got ready to retire, the excitement having calmed down. "Hush! Not so loud," cautioned Tom, for Mr. Damon was in the next stateroom, while Eradicate had one across the corridor. "I'll tell you, Ned, but don't breathe a word of it to Rad or Mr. Damon. They might not intend to give it away, but I'm afraid they would, if they knew, and I depend on the things in that box to give the native giants the surprise of their lives in case we--well, in case we come to close quarters." "Close quarters?" "Yes, have a fight, you know, or in case they get so fond of us that they won't hear of letting us go--in other words if they make us captives." "Great Scott, Tom! You don't think they'll do that, do you?" "No telling, but if they do, Ned, I've got some things in that box that will make them wish they hadn't. It's got--" and Tom leaned forward and whispered, as though he feared even the walls would hear. "Good!" cried his chum! "That's the stuff! No wonder you thought the ship might be damaged if the fire got to that!" It seemed that the slight fire was about all the excitement destined to take place aboard the Calaban, for, after the blaze was so effectually quenched, the ship slipped along through the calm seas, and it was actually an effort to kill time on the part of the passengers. As they progressed further south the weather became more and more warm, until, as they approached the equator, every one put on the lightest garments obtainable. "Crossing the line," was the signal for the usual "stunts" among the sailors. "Neptune" came aboard, with his usual sea-green whiskers made from long rope ends, and with his trident much in evidence; and there was plenty of horseplay which the passengers very much enjoyed. Then, as the tropical region was left behind, the weather became more bearable. There were one or two storms, but they were of no consequence and the steamer weathered them easily. Tom and his friends had several talks with the "Reverend Josiah Blinderpool," as the pretended clergyman still called himself. But he did not obtrude his company on them, and though he asked many questions as to where Tom and his party were going, the young inventor, with his usual caution in talking to strangers, rather evaded them. "Hang it all! He's as close-mouthed as a clam," complained "Mr. Blinderpool" to himself one day, after an attempt to worm something from Tom, "I'll just have to stick close to him and his chum to get a line on where they're heading for. And I must find out, or Waydell will think I'm throwing the game." As for Tom and the others, they gave the seeming clergyman little thought--that is until one day when something happened. Ned had been down in the engine room, having had permission to inspect the wonderful machinery, and, on his way back he passed the smoking cabin. He was rather surprised to see Mr. Blinderpool in there, puffing on a big black cigar, and with him were some men whom Ned recognized as personages who had vainly endeavored to get a number of passengers into a card game with them. And, unless Ned's eyes deceived him, the seeming clergyman was about to indulge in a game himself. "That's mighty queer," mused Ned. "Guess I'll tell Tom about this. I never saw a minister play cards in public before, and this Mr. Blinderpool has been trying to get thick with Tom, of late. Maybe he's a gambler in disguise." Filled with this thought Ned hastened off to warn his chum. CHAPTER IX "FORWARD MARCH!" "You don't say so!" exclaimed the young inventor, when Ned had told him the queer news. "Well, do you know I've been suspicious of that fellow ever since he tried to make friends with us." "Suspicious? How so? You don't think--" "Oh, I mean I think he's some kind of a confidence man who has adopted the respectable clothes of a minister to fool people. He may be a card sharper himself. Well, we won't have anything more to do with him. It won't be long before we arrive at Buenos Ayres, and then we won't be bothered with card sharpers or anybody else but--" "Giants and fighting natives," finished Ned, with a laugh. "You forget, Tom, that there's a war going on near the very place we're headed for." "That's so, Ned. But with what we have with us I guess we can make out all right. I'm going to have the electric rifles handy the minute we start for the interior." The voyage continued, and was fast drawing to a close. "Mr. Blinderpool" made several more attempts to strike up a friendship with Tom, or his chum, but they were on their guard now, and, failing to get into much of a conversation with the two young men, the pretended clergyman turned his attentions to Mr. Damon. That eccentric gentleman welcomed him at first, until a quiet hint from Tom brought that to an end. "Bless my fire shovel!" cried Mr. Damon. "You don't say so! Not a clergyman at all? Dear me!" And then, getting desperate, and needing very much to learn how long a journey his rivals were to undertake, so that he, too, might prepare for it, Mr. Hank Delby, alias Blinderpool, began to "pump" Eradicate. But the latter was too sharp for him. Well knowing that a white man would not get suddenly friendly with one of the black race unless for some selfish object, Eradicate fairly snubbed the seeming minister, until that worthy had to go off by himself, saying bitter things and casting black looks at our friends. "But I'll get ahead of them yet!" he muttered, "and I'll get their giants away from them, if they capture any." The box on which Tom set such an importance, and which had so nearly been the cause of a disaster, had been stored in one of the fire-proof compartments of the ship, and now, as a few days more would see the vessel entering the harbor of the Rio de la Plata, thence to steam up to the ancient city of Buenos Ayres, Tom and the others began to think of what lay before them. "How do you propose to head into the interior?" asked Mr. Damon one afternoon, when the captain announced that the following morning would see them nearly opposite Montevideo. "I'm going to hire a lot of burrows, donkeys or whatever they have down here that answers the purpose," replied Tom. "We have a lot of things to transport, and I guess pack mules would be the best, if we can get them. Then I've got to hire some drivers and some porters, camp-makers and the like. In fact we'll have quite a party. I guess I'll need ten natives, and a head man and with ourselves we'll be fifteen. So we'll need plenty of food. But then we can get that as we go along, except when we get away into the interior, and then we'll have to hunt it ourselves." "That's the stuff!" cried Ned. "We haven't had a good hunting expedition since we went to elephant land, Tom. The electric rifles will come in handy here." "Yes, I expect they will. Now come on, Ned, and help me get a list ready of the things we've got to take with us, and how they can best be divided up." Thick weather delayed the ship somewhat, so it was not until evening of the next day that they made Montevideo, where part of the cargo was to be discharged. As they would lay over there a day, the boys decided to go ashore, which they did, wondering at the strange sights in the old city. Tom watched to see if the pretended minister would land, and endeavor to force his acquaintance, but Mr. Hank Delby, to give him his right name, was not in evidence. In fact he was turning over scheme after scheme in his mind in order to hit on one that would enable him to take advantage of the preparations which had been made by his rival in the circus business. "I've just got to get a line on where those giants are to be found," mused Mr. Delby, in the seclusion of his stateroom, "even if I have to take some other disguise and follow that Swift crowd. That's what I'll do. I'll put on some other disguise! I wonder what it had better be?" Tom and Ned, to say nothing of Mr. Damon and Eradicate, found much to interest them in the capital of Uruguay, and they were rather sorry, in a way, when it was time for them to leave. "But we'll see plenty more strange sights," remarked Tom, as the steamer started off for Buenos Ayres. "In fact our trip hasn't really begun yet." In due time they dropped anchor at the ancient city, and then began a series of confused and busy times. In fact there was so much to do, seeing to the unloading of their stuff, arranging for hotel accommodations, seeing to hiring natives for the expedition into the interior, and other details, that Tom and his friends had no time to think anything about the pretended clergyman who had caused them a little worry. Eventually their belongings were stored in a safe place, and our friends sat down to a good dinner in a hotel that, while it was in far-off South America, yet was as good as many in New York, and, in some respects the boys, and Mr. Damon, liked it better. They found that the Spanish and Portuguese languages were the principal ones spoken, together with a mixture of the native tongues, and as both Ned and Tom, as well as Mr. Damon, had a working knowledge of Spanish they got along fairly well. Some of the hotel people could speak English. Tom made inquiries and found that the best plan would be to transport all his stuff by the regular route to Rosario, on the Parana river in Argentina, and there he could make up his pack train, hire native carriers, and start for the interior. "Then we'll do that," he decided, "and take it easy until we get to Rosario." It took them the better part of a week to do this, but at last they were on the ground, and felt for the first time that they were really going into a wild and little explored country. "Are you going to stick to the Parana river?" asked Ned. "No," replied Tom, in the seclusion of their room, "if there are any giants they will be found in some undiscovered, or at least little traveled, part of the country. I don't believe they are in the vicinity of the big rivers, or other travelers would have heard about them, and, as far as we know, Mr. Preston's animal agent is the only one who ever got a trace of them. We'll have to go into the jungle on either side of the river." "Bless my walking stick!" cried Mr. Damon. "Have we really to go into the jungle, Tom?" "I'm afraid we have, if we want to get any giants, and get a trace of Mr. Poddington." "All right, I'm game, but I do hope we won't run into a band of fighting natives." In Rosario it was learned that while the "war" was not regarded seriously from the fact that the fighting tribes were far inland, still it was going on with vigor, and large bands of natives were roaming about, stealing each others' cattle and horses, burning villages, and taking captives. "I guess we're in for it," remarked Tom grimly. "But I'm not going to back out now." Unexpected complications, difficulties in the way of getting the right kind of help, and a competent man to take charge of the native drivers, so delayed our friends that it was nearly two weeks after their arrival in Rosario before they could start for the interior. Of course the object of the expedition was kept a secret, and Tom let it be known that he and his friends were merely exploring, and wanted rare plants, orchids, or anything in that line. The natives were not very curious. At last the day for the start came. The mules, which had been hired as beasts of burdens, were loaded with boxes or bales on either side, the natives were marshalled into line. Tom, Ned, and Mr. Damon, each equipped with a rifle had a saddle animal to ride, and Eradicate was similarly equipped, though for a weapon he depended on a shotgun, which he said he understood better than the electric rifles. The aeroplane, divided into many small packages, the goods for barter, their supplies, stores, ammunition, and the box of which Tom took such care--all these were on the backs of the beasts of burden. Some food was taken along, but for a time, at least, they could depend on scattered towns or villages, or the forest game, for their eating. "Are we all ready?" called Tom, looking at the rather imposing cavalcade of which he was the head. "I guess so," replied Ned. "Let her go!" "Bless my liver pad!" gasped Mr. Damon. "If we've got to start do it, and let's get it over with Tom." "All ready, Rad?" asked the colored man's young master. "All ready, Massa Tom. But I mus' say dat I'd radder hab Boomerang dan dish yeah animal what I'm ridin'." "Oh, you'll do all right, Rad. Then, if we're all ready, forward march!" cried Tom, and with calls to their animals, the drivers started them off. Hardly had they begun the advance than Ned, who had been narrowly watching one of the natives, hurried up to Tom, and rapidly whispered something to his chum. "What?" cried Tom. "Armed with a six-shooter, is he? Well, we'll see about that! Halt!" he cried in Spanish, and then he called San Pedro the head mule driver, to him. CHAPTER X A WILD HORSE STAMPEDE "Who is that man?" demanded Tom pointing to the one Ned had indicated. Tom's chum had had a glimpse of a shining revolver in the hip pocket of one of the mule drivers, and knowing that the simple natives were not in the habit of carrying such weapons, the lad had communicated his suspicions to Tom. "What man, senor?" asked the head mule driver. "That one!" and the young inventor again pointed toward him. And, now that Tom looked a second time he saw that the man was not as black as the other drivers--not an honest, dark-skinned black but more of a sickly yellow, like a treacherous half-breed. "Who is he?" asked Tom, for the man in question was just then tightening a girth and could not hear him. "I know not, senor. He come to me when I am hiring the others, and he say he is a good driver. And so he is, I test him before I engage him," went in San Pedro in Spanish. "He is one good driver." "Why does he carry a revolver?" "A revolver, senor? Santa Maria, I know not! I--" "I'll find out," declared Tom determinedly. "Here," he called to the offending one, who straightened up quickly. "Come here!" The man came, with all the cringing servility of a born native, and bowed low. "Why have you a weapon?" asked the young inventor. "I gave orders that none of the drivers were to carry them." "A revolver, senor? I have none! I--" "Rad, reach in his pocket!" cried Tom, and the colored man did so with a promptness that the other could not frustrate. Eradicate held aloft a large calibre, automatic weapon. "What's that for?" asked Tom, virtuously angry. "I--er--I--" and then, with a hopeless shrug of his shoulders the man turned away. "Give him his gun, and get another driver, San Pedro," directed our hero, and with another shrug of his shoulders the man accepted the revolver, and walked slowly off. Another driver was not hard to engage, as several had been hanging about, hoping for employment at the last minute, and one was quickly chosen. "It's lucky you saw that gun, Ned," remarked Tom, when they were actually under way again. "Yes, I saw the sun shining on it as his coat flapped up. What was his game, do you suppose?" "Oh, he might be what they call a 'bad half-breed' down here. I guess maybe he thought he could lord it over the other drivers when we got out in the jungle, and maybe take some of their wages away from them, or have things easier for himself." "Bless my wishbone!" exclaimed Mr. Damon. "You don't think he meant to use it on us, Tom?" "Why no? What makes you ask that?" "Oh, I'm just nervous, I guess," replied the odd man. But if Mr. Damon could have seen that same half-breed a little later, as he slipped into a Rosario resort, with the yellow stain washed from his face, the nervousness of the eccentric gentleman would have increased. For the man who had been detected with the revolver muttered to himself: "Caught! Well, I'll fool 'em next time all right! I thought I could get away with the pack train, and then it would have been easy to turn the natives any way I wished, after I had found what I'm looking for. But I had to go and carry that gun! I never thought they'd spot it. Well, it's all up now, and if Waydell heard of it he'd want to fire me. But I'll make good yet. I'll have to adopt some other disguise, and see if I can't tag along behind." All unconscious of the plotter they had left back of them, Tom and his companions pushed on, rapidly leaving such signs of civilization as were represented by small native towns and villages, and coming nearer to the jungles and forests that lay between them and the place where Tom was destined to be made a captive. They were far enough away from the tropics to escape the intolerable heat, and yet it was quite warm. In fact the weather was not at all unpleasant, and, once they were started, all enjoyed the novelty of the trip. Tom planned to keep along the eastern shore of the Parana river, until they reached the junction where the Salado joins it. Then he decided that they would do better to cross the Parana and strike into the big triangle made by that stream and its principal tributary, heading north toward Bolivia. "For it is in that little-explored part of South America that I think the giants will be found." said Tom, as he talked it over with Ned and Mr. Damon in the privacy of their tent, which had been set up. "But why should there be giants there any more than anywhere else?" asked Ned. "No particular reason," answered his chum. "But, according to the last word Mr. Preston had from his agent, that was where he was heading for, and that's where Zacatas, his native helper, said he lost track of his master. I have a theory that the giants, if we find any, will turn out to be a branch of a Patagonian tribe." "Patagonians!" exclaimed Ned. "Yes. You know the natives of the Southern part of Argentina grow to a considerable size. Now Patagonia is a comparatively bleak and cold country. What would prevent some of that big tribe centuries ago, from having migrated to a warmer country, where life was more favorable? After several generations they may have grown to be giants." "Bravo!" exclaimed Mr. Damon. "It's a good theory, at any rate, Tom. Though whether you can ever prove it is a question." "Yes, and a big one," agreed the young inventor with a laugh. For some days they traveled along over a comparatively flat country, bordering the river. At times they would pass through small native villages, where they would be able to get fresh meat, poultry and other things that varied their bill of fare. Again there would be long, lonely stretches of forest or jungle, through which it was difficult to make their way. And, occasionally they would come to fair-sized towns where their stay was made pleasant. "I doan't see any ob dem oranges an' bananas droppin' inter mah mouf, Massa Tom," complained Eradicate one day, after they had been on the march for over a week. "Have patience, Rad," advised Tom. "We'll come to them when we get a little farther into the interior. First we'll come to the monkeys, and the cocoanut trees." "Hones' Massa Tom?" "Surely." And though it was pretty far south for the nimble simians, the next day they did come upon a drove of them skipping about in the tall palm trees. "There they are, Rad! There they are!" cried Ned, as the chattering of the monkeys filled the forest. "By golly! So dey be! Heah's where I get some cocoanuts!" Before anyone could stop him, Eradicate caught up a dead branch, and threw it at a monkey. The chattering increased, and almost instantly a shower of cocoanuts came crashing down, narrowly missing some of our friends. "Hold on, Rad! Hold on!" cried Tom. "Some of us will be hurt!" Crack! came a cocoanut down on the skull of the colored man. "Bless my court plaster! Someone's hurt now!" cried Mr. Damon. "Hurt? Bless yo' heart, Massa Damon, it takes mo' dan dat t' hurt dish yeah chile!" cried Eradicate with a grin. "Ah got a hard head, Ah has, mighty hard head, an' de cocoanut ain't growed dat kin bust it. Thanks, Mistah Monkey, thanks!" and with a laugh Eradicate jumped off his mule, and began gathering up the nuts, while the monkeys fled into the forest. "Very much good to drink milk," said San Pedro, as he picked up a half-ripe nut, and showed how to chop off the top with a big knife and drain the slightly acid juice inside. "Very much good for thirst." "Let's try it," proposed Tom, and they all drank their fill, for there were many cocoanuts, though it was rather an isolated grove of them. The monkeys became more numerous as they proceeded farther north toward the equator, for it must be remembered that they had landed south of it, and at times the little animals became a positive nuisance. Several days passed, and they crossed the Parana river and struck into the almost unpenetrated tract of land where Tom hoped to find the giants. As yet none of their escort dreamed of the object of the expedition, and though Tom had caused scouts to be sent back over their trail to learn if they were being followed there was no trace of any one. One day, after a night camp on the edge of a rather high table land, they started across a fertile plain that was covered with a rich growth of grass. "Good grazing ground here," commented Ned. "Yes," put in San Pedro. "Plenty much horse here pretty soon." "Do the natives graze their herds of horses here?" asked Tom. "No natives--wild horses," explained Pedro. "Plenty much, sometimes too many they come. You see, maybe." It was nearly noon, and Tom was considering stopping for dinner if they could come to a good watering place, when Ned, who had ridden slightly in advance, came galloping back as fast as his steed would carry him. "Look out! Look out!" he cried. "There's a stampede of 'em, and they're headed right this way!" "Stampede of what? Who's headed this way?" cried Tom. "A lot of monkeys?" "No, wild horses! Thousands of 'em! Hear 'em coming?" In the silence that followed Ned's warning there could be heard a dull, roaring, thundering sound, and the earth seemed to tremble. "The young senor speaks truth! Wild horses are coming!" cried San Pedro. "Get ready, senors! Have your weapons at hand, and perchance we can turn the stampede aside." "The rifles! The electric rifles, Ned--Mr. Damon! We've got to stop them, or they'll trample us to death!" cried Tom. As he spoke the thundering became louder, and then, looking across the grassy plain, all saw a large troop of wild horses, with flying manes and tails, headed directly toward them! CHAPTER XI CAUGHT IN A LIVING ROPE "Quick! Peg out the mules!" cried San Pedro, after one look at the onrushing horses. "Drive the stakes well down! Tie them fast and then get behind those rocks! Lively!" He cried his orders to the natives in Spanish, at the same time motioning to Tom and Ned. "Get off your mules!" he went on. "Peg them out. Peg out the others, and then run for it!" "Run for it?" repeated Tom, "Do you think I'm going to leave my outfit in the midst of that stampede?" and he waved his hand toward the thundering, galloping wild horses which were coming nearer every moment. "Get out the electric rifles, and we'll turn that stampede. I'm not going to run." "Bless my saddle!" cried Mr. Damon. "This is awful! There must be a thousand of them." "Nearer two!" cried Ned, who was struggling to loosen the straps that bound his electric rifle to the side of his mule. Already the pack animals as well as those ridden by the members of the giant-hunting party were showing signs of excitement. They seemed to want to join the stampeding horses. "Peg our animals out! Peg them out! Make them so they can't join the others!" yelled San Pedro. "It's our only chance!" "I believe he's right!" cried Mr. Damon. "Tom, if we wait until those maddened brutes are up to us they'll fairly sweep ours along with them, and there's no telling where we'll end up. I think we'd better follow his advice and tie our mules as strongly as we can. Then we can go over there by the rocks, and fire at the wild horses. We may be able to turn them aside." "Guess that's right," agreed the young inventor after a moment's thought. "Come on, Ned. Peg out!" "Peg out! Peg out!" yelled the natives, and then began a lively scene. Pegging stakes were in readiness, and, attached to the bridle of each mule was a strong, rawhide rope for tying to the stake. The pegs were driven deeply into the ground and in a trice the animals were made fast to them, though they snorted, and tried to pull away as they heard the neighing of the stampeding animals and saw them coming on with an irresistible rush. "Hurry!" begged San Pedro, and hurry Tom, Ned and the others did. Animal after animal was made fast--that is all but one and that bore on its back two rather large but light boxes--the contents of the case which Tom had rescued from the fire in the hold. "What are you going to do with that mule?" asked Ned, as he saw Tom begin to lead the animal away, the others having been pegged out. "I'm going to take him over to the rocks with me. I'm not going to take any chances on this mule getting away with those things in the boxes. Give me a hand here, and then we'll see what the electric rifles will do against those horses." But the one mule which Tom had elected to take with him seemed to resent being separated from his companions. Bracing his feet well apart, the animal stubbornly refused to move. "Come on!" yelled Tom, pulling on the leading rope. "Bless my porous plaster!" cried Mr. Damon. "You'd better hurry, Tom! Those wild horses are almost on us!" "I'm trying to hurry!" replied the young inventor, "but this mule won't come. Ned, get behind and shove, will you?" "Not much! I don't want to be kicked." "Beat him! Strike him! Wait until I get a club!" yelled San Pedro. "Come, Antonia, Selka, Balaka!" he cried, to several of the natives who had already started for the sheltering rocks a short distance away. "Beat the mule for Senor Swift!" Ned joined Tom at the leading rope, and the two lads tried to pull the animal along. Mr. Damon rushed over to lend his aid, and San Pedro, catching up a long stick, was about to bring it down on the mule's back. Meanwhile the stampeding animals were rushing nearer. "Hold on dere, Massa Tom!" suddenly called Eradicate. "Yo'-all done flustered dat mule, dat's what yo' done. Yo'-all am too much excited 'bout him. Be calm! Be calm!" "Calm! With that bunch of wild animals bearing down on us?" shouted Tom. "Let's see you be calm, Rad. Come on here, you obstinate brute!" he cried, straining on the rope. "Let me do it, Massa Tom. Let me do it," suggested the colored man hurrying to the balky beast. Then, as gently as if he was talking to a nervous child, and totally oblivious to the danger of the approaching horses, Eradicate went up to the mule's head, rubbed its ears until they pointed naturally once more, murmured something to it, and then, taking the rope from Ned and Tom, Eradicate led the mule along toward the rocks as easily as if there had never been any question about going there. "For the love of tripe! How did you do it?" asked Tom. "Bless my peck of oats!" gasped Mr. Damon. "It's a good thing we had Rad along!" "All mules am alike," said the colored man with a grin. "An dish yeah one ain't much different from mah Boomerang. I guess he's a sorter cousin." "Come on!" yelled San Pedro. "No time to lose. Make for the rocks!" Tom, Ned and Mr. Damon sprinted then, and there was need to, for the foremost of the galloping horses was not a hundred feet away. Then came Eradicate, leading the mule that had at last consented to hurry. The natives, with San Pedro, were already at the rocks, waiting for the white hunters with the deadly electric rifles. "If they stampede our mules we'll be in a pickle!" murmured Ned. "I guess those ropes will hold unless they bite them through," remarked Tom. "Yes, they sure hold," cried San Pedro, and indeed one had to shout now to be heard above the thundering of the horses. Now the tethered mules were lost to sight in the multitude of the other steeds all about them. "Come on, Ned!" yelled Tom, as he sighted his rifle. "Pump it into them! We must turn them, or they may come over this way, and if they do it will be all up with us." "Shoot to kill?" asked Ned, as he drew back the firing lever of his electric rifle. "No, only a stunning charge. Those horses are valuable, and there's no use killing them. All we want to do is to turn them aside." "That's right," agreed Mr. Damon, forgetting in the excitement of the moment to bless himself or anything. "We'll only stun them." The rifles were quickly adjusted to send out a comparatively weak charge of electricity, and then they were trained on the dense mass of horses, while the three marksmen began working the firing levers. At first, though horse after horse fell to the ground, stunned, there was no appreciable effect on the thousands in the drove. The poor mules were hidden from sight, though by reason of divisions in the living stream of animals it could still be told where they were tethered, and where the horses separated to go past them. Fortunately the ropes and pegs held. "Fire faster!" cried Tom. "Shoot across the front of them, and try to turn them to one side." From the rocks, behind which the natives and our friends crouched, there came a steady stream of electric fire. Horse after horse went down, stunned but not badly hurt, and in a few hours the beasts would feel no ill effects. The firing was redoubled, and then there came a break in the steady stream of horseflesh. Some hesitated and sought to turn back. Others, behind, pressed them on, and then, as if in fear at the unknown and unseen power that was laying low animal after animal, the great body, of horses, suddenly turned at right angles to their course and broke away. There were now two bodies of the wild runaways, those that had passed the tethered mules, and those that had swung off. The stampede had been broken. "That's the stuff!" cried Tom, jumping up from behind the rocks, and swinging his hat. "We've turned them." "And just in time, too," added Ned, as he joined his chum. Then all the others leaped up, and the sight of the human beings completed the scare. The stampeding animals swung off more than before, so that they were nearly doubling back on their own trail. The others thundered off, and the ground was strewn with unconscious though unharmed animals. "One mule gone!" cried San Pedro, hastily counting the still tethered animals which were wildly tugging at their ropes. "Never mind," spoke Tom, "it's the one with some of that damaged bartering stuff I intended for trading. We can afford to lose that. Rad, is your animal all right?" "He suah am, Massa Tom. Dish yeah mule am almost as sensible as Boomerang, ain't yo'?" and Eradicate patted the big animal he was leading. "I'll send a man down the trail, and maybe he can pick up the missing one," said San Pedro, and while the other natives were quieting the restless mules, one tall black man hastened in the wake of the retreating horses. He came back in an hour with the missing animal, that had broken its tether rope and then, after running along with the wild horses had evidently dropped out of the drove. Aside from the loss of a small box, there had been no damage done, and the cavalcade was soon under way once more, leaving the motionless horses to recover from the effects of the electricity. "Bless my saddle pad!" cried Mr. Damon. "I don't think I want to go through anything like that again." "Neither do I," agreed Tom. "We are well out of it." "How much you take for one of them rifles?" asked San Pedro admiringly. "Not for sale," answered Tom with a laugh. They camped in a fertile valley that night, and had a much-needed rest. As yet Tom had made no inquiries as to the location of giant land from any of the natives of the villages or towns through which they passed. He knew as soon as he did begin asking questions, his own men would hear of it, and they might be frightened if they knew they were in an expedition the object of which was to capture some of the tall men. "We'll just go along for a few days more," said Tom, to Ned, "and then, when I do spring my surprise, they'll be so far from home that they won't dare turn back. In a few days I'll begin making inquiries." They traveled on for three days more, ever heading north, and coming more into the warmer climate. The vegetation began to take on a more tropical look, and finally they reached a region infested with many wild beasts and monkeys, and with patches of dense jungle on either side of the narrow trail. Fruits, tropical flowers and birds abounded. "I think we're getting there," remarked Tom, on the evening of the third day after his talk with Ned. "San Pedro says there's quite a village about half a day's march ahead, and I may learn something there. I'll know by to-morrow whether we are on the right trail or not." The natives were getting supper, and Eradicate was busy with a meal for the three white hunters. Mr. Damon had strolled down to the bank of a little stream, and was looking at some small animals like foxes that had come for their evening drink. They seemed quite fearless. Suddenly something long, round and thick seemed to drop down out of a tree close to the odd gentleman. So swift and noiseless was it that Mr. Damon never noticed it. Then, like a flash something went around him, and he let out a scream of terror. San Pedro, who was nearest to him, saw and heard. The next instant the black muleteer came rushing toward the camp, crying: "He is caught in a rope! Mr. Damon is caught in a rope!" "A rope!" repeated Ned, not understanding. "Yes, a rope in a tree. Come quickly!" Tom caught up one of the electric rifles and rushed forward. No sooner had he set eyes on his friend, who was writhing about in the folds of what looked like a big ship cable, then the young inventor cried: "A rope! Yes, a living rope! That's a big boa constrictor that has Mr. Damon! Get a gun, Ned, and follow me! We must save him before he is crushed to death!" And the two lads rushed forward while the living rope drew its folds tighter and tighter about the unfortunate man. CHAPTER XII A NATIVE BATTLE "Bless my--!" but that was as far as poor Mr. Damon could get. The breath was fairly squeezed out of him by the folds of the great serpent that had dropped down out of the tree to crush him to death. His head fell forward on his breast, and his arms were pinioned to his sides. "Quick, Ned!" cried Tom. "We must fire together! Be careful not to hit Mr. Damon!" "That's right. I'll take the snake on one side, Tom, and you on the other!" "No! Then we might hit each other. Come on my side. Aim for the head, and throw in the highest charge. We want to kill, not stun!" "Right!" gasped Ned, as he ran forward at his chum's side. San Pedro, and the other natives, could do nothing. In the gathering twilight, broken by the light of several campfires, they stood helpless watching the two plucky youths advance to do battle with the serpent. Eradicate had caught up a club, and had dashed forward to do what he could, but Tom motioned him back. "We can manage," spoke the young inventor. Then he and Ned crept on with ready rifles. The snake raised its ugly head and hissed, ceasing for a moment to constrict its coils about the unfortunate man. "Now's our chance--fire!" hoarsely whispered Ned. It seemed as if the big snake heard, for, raising its head still higher, it fairly glared at Ned and Tom. It was the very chance they wanted, for they could now fire without the danger of hitting Mr. Damon. "Ready?" asked Tom of his chum in a low voice. "Ready!" was the equally low answer. It was necessary to kill the serpent at one shot, as to merely wound it might mean that in its agony it would thresh about, and seriously injure, if not kill, Mr. Damon. "Fire!" called Tom in a whisper, and he and Ned pressed the triggers of the electric rifles on the same instant. There was a streak of bluish flame that cut like a sliver through the gathering darkness, and then, as though a blight had fallen upon it, the folds of the great snake relaxed, and Mr. Damon slipped to the ground unconscious. The electric charges had gone fairly through the head of the serpent and it had died instantly. "Quick! Mr. Damon! We must get him away!" cried Tom. "He may be dead!" Together the chums sprang forward. The folds of the serpent had scarcely ceased moving before the two youths snatched their friend away. Dropping their rifles, they lifted him up to bear him to the sleeping tent which had been erected. "Liver pin!" suddenly ejaculated Mr. Damon. It was what he started to say when the serpent had squeezed the breath out of him, and, on regaining consciousness from his momentary faint, his brain carried out the suggestion it had originally received. "How are you?" cried Tom, nearly dropping Mr. Damon's legs in his excitement, for he had hold of his feet, while Ned was at the head. "Are you all right?" gasped Ned. "Yes--I--I guess so. I--I feel as though I had been put through a clothes wringer though. What happened?" "A big snake dropped down out of a tree and grabbed you," answered Tom. "And then what? Put me down, boys, I guess I can walk." "We shot it," said Ned modestly. "Bless my insurance policy!" exclaimed the odd gentleman. "I--I hardly know what to say. I'll say it later. You saved my life. Let me see if any bones are broken." None was, fortunately, and after staggering about a bit Mr. Damon found that he could limp along. But he was very sore and bruised, for, though the snake had squeezed him but for part of a minute, that was long enough. A few seconds more and nearly every bone in his body would have been crushed, for that is the manner in which a constrictor snake kills its prey before devouring it. "Santa Maria! The dear gentleman is not dead then?" cried San Pedro, as the three approached the tents. "Bless my name plate, no!" exclaimed Mr. Damon. "Praise to all the saints! The brave young senors with their wonderful guns saved him. Now you must rest and sleep." "I feel as if that was all I wanted to do for a month," commented Mr. Damon. His soreness and stiffness increased each minute, and he was glad to get to bed, while the boys and Eradicate rubbed his limbs with liniment. San Pedro knew of a leaf that grew in the jungle which, when bruised, and made into poultices, had the property of drawing out soreness. The next day he found some, and Mr. Damon was wrapped up in bandages until he declared that he looked like an Egyptian mummy. But the leaf poultices did him good, and in a few days he was able to be about, though he was still a trifle stiff. Of course the cavalcade had to halt in the woods, but they did not mind this as they had traveled well up to this time, and the enforced rest was appreciated. "Well, do you feel able to move along?" asked Tom of Mr. Damon one morning, about a week later, for they were still in the "snake camp," as they called it in memory of the big serpent. "Oh, yes, I think so, Tom. Where are you going?" "I want to push on to the next village. There I hope to get some line on giant land, and really I ought to begin making inquiries soon. San Pedro and the others are wondering what our object is, for we haven't collected any specimens of either flowers or animals, or the snake skin, and he thinks we are a sort of scientific expedition." "Well, let's travel then. I'm able." So they started off once more along the jungle and forest trail. As San Pedro had predicted, they came upon evidences of a native village. Scattered huts, made of plastered mud and grass, with thatched roofs of palm leaves, were met with, as they advanced, but none of the places seemed to be inhabited, though rude gardens around them showed that they had been the homes of natives up to recently. "No one seems to be at home," remarked Tom, when they had gone past perhaps half a dozen of these lonely huts. "I wonder what can be the matter?" asked Ned. "It looks as if they had gone off in a hurry, too. Maybe there's been some sort of epidemic." "No, no sickness," said San Pedro. "Natives no sick." "Bless my liver pill!" cried Mr. Damon, who was almost himself again. "Then what is it?" "Much fight, maybe." "Much fight?" repeated Tom. "Yes, tribes at war. Maybe natives go away so as not be killed." "By Jove!" exclaimed the young inventor. "That's so. I forgot about what Mr. Preston said. There's a native war going on around here. Well, when we get to the town we can find out more about it, and steer clear of the two armies, if we have to." But as they went farther on, the evidences of a native war became more pronounced. They passed several huts that had been burned, and the native mule drivers began showing signs of fear. "I don't like this," murmured Tom to his chum. "It looks bad." "What can you do?" "Nothing, I guess. We've got to keep on. No use turning back now. Maybe the two rival forces have annihilated each other, and there aren't any fighters left." At that moment there arose a cry from some of the natives who, with the mules and their burdens, had pressed on ahead. "What's that?" exclaimed Tom. "Something's happened!" gasped Ned. "Bless my cartridge box!" cried Mr. Damon. The three went forward and came to a little hill. They looked down into a valley--a valley that had sheltered a native village, but the village was no more. It was but a heap of blackened and fire-scarred ruins, and there were still clouds of smoke arising from the grass huts, showing that the enemy had but recently made their assault on the place. "Bless my heart!" cried Mr. Damon. "The whole place has been wiped out." "Not one hut left," added Ned. "Hark!" cried Tom. An instant later there arose, off in the woods, a chorus of wild yells. It was followed by the weird sound of tom-toms and the gourd and skin drums of the natives. The shouting noise increased, and the sound of the war drums also. "Look!" cried Mr. Damon, pointing to a distant hill, and there the boys saw two large bodies of natives rushing toward one another, brandishing spears, clubs and the deadly blow guns. They were not more than half a mile away, and in plain view of Tom and his party, though the two forces had not yet seen our friends. "They're going to fight!" cried Tom. And the next moment the two bodies of natives came together in a mass, the enemies hurling themselves at each other with the eagerness and ferocity of wild beasts. It was a deadly battle. CHAPTER XIII THE DESERTION "Say, look at those fellows pitch into one another!" gasped Ned. "It's fighting at close range all right," commented Mr. Damon. "If they had rifles they wouldn't be at it hand to hand," spoke Tom. "Maybe it's just as well they haven't, for there won't be so many killed. But say, we'd better be thinking of ourselves. They may make up their quarrel and turn against us any minute." "No--never--no danger of them being friends--they are rival tribes," said San Pedro. "But either one may attack us--the one that is the victor. It is better that we keep away." "I guess you're right," agreed Tom. "Lead the way, San Pedro, and we'll get out of sight." But there was a fascination in watching the distant battle that was hard to resist. It was like looking at a moving picture, for at that distance none of the horrors of war were visible. True, natives went down by scores, and it was not to be doubted but what they were killed or injured, but it seemed more like a big football scrimmage than a fight. "This is great!" cried Tom. "I like to watch it, but I'm sorry for the poor chaps that get hurt or killed. I hope they're only stunned as we stunned the wild horses." "I'm afraid it is more serious than that," spoke San Pedro. "These natives are very bloodthirsty. It would not be well for us to incur their anger." "We won't run any chances," decided Tom. "We'll just travel on. Come on, Ned--Mr. Damon." As he spoke there was a sudden victorious shout from the scene of the battle. One body of natives was seen to turn and flee, while the others pursued them. "Now's our time to make tracks!" called Tom. "We'll have to push on to the next village before we can ask where the gi--" he caught himself just in time, for San Pedro was looking curiously at him. "The senor wishes to find something?" asked the head mule driver with an insinuating smile. "Yes," broke in Eradicate. "We all is lookin' fo' some monstrous giant orchards flowers." "Ah, yes, orchids," spoke San Pedro. "Well, there may be some in the jungle ahead of us, but the senors have come the wrong trail for flowers," and he looked curiously at Tom, while, from afar, come the sound of the native battle though the combatants could no longer be seen. "Never mind," said our hero quickly. "I guess I'll find what I want. Now come on." They started off, skirting the burned village to get on the trail beyond it. But hardly had they made a detour of the burned huts than one of the native drivers, who was in the rear, came riding up with a shout. "Now what's the matter?" cried Tom, looking back. There was a voluble chattering in Spanish between the driver and San Pedro. "He says the natives that lived in this village have driven their enemies away, and are coming back--after us," translated the head mule driver. "After us!" gasped Ned. "Yes," replied San Pedro simply. "They are coming even now. They will fight too, for all their wild nature is aroused." It needed but a moment's listening to prove this. From the rear came wild yells and the beating of drums and tom-toms. "Bless my fountain pen!" cried Mr. Damon. "What are we going to do?" "Stop them if we can," answered Tom coolly. "Ned, you and I and Mr. Damon will form a rear guard. San Pedro, take the mules and the men, and make as good time as you can in advance. We'll take three of the fastest mules, and hold these fellows back with the electric rifles, and when we've done that we'll ride on and catch up to you." "Very good," said San Pedro, who seemed relieved to know that he did not have to do any of the fighting. Three of the lighter weight mules, who carried small burdens, were quickly relieved of them, and mounting these steeds in preference to the ones they had been riding since they took the trail, Tom, Ned and Mr. Damon dropped back to try and hold off the enemy. They had not far to ride nor long to wait. They could hear the fierce yells of the victorious tribesmen as they came back to their ruined village, and though there were doubtless sad hearts among them, they rejoiced that they had defeated their enemies. They knew they could soon rebuild the simple grass huts. "Small charges, just to stun them!" ordered Tom, and the electric rifles were so adjusted. "Here's a good place to meet them," suggested Ned, as they came to a narrow turn in the trail. "They can't come against us but a few at a time, and we can pump them full of electricity from here." "The very thing!" cried Tom, as he dismounted, an example followed by the others. Then, in another moment, they saw the blacks rushing toward them. They were clad in nondescript garments, evidently of their own make, and they carried clubs, spears, bows and arrows and blow guns. There was not a firearm among them, as they passed on after the party of our friends whom they had seen from the battle-hill. They gave wild yells as they saw the young inventor's friends. "Let 'em have it!" called Tom in a low voice, and the electric rifles sent out their stunning charges. Several natives in the front rank dropped, and there was a cry of fear and wonder from the others. Then, after a moment's hesitation they pressed on again. "Once more!" cried Tom. Again the electric rifles spoke, and half a score went down unconscious, but not seriously hurt. In a few hours they would be as well as ever, such was the merciful charge that Tom Swift and the others used in the rifles. The third time they fired, and this was too much for the natives. They could not battle against an unseen and silent enemy who mowed them down like a field of grain. With wild yells they fled back along the trail they had come. "I guess that does it!" cried Tom. "We'd better join the others now." Mounting their mules, they galloped back to where San Pedro and his natives were pressing forward. "Did you have the honor of defeating them," the head mule driver asked. "I had the HONOR," answered Tom, with a grim smile. Then they pressed on, but there was no more danger. That night they camped in a peaceful valley and were not disturbed, and the following day they put a good many miles behind them. On the advice of San Pedro, they avoided the next two villages as they realized that they were in the war zone, and then they headed for a large town where Tom was sure he would hear some news of the giants. They had to camp twice at night before reaching this town, and when they did get to it they were warmly welcomed, for white explorers had been there years before, and had treated the natives well. Tom distributed many trinkets among the head men and won their good will so that the party was given comfortable huts in which to sleep, and a plentiful supply of provisions. "Can you arrange for a talk with the chief?" asked Tom of San Pedro that night. "I want to ask him about certain things." "About where you can find giant flowers?" asked the mule driver with a quick look. "Yes--er--and other giant things," replied Tom. "I fix," answered San Pedro shortly, but there was a queer look on his face. A few hours later Tom was summoned to the hut of the chief of the town, and thither he went with Ned, Mr. Damon and San Pedro as interpreter, for the natives spoke a jargon of their own that Tom could not understand. There were some simple ceremonies to observe, and then Tom found himself facing the chief, with San Pedro by his side. After the greetings, and an exchange of presents, Tom giving him a cheap phonograph with which the chief was wildly delighted, there came the time to talk. "Ask him where the giant men live?" our hero directed San Pedro, believing that the time had now come to disclose the object of his expedition. "Giant men, Senor Swift? I thought it was giant plants--orchids--you were after," exclaimed San Pedro. "Well, I'll take a few giant men if I can find them. Tell him I understand there is a tribe of giants in this country. Ask him if he ever heard of them." San Pedro hesitated. He looked at Tom, and the young inventor fancied that there was a tinge of white on the swarthy face of the chief mule driver. But San Pedro translated the question. Its effect on the chief was strange. He half leaped from his seat, and stared at Tom. Then he uttered a cry--a cry of fear--and spoke rapidly. "What does he say?" asked Tom of San Pedro eagerly, when the chief had ceased speaking. "He say--he say," began the mule driver and the words seemed to stick in his throat--"he say there ARE giants--many miles to the north. Terrible big men--very cruel--and they are fearful. Once they came here and took some of his people away. He is afraid of them. We are ALL afraid of them," and San Pedro looked around apprehensively, as though he might see one of the giants stalking into the chief's hut at any moment. "Ask him how many miles north?" asked Tom, hardly able to conceal his delight. The giants had no terrors for him. "Two weeks journey," translated San Pedro. "Good!" cried the young inventor. "Then we'll keep right on. Hurrah! I'm on the right track at last, and I'll have a giant for the circus and we may be able to rescue Mr. Poddington!" "Is the senor in earnest?" asked San Pedro, looking at Tom curiously. "Is he really going among these terrible giants?" "Yes, but I don't believe they'll be so terrible. They may be very gentle. I'm sure they'll be glad to come with me and join a circus--some of them--and earn a hundred dollars a week. Of course we're going on to giant land!" "Very good," said San Pedro quietly, and then he followed Tom out of the chief's hut. "It's all right, Ned old sport, we'll get to giant land after all!" cried Tom to his chum as they reached the hut where they were quartered. The next morning when Tom got up, and looked for San Pedro and his men, to give orders about the march that day, the mule drivers were nowhere to be seen. Nor were the mules in the places where they had been tethered. Their packs lay in a well ordered heap, but the animals and their drivers were gone. "This is queer," said Tom, rubbing his eyes to make sure that he saw aright. "I wonder where they are? Rad, look around for them." The colored man did so, and came back soon, to report that San Pedro and his men had gone in the night. Some of the native villagers told him so by signs, Eradicate said. They had stolen away. "Gone!" gasped Tom. "Gone where?" "Bless my railroad ticket!" cried Mr. Damon. "We're deserted," exclaimed Ned. "They've taken the mules, and left us." "I guess that's it," admitted Tom ruefully, after a minute's thought. "San Pedro couldn't stand for the giants. He's had a frightful flunk. Well, we're all alone, but we'll go on to giant land anyhow! We can get more mules. A little thing like this can't phase me. Are you with me, Ned--Mr. Damon--Eradicate?" "Of course we are!" they cried without a moment's hesitation. "Then we'll go to giant land alone!" exclaimed Tom. "Come on, now, and we'll see if we can arrange for some pack animals." CHAPTER XIV IN GIANT LAND When it first became sure that San Pedro and the other natives had deserted--fled in the night, for fear of the giants--there was a reactionary feeling of despondency and gloom among Tom and his three friends. But the boldness and energy of the young inventor, his vigorous words, his determination to proceed at any cost to the unknown land that lay before them--these served as a tonic, and after a few moments, Ned, Mr. Damon, and even Eradicate looked at things with brighter spirits. "Do you really mean it, Tom?" asked Ned. "Will you go on to giant land?" "I surely will, if we can find it. Why, we found the city of gold all alone, you and Mr. Damon and I, and I don't see why we can't find this land, especially when all we have to do is to march forward." "But look at the lot of stuff we have to carry!" went on Ned, waving his hand toward the heap of packs that the mule drivers had left behind. "Bless my baggage check, yes!" added Mr. Damon. "We can never do it. Tom. We had better leave it here, and try to get back to civilization." "Never!" cried Tom. "I started off after a giant, and I'm going to get one, if I can induce one of the big men to come back with me. I'm not going to give up when we're so close. We can get more pack animals, I'm sure. I'm going to have a try for it. If I can't speak the language of these natives I can make signs. Come on, Ned, we'll pay a morning visit to the chief." "I'll come along," added Mr. Damon. "That's right," replied the young inventor. "Rad, you go stand guard over our stuff. Some of the natives might not be able to withstand temptation. Don't let them touch anything." "Dat's what I won't, Massa Tom. Good land a massy! ef I sees any ob 'em lay a finger on a pack I'll shoot off my shotgun close to der ears, so I will. Oh, ef I only had Boomerang here, he could carry mos' all ob dis stuff his own se'f." "You've got a great idea of Boomerang's strength," remarked Tom with a laugh, as he and Ned and Mr. Damon started for the big hut where the chief lived. "Do you really think San Pedro and the others left because they were afraid of the giants we might meet?" asked Ned. "I think so," answered his chum. "Bless my toothpick!" gasped Mr. Damon. "In that case maybe we'd better be on the lookout ourselves." "Time enough to worry when we get there," answered the young inventor. "From what the circus man said the giants are not particularly cruel. Of course Mr. Preston didn't have much information to go on, but--well, we'll have to wait--that's all. But I'm sure San Pedro and the others were in a blue funk and vamoosed on that account." "Hey, Massa Tom!" suddenly called Eradicate. "Heah am a letter I found on de baggage," and he ran forward with a missive, rudely scrawled on a scrap of paper. "It's from San Pedro," remarked Tom after a glance at it, "and it bears out what I said. He writes that he and his men never suspected that we were going after the giants, or they would never have come with us. He says they are very sorry to leave us, as we treated them well, but are afraid to go on. He adds that they have taken enough of our bartering goods to make up their wages, and enough food to carry them to the next village." "Well," finished Tom. as he folded the paper, "I suppose we can't kick, and, maybe after all, it will be for the best. Now to see if the chief can let us have some mules." It took some time, by means of signs, to make the chief understand what had happened, but, when Tom had presented him with a little toy that ran by a spring, and opened up a pack of trading goods, which he indicated would be exchanged for mules, or other beasts of burden, the chief grinned in a friendly fashion, and issued certain orders. Several of his men hurried from the big hut, and a little later, when Tom was showing the chief how to run the toy, there was a sound of confusion outside. "Bless my battle axe!" cried Mr. Damon. "I hope that's not another war going on." "It's our new mules!" cried Ned, taking a look. "And some cows and a bony horse or two, Tom. We've drawn a rich lot of pack animals!" Indeed there was a nondescript collection of beasts of burden. There were one or two good mules, several sorry looking horses, and a number of sleepy-eyed steers. But there were enough of them to carry all the boxes and bales that contained the outfit of our friends. "It might be worse," commented Tom. "Now if they'll help us pack up we'll travel on." More sign language was resorted to, and the chief, after another present had been made to him, sent some of his men to help put the packs on the animals. The steers, which Tom did not regard with much favor, proved to be better than the mules, and by noon our friends were all packed up again, and ready to take the trail. The chief gave them a good dinner,--as native dinners go,--and then, after telling them that, though he had never seen the giants it had long been known that they inhabited the country to the north, he waved a friendly good-bye. "Well, we'll see what luck we'll have by ourselves," remarked Tom, as he mounted a bony mule, an example followed by Ned, Mr. Damon and Eradicate, They had left behind some of their goods, and so did not have so much to carry. Food they had in condensed form and they were getting into the more tropical part of the country where game abounded. It was not as easy as they had imagined it would be for, with only four to drive so many animals, several of the beasts were continually straying from the trail, and once a big steer, with part of the aeroplane on its back, wandered into a morass and they had to labor hard to get the animal out. "Well, this is fierce!" exclaimed Tom, at the end of the first day when, tired and weary, bitten by insects, and torn by jungle briars, they made camp that night. "Going to give up?" asked Ned. "Not much!" They felt better after supper, and, tethering the animals securely, they stretched out in their tents, with mosquito canopies over them to keep away the pestering insects. "I've got a new scheme," announced Tom next morning at breakfast. "What is it? Going on the rest of the way in the aeroplane?" asked Ned hopefully. "No, though I believe if I had brought the big airship along I could have used it. But I mean about driving the animals. I'm going to make a long line of them, tying one to the other like the elephants in the circus when they march around, holding each other's tails. Then one of us will ride in front, another in the rear, and one on each side. In that way we'll keep them going and they won't stray off." "Bless my button hook!" cried Mr. Damon. "That's a good idea, Tom!" It was carried out with much success, and thereafter they traveled better. But even at the best it was not easy work, and more than once Tom's friends urged him to turn back. But he would not, ever pressing on, with the strange land for his goal. They had long since passed the last of the native villages, and they had to depend on their own efforts for food. Fortunately they did not have any lack of game, and they fared well with what they had with them in the packs. Occasionally they met little bands of native hunters, and, though usually these men fled at the sight of our friends, yet once they managed to make signs to one, who, informed them as best he could, that giant land was still far ahead of them. Twice they heard distant sounds of native battles and the weird noise of the wooden drums and the tom-toms. Once, as they climbed up a big hill, they looked down into a valley and saw a great conflict in which there must have been several thousand natives on either side. It was a fierce battle, seen even from afar, and Tom and the others shuddered as they slipped down over the other side of the rise, and out of sight. "We'd better steer clear of them," was Tom's opinion; and the others agreed with him. For another week they kept on, the way becoming more and more difficult, and the country more and more wild. They had fairly to cut their way through the jungle at times, and the only paths were animal trails, but they were better than nothing. For the last five days they had not seen a human being, and the loneliness was telling on them. "I'd be glad to see even a two-headed giant," remarked Tom whimsically one night as they made their camp. "Yes, and I'd be glad to hear someone talk, even in the sign language," added Ned, with a grin. They slept well, for they were very tired, and Tom, who shared his tent with Ned, was awakened rather early the next morning by hearing someone moving outside the canvas shelter. "Is that you, Mr. Damon?" he asked, the odd gentleman having a tent adjoining that of the boys. There was no answer. "Rad, are you getting breakfast?" asked the young inventor. "What time is it?" Still no answer. "What's the matter?" asked Ned, who had been awakened by Tom's inquiries. Before our hero had a chance to reply the flap of his tent was pulled back, and a head was thrust in. But such a head! It was enormous! A head covered with a thick growth of tawny hair, and a face almost hidden in a big tawny, bushy beard. Then an arm was thrust in--an arm that terminated in a brawny fist that clasped a great club. There was no mistaking the object that gazed in on the two youths. It was a gigantic man--a man almost twice the size of any Tom had ever seen. And then our hero knew that he had reached the end of his quest. "A giant!" gasped Tom. "Ned! Ned, we're in the big men's country, and we didn't know it!" "I--I guess you're right, Tom!" The giant started at the sounds of their voices, and then his face breaking into a broad grin, that showed a great mouth filled with white teeth, he called to them in an unknown tongue and in a voice that seemed to fairly shake the frail tent. CHAPTER XV IN THE "PALACE" OF THE KING For a few moments after their first ejaculations neither Tom nor Ned knew what to do. The giant continued to gaze at them, with the same good-natured grin on his face. Possibly he was amused at the small size of the persons in the tent. Then Tom spoke. "He doesn't look as if he would bite, Ned." "No, he seems harmless enough. Let's get up, and see what happens. I wonder if there are any more of them? They must have come out on an early hunt, and stumbled upon our camp." At this moment there arose a cry from Mr. Damon's tent. "Bless my burglar alarm!" shouted the odd gentleman. "Tom--Ned--am I dreaming? There's a man here as big as a mountain. Tom! Ned!" "It's all right, Mr. Damon!" called Tom. "We're among the giants all right. They won't hurt you." "Fo' de good land ob massy!" screamed Eradicate, a second later, and then they knew that he, too, had seen one of the big men. "Fo' de lub ob pork chops! Am dis de Angel Gabriel? Listen to de blowin' ob de trump! Oh, please good Massa Angel Gabriel, I ain't nebber done nuffin! I's jest po' ol' Eradicate Sampson, an' I got a mule Boomerang, and' dat's all I got. Please good Mr. Angel--" "Dry up, Rad!" yelled Tom. "It's only one of the giants. Come on out of your tent and get breakfast. We're on the borders of giant land, evidently, and they seem as harmless as ordinary men. Get up, everybody." As Tom spoke he rose from the rubber blanket on which he slept. Ned did the same, and the giant slowly pulled his head out from the tent. Then the two youths went outside. A strange sight met their gaze. There were about ten natives standing in the camp--veritable giants, big men in every way. The young inventor had once seen a giant in a circus, and, allowing for shoes with very thick soles which the big man wore, his height was a little over seven feet. But these South American giants seemed more than a foot higher than that, none of those who had stumbled upon the camp being less than eight feet. "And I believe there must be bigger ones in their land, wherever that is," said Tom. Nor were these giants tall and thin, as was the one Tom had seen, but stout, and well proportioned. They were savages, that was evident, but the curious part of it was that they were almost white, and looked much like the pictures of the old Norsemen. But, best of all, they seemed good-natured, for they were continually laughing or smiling, and though they looked with wonder on the pile of boxes and bales, and on the four travelers, they seemed more bewildered and amused, than vindictive that their country should have been invaded. Evidently the fears of the natives who had told Tom about the giants had been unfounded. By this time Mr. Damon and Eradicate had come from their tents, and were gazing with startled eyes at the giants who surrounded them. "Bless my walking stick!" exclaimed Mr. Damon. "Is it possible?" "Yes, we've arrived!" cried Tom. "Now to see what happens. I wonder if they'll take us to their village, and I wonder if I can get one of these giants for Mr. Preston's circus?" "You certainly can't unless he wants to come," declared Ned. "You'd have a hard tussle trying to carry one of these fellows away against his will, Tom." "I sure would. I'll have to make inducements. Well, I wonder what is best to do?" The giant who had looked in the tent of Ned and Tom, and who appeared to be the leader of the party, now spoke in his big, booming voice. He seemed to be asking Tom a question, but the young inventor could not understand the language. Tom replied in Spanish, giving a short account of why he and his companions had come to the country, but the giant shook his head. Then Mr. Damon, who knew several languages, tried all of them--but it was of no use. "We've got to go back to signs," declared Tom, and then, as best he could, he indicated that he and the others had come from afar to seek the giants. He doubted whether he was understood, and he decided to wait until later to try and make them acquainted with the fact that he wanted one of them to come back with him. The head giant nodded, showing that at least he understood something, and then spoke to his companions. They conversed in their loud voices for some time, and then motioned to the pack animals. "I guess they want us to come along," said Tom, "but let's have breakfast first. Rad, get things going. Maybe the giants will have some coffee and condensed milk, though they'll have to take about ten cupsful to make them think they've had anything. Make a lot of coffee, Rad." "But good land a massy, dey'll eat up eberyt'ing we got, Massa Tom," objected the colored man. "Can't help it, Rad. They're our guests and we've got to be polite," replied the youth. "It isn't every day that we have giants to breakfast." The big men watched curiously while Rad built a fire, and when the colored man was trying to break a tough stick of wood with the axe, one of the giants picked up the fagot and snapped it in his fingers as easily as though it were a twig, though the stick was as thick as Tom's arm. "Some strength there," murmured Ned to his chum admiringly. "Yes, if they took a notion to go on a rampage we'd have trouble. But they seem kind and gentle." Indeed the giants did, and they liked the coffee which they tasted rather gingerly at first. After their first sip they wanted more, made as sweet as possible, and they laughed and talked among themselves while Eradicate boiled pot after pot. "Dey suah will eat us out of house an' home, Massa Tom," he wailed. "Never mind, Rad. They will feed us well when we get to their town." Then the pack animals were laden with their burdens. This was always a task, but for the giants it was child's play. With one hand they would lift a box or bale that used to tax the combined strength of the four travelers, and soon the steers, horses and mules were ready to proceed. The giants went on ahead, to show the way, the first one, who seemed to be called "Oom," for that was the way his companions addressed him, walked beside Tom, who rode on a mule. In fact the giant had to walk slowly, so as not to get ahead of the animal. Oom tried to talk to Tom, but it was hard work to pick out the signs that meant something, and so neither gained much information. Tom did gather, however, that the giants were out on an early hunt when they had discovered our friends, and their chief town lay about half a day's journey off in the jungle. The path along which they proceeded, was better than the forest trails, and showed signs of being frequently used. "It doesn't seem possible that we are really among giants, Tom," spoke Ned, as they rode along. "I hardly believed there were giants." "There always have been giants," declared the young inventor. "I read about them in an encyclopedia before I started on this trip. Of course there's lots of wild stories about giants, but there have really been some very big men. Take the skeleton in the museum of Trinity College, Dublin. It is eight feet and a half in height, and the living man must have even taller. There was a giant named O'Brien, and his skeleton is in the College of Physicians and Surgeons of England--that one is eight feet two inches high, while there are reliable records to show that, when living, O'Brien was two inches taller than that. In fact, according to the books, there have been a number of giants nine feet high." "Then these chaps aren't so wonderful," replied Ned. "Oh, we haven't seen them all yet. We may find some bigger than these fellows, though any one of these would be a prize for a museum. Not a one is less than eight feet, and if we could get one say ten feet--that WOULD be a find." "Rather an awkward one," commented Ned. It did not seem possible that they were really in giant land, yet such was the fact. Of course the country itself was no different from any other part of the jungle, for merely because big men lived in it did not make the trees or plants any larger. "I tell you how I account for it," said Tom, as they traveled on. "These men originally belonged to a race of people noted for their great size. Then they must have lived under favorable conditions, had plenty of flesh and bone-forming food, and after several generations they gradually grew larger. You know that by feeding the right kind of food to animals you can make them bigger, while if they get the wrong kind they are runts, or dwarfs." "Oh, yes; that's a well-known fact," chimed in Mr. Damon. "Then why not with human beings?" went on Tom. "There's nothing wonderful in this." "No, but it will be wonderful if we get away with one of these giants," spoke Ned grimly. Further talk was interrupted by a sudden shouting on the part of the big men. Oom made some rapid motions to Tom, and a little later they emerged from the woods upon a large, grassy plain, on the other side of which could be seen a cluster of big grass and mud huts. "There is the city of the giants!" cried Tom, and so it proved, a little later, when they got to it. Now there was nothing remarkable about this city or native town. It was just like any other in the wilder parts of South America or Africa. There was a central place, where, doubtless, the natives gathered on market days, and from this the huts of the inhabitants stretched out in irregular lines, like streets. Off to one side of the "market square," as Tom called it, was a large hut, surrounded by several smaller ones, and from the manner in which it was laid out, and decorated, it was evident that this was the "palace" of the king, or chief ruler. "Say, look at that fellow!" cried Ned, pointing to a giant who was just entering the "palace" as Tom dubbed the big hut. "He LOOKS eleven feet if he's an inch." "I believe you!" cried Tom. "Say, I wonder how big the king is?" "I don't know, but he must be a top-notcher. I wonder what will happen to us?" Oom, who had Tom and his party in charge, led them to the "palace" and it was evident that they were going to be presented to the chief or native king. Back of our friends stretched out their pack train, the beasts carrying the boxes and bales. Surrounding them were nearly all the inhabitants of the giants' town, and when the cavalcade had come to a halt in front of the "palace," Oom raised his voice in a mighty shout. It was taken up by the populace, and then every one of them knelt down. "I guess His Royal Highness is about to appear," said Tom grimly. "Yes, maybe we'd better kneel, too," spoke Ned. "Not much! We're citizens of the United States, and we don't kneel to anybody. I'm going to stand up." "So am I!" said Mr. Damon. An instant later the grass mat that formed the front door of the "palace" was drawn aside, and there stood confronting our hero and his friends, the King of Giant Land. And a mighty king was he in size, for he must have been a shade over ten feet tall, while on either side of him was a man nearly as big as himself. Once more Oom boomed out a mighty shout and, kneeling as the giants were, they took it up, repeating it three times. The king raised his hand as though in blessing upon his people, and then, eyeing Tom and his three friends he beckoned them to approach. "He wants to see us at close range," whispered the young inventor. "Come on, Ned and Mr. Damon. Trail along, Eradicate." "Good--good land ob massy!" stammered the colored man. And then the little party advanced into the "palace" of the giant king. CHAPTER XVI THE RIVAL CIRCUS MAN Tom Swift gazed fearlessly into the face of the giant ruler who confronted him. The young inventor said later that he had made up his mind that to show no fear was the only way of impressing the big king, for surely no show of strength could have done it. With one hand the giant could have crushed the life from our hero. But evidently he had no such intentions, for after gazing curiously at the four travelers who stood before him, and looking for some time at the honest, black face of Eradicate, the king made a motion for them to sit down. They did, upon grass mats in the big hut that formed the palace of the ruler. It was not a very elaborate place, but then the king's wants were few and easily satisfied. The place was clean, Tom was glad to note. The king, who was addressed by his subjects as Kosk, as nearly as Tom could get it, asked some questions of Oom, who seemed to be the chief of the hunters. Thereupon the man who had looked into Tom's and Ned's tent that morning, and who had followed them into the palace, began a recital of how he had found the little travelers. Though Tom and his friends could not understand a word of the language, it was comparatively easy to follow the narrative by the gestures used. Then the king asked several questions, others of the hunting party were sent for and quizzed, and finally the ruler seemed satisfied, for he rattled off a string of talk in his deep, booming voice. Truly he was a magnificent specimen of manhood, being as I have said, about ten feet tall, and built in proportion. On either side of him, upon rude benches covered with soft jaguar skins, sat two men, evidently his brothers, for they looked much like the king. One was called Tola and the other Koku, for the ruler addressed them from time to time, and seemed to be asking their advice. "They're making up their minds what to do with us," murmured Tom. "I only hope they let us stay long enough to learn the language, and then I can make an offer to take one back to the United States with me." "Jove! Wouldn't it be great if you could get the king!" exclaimed Ned. "Oh, that's too much, but I'd like one of his brothers. They're each a good nine feet tall, and they must be as strong as horses." In contrast to some giants of history, whose only claim to notoriety lay in their height, these giants were very powerful. Many giants have flabby muscles, but these of South America were like athletes. Tom realized this when there suddenly entered the audience chamber a youth of about our hero's age, but fully seven feet tall, and very big. He was evidently the king's son, for he wore a jaguar skin, which seemed to be a badge of royalty. He had seemingly entered without permission, to see the curious strangers, for the king spoke quickly to him, and then to Tola, who with a friendly grin on his big face lifted the lad with one hand and deposited him in a room that opened out of the big chamber. "Did you see that!" cried Ned. "He lifted him as easily as you or I would a cat, and I'll bet that fellow weighed close to four hundred pounds, Tom." "I should say so! It's great!" The audience was now at an end, and Tom thought it was about time to make some sort of a present to the king to get on good terms with him. He looked out of the palace hut and saw that their pack animals were close at hand. Nearby was one that had on its back a box containing a phonograph and some records. Making signs that he wanted to bring in some of his baggage, Tom stepped out of the hut, telling his friends to wait for him. The king and the other giants watched the lad curiously, but did not endeavor to stop him. "I'm going to give him a little music," went on the young inventor as he adjusted the phonograph, and slipped in a record of a lively dance air. His motions were curiously watched, and when the phonograph started and there was a whirr of the mechanism, some of the giants who had crowded into the king's audience chamber, showed a disposition to run. But a word of command from their ruler stopped them. Suddenly the music started and, coming forth as it did from the phonograph horn, in the midst of that hut, in which stood the silence-awed giants, it was like a bolt of lightning from the clear sky. At first the king and all the others seemed struck dumb, and then there arose a mighty shout, and one word was repeated over and over again. It sounded like "Chackalok! Chackalok!" and later Tom learned that it meant wizard, magician or something like that. Shout after shout rent the air, and was taken up by those outside, for through the open door the strains of music floated. The giants seemed immensely pleased, after their first fright, and suddenly the king, coming down from his throne, stood with his big ear as nearly inside the horn as he could get it. A great grin spread over his face and then, approaching Tom, he leaned over, touched him once on the forehead, and uttered a word. At this sign of royal favor the other giants at once bowed to Tom. "Say," cried Ned, "you've got his number all right! You're one of the royal family now, Tom." "It looks like it. Well, I'm glad of it, for I want to be on friendly terms with His Royal Highness." Once more the king addressed Tom, and the head hunter, motioning to Tom and his friends, led them out of the palace, and to a large hut not far off. This, he made himself understood by signs, was to be their resting place, and truly it was not a bad home, for it was well made. It had simple furniture in it, low couches covered with skins, stools, and there were several rooms to it. Calling in authorative tones to his fellow hunters, Tom had them take the packs off the beasts of burdens and soon the boxes, bales and packages were carried into the big hut, which was destined to be the abiding place of our friends for some time. The animals were then led away. "Well, here we are, safe and sound, with all our possessions about us," commented Tom, when all but Oom had withdrawn. "I guess we'll make out all right in giant land. I wonder what they have to eat? Or perhaps we'd better tackle some of our own grub." He looked at Oom, who laughed gleefully. Then Tom rubbed his stomach, opened his mouth and pointed to it and said: "We'd like to eat--we're hungry!" Oom boomed out something in his bass voice, grinned cheerfully, and hurried out. A little later he came back, and following him, a number of giant women. Each one bore a wooden platter or slab of bark which answered for a plate. The plates were covered with broad palm leaves, and when they had been set down on low benches, and the coverings removed, our friends saw they had food in abundance. There was some boiled lamb, some roasted fowls, some cereal that looked like boiled rice, some sweet potatoes, a number of other things which could only be guessed at, and a big gourd filled with something that smelled like sweet cider. "Say, this is a feast all right, after what we've been living on!" cried Tom. Once more Oom laughed joyfully, pointing to the food and to our friends in turn. "Oh, we'll eat all right!" exclaimed Tom. "Don't worry about that!" The good-natured giant showed them where they could find rude wooden dishes and table implements, and then he left them alone. It was rather awkward at first, for though the bench or table looked low in comparison to the size of the room, yet it was very high, to allow for the long legs of the giants getting under it. "If we stay here long enough we can saw off the table legs," said the young inventor. "Now for our first meal in giant land." They were just helping themselves when there arose a great shouting outside. "I wonder what's up now?" asked Tom, pausing with upraised fork. "Maybe the king is coming to see us," suggested Ned. "I'll look," volunteered Mr. Damon, as he went to the door. Then he called quickly: "Tom! Ned! Look! It's that minister we met on the ship--Reverend Josiah Blinderpool! How in the world did he ever get here? And how strangely he's dressed!" Well might Mr. Damon say this, for the supposed clergyman was attired in a big checked suit, a red vest, a tall hat and white canvas shoes. In fact he was almost like some theatrical performer. The gaudily-dressed man was accompanied by two natives, and all rode mules, and there were three other animals, laden with packs on either side. "What's his game?" mused Ned. The answer came quickly and from the man himself. Riding forward toward the king's hut or palace, while the populace of wondering giants followed behind, the man raised his voice in a triumphant announcement. "Here at last!" he cried. "In giant land! And I'm ahead of Tom Swift for all his tricks. I've got Tom Swift beat a mile." "Oh, you have!" shouted our hero with a sudden resolve, as he stepped into view. "Well, you've got another guess coming. I'm here ahead of you, and there's standing room only." "Tom Swift!" gasped the rival circus man. "Tom Swift here in ahead of me!" CHAPTER XVII HELD CAPTIVES There was a great commotion among the giants. Men, women and children ran to and fro, and a number of the largest of the big men could be seen hurrying into the palace hut of King Kosk. If the arrival of Tom and his friends had created a surprise it was more than doubled when the circus man, and his small caravan, advanced into the giants' city. His approach had been unheralded because the giants were so taken up with Tom and his party that no one thought to guard the paths leading into the village. And, as a matter of fact, the giants were so isolated, they were so certain of their own strength, and they had been unmolested so many years, that they did not dream of danger. As for our hero, he stood in the hut gazing at his rival, while Hank Delby, in turn, stared at the young inventor. Then Hank dismounted from his mule and approached Tom's hut. "Bless my railroad ticket!" exclaimed Mr. Damon. "This is a curious state of affairs! What in the world are we to do, Tom?" "I don't know, I'm sure. We'll have to wait until we see what HE does. He's been following us all along. He was that fake minister on the boat. It's a wonder we didn't get on to him. I believe he's been trying to learn our secret ever since Mr. Preston warned us about him. Now he's here and he'll probably try to spoil our chances for getting a giant so that he may get one for himself. Perhaps Andy Foger gave him a tip about our plans." "But can't we stop him?" asked Ned. "I'm going to try!" exclaimed Tom grimly. "Here he comes," spoke Mr. Damon quickly. "I wonder what he wants?" Hank Delby had started toward the big hut that sheltered our friends, while the gathered crowd of curious giants looked on and wondered what the arrival of two white parties so close together could mean. "Well, what do you want?" asked Tom, when, his rival had come within speaking distance. "There's no use beating about the bush with you, Tom Swift," was the frank answer. "I may as well out with it. I came after a giant, and I'm going to get one for Mr. Waydell." "Then you took advantage of our trail, and followed us?" asked the young inventor. "Oh, you can put it that way if you like," replied Delby calmly. "I HAVE followed you, and a hard time I've had of it. I tried to do it quietly, but you got on to my tricks. However it doesn't matter. I'm here now, and I'm going to beat you out if I can." "I remember now!" exclaimed Ned whispering in Tom's ear, "he was disguised as one of the mule drivers and you fired him because he had a revolver. Don't you remember, Tom?" "That's right!" exclaimed the young inventor as he noted the face and form of Delby more closely. Then our hero added: "You played a low-down trick, Mr. Delby, and it won't do you any good. I caught you trying to sneak along in my company and I'll catch you again. I'm here first, and I've got the best right to try and get a giant for Mr. Preston, and if you had any idea of fair play--" "All's fair in this business, Tom Swift," was the quick answer. "I'm going to do my best to beat you, and I expect you to do your best to beat me. I can't speak any fairer than that. It's war between us, from now on, and you might as well know it. One thing I will promise you, though, if there's any danger of you or your party getting hurt by these big men I'll fight on your side. But I guess they are too gentle to fight." "We can look after ourselves," declared Tom. "And since it's to be war between us look out for yourself." "Don't worry!" exclaimed Tom's rival with a laugh. "I've gone through a lot to get here, and I'm not going to give up without a struggle. I guess--" But he did not finish his sentence for at that moment Oom, the big hunting giant, came up behind him, tapped him on the shoulder, and pointed to the king's hut, motioning to indicate that Mr. Delby was wanted there. "Very good," said the circus agent in what he tried to make sound like a jolly voice, "I'm to call on his majesty; am I? Here's where I beat you to it, Tom Swift." Tom did not answer, but there was a worried look on his face, as he turned to join his friends in the big hut. And, as he looked from a window, and saw Delby being led into the presence of Kosk, Tom could hear the strains of the big phonograph he had presented to the king. "I guess his royal highness will remain friends with us," said Ned with a smile, as he heard the music. "He can see what a lot of presents and other things we have, and as for that Delby, he doesn't seem to have much of anything." "Oh, I haven't shown half the things I have as yet," spoke Tom. "But I don't like this, just the same. Those giants may turn from us, and favor him on the slightest pretence. I guess we've got our work cut out for us." "Then let's plan some way to beat him," suggested Mr. Damon. "Look over your goods, Tom, and make the king a present that will bind his friendship to us." "I believe I will," decided the young inventor and then he and Ned began overhauling the boxes and bales, while a crowd of curious giants stood without their hut, and another throng surrounded the palace of the giant king. "There goes Delby out to get something from his baggage," announced Ned, looking from the window. Tom saw his rival taking something from one of the packs slung across the back of a mule. Soon the circus agent hurried back into the king's hut, and a moment later there was heard the strains of a banjo being picked by an unpracticed hand. It was succeeded by a rattling tune played in good style. "Bless my fiddlestick!" exclaimed Mr. Damon, "Does your phonograph have a banjo record, Tom?" "No." was the somewhat hesitating answer of the young inventor. "Delby who can play a banjo himself must have given Kosk one for a present, and, like a child, the king is amused by the latest novelty. So far he has scored one on us," he added, as once more they heard the unmelodious strains of the banjo slowly picked. "The king is evidently learning to play the instrument, and he'd rather have that than a phonograph, which only winds up." "But haven't you some other things you can give the king to off-set the banjo?" asked Mr. Damon. "Plenty of them," replied Tom. "But if I give him--say a toy steam engine, for I have one among our things--what is to prevent Delby giving him some other novelty that will take his attention? In that way we'll sea-saw back and forth, and I guess Delby has had more experience in this business than I have. It's going to be a question which of us gets a giant." "Bless my reserved seat ticket!" exclaimed Mr. Damon. "I never heard of such a thing! But, Tom, I'm sure we'll win out." "Get something startling to give the king," advised Ned, and Tom began opening one of the boxes that had been transported with such labor from the coast. "Delby had much better luck with his mule drivers than we did Tom," remarked Ned as he saw the two natives standing by the pack animals of the rival circus man. "They evidently didn't get scared off by the giants." "No, but probably he didn't tell them where they were headed for. Though, as a matter of fact, I don't believe any one has anything to fear from these big men. All they ask is to be let alone. They're not at all warlike, and I don't believe they'd attack the other natives. But probably their size makes them feared, and when our drivers heard the word 'giant' they simply wilted." "Guess you're right. But come on, Tom. If we're going to make the king a present that will open his eyes, and get him on our side instead of Delby's, we'd better be getting at it." "I will. This is what I'm going to give him," and Tom brought out from a box a small toy circus, with many performing animals and acrobats, the whole being worked by a small steam engine that burned alcohol for fuel. A little water put in the boiler of the toy engine, a lighting of the alcohol wick and there would be a toy that even a youngster of the United States might be proud to own. "Mah land a massy!" exclaimed Eradicate as Tom got the apparatus ready to work. "Dat shore will please him!" "It ought to," replied the young inventor. "Come on, now I'm ready." Delby had not yet come from the king's hut, and as Tom and his friends, bearing the new toy, were about to leave the structure that had been set aside for their use, they saw a crowd of the giant men approaching. Each of the big men carried a club and a spear. "Bless my eye glasses!" gasped Mr. Damon. "Something is wrong. What can it be?" He had his answer a moment later. With a firm but gentle motion the chief giant shoved our four friends back into the hut, and then pulled the grass mat over the opening. Then, as Tom and the others could see by looking from a crack, he and several others took their position in front, while other giants went to the various windows, stationing themselves outside like sentries around a guard house. "Bless my--" began Mr. Damon, but words failed him. "We're prisoners!" gasped Ned. "It looks like it," admitted Tom grimly. "Evidently Delby has carried out his threat and set the king against us. We are to be held captives here, and he can do as he pleases. Oh, why didn't I think sooner." CHAPTER XVIII TOM'S MYSTERIOUS BOX The young inventor walked slowly back to the middle of the hut--a prison now it was--and sat down on a bench. The others followed his example, and the elaborate toy, with which they had hoped to win the king's favor, was laid aside. For a moment there was silence in the structure--a silence broken only by the pacing up and down of the giant guards outside. Then Eradicate spoke. "Massa Tom," began the aged negro, "can't we git away from heah?" "It doesn't seem so, Rad." "Can't we shoot some of dem giants wif de 'lectric guns, an' carry a couple ob 'em off after we stun 'em like?" "No, Rad; I'm afraid violent measures won't do, though now that you speak of the guns I think that we had better get them ready." "You're not going to shoot any of them, are you, Tom?" asked Mr. Damon quickly. "No, but if they continue to turn against us as easily as they have, there is no telling what may happen. If they attack us we will have to defend ourselves. But I think they are too gentle for that, unless they are unduly aroused by what misstatements Hank Delby may make against us." "Misstatements?" inquired Ned. "Yes. I don't doubt but what he told the king a lot of stuff that isn't true, to cause his majesty to make us captives here. Probably he said we came to destroy the giant city with magic, or something like that, and he represented himself as a simple traveler. He's used to that sort of business, for he has often tried to get ahead of Mr. Preston in securing freaks or valuable animals for the circus. He wants to make it look bad for us, and good for himself. So far he has succeeded. But I've got a plan." "What is it?" asked Mr. Damon. "I'll tell you when I've got it more worked out. The thing to do now is to get in shape to stand off the giants if they should attack us. This hut is pretty strong, and we can risk a siege in here. Let's arrange the boxes and bales into a sort of breastwork, and then we'll take the electric rifles inside." This was soon done, and, though there was considerable noise attending the moving about of the boxes and bales, the giant guards did not seem at all alarmed. They did not even take the trouble to stop the work, though they looked in the windows. In a short time there was a sort of hollow square formed in the middle of the big main room, and inside of this our friends could give battle. "And now for my plan of teaching these giants a lesson," said Tom, when this work was finished. "Ned, help me open this box," and he indicated one with his initials on in red letters. "That's the same one you saved from the fire in the ship," commented Ned. "Yes, and I can't put it to just exactly the use I intended, as the situation has changed--for the worse I may say. But this box will answer a good purpose," and Tom and Ned proceeded to open the mysterious case which the young inventor had transported with such care. "Bless my cannon cracker!" exclaimed Mr. Damon who watched them. "You're as careful of that as if it contained dynamite." "It does contain something like that," answered Tom. "It has some blasting powder in, and I was going to use it to show the giants how little their strength would prevail against the power which the white man could secure from some harmless looking powder. There are also a lot of fireworks in the box, and I intend to use them to scare these big men. That's why I was so afraid when I heard that there was a blaze near my box. I was worried for fear the ship would be blown up. But I can't use the blasting powder--at least not now. But we'll give these giants an idea of what Fourth of July looks like. Come on, Ned, we'll take a look and see from which window it will be safest to set off the rockets and other things, as I don't want to set fire to any of the grass huts." Eradicate and Mr. Damon looked on wonderingly while Tom and his chum got out the packages of fireworks which had been kept safe and dry. As for the giant guards, if they saw through the windows what was going on, they made no effort to stop Tom. Tom had brought along a good collection of sky rockets, aerial bombs, Roman candles and similar things, together with the blasting powder. The latter was put in a safe place in a side room, and then, with some boards, the young inventor and his chum proceeded to make a sort of firing stand. One big window opened out toward a vacant stretch of woods into which it would not be dangerous to aim the fireworks. Building the stand took some time, and they knocked off to make a meal from the food that had been brought, and which they had been about to eat when the circus man had appeared. The food was good, and it made them feel better. "I hope they won't forget us to-morrow," observed Tom, for there was enough of the first meal left for supper. "But if they do we have some food of our own." "Oh, I don't think they mean to starve us," remarked Ned. "I think they are just acting on suggestions from that circus man." "Perhaps," agreed Tom. "Well, they may sing another tune when we get through with them." As night approached the giant guards about the hut were changed, and again the women came, bearing platters of food. There was plenty of it, showing that the king, however fickle his friendship might be, did not intend to starve his captives. Tom and his friends had not seen Delby come out of the royal palace, and they concluded that he was still with his giant majesty. "Is it dark enough now, Tom?" asked Ned of his chum, as they sat about the rude wooden platform which they had made to hold the fireworks. "Shall we set them off?" "Pretty soon now. Wait until it gets a little darker, and the effect will be better." The room was dimly lighted by a small portable electric lamp, one of several Tom had brought along in his mysterious box. The lamps were operated by miniature but powerful dry batteries. The giant guards were still outside, but they showed no disposition to interfere with our friends. "There's something going on at the palace," reported Mr. Damon, who was watching the big hut. "There are a lot of giants around it with torches." "Maybe they're going to escort Delby to a hut with the same honors they paid us," suggested Tom. "If they do, we'll set off the fireworks as he comes out and maybe they'll think he is afflicted with bad magic, and they'll give us our freedom." "Good idea!" cried Ned. "Say, that's what they're going to do," he added a moment later as, in the glare of a number of torches, there could be seen issuing from the king's palace, the two big giants, evidently his brothers. Between them was the figure of the circus man, looking like a dwarf. He was not so far away but what the smile of triumph on his face could be seen as he glanced in the direction of the darkened hut where Tom and his friends were captives. "Now's our chance!" cried the young inventor. "Set 'em off, Ned. You help, Mr. Damon. The more noise and fuss we make at once, the more impressive it will be. Set off everything in sight!" There was a flicker of matches as they were applied to the fuses, and then a splutter of sparks. An instant later it seemed as if the whole heavens had been lighted up. Sky rockets shot screaming toward the zenith, aerial bombs went whirling slantingly upward amid a shower of sparks, then to burst with deafening reports, sending out string after string of colored lights. Red and green fire gleamed, and the hot balls from Roman candles burst forth. There was a whizz, a rush and a roar. Blinding flashes and startling reports followed each other as Tom and his friends set off the fireworks. It was like the Independence Day celebration of some little country village, and to the simple giants it must have seemed as if a volcano had suddenly gone into action. For several minutes the din and racket, the glare and explosions, kept up, pouring out of the big window of the hut. And then, as the last of the display was shot off, and darkness seemed to settle down blacker than ever over the giant village, there arose howls of fear and terror from the big men and their women and children. They cried aloud in their thunderous voices, and there was fear in every cry. CHAPTER XIX WEAK GIANTS A great silence followed the setting off of the fireworks--silence and darkness--and even the circus man ceased to shout. He wanted to see what the effect would be. So did Tom and the others. When their eyes had become used to the gloom again, after the glare of the rockets and bombs, the young inventor said: "Look out of the windows, Ned, and see if our guards have run away." Ned did as requested, but for a few seconds he could make out nothing. Then he cried out: "They've gone, but they're coming back again, and there are twice as many. I guess they don't want us to escape, Tom, for fear we may do a lot of damage." "Bless my hitching post!" cried Mr. Damon. "The guards doubled? We ARE in a predicament, Tom." "Yes, I'm afraid so. The fireworks didn't just have the effect I expected. I thought they'd be glad to let us go, fearing that we could work magic, and might turn it on them. Most of the natives are deadly afraid of magic, the evil eye, witch doctors, and stuff like that. But evidently we've impressed the giants in the wrong way. If we could only speak their language now, we could explain that unless they let us go we might destroy their village, though of course we wouldn't do anything of the kind. If we could only speak their language but we can't." "Do you suppose they understood what Delby said?" asked Ned. "Not a bit of it! He was just desperate when he yelled out that way. He saw that we had an advantage on him--or at least I thought we did, but I guess we didn't," and Tom gazed out of the windows in front of each of which stood two of the largest giants. By means of the torches it could be seen that the circus man was being taken to another hut, some distance away from the royal one. Then, after an awed silence, there broke out a confused talking and shouting among the giant population, that was drawn up in a circle a respectful distance from the hut where the captives were confined. Doubtless they were discussing what had taken place, hoping and yet fearing, that there might be more fireworks. "Well, we might as well go to bed," declared Tom at length. "We can't do any more to-night, and I'm dead tired. In the morning we can talk over new plans. My box of tricks isn't exhausted yet." In spite of their strange captivity our friends slept well, and they did not awaken once during the night, for they had worked hard that day, and were almost exhausted. In the morning they looked out and saw guards still about the hut. "Now for a good breakfast, and another try!" exclaimed Tom, as he washed in a big earthen jar of water that had been provided. Freshened by the cool liquid, they were made hungry for the meal which was brought to them a little later. They noticed that the women cooks looked at them with fear in their eyes, and did not linger as they had done before. Instead they set down the trays of food and hurried away. "They're getting to be afraid of us," declared Tom. "If we could only talk their language--" "By Jove!" suddenly interrupted Ned. "I've just thought of something. Jake Poddington you know--the agent for Mr. Preston who so mysteriously disappeared." "Well, what about him?" asked Tom. "Did you see him?" "No, but he may be here--a captive like ourselves. If he is he's been here long enough to have learned the language of the giants, and if he could translate for us, we wouldn't have any trouble. Why didn't we think of it before? If we could only find Mr. Poddington!" "Yes, IF we only could," put in Tom. "But it's a slim chance. I declare I've forgotten about him in the last few days, so many things have happened. But what makes you think he is here, Ned?" "Why he started for giant land, you'll remember, and he may have reached here. Oh, if we could only find him, and save him and save ourselves!" "It would be great!" admitted Tom. "But I'm afraid we can't do it. There's a chance, though, that Mr. Poddington may be here, or may have been here. If we could only get out and make some explorations or some inquiries. It's tough to be cooped up here like chickens." Tom looked from the window, vainly hoping that the guards might have been withdrawn. The giants were still before the windows and doors. For a week this captivity was kept up, and in that time Tom and his friends had occasional glimpses of Hank Delby going to and from the king's hut. His majesty himself was not seen, but there appeared to be considerable activity in the giant village. From their prison-hut the captives could see the native market held in the big open space, and giants from surrounding towns and the open country came in to trade. There were also curious about the white captives, and there was a constant throng around the big hut, peering in. So also there was about the hut where the circus man had his headquarters. Delby seemed to be free to come and go as he choose. "I guess he's laying his plans to take a giant or two away with him," remarked Tom one day. "I wonder what will become of us, when he does go?" It was a momentous question, and no one could answer it. Tom was doing some hard thinking those days. Two weeks passed and there was no change. Our friends were still captives in giant land. They had tried, by signs, to induce their guards to take some message to the king, but the giants refused with shakes of their big heads. Yet the adventurers could not complain of bad treatment. They were well fed, and the guards seemed good natured, laughing among themselves, and smiling whenever they saw any of the captives. But let Tom or some of the others, step across the threshold of the door, and they were kindly, but firmly, shoved back. "It's of no use!" exclaimed Tom in despair one day, after a bold attempt to walk out. "We've got to do something. If we can't get word to the king we've got to plan some way to gain the friendship, or work on the fear of the guards. We have about the same crowd every time. If we can scare them they may keep far enough off so we can have a chance to escape." "Escape! That's the thing!" cried Mr. Damon. "Why can't we put the airship together in this hut, Tom, and fly away in it?" "We can, when the right time comes--if it ever does--but first we've got to work on the guards. Let me see what I can do? Ha! I have it. Ned, come here, I want your help. I'm going to show these giants that, with all their strength, I can make each of them as weak as a baby, and, at the same time prove that they can't lift even a light weight." "How you going to do it?" asked Mr. Damon. "I'll soon show you. Come on, Ned." Tom and his chum were busy for several days among the various boxes and bales that formed the baggage. They rigged up two pieces of apparatus which I will describe in due time. They also opened several boxes of trinkets and trading goods, which had been brought along for barter. These they distributed among the guards, and, though the giants were immensely pleased, they did not get friendly enough to walk off and leave our friends free to do as they pleased. "Well, I guess we're ready for the lesson now," remarked Tom one afternoon, when they had been held captives for about three weeks. "If they won't respond to gentle treatment we'll try some other kind of persuasion." The guards had become so friendly of late that some of them often spent part of the day inside the hut, looking at the curious things Tom and his party had brought with them. This was just what the young inventor wanted, as he was now ready to give them a second lesson in white man's magic. Tom and Ned had learned a few words of the giant's language, which was quite simple, though it sounded hard, and one day, after he had shown them simple toys, the young inventor brought forth a simple-looking box, with two shining handles. "Here is a little thing," explained Tom, partly by words, and partly by using signs, "a simple little thing which, if one of you will but take hold of, you cannot let go of again until I move my finger. Do you believe that a small white man like myself can make this little thing stronger than a giant?" he asked. One of the biggest of the guards shook his head. "Try," invited Tom. "Take hold of the handles. At first you will be able to let go easily. But, when I shall move my finger though but a little, you will be held fast. Then, another movement, and you will be loose again. Can I do it?" Once more the giant shook his head. "Try," urged Tom, and he put the two shining handles into the big palms of the giant. The native grinned and some of his companions laughed. Then to show how easy it was he let go. He took hold again. "Now!" cried Tom, and he moved his finger. Instantly the giant leaped up into the air. He uttered a howl that seemed to shake the very roof of the hut, and his arms were as rigid as poles. They were drawn up in knots, and though he tried with all his great might, he could not loose his fingers from the shiny handles. He howled in terror, and his companions murmured in amazement. "It is as I told you!" exclaimed Tom. "Is it enough?" "Loose me! Loose me! Loose me from the terrible magic!" cried the giant, and, with a movement of his finger, Tom switched off the current from the electric battery. Instantly the giant's arms dropped to his side, his hands relaxed and the handles dropped clattering to the floor. With a look of fear, and a howl of anguish, the big guard fled, but to the surprise and gratification of Tom and his friends the others seemed only amused, and they nodded in a friendly fashion to the captives. They all pressed forward to try the battery. One and all endeavored to loose their hands after Tom, by a movement of his forefinger, had turned the switch of the battery, and one and all of the giant guards were unable to stir, as the electricity gripped their muscles. They were evidently awed. "This is working better than the fireworks did," murmured Tom. "Now if I can only keep up the good work, and get ahead of Delby I'll be all right. Now for the other test, Ned." Ned brought from a box what looked to be a small iron bar, with a large handle on the top. The bottom was ground very smooth. "This is very small and light," explained Tom, partly by signs, and partly by words. "I can easily lift it by one finger, and to a giant it is but a feather's weight." He let the giants handle it, and of course they could feel scarcely any weight at all, for it tipped the scales at only a pound. But it was shortly to be much heavier. "See," went on the young inventor. "I place the weight on the floor, and lift it easily. Can you do it?" The giants laughed at such a simple trick. Tom set the iron bar down and raised it several times. So did several of the giants. "Now for the test!" cried Tom with a dramatic gesture. "I shall put my magic upon you, and you shall all become as weak as babies. You cannot lift the bar of iron!" As he spoke he made a signal to Ned, who stood in a distant corner of the room. Then Tom carefully placed the weight on a sheet of white paper on a certain spot on the floor of the hut and motioned to the largest giant to pick up the iron bar. With a laugh of contempt and confidence, the big man stooped over and grasped the handle. But he did not arise. Instead, the muscles of his naked arm swelled out in great bunches. "See, you are as a little babe!" taunted Tom. "Another may try!" Another did, and another and another, until it came the turn of the mightiest giant of all the guard that day. With a sudden wrench he sought to lift the bar. He tugged and strained. He bent his back and his legs; his shoulders heaved with the terrific effort he made--but the bar still held to the floor of the hut as though a part of the big beams themselves. "Now!" cried Tom. "I shall show you how a white man's magic makes him stronger than the biggest giant." Once more he made a hidden sign to Ned, and then, stooping over, Tom crooked his little finger in the handle of the iron bar and lifted it as easily as if it was a feather. CHAPTER XX THE LONE CAPTIVE The murmurs of astonishment that greeted Tom's seemingly marvelous feat of strength was even greater than that which had marked his trick with the electric battery. The giants stared at him as though they feared the next moment he might suddenly turn upon them and hurl them about like ten-pins. "You see, it is easy when one knows the white man's magic," spoke Tom, making many gestures to help along. "Go tell your king that it is not well that he keeps us prisoners here, for if he does not soon let us go the magic may break loose and destroy his palace!" There was a gasp of dismay from the giants at this bold talk. "Better go easy, Tom," counseled Ned. "I'm tired of going easy," replied the young inventor. "Something has got to happen pretty soon, or it will be all up with us. I'm getting weary of being cooped up here. Not that the king doesn't treat us well, but I don't want to be a prisoner. I want to get out and see if we can't arrange to take a couple of these giants back for Mr. Preston. That Delby sneak has things all his own way." And this was so, for the circus man had poisoned the king's mind against Tom and his friends, representing (as our hero learned later) that the first arrivals in giant land were dangerous people, and not to be trusted. On his own part, Hank Delby intimated that he would always be a friend to the king, would teach him many of the white man's secrets, and would make him powerful. Thus the circus man was making plans for his own ends, and he was scheming to get a couple of giants for himself, who he intended to hurry away, leaving Tom and his friends to escape as best they could. And Delby had brought with him some novelties in the way of toys and machinery that seemed greatly to take the fancy of the king. Tom realized this when he saw his rival free to come and go, and one reason why our hero did the experiments just related was so that the king might hear of them, and wonder. "Go tell the king that, strong as he is, I am stronger," went on Tom boldly to the giant guards. "I am not afraid of him." "Bless my war club, Tom, aren't you a little rash to talk that way?" asked Mr. Damon. "No. As I said, I want things to happen. If I can only get the king curious enough to come here I can show him things to open his eyes. I'll work the miniature circus, and explain that some of his subjects can take part in a real one if they will come with us. I want to beat this Delby at his own game." "That's the stuff!" cried Ned. "Stick to it, Tom. I'll help you, and we'll get a giant or two yet. And maybe we can get some news of poor Jake Poddington." "I intend to make inquiries about him, now that these guards are a little more friendly," said Tom. "It may be that he is a prisoner in this very village." The giant guards, now that they had gotten over their fright at their own inability to raise the bar while Tom had lifted it with one finger, again crowded around, asking that the trick be repeated. Tom did it, with the same result. None of the giants could move the iron, yet Tom had no difficulty in doing so. Of course my readers have already guessed how the trick was done. It was worked by a strong magnet, hidden in the floor. At a signal from Tom, Ned would switch on the current. The iron would be held fast and immovable, but when Tom himself went to raise it Ned would cut off the electricity and the bar was lifted as easily as an ordinary piece of iron. But simple as the trick was, it impressed the giants. Then Tom did some other stunts for them, simple experiments in physics, that every High School lad has done in class. "I want to get these guards friendly with me," he explained. "In time the news will reach the king and he'll be so curious that he'll come here and then--well, we'll see what will happen." But this did not take place as soon as Tom desired. In fact, the giants were very slow to act. The guards did get quite friendly, and every day they wanted the same two first tricks performed over again. Tom did them many times, wondering when the king would come. Then he played a bold game, and made open inquiries about a white man, one like the king's captives, who might have come to giant land about a year previous. "Is there a lone white captive here?" asked Tom. The giant guard to whom he directed his question gave a start, for Tom could now speak the language fairly well, and, after the first indication of surprise, the guard muttered something to his companions. There was a startled ejaculation, a curious glance at the captives, and then--silence. The guards filed silently away, and, a little later, could be seen going in the king's big hut. "By Jove, Tom!" cried Ned. "You touched 'em that time. There's something up, as sure as you're born!" "I believe so myself," agreed the young inventor. "And now to throw a real scare into these giants," he added, as he went to a distant room of the hut where he had hidden some of the things he had taken from his "box of tricks," as Ned dubbed it. "Bless my necktie!" cried Mr. Damon. "What's up now, Tom." "I'm going to show these giants that they'd better make friends with us soon, or we may blow their whole town sky-high!" cried Tom. "I'm going to use some of the blasting powder--just a pinch, so to speak--and knock an empty hut into slivers. I think that will impress these fellows. If I can only--" "Look, Tom!" suddenly cried Ned. "The king's two brothers are coming here. Something's up. He's sent some of the family to interview us. Get ready to receive them." "Couldn't be better!" cried the young inventor. "I've been waiting for this. Now I'll give them a surprise party." The two big brothers of the king, for such Tom and his friends had recently learned was the relationship the giants on either side of the "throne" bore to the ruler, were indeed headed toward the hut of the captives. They came alone, in their royal garments of jaguar skins, and, standing about the palace hut, could be seen the giant guards who had doubtless carried the news of the question Tom had asked. "Come on, Ned, we've got to get busy!" exclaimed Tom. "Connect the electric battery, and get that magnet in shape. I'm going to make a fuse for this blasting powder bomb, and if I can get those royal brothers to plant it for me, there'll be some high jinks soon." Tom busied himself in making an improvised bomb, while Ned attended to the electrical attachments, and Mr. Damon and Eradicate acted as general assistants. The two giant brothers entered the hut and greeted Tom and the others calmly. Then they explained that the king had sent them to investigate certain stories told by the guard. "I'll show you!" exclaimed Tom, and he induced them to take hold of the handles of the battery. The current was turned on full strength, and from the manner in which the royal brothers writhed and howled Tom judged that the experiment was a success. "With all your strength you can not let go until I move my finger," the young inventor explained, and it was so. Even the skeptical giants agreed on that. "Now I shall show you that I am stronger than you!" exclaimed Tom, and though the giants smiled incredulously so it was, for the magnet trick worked as well as before. There were murmurs of surprise from the two immense brothers, and they talked rapidly together. "I will now show you that I can call the lightning from the sky to do my bidding," went on Tom. "Is that possible to any of you giants?" "Never! Never! No man can do it!" cried Tola and Koku together. "Then watch me!" invited Tom. "Is there an empty hut near here?" he asked. "One that it will do no harm to destroy?" Tola pointed to one visible from the window of the prison of our friends. "Then take this little ball, with the string attached to it, and place it in the hut," went on Tom. "Then flee for your lives, for standing from here, I shall call the lightning down, and you shall see the hut destroyed." "Why don't you ask them something about Jake Poddington?" asked Ned. "Time enough for that after I've shown them what a little powder will do, when I attach electric wires to it and press a button," replied Tom. "I've got that bomb fixed so it will go off by an electric fuse. If they'll only put it in the hut for me. I'd do it myself, only they won't let me go out." The brothers conferred for a moment and then, seeming to arrive at a decision, Koku, who was slightly the larger, took the bomb, looked curiously at it, and walked with it toward the empty hut, the electric wire being reeled out behind him by Tom. The bomb was left inside the frail structure, the two brothers hurried away, and, standing at a safe distance from the hut of the captives, as well as the one that Tom had promised to destroy by lightning, they waved their hands to show that they were ready. "Bless my admission ticket!" exclaimed Mr. Damon. "You've got quite an audience, Tom." And so he had, for there was a crowd in the market square, another throng about the king's palace, while all about, hidden behind trees or huts, was nearly the whole population of the giant town. "That's what I want," said the young inventor. "It will be all the more impressive." "And there's the king himself!" exclaimed Ned. "He's standing in the door of his royal hut." "Better yet!" cried Tom. "Are those wires all connected, Ned?" "Yes," answered his chum, after a quick inspection. "Then here she goes!" cried Tom, as he pressed the button. Instantly the hut, in which the bomb had been placed, arose in the air. The roof was lifted off, the sides spread out and there was a great flash of fire and a puff of smoke. Then as the smoke cleared away Ned cried out: "Look, Tom! Look! You've blown a hole in the hut next to the one you destroyed!" "Yes, and bless my check book!" exclaimed Mr. Damon, "some one is running out of it. A white man, Tom! A white man!" "It's Poddington! Poor Jake Poddington. We've found him at last! This way, Mr. Poddington! This way! Mr. Preston sent us to rescue you!" cried Tom. CHAPTER XXI A ROYAL CONSPIRACY Howls of terror, cries of anger, and a rushing to and fro on the part of the giants, followed the latest trick of Tom Swift to impress them with his power. But to all this the young inventor and his friends paid no attention. Their eyes were fixed on the ragged figure of the white man who was rushing toward their hut as fast as his legs, manacled as they were, would let him. "Come on! Come on!" cried Tom. "Look out!" yelled Ned. "Some of the giants are after him, Tom!" Several of the big men, after their first fright, had recovered sufficiently to pursue the captive so strangely released by the explosion. "Hand me an electric rifle, Ned!" cried Tom. "Bless my shoe laces!" cried Mr. Damon. "You're not going to kill any of the giants; are you, Tom?" "Well, I'm not going to let them capture Jake Poddington again," was the quick answer, "but I guess if I stun a few of them with the electric bullets that will answer." Poddington (for later the white captive did prove to be the missing circus man) ran on, and close behind him came two of the giants, taking long strides. Tom aimed his electric rifle at the foremost and pulled the trigger. There was no sound, but the big man crumpled up and fell, rolling over and over. With a yell of rage his companion pressed on, but a moment later, he, too, went down, and then the others, who had started in pursuit of their recent captive, turned back. "I thought that would fix 'em," murmured Tom gleefully. In another five seconds Poddington was inside the hut, gasping from his run. He was very thin and pale, and the sudden exertion had been too much for him. "Water--water!" he gasped, and Mr. Damon gave him some. He sank on one of the skin-covered benches, and his half-exhausted breath slowly came back to him. "Boys," he gasped. "I don't know who you are, but thank heaven you came just in time. I couldn't have stood it much longer. I heard you yell something about Preston. Is it possible he sent you to find me?" "Partly that and partly to get a giant," explained Tom. "We didn't know you were in that hut, or we'd never have blown up the one next to it, though we suspected you might be held captive somewhere around here, from the queer way the giants acted when we asked about you." "And so you blew up that hut?" remarked the circus agent. "I thought it was struck by lightning. But it did me a good turn. I was chained to the wall of the hut next door, and your explosion split the beam to which my chains were fastened. I didn't lose any time running out, I can tell you. Oh, but it's good to be free once more and to see someone my own size!" "How did you get here, and why did they keep you a prisoner?" asked Tom. Then Poddington told his story, while Ned and Mr. Damon aided Tom in filing off the rude iron shackles from his wrists and ankles. As Mr. Preston had heard, Jake Poddington had started for giant land. But he lost his way, his escort of natives deserted him, just as Tom's did, and he wandered on in the jungle, nearly dying. Then, merely by accident, he came upon giant land, but he had the misfortune to incur the anger of the big men who took him for an enemy. They at once made him a prisoner, and had kept him so ever since, though they did not harm him otherwise, and gave him good food. "I think they were a bit afraid of me in spite of my small size," explained the circus man. "I never thought to be rescued, for, though I figured that Mr. Preston might hear of my plight, he could never find this place. How did you get here?" Then Tom told his story, and of how they themselves were held captives because of the treachery of Hank Delby. "That's just like him!" cried Poddington. "He was always mean, and always trying to get the advantage of his rivals. But I'm glad I'm with you. With what stuff you have here it oughtn't to be difficult to get away from giant land." "But I want a giant," insisted Tom. "I told Mr. Preston I'd bring him back one, and I'm going to do it." "You can't!" cried the circus man. "They won't come with you, and it's almost impossible to make a prisoner of one. You'd better escape. I want to get away from giant land. I've had enough." "We'll get away," said Tom confidently, "and we'll have a giant or two when we go." "You'll have some before you go I guess!" suddenly interrupted Ned. "There's a whole crowd of 'em headed this way, and they've got clubs, bows and arrows and those blow guns! I guess they're going to besiege us." "All right!" cried Tom. "If they want to fight we can give 'em as good as they send. Ned, you and Mr. Damon and I will handle the electric rifles. Eradicate, use your shotgun, and fire high. We don't want to hurt any of the big men. We'll merely stun them with the electric bullets, but the noise of Rad's gun will help some." "What can I do?" asked Mr. Poddington. "You're too weak to do much," replied Tom. "You just keep on the lookout, and tell us if they try any surprises. I guess we can handle 'em all right." With shouts and yells the big men came on. Evidently their indifference toward their captives had turned to anger because of the freeing of Poddington, and now they were determined to use harsh measures. They advanced with wild yells, brandishing their clubs and other weapons, while the weird sound of the tom-toms and natives drums added to the din. When a short distance from the hut the giants stopped, and began firing arrows and darts from the blow guns. "Look out for those!" warned Tom. "They probably are poisoned, and a scratch may mean death. Give 'em a few shots now, Ned and Mr. Damon! Rad, give 'em a salute, but fire high!" "Dat's what I will, Massa Tom!" The gun of the colored man barked out a noisy welcome, and, at the same time three giants fell, stunned by the electric bullets, for the rifles were adjusted to send out only mild charges. Thrice they charged, and each time they were driven back, and then, finding that the captives were ever ready for them, they gave up the attempt to overwhelm them, and hurried away, many going into the king's hut. His royal majesty did not show himself during the fight. "Well, I guess they won't try that right away again," remarked Tom, as he saw the stunned giants slowly arouse themselves and crawl away. "We've taught them a lesson." They felt better after that, and then, when they had eaten and drank, they began to consider ways and means of escape. But Tom would not hear of going until he could get at least one giant for the circus. "But you can't!" insisted Mr. Poddington. "Well, it's too soon to give up yet," declared Tom. "I'd like to take the king's two brothers with me." "By Jove!" exclaimed Mr. Poddington, "I never thought of that. There is just a bare chance. Did you know that the two brothers, who are twins, dislike the king, for he is younger than they, and he practically took the throne away from them. They should rule jointly by rights. If we could enlist Tola and Koku on our side we might win out yet." "Then we'll try!" exclaimed Tom. Jake Poddington, who had been a captive in the giant city long enough to know something of its history, and had learned to talk the language, explained how Kosk had usurped the throne. His brothers were subject to him, he said, but several times they had tried in vain to start a revolution. To punish them for their rebellious efforts the king made them his personal servants, and this explained why he sent them to see the tricks Tom performed. "If we could only get into communication with the big twins," went on the circus man, "we could offer to take them with us to a country where they would be bigger kings than their brother is here. It's a royal conspiracy worth trying." "Then we'll try it!" cried Tom enthusiastically. CHAPTER XXII THE TWIN GIANTS Daring indeed was the scheme decided on by the captives, and yet its very boldness might make it possible for them to carry it out. The king would never suspect them of plotting to carry off his two royal brothers, and this made it all the easier to lay their plans. In this they were much helped by Poddington, who knew the language and who had made a few friends among the more humble people of the village, though none dared assist him openly. "The first thing to do," said the circus man, "is to get into communication with the twins." That proved harder than they expected, for a week passed, and they did not have a glimpse of Tola and Koku. Meanwhile the giant guard was still maintained about the hut night and day. No more food was given the prisoners, and they would have starved had not Tom possessed a good supply of his own provisions. It was evidently the intention of the king to starve his captives into submission. "Suppose you do get those big brothers to accompany you, Tom?" asked Ned one day. "How are you going to manage to get away, and take them with you?" "My aeroplane!" answered Tom quickly. "I've got it all planned out. You and I with Mr. Damon, Mr. Poddington and Eradicate will skip away in the aeroplane. We can put it together in here, and I've got enough gasolene to run it a couple of hundred miles if necessary." "But the giants--you can't carry them in it." "No, and I'm not going to try. If they'll agree to go they can set off through the woods afoot. We'll meet them in a certain place--where there's a good land mark which we can easily distinguish from the aeroplane. We'll take what stuff we can with us, and leave the rest here. Oh, it can be done, Ned." "But when you start out with the aeroplane they'll make a rush and overwhelm us." "No, for I'll do it so quickly that they won't have a chance. I'm going to saw through the beams of one side of this hut. To the rear there is level ground that will make a fine starting place. When everything is ready, say some night, we'll pull the side wall down, start the aeroplane out as it falls, and sail away. Then we'll pick up the giant brothers out in the woods, and travel to civilization again." "By Jove! I believe that will work!" cried the circus man. "Bless my corn plaster, I think so myself!" added Mr. Damon. "But first we've got to get the brothers to agree," went on Tom, "and that is going to be hard work." It was not so difficult as it was tedious. Through an aged woman, with whom he had made friends when a captive, Jake Poddington managed to get word to the royal twins that he and the other captives would like to see them privately. Then they had to wait for an answer. In the meanwhile the giants tried several times to surprise Tom and his friends by attacks, but the captives were on the alert, and the electric rifles drove them back. One night nearly all the guards were observed to be absent. There were not more than half a dozen scattered about the hut. "I wonder what that means?" asked Tom, who was puzzled. "I know!" exclaimed Jake Poddington after a moment's thought. "It's their big annual feast. Even the king goes to it. They were just getting over it when I struck here last year, and maybe that's what set them so against me. Boys, this may be our chance!" "How?" asked Ned. "The king's brothers may find an opportunity to come and talk to us when the feast is at its height," was the reply. Anxiously they waited, and in order that the royal brothers might come in unobserved, if they did conclude to speak to the captives, Tom and his companions hung some pieces of canvas over the windows and doors, and had only a single light burning. It was at midnight that a cautious knock sounded at the side of the hut and Tom glided to the main door. In the shadows he saw the two royal brothers, Tola and Koku. "Here they are!" whispered Tom to Jake Poddington, who came forward. "Come!" invited the circus man in the giants' tongue, and the brothers entered the hut. How Jake persuaded them to throw in their fortunes with the captives the circus man hardly knew himself. Perhaps it was due as much as anything to the dislike they felt toward the king, and the mean way he had treated them. "Come, and you will be kings among the small men in our country," invited Poddington. The brothers looked at each other, talked together in low tones, and then Koku exclaimed: "We will come, and we will help you to escape. We have spoken, and we will talk with you again." Then they glided out into the darkness, while from afar came the sounds of revelry at the big feast. CHAPTER XXIII A SURPRISE IN THE NIGHT Tom and his friends could scarcely believe their good fortune. It seemed incredible that they should have induced two of the biggest giants to accompany them back, and, not only that, but that they had the promise of the strong men to aid them. "Now we must get busy," declared Tom, when their visitors had gone. "We've got lots of work to do on the aeroplane, and we must try out the engine. Then we've got to fix the side of the hut so it will fall out when we're ready for it. And we've got to plan how to meet the giants later in the forest." "Yes," agreed the circus man, "and we must take care that Hank Delby doesn't spoil our plans." Then ensued busy days. In the seclusion of their hut the prisoners could work undisturbed at the aeroplane, which had been almost assembled. The engine was installed and tried, and, when the motor began its thundering explosions, there was consternation among the giants, who had again surrounded the hut to see that the prisoners did not escape. Meanwhile Delby seemed to be unusually active. He could be observed going in and out from his hut to that of the king, and he often carried large bundles. "He's making himself solid with his royal highness," declared Tom. "Well, if all goes right, we won't have to worry much longer about what he does." "If only those twin giants don't fail us," put in Ned. "Oh, you can depend on them," said Mr. Poddington. "These giants are curious creatures, but once they give their word they stick to it." He told much about the strange big men, confirming Tom's theory that favorable natural conditions, for a number of generations, had caused ordinary South American natives to develope into such large specimens. Our friends were under quite a nervous tension, for they could not be sure of what would happen from day to day. They continued to work on the aeroplane, and then, finding that it would work in the seclusion of the hut, they were anxious for the time to come when they could try it in the open. "Do you think it will carry the five of us with safety?" asked the circus man, as he gazed rather dubiously at the somewhat frail-appearing affair. "Sure!" exclaimed Tom. "We'll get away all right if I can get enough of a start. Now we must see to opening the side of the hut." This work had to be done cautiously, yet the prisoners had a certain freedom, for the guards were afraid to approach too closely. The supporting and cross beams were sawed through, for Tom had brought a number of carpenter tools along with him. Then, in the silence of the night, the two royal brothers brought other beams that could be put in place temporarily to hold up the roof when the others were pulled out to allow the aeroplane to rush forth. In due time all was in readiness for the attempt to escape. The royal twins had agreed to slip off at a certain signal, and await Tom and his party in the forest at the foot of a very large hill, that was a landmark for miles around. The giants could travel fast, but not as fast as the aeroplane, so it was planned that they were to have a day and night's start. They would take along food, and would arrange to have a number of Tom's mules hidden in the woods, so that our hero and his friends would have means of transportation back to the coast, after they had ended their flight in the airship. "I wish we had brought along the larger one, so we could take the giants with us," said Tom, "but I guess they're strong enough to walk to the coast. We'll take what provisions we can carry, our electric rifles, and the rest of the things we'll leave here for the king, though he doesn't deserve them." "What do you think Delby will do?" asked Ned. "Give it up. He's got some plan though. I only hope he doesn't get a giant. Then ours will be a greater attraction." Several days passed, and the last of the preparations had been made. "The giant twins will pretend to go off on a hunting trip to-morrow morning," said the circus man one night, "but they won't come back. They'll wait for us at the big hill." "Then we must escape the following morning," decided Tom. "Well, I'm ready for it." From their hut, surrounded as it was still by the giant guards, our friends watched the royal brothers start off, seemingly on a hunting expedition. The day passed slowly. Tom went carefully over the aeroplane, to see that it was in shape for a quick flight, and he looked to the wall of the hut--the wall that was to be pulled from place to afford egress for the air craft. They went to bed early that night--the night they hoped would be their last in giant land. It must have been about midnight when Tom suddenly awoke. He thought he heard a noise outside the hut and in a moment he had jumped up. "Repel boarders!" cried Tom. CHAPTER XXIV THE AIRSHIP FLIGHT For a few moments there was confusion inside the hut that was to be the last stronghold of our friends against the approaching force of giants. Confusion and not a little fear were mingled, for Tom's words sent a chill to every heart. Then, after the first panic, there came a calmer feeling--a feeling that each one would do his duty in the face of danger and, if he had to die, he would die fighting. "Everyone take a window!" yelled Tom. "Don't kill any one if you can help it. Shoot to disable, Rad. Mr. Poddington, there's an extra shotgun somewhere about! See if you can find it. We'll use the electric rifles. Get those Roman candles somebody!" Tom was like a general giving orders, and once his friends realized that he was managing things they felt more confidence. Ned grasped his electric rifle, as did Mr. Damon, and they stood ready to use them. "The strongest stunning charge!" ordered the young inventor. "Something that will lay 'em out for a good while. We'll teach 'em a lesson!" BANG! That was Eradicate's shotgun going off. It had a double load in it, and the wonder of it was that the barrel did not burst. It sounded like a small cannon, but it had the good effect of checking the first rush of giants, for the electric rifles had not yet been adjusted, and Mr. Poddington, in the light of the single electric torch that had been left burning, could find neither the spare shotgun nor the Roman candles. BANG! Eradicate let the other barrel go, almost in the faces of the advancing giants, but over their heads, for he bore in mind Tom's words not to injure. "That's the stuff!" cried Tom. "Come on now, Ned, we're ready for 'em!" But the giants had retreated, and could be seen standing in groups about the hut, evidently planning what to do next. Then from back in the village there shone a glare of light. "Bless my insurance policy! It's a fire!" cried Mr. Damon. "They're going to burn us out!" "Jove! If they do!" exclaimed Ned. "We mustn't let 'em!" shouted Tom. "Fire, Ned!" Together the chums discharged their electric rifles at the enemy and a number of them fell, stunned, and were carried away by their companions. The glaring light approached and now it could be seen that it was caused by a number of the big men carrying torches of some kind of blazing wood. It did look as though they intended to fire the prison hut. "Give 'em another taste of it!" shouted Ned, and this time the three electric rifles shot out their streaks of blue flame, for Mr. Damon had his in action. It was still dark in the hut, for to set aglow more of the electric torches meant that Tom and his friends would be exposed to view, and would be the targets for the arrows, or darts from the deadly blow guns. Several more of the giants toppled over, and then began a retreat to some distance, the first squad of fighters going to meet the men who had come up with the torches. There was no sign of women or children. "Shall we fire again?" asked Ned. "No," answered Tom. "Save your ammunition until they are closer, and we'll be surer of our marks. Besides, if they let us alone that's all we ask. We don't want to hurt 'em." "Bless my gizzard!" exclaimed Mr. Damon. "I wonder why they attacked us, anyhow?" "Maybe it's about the two giant brothers who have not come back," suggested Mr. Poddington. "They may imagine that we have them captive, and they want to rescue them." "That's so," admitted Tom. "Well, if they had only postponed this reception for a few hours we'd have been out of their way, and they wouldn't have had this trouble," and he glanced at the aeroplane, that stood in the big hut, ready for instant flight. "They're coming back!" suddenly shouted Ned, and a look from the half-opened windows showed the giants again advancing. "I've got the Roman candles!" called Mr. Poddington from a corner where he had been rummaging in that box of Tom's which contained so many surprises. "What shall I do with 'em?" "Let 'em go right in their faces!" yelled Tom. "They won't do much damage, but they'll throw a scare into the big fellows! Get ready, Ned!" "They're dividing!" shouted his chum. "They're coming at us from two sides!" "They're only trying to confuse us," decided Tom. "Fire at the main body!" And with that he opened up with his electric rifle, an example followed by Mr. Damon and Ned. With a whizz, and several sharp explosions, the circus man got the Roman candles into action. The glaring fire of them lighted up the scene better than did the flaming torches of the giants, and truly it was a wonderful sight. There, in that lonely hut, in the midst of a South American jungle, four intrepid white persons, and an aged but brave negro, stood against hundreds of giants--mighty men, who, had they come to a personal contact, any one of which would have been more than a match for the combined strength of Tom and his party. It was a weird picture that the young inventor looked out upon, but his heart did not quail. Giant after giant went down under the fierce rain of the electric bullets, stunned, but not otherwise injured. There was a shower of sparks, and a hail of burning balls from the Roman candles, but still the advance was kept up. Eradicate was banging away with his shotgun. "Dis suah am hot work!" cried the colored man, as his hand came in contact with the barrel. "Wow! It's most RED hot!" he added with a cry of pain. "Use the other gun," advised Tom, never turning his head from the window through which he was aiming. "That one may get choked, and explode in here." "All right," answered Eradicate. "Duck!" yelled Ned with sudden energy. "They're going to fire!" A number of the giants could be seen fitting arrows to bow strings, while others raised to their lips the long hollow reeds, from which the blow guns were made. It was the first time the enemy had fired and doubtless they had held back because they hoped to capture Tom and his friends alive. But they did not count on such a stubborn resistance. Every one moved away from the windows, and not an instant too soon, for, a moment later, a shower of arrows and darts came in, fortunately injuring no one. Then, above the shouting and yelling of the giants, whose deep, bass voices had a terrorizing effect, there came the din of the tom-toms, making a weird combination of sound. "We've got 'em on the run again!" cried Ned, and so it proved, for the larger body of giants, who had approached the hut from the front and two sides, were running back. "Guess they've given it up," exclaimed Tom. "I'm glad of it, too, for--" He paused and glanced behind him. A tiny spurt of flame at the base of the rear wall of the hut had caught his eye. Instantly the flame grew larger, and a puff of smoke followed. "Fire!" cried Ned. "We're on fire!" "Bless my water bucket!" gasped Mr. Damon. "They've set fire to the hut!" It was but too true. While Tom and the others had been standing off the giants in front, a smaller force had crept around to the rear, and set the inflamable side of the hut ablaze. Desperately Tom looked around. There was no means at hand of fighting fire. Hardly a bucket of water was in the place, and the structure was filled with quick-burning stuff, while the fireworks that remained, and the blasting powder, made it doubly dangerous. Then Tom's eyes lighted on the big aeroplane, ready for instant service. "That's it!" he cried suddenly. "It's our only hope, and the last one! Come on, everybody! Down with that wall! Pull on the ropes and it will come! We've got to go now. In another minute it will be too late. Climb up, Mr. Poddington, Mr. Damon, Ned, and I will start the machine." "The wall first! The wall!" cried Ned. "Sure," answered Tom. He and his friends grasped the two ropes that had been attached to the key-beams in the structure. It had been so arranged that when the supports were pulled out the wall would fall outward, making a fairly smooth and level gangplank, on which the aeroplane could rush from the hut. There was a creaking of timbers, a straining of ropes, and then, with a crash, the wall fell. Instantly there was a yell of surprise from the giants, and a brighter glare from the torches, as those carrying them rushed up to see what had happened. The din of the tom-toms was well-nigh deafening. Fortunately the enemy forgot to take advantage of the opening and pour in a flight of arrows or darts. "Start the motor!" cried Tom to his chum. There was a rattling, banging noise, like a salvo of small arms, and the big propellers revolved with incredible swiftness. The two white men were already in place, and now Eradicate, still carrying his shotgun, clambered up. "Up with you, Ned!" yelled Tom. "I'm going to head her around and make a flying start." CHAPTER XXV TOM'S GIANT--CONCLUSION "I don't see anything of them, do you?" "No, and yet this is the place where they said they'd meet us." It was Tom who asked the question, and Ned who answered it. It was the day after their sensational escape from the giants' prison, and they were circling about in the aeroplane which had been the means of getting them away from giant land. For they were safely away from that strange and terrible place, and they were now seeking the two giant brothers who had promised to meet them at a certain big hill. For an hour that night Tom and his friends had traveled on the wings of the Lark and when a rising moon showed them a level spot for a landing, they had gone down and made a camp. They had provisions with them, and plenty of blankets and it was so warm that more shelter was not necessary. The next day, leaving Mr. Damon, Eradicate and the circus man in the temporary camp, Tom and Ned had gone aloft to see if they could pick up the giant twins, who were to meet them and have some mules ready for the journey back to civilization. "Well, we're in no great hurry," went on Tom, after vainly scanning the ground below. "They may not have traveled as fast as we thought they could, and the mules may have given trouble. We'll stick around here a day or so, and--" "Look!" suddenly exclaimed Ned. "Didn't you see something moving then." "Where?" "By that big dead tree." Tom took a look through a pair of field glasses, while Ned steered the aeroplane. Then the young inventor cried: "It's all right. It's one of the giants, but I can't tell which one. Ned, I believe they're hiding because they're afraid of us. They've never seen an aeroplane in action before. I'm going down." Quickly and gracefully the Lark was volplaned to a level place near the dead tree. No one was in sight, and Tom, after looking about, called: "Tola! Koku! Where are you? It is I, Tom Swift! We have escaped! Where are you? Don't be afraid!" There was a moment's silence, and then two big forms rushed from the dense bushes, one of them--Koku--advancing to Tom, and catching him up in what was meant for a loving hug. "Oh, I say now, Koku!" cried the young inventor, with a laugh. "I've got ribs, you know. Easy on that squeeze!" The two giant twins laughed too, and they were immensely pleased to see their friends again, both talking at once and so fast that not even the circus man could catch what they said. "Have you got the mules?" asked Tom, for he knew that much depended on the animals. "Is everything all right?" "All right," answered Koku, the talk being conducted in the language of the giants of which Tom was now fairly a master when it was spoken slowly. Then the brothers explained that they had gotten safely away, had gathered up the mules, and with a supply of food, had hidden the beasts in a nearby valley. The giant twins were waiting for Tom to arrive, but, though they had seen the aeroplanes in the hut they had no idea that it could fly so nearly like a bird, and when they saw it hovering over them they had become frightened, and hidden, until Tom's voice had reassured them. "Well, get the animals," advised Tom, after he had told of the fight of the night before, and the escape. "I'll go find the others and we'll start from here. Then we'll hike for the United States as fast as we can." Mr. Damon, Eradicate and the circus man were soon brought to the place where the giant brothers had made their camp, and it was decided to remain there a few days until the aeroplane could be taken apart for transportation, for Tom had no idea of abandoning it. Of course it could not be packed up very well, as there were no boxes or bales at hand. But it was made small enough so that the parts could be slung across the backs of several mules, there being a number of the pack animals available, some being the same ones Tom had purchased after his native escort had deserted him. It was the morning they had decided to begin their march for the coast. Everything was in readiness, they had some food, and with the shotguns and the electric rifles which they had brought along, they could get game. All their other things, save a few necessaries, had been left behind. Eradicate, as he had always done, rode his mule up beside Tom, to look after his young master. Suddenly Koku, who seemed to have become very fond of Tom, strode forward and took his place on the other side of the mule ridden by the young inventor. "Me stay by you," he said with a grin on his big face. "Me like you! Me take care of you, Tom--be your servant. Him too old," and he motioned to Eradicate. "Eh! What's dat yo' done said?" gasped the colored man. "Me too old? Looky heah, giant man, I'd hab yo' know dat I's been in de Swift fambly a good many years, an' I's jest as spry as I eber was. I kin look after Massa Tom as good as eber. Now yo' git back where yo' belongs, giant man, an' doan't let me heah no mo' ob dat foolishness talk. Nobody waits on Massa Tom Swift but me. Does yo' heah dat, giant man?" "Me Tom's man!" exclaimed the big fellow, and in fairly good English. Tom laughed. He had no idea the giant had picked up any words. "Go on away!" cried Eradicate. Koku gave the colored man one look, then, with a good natured grin on his face, he reached over one hand, calmly lifted Eradicate from his mule and set him on the ground. Then, with a push, he shoved the mule galloping ahead, and took his place at the side of the young inventor. "Well, what do you know about that?" gasped Ned. "Bless my coffee cup!" cried Mr. Damon. Eradicate stood still for a moment, gazing first at his master and then at the big being who had so ruthlessly plucked him from the mule's back, as easily as he would have lifted a child. Then Eradicate, with a trace of tears in his eyes, stretched forth his hands toward Tom, and turned aside. That was too much for our hero. With one leap he was off his animal, and the next minute he had his arms around the faithful old colored man. "By Jove, Rad!" cried Tom, and his own eyes were not dry. "I'm not going to be deserted by you in that way. You're just the same as ever to me, giant or no giant, and don't you forget it!" and he patted the old man on the back affectionately. "Praise de Lord fo' heahin' yo' say dat, Massa Tom," gasped Eradicate. "Praise de dear Lord!" And then, knowing that he still held a place in his young master's heart, the colored man was content. And from then on he rode on one side of Tom, while the giant, Koku, strode along on the other. He had established himself as Tom's bodyguard and even though Eradicate insisted on remaining, Koku would not go away. "I guess I'll have to keep 'em both," said Tom, with a grin, "but I'm going to change Koku's name." "What are you going to call him?" asked Ned. "Let's see, what month is this?" "August," said Mr. Damon. "Then August is his name!" exclaimed Tom. "Koku sounds too much like a cocoanut cake. Here, August, shift that package on the white mule," he called, "it's cutting her back," and the giant, with a pleased grin, did as he was bid. And August he was called from then on. But my story is getting too long, so I must bring it to a close. And really there is not much to tell. The march back to the coast was full of hardships, danger and difficulties, but they accomplished it. The two giants seemed glad that they had left their own country behind and they were simple and affectionate beings. Tom made up his mind he would let the circus man have one and keep the other for his personal attendant. They traveled by day, and slept at night, shooting game as they needed it. Several times they narrowly escaped getting mixed up in the native conflicts. Tom had one striking evidence of his giant servant's usefulness. One day he was stalking a small beast, like a deer, when, from a tree overhead, a jaguar sprang down at him. But Koku--I beg his pardon--August was at hand, and, like Sampson of old, the giant slew the beast bare-handed, choking it to death. In fine time our friends reached a native town and the wonder caused by the giants was no less than the amusement of the big men at the things they saw. They wondered more when they got to a city, and saw more marvels of the white man's progress. Then Tom and his friends reached the coast, and took a steamer for New York. The giants created a great sensation, the more when it was known that Tom intended to keep one for himself. With this arrangement Mr. Preston agreed, for he only wanted one as an attraction. "Couldn't have done it better myself!" the circus proprietor said to Tom when he heard the story, and this was high praise from Mr. Preston. "And you rescued old Jake, too! Well, well! Couldn't have done it better myself! I really couldn't!" "I wonder how our old enemy Delby made out?" asked Mr. Poddington. They heard later that he was driven from giant land, not even being allowed to take a boy as a specimen. He had worked on the "tip" Andy Foger had given Mr. Waydell, but it failed. When Tom escaped, the king confiscated all the things in the hut, and he was so taken up with the novelties that he paid no more attention to the circus agent, who had all his trouble, plotting and scheming against Tom for his pains. "A giant in the house!" cried Mrs. Baggert, when Tom got home with August. "I never heard of such a thing in all my life! Where will he sleep? Not a bed is big enough!" "We'll give him two beds then," laughed Tom. And so they did, and August was immensely pleased with his new life. He proved to be very useful, and readily adapted himself to civilized ways. Tola, the other giant, made a big sensation when exhibited, and Mr. Preston said he was well worth the fifteen thousand dollars he had cost. "Well, Tom, what next?" asked Ned one day, when they had been home several weeks and had told their story over and over again. "No where!" exclaimed Tom. "I'm going to take a long rest." But Tom Swift wasn't that kind of a young man, and he was soon active again. If you care to learn more of his doings you may do so in the next volume of this series, to be called, "Tom Swift and His Electric Camera; Or Thrilling Adventures While Taking Moving Pictures." And now, for a time, we will take leave of the young inventor and his new giant servant, to meet them again a little later. THE END 
499	----	TOM SWIFT IN THE LAND OF WONDERS or The Underground Search for the Idol of Gold BY VICTOR APPLETON AUTHOR OF "TOM SWIFT AND HIS MOTORCYCLE," "TOM SWIFT AND HIS BIG TUNNEL," "THE MOVING PICTURE BOYS SERIES," "THE MOTION PICTURE CHUMS SERIES," ETC. THE TOM SWIFT SERIES 1 TOM SWIFT AND HIS MOTOR CYCLE 2 TOM SWIFT AND HIS MOTOR BOAT 3 TOM SWIFT AND HIS AIRSHIP 4 TOM SWIFT AND HIS SUBMARINE BOAT 5 TOM SWIFT AND HIS ELECTRIC RUNABOUT 6 TOM SWIFT AND HIS WIRELESS MESSAGE 7 TOM SWIFT AMONG THE DIAMOND MAKERS 8 TOM SWIFT IN THE CAVES OF ICE 9 TOM SWIFT AND HIS SKY RACER 10 TOM SWIFT AND HIS ELECTRIC RIFLE 11 TOM SWIFT IN THE CITY OF GOLD 12 TOM SWIFT AND HIS AIR GLIDER 13 TOM SWIFT IN CAPTIVITY 14 TOM SWIFT AND HIS WIZARD CAMERA 15 TOM SWIFT AND HIS GREAT SEARCHLIGHT 16 TOM SWIFT AND HIS GIANT CANNON 17 TOM SWIFT AND HIS PHOTO TELEPHONE 18 TOM SWIFT AND HIS AERIAL WARSHIP 19 TOM SWIFT AND HIS BIG TUNNEL 20 TOM SWIFT IN THE LAND OF WONDERS 21 TOM SWIFT AND HIS WAR TANK 22 TOM SWIFT AND HIS AIR SCOUT 23 TOM SWIFT AND HIS UNDERSEA SEARCH 24 TOM SWIFT AMONG THE FIRE FIGHTERS 25 TOM SWIFT AND HIS ELECTRIC LOCOMOTIVE 26 TOM SWIFT AND HIS FLYING BOAT 27 TOM SWIFT AND HIS GREAT OIL GUSHER 28 TOM SWIFT AND HIS CHEST OF SECRETS 29 TOM SWIFT AND HIS AIRLINE EXPRESS Tom Swift in the Land of Wonders CONTENTS I A WONDERFUL STORY II PROFESSOR BUMPER ARRIVES III BLESSINGS AND ENTHUSIASM IV FENIMORE BEECHER V THE LITTLE GREEN GOD VI UNPLEASANT NEWS VII TOM HEARS SOMETHING VIII OFF FOR HONDURAS IX VAL JACINTO X IN THE WILDS XI THE VAMPIRES XII A FALSE FRIEND XIII FORWARD AGAIN XIV A NEW GUIDE XV IN THE COILS XVI A MEETING IN THE JUNGLE XVII THE LOST MAP XVIII "EL TIGRE!" XIX POISONED ARROWS XX AN OLD LEGEND XXI THE CAVERN XXII THE STORM XXIII ENTOMBED ALIVE XXIV THE REVOLVING STONE XXV THE IDOL OF GOLD TOM SWIFT IN THE LAND OF WONDERS CHAPTER I A WONDERFUL STORY Tom Swift, who had been slowly looking through the pages of a magazine, in the contents of which he seemed to be deeply interested, turned the final folio, ruffled the sheets back again to look at a certain map and drawing, and then, slapping the book down on a table before him, with a noise not unlike that of a shot, exclaimed: "Well, that is certainly one wonderful story!" "What's it about, Tom?" asked his chum, Ned Newton. "Something about inside baseball, or a new submarine that can be converted into an airship on short notice?" "Neither one, you--you unscientific heathen," answered Tom, with a laugh at Ned. "Though that isn't saying such a machine couldn't be invented." "I believe you--that is if you got on its trail," returned Ned, and there was warm admiration in his voice. "As for inside baseball, or outside, for that matter, I hardly believe I'd be able to tell third base from the second base, it's so long since I went to a game," proceeded Tom. "I've been too busy on that new airship stabilizer dad gave me an idea for. I've been working too hard, that's a fact. I need a vacation, and maybe a good baseball game----" He stopped and looked at the magazine he had so hastily slapped down. Something he had read in it seemed to fascinate him. "I wonder if it can possibly be true," he went on. "It sounds like the wildest dream of a professional sleep-walker; and yet, when I stop to think, it isn't much worse than some of the things we've gone through with, Ned." "Say, for the love of rice-pudding! will you get down to brass tacks and strike a trial balance? What are you talking of, anyhow? Is it a joke?" "A joke?" "Yes. What you just read in that magazine which seems to cause you so much excitement." "Well, it may be a joke; and yet the professor seems very much in earnest about it," replied Tom. "It certainly is one wonderful story!" "So you said before. Come on--the 'fillium' is busted. Splice it, or else put in a new reel and on with the show. I'd like to know what's doing. What professor are you talking of?" "Professor Swyington Bumper." "Swyington Bumper?" and Ned's voice showed that his memory was a bit hazy. "Yes. You ought to remember him. He was on the steamer when I went down to Peru to help the Titus Brothers dig the big tunnel. That plotter Waddington, or some of his tools, dropped a bomb where it might have done us some injury, but Professor Bumper, who was a fellow passenger, on his way to South America to look for the lost city of Pelone, calmly picked up the bomb, plucked out the fuse, and saved us from bad injuries, if not death. And he was as cool about it as an ice-cream cone. Surely you remember!" "Swyington Bumper! Oh, yes, now I remember him," said Ned Newton. "But what has he got to do with a wonderful story? Has he written more about the lost city of Pelone? If he has I don't see anything so very wonderful in that." "There isn't," agreed Tom. "But this isn't that," and Tom picked up the magazine and leafed it to find the article he had been reading. "Let's have a look at it," suggested Ned. "You act as though you might be vitally interested in it. Maybe you're thinking of joining forces with the professor again, as you did when you dug the big tunnel." "Oh, no. I haven't any such idea," Tom said. "I've got enough work laid out now to keep me in Shopton for the next year. I have no notion of going anywhere with Professor Bumper. Yet I can't help being impressed by this," and, having found the article in the magazine to which he referred, he handed it to his chum. "Why, it's by Bumper himself!" exclaimed Ned. "Yes. Though there's nothing remarkable in that, seeing that he is constantly contributing articles to various publications or writing books. It's the story itself that's so wonderful. To save you the trouble of wading through a lot of scientific detail, which I know you don't care about, I'll tell you that the story is about a queer idol of solid gold, weighing many pounds, and, in consequence, of great value." "Of solid gold you say?" asked Ned eagerly. "That's it. Got on your banking air already," Tom laughed. "To sum it up for you--notice I use the word 'sum,' which is very appropriate for a bank--the professor has got on the track of another lost or hidden city. This one, the name of which doesn't appear, is in the Copan valley of Honduras, and----" "Copan," interrupted Ned. "It sounds like the name of some new floor varnish." "Well, it isn't, though it might be," laughed Tom. "Copan is a city, in the Department of Copan, near the boundary between Honduras and Guatemala. A fact I learned from the article and not because I remembered my geography." "I was going to say," remarked Ned with a smile, "that you were coming it rather strong on the school-book stuff." "Oh, it's all plainly written down there," and Tom waved toward the magazine at which Ned was looking. "As you'll see, if you take the trouble to go through it, as I did, Copan is, or maybe was, for all I know, one of the most important centers of the Mayan civilization." "What's Mayan?" asked Ned. "You see I'm going to imbibe my information by the deductive rather than the excavative process," he added with a laugh. "I see," laughed Tom. "Well, Mayan refers to the Mayas, an aboriginal people of Yucatan. The Mayas had a peculiar civilization of their own, thousands of years ago, and their calendar system was so involved----" "Never mind about dates," again interrupted Ned. "Get down to brass tacks. I'm willing to take your word for it that there's a Copan valley in Honduras. But what has your friend Professor Bumper to do with it?" "This. He has come across some old manuscripts, or ancient document records, referring to this valley, and they state, according to this article he has written for the magazine, that somewhere in the valley is a wonderful city, traces of which have been found twenty to forty feet below the surface, on which great trees are growing, showing that the city was covered hundreds, if not thousands, of years ago." "But where does the idol of gold come in?" "I'm coming to that," said Tom. "Though, if Professor Bumper has his way, the idol will be coming out instead of coming in." "You mean he wants to get it and take it away from the Copan valley, Tom?" "That's it, Ned. It has great value not only from the amount of pure gold that is in it, but as an antique. I fancy the professor is more interested in that aspect of it. But he's written a wonderful story, telling how he happened to come across the ancient manuscripts in the tomb of some old Indian whose mummy he unearthed on a trip to Central America. "Then he tells of the trouble he had in discovering how to solve the key to the translation code; but when he did, he found a great story unfolded to him. "This story has to do with the hidden city, and tells of the ancient civilization of those who lived in the Copan valley thousands of years ago. The people held this idol of gold to be their greatest treasure, and they put to death many of other tribes who sought to steal it." "Whew!" whistled Ned. "That IS some yarn. But what is Professor Bumper going to do about it?" "I don't know. The article seems to be written with an idea of interesting scientists and research societies, so that they will raise money to conduct a searching expedition. "Perhaps by this time the party may be organized--this magazine is several months old. I have been so busy on my stabilizer patent that I haven't kept up with current literature. Take it home and read it! Ned. That is if you're through telling me about my affairs," for Ned, who had formerly worked in the Shopton bank, had recently been made general financial manager of the interests of Tom and his father. The two were inventors and proverbially poor business men, though they had amassed a fortune. "Your financial affairs are all right, Tom," said Ned. "I have just been going over the books, and I'll submit a detailed report later." The telephone bell rang and Tom picked up the instrument from the desk. As he answered in the usual way and then listened a moment, a strange look came over his face. "Well, this certainly is wonderful!" he exclaimed, in much the same manner as when he had finished reading the article about the idol. "It certainly is a strange coincidence," he added, speaking in an aside to Ned while he himself still listened to what was being told to him over the telephone wire. CHAPTER II PROFESSOR BUMPER ARRIVES "What's the matter, Tom? What is it?" asked Ned Newton, attracted by the strange manner of his chum at the telephone. "Has anything happened?" But the young inventor was too busy listening to the unseen speaker to answer his chum, even if he heard what Ned remarked, which is doubtful. "Well, I might as well wait until he is through," mused Ned, as he started to leave the room. Then as Tom motioned to him to remain, he murmured: "He may have something to say to me later. But I wonder who is talking to him." There was no way of finding out, however, until Tom had a chance to talk to Ned, and at present the young scientist was eagerly listening to what came over the wire. Occasionally Ned could hear him say: "You don't tell me! That is surprising! Yes--yes! Of course if it's true it means a big thing, I can understand that. What's that? No, I couldn't make a promise like that. I'm sorry, but----" Then the person at the other end of the wire must have plunged into something very interesting and absorbing, for Tom did not again interrupt by interjected remarks. Tom Swift, as has been said, was an inventor, as was his father. Mr. Swift was now rather old and feeble, taking only a nominal part in the activities of the firm made up of himself and his son. But his inventions were still used, many of them being vital to the business and trade of this country. Tom and his father lived in the village of Shopton, New York, and their factories covered many acres of ground. Those who wish to read of the earliest activities of Tom in the inventive line are referred to the initial volume, "Tom Swift and His Motor Cycle." From then on he and his father had many and exciting adventures. In a motor boat, an airship, and a submarine respectively the young inventor had gone through many perils. On some of the trips his chum, Ned Newton, accompanied him, and very often in the party was a Mr. Wakefield Damon, who had a curious habit of "blessing" everything that happened to strike his fancy. Besides Tom and his father, the Swift household was made up of Eradicate Sampson, a colored man-of-all-work, who, with his mule Boomerang, did what he could to keep the grounds around the house in order. There was also Mrs. Baggert, the housekeeper, Tom's mother being dead. Mr. Damon, living in a neighboring town, was a frequent visitor in the Swift home. Mary Nestor, a girl of Shopton, might also be mentioned. She and Tom were more than just good friends. Tom had an idea that some day----. But there, I promised not to tell that part, at least until the young people themselves were ready to have a certain fact announced. From one activity to another had Tom Swift gone, now constructing some important invention for himself, as among others, when he made the photo-telephone, or developed a great searchlight which he presented to the Government for use in detecting smugglers on the border. The book immediately preceding this is called "Tom Swift and His Big Tunnel," and deals with the efforts of the young inventor to help a firm of contractors penetrate a mountain in Peru. How this was done and how, incidentally, the lost city of Pelone was discovered, bringing joy to the heart of Professor Swyington Bumper, will be found fully set forth in the book. Tom had been back from the Peru trip for some months, when we again find him interested in some of the work of Professor Bumper, as set forth in the magazine mentioned. "Well, he certainly is having some conversation," reflected Ned, as, after more than five minutes, Tom's ear was still at the receiver of the instrument, into the transmitter of which he had said only a few words. "All right," Tom finally answered, as he hung the receiver up, "I'll be here," and then he turned to Ned, whose curiosity had been growing with the telephone talk, and remarked: "That certainly was wonderful!" "What was?" asked Ned. "Do you think I'm a mind reader to be able to guess?" "No, indeed! I beg your pardon. I'll tell you at once. But I couldn't break away. It was too important. To whom do you think I was talking just then?" "I can imagine almost any one, seeing I know something of what you have done. It might be almost anybody from some person you met up in the caves of ice to a red pygmy from the wilds of Africa." "I'm afraid neither of them would be quite up to telephone talk yet," laughed Tom. "No, this was the gentleman who wrote that interesting article about the idol of gold," and he motioned to the magazine Ned held in his hand. "You don't mean Professor Bumper!" "That's just whom I do mean." "What did he want? Where did he call from?" "He wants me to help organize an expedition to go to Central America--to the Copan valley, to be exact--to look for this somewhat mythical idol of gold. Incidentally the professor will gather in any other antiques of more or less value, if he can find any, and he hopes, even if he doesn't find the idol, to get enough historical material for half a dozen books, to say nothing of magazine articles." "Where did he call from; did you say?" "I didn't say. But it was a long-distance call from New York. The Professor stopped off there on his way from Boston, where he has been lecturing before some society. And now he's coming here to see me," finished Tom. "What! Is he going to lecture here?" cried Ned. "If he is, and spouts a whole lot of that bone-dry stuff about the ancient Mayan civilization and their antiquities, with side lights on how the old-time Indians used to scalp their enemies, I'm going to the moving pictures! I'm willing to be your financial manager, Tom Swift, but please don't ask me to be a high-brow. I wasn't built for that." "Nor I, Ned. The professor isn't going to lecture. He's only going to talk, he says." "What about?" "He's going to try to induce me to join his expedition to the Copan valley." "Do you feel inclined to go?" "No, Ned, I do not. I've got too many other irons in the fire. I shall have to give the professor a polite but firm refusal." "Well, maybe you're right, Tom; and yet that idol of gold--GOLD--weighing how many pounds did you say?" "Oh, you're thinking of its money value, Ned, old man!" "Yes, I'd like to see what a big chunk of gold like that would bring. It must be quite a nugget. But I'm not likely to get a glimpse of it if you don't go with the professor." "I don't see how I can go, Ned. But come over and meet the delightful gentleman when he arrives. I expect him day after to-morrow." "I'll be here," promised Ned; and then he went downtown to attend to some matters connected with his new duties, which were much less irksome than those he had had when he had been in the bank. "Well, Tom, have you heard any more about your friend?" asked Ned, two days later, as he came to the Swift home with some papers needing the signature of the young inventor and his father. "You mean----?" "Professor Bumper." "No, I haven't heard from him since he telephoned. But I guess he'll be here all right. He's very punctual. Did you see anything of my giant Koku as you came in?" "Yes, he and Eradicate were having an argument about who should move a heavy casting from one of the shops. Rad wanted to do it all alone, but Koku said he was like a baby now." "Poor Rad is getting old," said Tom with a sigh. "But he has been very faithful. He and Koku never seem to get along well together." Koku was an immense man, a veritable giant, one of two whom Tom had brought back with him after an exciting trip to a strange land. The giant's strength was very useful to the young inventor. "Now Tom, about this business of leasing to the English Government the right to manufacture that new explosive of yours," began Ned, plunging into the business at hand. "I think if you stick out a little you can get a better royalty price." "But I don't want to gouge 'em, Ned. I'm satisfied with a fair profit. The trouble with you is you think too much of money. Now----" At that moment a voice was heard in the hall of the house saying: "Now, my dear lady, don't trouble yourself. I can find my way in to Tom Swift perfectly well by myself, and while I appreciate your courtesy I do not want to trouble you." "No, don't come, Mrs. Baggert," added another voice. "Bless my hat band, I think I know my way about the house by this time!" "Mr. Damon!" ejaculated Ned. "And Professor Bumper is with him," added Tom. "Come in!" he cried, opening the hall door, to confront a bald-headed man who stood peering at our hero with bright snapping eyes, like those of some big bird spying out the land from afar. "Come in, Professor Bumper; and you too, Mr. Damon!" CHAPTER III BLESSINGS AND ENTHUSIASM Greetings and inquiries as to health having been passed, not without numerous blessings on the part of Mr. Damon, the little party gathered in the library of the home of Tom Swift sat down and looked at one another. On Professor Bumper's face there was, plainly to be seen, a look of expectation, and it seemed to be shared by Mr. Damon, who seemed eager to burst into enthusiastic talk. On the other hand Tom Swift appeared a bit indifferent. Ned himself admitted that he was frankly curious. The story of the big idol of gold had occupied his thoughts for many hours. "Well, I'm glad to see you both," said Tom again. "You got here all right, I see, Professor Bumper. But I didn't expect you to meet and bring Mr. Damon with you." "I met him on the train," explained the author of the book on the lost city of Pelone, as well as books on other antiquities. "I had no expectation of seeing him, and we were both surprised when we met on the express." "It stopped at Waterfield, Tom," explained Mr. Damon, "which it doesn't usually do, being an aristocratic sort of train, not given even to hesitating at our humble little town. There were some passengers to get off, which caused the flier to stop, I suppose. And, as I wanted to come over to see you, I got aboard." "Glad you did," voiced Tom. "Then I happened to see Professor Bumper a few seats ahead of me," went on Mr. Damon, "and, bless my scarfpin! he was coming to see you also." "Well, I'm doubly glad," answered Tom. "So here we are," went on Mr. Damon, "and you've simply got to come, Tom Swift. You must go with us!" and Mr. Damon, in his enthusiasm, banged his fist down on the table with such force that he knocked some books to the floor. Koku, the giant, who was in the hall, opened the door and in his imperfect English asked: "Master Tom knock for him bigs man?" "No," answered Tom with a smile, "I didn't knock or call you, Koku. Some books fell, that is all." "Massa Tom done called fo' me, dat's what he done!" broke in the petulant voice of Eradicate. "No, Rad, I don't need anything," Tom said. "Though you might make a pitcher of lemonade. It's rather warm." "Right away, Massa Tom! Right away!" cried the old colored man, eager to be of service. "Me help, too!" rumbled Koku, in his deep voice. "Me punch de lemons!" and away he hurried after Eradicate, fearful lest the old servant do all the honors. "Same old Rad and Koku," observed Mr. Damon with a smile. "But now, Tom, while they're making the lemonade, let's get down to business. You're going with us, of course!" "Where?" asked Tom, more from habit than because he did not know. "Where? Why to Honduras, of course! After the idol of gold! Why, bless my fountain pen, it's the most wonderful story I ever heard of! You've read Professor Bumper's article, of course. He told me you had. I read it on the train coming over. He also told me about it, and---- Well, I'm going with him, Tom Swift. "And think of all the adventures that may befall us! We'll get lost in buried cities, ride down raging torrents on a raft, fall over a cliff maybe and be rescued. Why, it makes me feel quite young again!" and Mr. Damon arose, to pace excitedly up and down the room. Up to this time Professor Bumper had said very little. He had sat still in his chair listening to Mr. Damon. But now that the latter had ceased, at least for a time, Tom and Ned looked toward the scientist. "I understand, Tom," he said, "that you read my article in the magazine, about the possibility of locating some of the lost and buried cities of Honduras?" "Yes, Ned and I each read it. It was quite wonderful." "And yet there are more wonders to tell," went on the professor. "I did not give all the details in that article. I will tell you some of them. I have brought copies of the documents with me," and he opened a small valise and took out several bundles tied with pink tape. "As Mr. Damon said," he went on while arranging his papers, "he met me on the train, and he was so taken by the story of the idol of gold that he agreed to accompany me to Central America." "On one condition!" put in the eccentric man. "What's that? You didn't make any conditions while we were talking," said the scientist. "Yes, I said I'd go if Tom Swift did." "Oh, yes. You did say that. But I don't call that a condition, for of course Tom Swift will go. Now let me tell you something more than I could impart over the telephone. "Soon after I called you up, Tom--and it was quite a coincidence that it should have been at a time when you had just finished my magazine article. Soon after that, as I was saying, I arranged to come on to Shopton. And now I'm glad we're all here together. "But how comes it, Ned Newton, that you are not in the bank?" "I've left there," explained Ned. "He's now general financial man for the Swift Company," Tom explained. "My father and I found that we could not look after the inventing and experimental end, and money matters, too, and as Ned had had considerable experience this way we made him take over those worries," and Tom laughed genially. "No worries at all, as far as the Swift Company is concerned," returned Ned. "Well, I guess you earn your salary," laughed Tom. "But now, Professor Bumper, let's hear from you. Is there anything more about this idol of gold that you can tell us?" "Plenty, Tom, plenty. I could talk all day, and not get to the end of the story. But a lot of it would be scientific detail that might be too dry for you in spite of this excellent lemonade." Between them Koku and Eradicate had managed to make a pitcher of the beverage, though Mrs. Baggert, the housekeeper, told Tom afterward that the two had a quarrel in the kitchen as to who should squeeze the lemons, the giant insisting that he had the better right to "punch" them. "So, not to go into too many details," went on the professor, "I'll just give you a brief outline of this story of the idol of gold. "Honduras, as you of course know, is a republic of Central America, and it gets its name from something that happened on the fourth voyage of Columbus. He and his men had had days of weary sailing and had sought in vain for shallow water in which they might come to an anchorage. Finally they reached the point now known as Cape Gracias-a-Dios, and when they let the anchor go, and found that in a short time it came to rest on the floor of the ocean, some one of the sailors--perhaps Columbus himself--is said to have remarked: "'Thank the Lord, we have left the deep waters (honduras)' that being the Spanish word for unfathomable depths. So Honduras it was called, and has been to this day. "It is a queer land with many traces of an ancient civilization, a civilization which I believe dates back farther than some in the far East. On the sculptured stones in the Copan valley there are characters which seem to resemble very ancient writing, but this pictographic writing is largely untranslatable. "Honduras, I might add, is about the size of our state of Ohio. It is rather an elevated tableland, though there are stretches of tropical forest, but it is not so tropical a country as many suppose it to be. There is much gold scattered throughout Honduras, though of late it has not been found in large quantities. "In the old days, however, before the Spaniards came, it was plentiful, so much, so that the natives made idols of it. And it is one of the largest of these idols--by name Quitzel--that I am going to seek." "Do you know where it is?" asked Ned. "Well, it isn't locked up in a safe deposit box, of that I'm sure," laughed the professor. "No, I don't know exactly where it is, except that it is somewhere in an ancient and buried city known as Kurzon. If I knew exactly where it was there wouldn't be much fun in going after it. And if it was known to others it would have been taken away long ago. "No, we've got to hunt for the idol of gold in this land of wonders where I hope soon to be. Later on I'll show you the documents that put me on the track of this idol. Enough now to show you an old map I found, or, rather, a copy of it, and some of the papers that tell of the idol," and he spread out his packet of papers on the table in front of him, his eyes shining with excitement and pleasure. Mr. Damon, too, leaned eagerly forward. "So, Tom Swift," went on the professor, "I come to you for help in this matter. I want you to aid me in organizing an expedition to go to Honduras after the idol of gold. Will you?" "I'll help you, of course," said Tom. "You may use any of my inventions you choose--my airships, my motor boats and submarines, even my giant cannon if you think you can take it with you. And as for the money part, Ned will arrange that for you. But as for going with you myself, it is out of the question. I can't. No Honduras for me!" CHAPTER IV FENIMORE BEECHER Had Tom Swift's giant cannon been discharged somewhere in the vicinity of his home it could have caused but little more astonishment to Mr. Damon and Professor Bumper than did the simple announcement of the young inventor. The professor seemed to shrink back in his chair, collapsing like an automobile tire when the air is let out. As for Mr. Damon he jumped up and cried: "Bless my----!" But that is as far as he got--at least just then. He did not seem to know what to bless, but he looked as though he would have liked to include most of the universe. "Surely you don't mean it, Tom Swift," gasped Professor Bumper at length. "Won't you come with us?" "No," said Tom, slowly. "Really I can't go. I'm working on an invention of a new aeroplane stabilizer, and if I go now it will be just at a time when I am within striking distance of success. And the stabilizer is very much needed." "If it's a question of making a profit on it, Tom," began Mr. Damon, "I can let you have some money until----" "Oh, no! It isn't the money!" cried Tom. "Don't think that for a moment. You see the European war has called for the use of a large number of aeroplanes, and as the pilots of them frequently have to fight, and so can not give their whole attention to the machines, some form of automatic stabilizer is needed to prevent them turning turtle, or going off at a wrong tangent. "So I have been working out a sort of modified gyroscope, and it seems to answer the purpose. I have already received advance orders for a number of my devices from abroad, and as they are destined to save lives I feel that I ought to keep on with my work. "I'd like to go, don't misunderstand me, but I can't go at this time. It is out of the question. If you wait a year, or maybe six months----" "No, it is impossible to wait, Tom," declared Professor Bumper. "Is it so important then to hurry?" asked Mr. Damon. "You did not mention that to me, Professor Bumper." "No, I did not have time. There are so many ends to my concerns. But, Tom Swift, you simply must go!" "I can't, my dear professor, much as I should like to." "But, Tom, think of it!" cried Mr. Damon, who was as much excited as was the little bald-headed scientist. "You never saw such an idol of gold as this. What's its name?" and he looked questioningly at the professor. "Quitzel the idol is called," supplied Professor Bumper. "And it is supposed to be in a buried city named Kurzon, somewhere in the Sierra de Merendon range of mountains, in the vicinity of the Copan valley. Copan is a city, or maybe we'll find it only a town when we get there, and it is not far from the borders of Guatemala. "Tom, if I could show you the translations I have made of the ancient documents, referring to this idol and the wonderful city over which it kept guard, I'm sure you'd come with us." "Please don't tempt me," Tom said with a laugh. "I'm only too anxious to go, and if it wasn't for the stabilizer I'd be with you in a minute. But---- Well, you'll have to get along without me. Maybe I can join you later." "What's this about the idol keeping guard over the ancient city?" asked Ned, for he was interested in strange stories. "It seems," explained the professor, "that in the early days there was a strange race of people, inhabiting Central America, with a somewhat high civilization, only traces of which remained when the Spaniards came. "But these traces, and such hieroglyphics, or, to be more exact pictographs, as I have been able to decipher from the old documents, tell of one country, or perhaps it was only a city, over which this great golden idol of Quitzel presided. "There is in some of these papers a description of the idol, which is not exactly a beauty, judged from modern standards. But the main fact is that it is made of solid gold, and may weigh anywhere from one to two tons." "Two tons of gold!" cried New Newton. "Why, if that's the case it would be worth----" and he fell to doing a sum in mental arithmetic. "I am not so concerned about the monetary value of the statue as I am about its antiquity," went on Professor Bumper. "There are other statues in this buried city of Kurzon, and though they may not be so valuable they will give me a wealth of material for my research work." "How do you know there are other statues?" asked Mr. Damon. "Because my documents tell me so. It was because the people made other idols, in opposition, as it were, to Quitzel, that their city or country was destroyed. At least that is the legend. Quitzel, so the story goes, wanted to be the chief god, and when the image of a rival was set up in the temple near him, he toppled over in anger, and part of the temple went with him, the whole place being buried in ruins. All the inhabitants were killed, and trace of the ancient city was lost forever. No, I hope not forever, for I expect to find it." "If all the people were killed, and the city buried, how did the story of Quitzel become known?" asked Mr. Damon. "One only of the priests in the temple of Quitzel escaped and set down part of the tale," said the professor. "It is his narrative, or one based on it, that I have given you." "And now, what I want to do, is to go and make a search for this buried city. I have fairly good directions as to how it may be reached. We will have little difficulty in getting to Honduras, as there are fruit steamers frequently sailing. Of course going into the interior--to the Copan valley--is going to be harder. But an expedition from a large college was recently there and succeeded, after much labor, in excavating part of a buried city. Whether or not it was Kurzon I am unable to say. "But if there was one ancient city there must be more. So I want to make an attempt. And I counted on you, Tom. You have had considerable experience in strange quarters of the earth, and you're just the one to help me. I don't need money, for I have interested a certain millionaire, and my own college will put up part of the funds." "Oh, it isn't a question of money," said Tom. "It's time." "That's just what it is with me!" exclaimed Professor Bumper. "I haven't any time to lose. My rivals may, even now, be on their way to Honduras!" "Your rivals!" cried Tom. "You didn't say anything about them!" "No, I believe I didn't. There were so many other things to talk about. But there is a rival archaeologist who would ask nothing better than to get ahead of me in this matter. He is younger than I am, and youth is a big asset nowadays." "Pooh! You're not old!" cried Mr. Damon. "You're no older than I am, and I'm still young. I'm a lot younger than some of these boys who are afraid to tackle a trip through a tropical wilderness," and he playfully nudged Tom in the ribs. "I'm not a bit afraid!" retorted the young inventor. "No, I know you're not," laughed Mr. Damon. "But I've got to say something, Tom, to stir you up. Ned, how about you? Would you go?" "I can't, unless Tom does. You see I'm his financial man now." "There you are, Tom Swift!" cried Mr. Damon. "You see you are holding back a number of persons just because you don't want to go." "I certainly wouldn't like to go without Tom," said the professor slowly. "I really need his help. You know, Tom, we would never have found the city of Pelone if it had not been for you and your marvelous powder. The conditions in the Copan valley are likely to be still more difficult to overcome, and I feel that I risk failure without your young energy and your inventive mind to aid in the work and to suggest possible means of attaining our object. Come, Tom, reconsider, and decide to make the trip." "And my promise to go was dependent on Tom's agreement to accompany us," said Mr. Damon. "Come on!" urged the professor, much as one boy might urge another to take part in a ball game. "Don't let my rival get ahead of me." "I wouldn't like to see that," Tom said slowly. "Who is he--any one I know?" "I don't believe so, Tom. He's connected with a large, new college that has plenty of money to spend on explorations and research work. Beecher is his name--Fenimore Beecher." "Beecher!" exclaimed Tom, and there was such a change in his manner that his friends could not help noticing it. He jumped to his feet, his eyes snapping, and he looked eagerly and anxiously at Professor Bumper. "Did you say his name was Fenimore Beecher?" Tom asked in a tense voice. "That's what it is--Professor Fenimore Beecher. He is really a learned young man, and thoroughly in earnest, though I do not like his manner. But he is trying to get ahead of me, which may account for my feeling." Tom Swift did not answer. Instead he hurried from the room with a murmured apology. "I'll be back in about five minutes," he said, as he went out. "Well, what's up now?" asked Mr. Damon of Ned, as the young inventor departed. "What set him off that way?" "The mention of Beecher's name, evidently. Though I never heard him mention such a person before." "Nor did I ever hear Professor Beecher speak of Tom," said the bald-headed scientist. "Well, we'll just have to wait until----" At that moment Tom came back into the room. "Gentlemen," he said, "I have reconsidered my refusal to go to the Copan valley after the idol of gold. I'm going with you!" "Good!" cried Professor Bumper. "Fine!" ejaculated Mr. Damon. "Bless my time-table! I thought you'd come around, Tom Swift." "But what about your stabilizer?" asked Ned. "I was just talking to my father about it," the young inventor replied. "He will be able to put the finishing touches on it. So I'll leave it with him. As soon as I can get ready I'll go, since you say haste is necessary, Professor Bumper." "It is, if we are to get ahead of Beecher." "Then we'll get ahead of him!" cried Tom. "I'm with you now from the start to the finish. I'll show him what I can do!" he added, while Ned and the others wondered at the sudden change in their friend's manner. CHAPTER V THE LITTLE GREEN GOD "Tom how soon can we go?" asked Professor Bumper, as he began arranging his papers, maps and documents ready to place them back in the valise. "Within a week, if you want to start that soon." "The sooner the better. A week will suit me. I don't know just what Beecher's plans are, but, he may try to get on the ground first. Though, without boasting, I may say that he has not had as much experience as I have had, thanks to you, Tom, when you helped me find the lost city of Pelone." "Well, I hope we'll be as successful this time," murmured Tom. "I don't want to see Beecher beat you." "I didn't know you knew him, Tom," said the professor. "Oh, yes, I have met him, once," and there was something in Tom's manner, though he tried to speak indifferently, that made Ned believe there was more behind his chum's sudden change of determination than had yet appeared. "He never mentioned you," went on Professor Bumper; "yet the last time I saw him I said I was coming to see you, though I did not tell him why." "No, he wouldn't be likely to speak of me," said Tom significantly. "Well, if that's all settled, I guess I'll go back home and pack up," said Mr. Damon, making a move to depart. "There's no special rush," Tom said. "We won't leave for a week. I can't get ready in much less time than that." "Bless my socks! I know that," ejaculated Mr. Damon. "But if I get my things packed I can go to a hotel to stay while my wife is away. She might take a notion to come home unexpectedly, and, though she is a dear, good soul, she doesn't altogether approve of my going off on these wild trips with you, Tom Swift. But if I get all packed, and clear out, she can't find me and she can't hold me back. She is visiting her mother now. I can send her a wire from Kurzon after I get there." "I don't believe the telegraph there is working," laughed Professor Bumper. "But suit yourself. I must go back to New York to arrange for the goods we'll have to take with us. In a week, Tom, we'll start." "You must stay to dinner," Tom said. "You can't get a train now anyhow, and father wants to meet you again. He's pretty well, considering his age. And he's much better I verily believe since I said I'd turn over to him the task of finishing the stabilizer. He likes to work." "We'll stay and take the night train back," agreed Mr. Damon. "It will be like old times, Tom," he went on, "traveling off together into the wilds. Central America is pretty wild, isn't it?" he asked, as if in fear of being disappointed on that score. "Oh, it's wild enough to suit any one," answered Professor Bumper. "Well, now to settle a few details," observed Tom. "Ned, what is the situation as regards the financial affairs of my father and myself? Nothing will come to grief if we go away, will there?" "I guess not, Tom. But are you going to take your father with you?" "No, of course not." "But you spoke of 'we.'" "I meant you and I are going." "Me, Tom?" "Sure, you! I wouldn't think of leaving you behind. You want Ned along, don't you, Professor?" "Of course. It will be an ideal party--we four. We'll have to take natives when we get to Honduras, and make up a mule pack-train for the interior. I had some thoughts of asking you to take an airship along, but it might frighten the Indians, and I shall have to depend on them for guides, as well as for porters. So it will be an old-fashioned expedition, in a way." Mr. Swift came in at this point to meet his old friends. "The boy needs a little excitement," he said. "He's been puttering over that stabilizer invention too long. I can finish the model for him in a very short time." Professor Bumper told Mr. Swift something about the proposed trip, while Mr. Damon went out with Tom and Ned to one of the shops to look at a new model aeroplane the young inventor had designed. There was a merry party around the table at dinner, though now and then Ned noticed that Tom had an abstracted and preoccupied air. "Thinking about the idol of gold?" asked Ned in a whisper to his chum, when they were about to leave the table. "The idol of gold? Oh, yes! Of course! It will be great if we can bring that back with us." But the manner in which he said this made Ned feel sure that Tom had had other thoughts, and that he had used a little subterfuge in his answer. Ned was right, as he proved for himself a little later, when, Mr. Damon and the professor having gone home, the young financial secretary took his friend to a quiet corner and asked: "What's the matter, Tom?" "Matter? What do you mean?" "I mean what made you make up your mind so quickly to go on this expedition when you heard Beecher was going?" "Oh--er--well, you wouldn't want to see our old friend Professor Bumper left, would you, after he had worked out the secret of the idol of gold? You wouldn't want some young whipper-snapper to beat him in the race, would you, Ned?" "No, of course not." "Neither would I. That's why I changed my mind. This Beecher isn't going to get that idol if I can stop him!" "You seem rather bitter against him." "Bitter? Oh, not at all. I simply don't want to see my friends disappointed." "Then Beecher isn't a friend of yours?" "Oh, I've met him, that is all," and Tom tried to speak indifferently. "Humph!" mused Ned, "there's more here than I dreamed of. I'm going to get at the bottom of it." But though Ned tried to pump Tom, he was not successful. The young inventor admitted knowing the youthful scientist, but that was all, Tom reiterating his determination not to let Professor Bumper be beaten in the race for the idol of gold. "Let me see," mused Ned, as he went home that evening. "Tom did not change his mind until he heard Beecher's name mentioned. Now this shows that Beecher had something to do with it. The only reason Tom doesn't want Beecher to get this idol or find the buried city is because Professor Bumper is after it. And yet the professor is not an old or close friend of Tom's. They met only when Tom went to dig his big tunnel. There must be some other reason." Ned did some more thinking. Then he clapped his hands together, and a smile spread over his face. "I believe I have it!" he cried. "The little green god as compared to the idol of gold! That's it. I'm going to make a call on my way home." This he did, stopping at the home of Mary Nestor, a pretty girl, who, rumor had it, was tacitly engaged to Tom. Mary was not at home, but Mr. Nestor was, and for Ned's purpose this answered. "Well, well, glad to see you!" exclaimed Mary's father. "Isn't Tom with you?" he asked a moment later, seeing that Ned was alone. "No, Tom isn't with me this evening," Ned answered. "The fact is, he's getting ready to go off on another expedition, and I'm going with him." "You young men are always going somewhere," remarked Mrs. Nestor. "Where is it to this time?" "Some place in Central America," Ned answered, not wishing to be too particular. He was wondering how he could find out what he wanted to know, when Mary's mother unexpectedly gave him just the information he was after. "Central America!" she exclaimed. "Why, Father," and she looked at her husband, "that's where Professor Beecher is going, isn't it?" "Yes, I believe he did mention something about that." "Professor Beecher, the man who is an authority on Aztec ruins?" asked Ned, taking a shot in the dark. "Yes," said Mr. Nestor. "And a mighty fine young man he is, too. I knew his father well. He was here on a visit not long ago, young Beecher was, and he talked most entertainingly about his discoveries. You remember how interested Mary was, Mother?" "Yes, she seemed to be," said Mrs. Nestor. "Tom Swift dropped in during the course of the evening," she added to Ned, "and Mary introduced him to Professor Beecher. But I can't say that Tom was much interested in the professor's talk." "No?" questioned Ned. "No, not at all. But Tom did not stay long. He left just as Mary and the professor were drawing a map so the professor could indicate where he had once made a big discovery." "I see," murmured Ned. "Well, I suppose Tom must have been thinking of something else at the time." "Very likely," agreed Mr. Nestor. "But Tom missed a very profitable talk. I was very much interested myself in what the professor told us, and so was Mary. She invited Mr. Beecher to come again. He takes after his father in being very thorough in what he does. "Sometimes I think," went on Mr. Nestor, "that Tom isn't quite steady enough. He's thinking of so many things, perhaps, that he can't get his mind down to the commonplace. I remember he once sent something here in a box labeled 'dynamite.' Though there was no explosive in it, it gave us a great fright. But Tom is a boy, in spite of his years. Professor Beecher seems much older. We all like him very much." "That's nice," said Ned, as he took his departure. He had found out what he had come to learn. "I knew it!" Ned exclaimed as he walked home. "I knew something was in the wind. The little green god of jealousy has Tom in his clutches. That's why my inventive friend was so anxious to go on this expedition when he learned Beecher was to go. He wants to beat him. I guess the professor has plainly shown that he wouldn't like anything better than to cut Tom out with Mary. Whew! that's something to think about!" CHAPTER VI UNPLEASANT NEWS Ned Newton decided to keep to himself what he had heard at the Nestor home. Not for the world would he let Tom Swift know of the situation. "That is, I won't let him know that I know," said Ned to himself, "though he is probably as well aware of the situation as I am. But it sure is queer that this Professor Beecher should have taken such a fancy to Mary, and that her father should regard him so well. That is natural, I suppose. But I wonder how Mary herself feels about it. That is the part Tom would be most interested in. "No wonder Tom wants to get ahead of this young college chap, who probably thinks he's the whole show. If he can find the buried city, and get the idol of gold, it would be a big feather in his cap. "He'd have no end of honors heaped on him, and I suppose his hat wouldn't come within three sizes of fitting him. Then he'd stand in better than ever with Mr. Nestor. And, maybe, with Mary, too, though I think she is loyal to Tom. But one never can tell. "However, I'm glad I know about it. I'll do all I can to help Tom, without letting him know that I know. And if I can do anything to help in finding that idol of gold for Professor Bumper, and, incidentally, Tom, I'll do it," and he spoke aloud in his enthusiasm. Ned, who was walking along in the darkness, clapped his open hand down on Tom's magazine he was carrying home to read again, and the resultant noise was a sharp crack. As it sounded a figure jumped from behind a tree and called tensely: "Hold on there!" Ned stopped short, thinking he was to be the victim of a holdup, but his fears were allayed when he beheld one of the police force of Shopton confronting him. "I heard what you said about gettin' the gold," went on the officer. "I was walkin' along and I heard you talkin'. Where's your pal?" "I haven't any, Mr. Newbold," answered Ned with a laugh, as he recognized the man. "Oh, pshaw! It's Ned Newton!" exclaimed the disappointed officer. "I thought you was talkin' to a confederate about gold, and figured maybe you was goin' to rob the bank." "No, nothing like that," answered Ned, still much amused. "I was talking to myself about a trip Tom Swift and I are going to take and----" "Oh, that's all right," responded the policeman. "I can understand it, if it had anything to do with Tom. He's a great boy." "Indeed he is," agreed Ned, making a mental resolve not to be so public with his thoughts in the future. He chatted for a moment with the officer, and then, bidding him good-night, walked on to his home, his mind in a whirl with conglomerate visions of buried cities, great grinning idols of gold, and rival professors seeking to be first at the goal. The next few days were busy ones for Tom, Ned and, in fact, the whole Swift household. Tom and his father had several consultations and conducted several experiments in regard to the new stabilizer, the completion of which was so earnestly desired. Mr. Swift was sure he could carry the invention to a successful conclusion. Ned was engaged in putting the financial affairs of the Swift Company in shape, so they would practically run themselves during his absence. Then, too, there was the packing of their baggage which must be seen to. Of course, the main details of the trip were left to Professor Bumper, who knew just what to do. He had told Tom and Ned that all they and Mr. Damon would have to do would be to meet him at the pier in New York, where they would find all arrangements made. One day, near the end of the week (the beginning of the next being set for the start) Eradicate came shuffling into the room where Tom was sorting out the possessions he desired to take with him, Ned assisting him in the task. "Well, Rad, what is it?" asked Tom, with businesslike energy. "I done heah, Massa Tom, dat yo' all's gwine off on a long trip once mo'. Am dat so?" "Yes, that's so, Rad." "Well, den, I'se come to ast yo' whut I'd bettah take wif me. Shall I took warm clothes or cool clothes?" "Well, if you were going, Rad," answered Tom with a smile, "you'd need cool clothes, for we're going to a sort of jungle-land. But I'm sorry to say you're not going this trip." "I---- I ain't gwine? Does yo' mean dat yo' all ain't gwine to take me, Massa Tom?" "That's it, Rad. It isn't any trip for you." "Is certain not!" broke in the voice of Koku, the giant, who entered with a big trunk Tom had sent him for. "Master want strong man like a bull. He take Koku!" "Look heah!" spluttered Eradicate, and his eyes flashed. "Yo'--yo' giant yo'--yo' may be strong laik a bull, but ya' ain't got as much sense as mah mule, Boomerang! Massa Tom don't want no sich pusson wif him. He's gwine to take me." "He take me!" cried Koku, and his voice was a roar while he beat on his mighty chest with his huge fists. Tom, seeing that the dispute was likely to be bothersome, winked at Ned and began to speak. "I don't believe you'd like it there, Rad--not where we're going. It's a bad country. Why the mosquitoes there bite holes in you--raise bumps on you as big as eggs." "Oh, good land!" ejaculated the old colored man. "Am dat so Massa Tom?" "It sure is. Then there's another kind of bug that burrows under your fingernails, and if you don't get 'em out, your fingers drop off." "Oh, good land, Massa Tom! Am dat a fact?" "It sure is. I don't want to see those things happen to you, Rad." Slowly the old colored man shook his head. "I don't mahse'f," he said. "I---- I guess I won't go." Eradicate did not stop to ask how Tom and Ned proposed to combat these two species of insects. But there remained Koku to dispose of, and he stood smiling broadly as Eradicate shuffled off. "Me no 'fraid bugs," said the giant. "No," said Tom, with a look at Ned, for he did not want to take the big man on the trip for various reasons. "No, maybe not, Koku. Your skin is pretty tough. But I understand there are deep pools of water in the land where we are going, and in them lives a fish that has a hide like an alligator and a jaw like a shark. If you fall in it's all up with you." "Dat true, Master Tom?" and Koku's voice trembled. "Well, I've never seen such a fish, I'm sure, but the natives tell about it." Koku seemed to be considering the matter. Strange as it may seem, the giant, though afraid of nothing human and brave when it came to a hand-to-claw argument with a wild animal, had a very great fear of the water and the unseen life within it. Even a little fresh-water crab in a brook was enough to send him shrieking to shore. So when Tom told of this curious fish, which many natives of Central America firmly believe in, the giant took thought with himself. Finally, he gave a sigh and said: "Me stay home and keep bad mans out of master's shop." "Yes, I guess that's the best thing for you," assented Tom with an air of relief. He and Ned had talked the matter over, and they had agreed that the presence of such a big man as Koku, in an expedition going on a more or less secret mission, would attract too much attention. "Well, I guess that clears matters up," said Tom, as he looked over a collection of rifles and small arms, to decide which to take. "We won't have them to worry about." "No, only Professor Beecher," remarked Ned, with a sharp look at his chum. "Oh, we'll dispose of him all right!" asserted Tom boldly. "He hasn't had any experience in business of this sort, and with what you and Professor Bumper and Mr. Damon know we ought to have little trouble in getting ahead of the young man." "Not to speak of your own aid," added Ned. "Oh, I'll do what I can, of course," said Tom, with an air of indifference. But Ned knew his chum would work ceaselessly to help get the idol of gold. Tom gave no sign that there was any complication in his affair with Mary Nestor, and of course Ned did not tell anything of what he knew about it. That night saw the preparations of Ned and Tom about completed. There were one or two matters yet to finish on Tom's part in relation to his business, but these offered no difficulties. The two chums were in the Swift home, talking over the prospective trip, when Mrs. Baggert, answering a ring at the front door, announced that Mr. Damon was outside. "Tell him to come in," ordered Tom. "Bless my baggage check!" exclaimed the excitable man, as he shook hands with Tom and Ned and noted the packing evidences all about. "You're ready to go to the land of wonders." "The land of wonders?" repeated Ned. "Yes, that's what Professor Bumper calls the part of Honduras we're going to. And it must be wonderful, Tom. Think of whole cities, some of them containing idols and temples of gold, buried thirty and forty feet under the surface! Wonderful is hardly the name for it!" "It'll be great!" cried Ned. "I suppose you're ready, Mr. Damon--you and the professor?" "Yes. But, Tom, I have a bit of unpleasant news for you." "Unpleasant news?" "Yes. You know Professor Bumper spoke of a rival--a man named Beecher who is a member of the faculty of a new and wealthy college." "I heard him speak of him--yes," and the way Tom said it no one would have suspected that he had any personal interest in the matter. "He isn't going to give his secret away," thought Ned. "Well, this Professor Beecher, you know," went on Mr. Damon, "also knows about the idol of gold, and is trying to get ahead of Professor Bumper in the search." "He did say something of it, but nothing was certain," remarked Tom. "But it is certain!" exclaimed Mr. Damon. "Bless my toothpick, it's altogether too certain!" "How is that?" asked Tom. "Is Beecher certainly going to Honduras?" "Yes, of course. But what is worse, he and his party will leave New York on the same steamer with us!" CHAPTER VII TOM HEARS SOMETHING On hearing Mr. Damon's rather startling announcement, Tom and Ned looked at one another. There seemed to be something back of the simple statement--an ominous and portending "something." "On the same steamer with us, is he?" mused Tom. "How did you learn this?" asked Ned. "Just got a wire from Professor Bumper telling me. He asked me to telephone to you about it, as he was too busy to call up on the long distance from New York. But instead of 'phoning I decided to come over myself." "Glad you did," said Tom, heartily. "Did Professor Bumper want us to do anything special, now that it is certain his rival will be so close on his trail?" "Yes, he asked me to warn you to be careful what you did and said in reference to the expedition." "Then does he fear something?" asked Ned. "Yes, in a way. I think he is very much afraid this young Beecher will not only be first on the site of the underground city, but that he may be the first to discover the idol of gold. It would be a great thing for a young archaeologist like Beecher to accomplish a mission of this sort, and beat Professor Bumper in the race." "Do you think that's why Beecher decided to go on the same steamer we are to take?" asked Ned. "Yes, I do," said Mr. Damon. "Though from what Professor Bumper said I know he regards Professor Beecher as a perfectly honorable man, as well as a brilliant student. I do not believe Beecher or his party would stoop to anything dishonorable or underhand, though they would not hesitate, nor would we, to take advantage of every fair chance to win in the race." "No, I suppose that's right," observed Tom; but there was a queer gleam in his eye, and his chum wondered if Tom did not have in mind the prospective race between himself and Fenimore Beecher for the regard of Mary Nestor. "We'll do our best to win, and any one is at liberty to travel on the same steamer we are to take," added the young inventor, and his tone became more incisive. "It will be all the livelier with two expeditions after the same golden idol," remarked Ned. "Yes, I think we're in for some excitement," observed Tom grimly. But even he did not realize all that lay before them ere they would reach Kurzon. Mr. Damon, having delivered his message, and remarking that his preparations for leaving were nearly completed, went back to Waterfield, from there to proceed to New York in a few days with Tom and Ned, to meet Professor Bumper. "Well, I guess we have everything in pretty good shape," remarked Tom to his chum a day or so after the visit of Mr. Damon. "Everything is packed, and as I have a few personal matters to attend to I think I'll take the afternoon off." "Go to it!" laughed Ned, guessing a thing of two. "I've got a raft of stuff myself to look after, but don't let that keep you." "If there is anything I can do," began Tom, "don't hesitate to----" "Nonsense!" exclaimed Ned. "I can do it all alone. It's some of the company's business, anyhow, and I'm paid for looking after that." "All right, then I'll cut along," Tom said, and he wore a relieved air. "He's going to see Mary," observed Ned with a grin, as he observed Tom hop into his trim little roadster, which under his orders, Koku had polished and cleaned until it looked as though it had just come from the factory. A little later the trim and speedy car drew up in front of the Nestor home, and Tom bounded up on the front porch, his heart not altogether as light as his feet. "No, I'm sorry, but Mary isn't in," said Mrs. Nestor, answering his inquiry after greeting him. "Not at home?" "No, she went on a little visit to her cousin's at Fayetteville. She said something about letting you know she was going." "She did drop me a card," answered Tom, and, somehow he did not feel at all cheerful. "But I thought it wasn't until next week she was going." "That was her plan, Tom. But she changed it. Her cousin wired, asking her to advance the date, and this Mary did. There was something about a former school chum who was also to be at Myra's house--Myra is Mary's cousin you know." "Yes, I know," assented the young inventor. "And so Mary is gone. How long is she going to stay?" "Oh, about two weeks. She wasn't quite certain. It depends on the kind of a time she has, I suppose." "Yes, I suppose so," agreed Tom. "Well, if you write before I do you might say I called, Mrs. Nestor." "I will, Tom. And I know Mary will be sorry she wasn't here to take a ride with you; it's such a nice day," and the lady smiled as she looked at the speedy roadster. "Maybe--maybe you'd like to come for a spin?" asked Tom, half desperately. "No, thank you. I'm too old to be jounced around in one of those small cars." "Nonsense! She rides as easily as a Pullman sleeper." "Well, I have to go to a Red Cross meeting, anyhow, so I can't come, Tom. Thank you, just the same." Tom did not drive back immediately to his home. He wanted to do a bit of thinking, and he believed he could do it best by himself. So it was late afternoon when he again greeted Ned, who, meanwhile, had been kept very busy. "Well?" called Tom's chum. "Um!" was the only answer, and Tom called Koku to put the car away in the garage. "Something wrong," mused Ned. The next three days were crowded with events and with work. Mr. Damon came over frequently to consult with Tom and Ned, and finally the last of their baggage had been packed, certain of Tom's inventions and implements sent on by express to New York to be taken to Honduras, and then our friends themselves followed to the metropolis. "Good-bye, Tom," said his father. "Good-bye, and good luck! If you don't get the idol of gold I'm sure you'll have experiences that will be valuable to you." "We're going to get the idol of gold!" said Tom determinedly. "Look out for the bad bugs," suggested Eradicate. "We will," promised Ned. Tom's last act was to send a message to Mary Nestor, and then he, with Ned and Mr. Damon, who blessed everything in sight from the gasoline in the automobile to the blue sky overhead, started for the station. New York was reached without incident. The trio put up at the hotel where Professor Bumper was to meet them. "He hasn't arrived yet," said Tom, after glancing over the names on the hotel register and not seeing Professor Bumper's among them. "Oh, he'll be here all right," asserted Mr. Damon. "Bless my galvanic battery! he sent me a telegram at one o'clock this morning saying he'd be sure to meet us in New York. No fear of him not starting for the land of wonders." "There are some other professors registered, though," observed Ned, as he glanced at the book, noting the names of several scientists of whom he and Tom had read. "Yes. I wonder what they're doing in New York," replied Tom. "They are from New England. Maybe there's a convention going on. Well, we'll have to wait, that's all, until Professor Bumper comes." And during that wait Tom heard something that surprised him and caused him no little worry. It was when Ned came back to his room, which adjoined Tom's, that the young treasurer gave his chum the news. "I say, Tom!" Ned exclaimed. "Who do you think those professors are, whose names we saw on the register?" "I haven't the least idea." "Why, they're of Beecher's party!" "You don't mean it!" "I surely do." "How do you know?" "I happened to overhear two of them talking down in the lobby a while ago. They didn't make any secret of it. They spoke freely of going with Beecher to some ancient city in Honduras, to look for an idol of gold." "They did? But where is Beecher?" "He hasn't joined them yet. Their plans have been changed. Instead of leaving on the same steamer we are to take in the morning they are to come on a later one. The professors here are waiting for Beecher to come." "Why isn't he here now?" "Well, I heard one of the other scientists say that he had gone to a place called Fayetteville, and will come on from there." "Fayetteville!" ejaculated Tom. "Yes. That isn't far from Shopton." "I know," assented Tom. "I wonder--I wonder why he is going there?" "I can tell you that, too." "You can? You're a regular detective." "No, I just happened to overhear it. Beecher is going to call on Mary Nestor in Fayetteville, so his friends here said he told them, and his call has to do with an important matter--to him!" and Ned gazed curiously at his chum. CHAPTER VIII OFF FOR HONDURAS Just what Tom's thoughts were, Ned, of course, could not guess. But by the flush that showed under the tan of his chum's cheeks the young financial secretary felt pretty certain that Tom was a bit apprehensive of the outcome of Professor Beecher's call on Mary Nestor. "So he is going to see her about 'something important,' Ned?" "That's what some members of his party called it." "And they're waiting here for him to join them?" "Yes. And it means waiting a week for another steamer. It must be something pretty important, don't you think, to cause Beecher to risk that delay in starting after the idol of gold?" "Important? Yes, I suppose so," assented Tom. "And yet even if he waits for the next steamer he will get to Honduras nearly as soon as we do." "How is that?" "The next boat is a faster one." "Then why don't we take that? I hate dawdling along on a slow freighter." "Well, for one thing it would hardly do to change now, when all our goods are on board. And besides, the captain of the _Relstab_, on which we are going to sail, is a friend of Professor Bumper's." "Well, I'm just as glad Beecher and his party aren't going with us," resumed Ned, after a pause. "It might make trouble." "Oh, I'm ready for any trouble HE might make!" quickly exclaimed Tom. He meant trouble that might be developed in going to Honduras, and starting the search for the lost city and the idol of gold. This kind of trouble Tom and his friends had experienced before, on other trips where rivals had sought to frustrate their ends. But, in his heart, though he said nothing to Ned about it, Tom was worried. Much as he disliked to admit it to himself, he feared the visit of Professor Beecher to Mary Nestor in Fayetteville had but one meaning. "I wonder if he's going to propose to her," thought Tom. "He has the field all to himself now, and her father likes him. That's in his favor. I guess Mr. Nestor has never quite forgiven me for that mistake about the dynamite box, and that wasn't my fault. Then, too, the Beecher and Nestor families have been friends for years. Yes, he surely has the inside edge on me, and if he gets her to throw me over---- Well, I won't give up without a fight!" and Tom mentally girded himself for a battle of wits. "He's relying on the prestige he'll get out of this idol of gold if his party finds it," thought on the young inventor. "But I'll help find it first. I'm glad to have a little start of him, anyhow, even if it isn't more than two days. Though if our vessel is held back much by storms he may get on the ground first. However, that can't be helped. I'll do the best I can." These thoughts shot through Tom's mind even as Ned was asking his questions and making comments. Then the young inventor, shaking his shoulders as though to rid them of some weight, remarked: "Well, come on out and see the sights. It will be long before we look on Broadway again." When the chums returned from their sightseeing excursion, they found that Professor Bumper had arrived. "Where's Professor Bumper?" asked Ned, the next day. "In his room, going over books, papers and maps to make sure he has everything." "And Mr. Damon?" Tom did not have to answer that last question. Into the apartment came bursting the excited individual himself. "Bless my overshoes!" he cried, "I've been looking everywhere for you! Come on, there's no time to lose!" "What's the matter now?" asked Ned. "Is the hotel on fire?" "Has anything happened to Professor Bumper?" Tom demanded, a wild idea forming in his head that perhaps some one of the Beecher party had tried to kidnap the discoverer of the lost city of Pelone. "Oh, everything is all right," answered Mr. Damon. "But it's nearly time for the show to start, and we don't want to be late. I have tickets." "For what?" asked Tom and Ned together. "The movies," was the laughing reply. "Bless my loose ribs! but I wouldn't miss him for anything. He's in a new play called 'Up in a Balloon Boys.' It's great!" and Mr. Damon named a certain comic moving picture star in whose horse-play Mr. Damon took a curious interest. Tom and Ned were glad enough to go, Tom that he might have a chance to do a certain amount of thinking, and Ned because he was still boy enough to like moving pictures. "I wonder, Tom," said Mr. Damon, as they came out of the theater two hours later, all three chuckling at the remembrance of what they had seen, "I wonder you never turned your inventive mind to the movies." "Maybe I will, some day," said Tom. He spoke rather uncertainly. The truth of the matter was that he was still thinking deeply of the visit of Professor Beecher to Mary Nestor, and wondering what it portended. But if Tom's sleep was troubled that night he said nothing of it to his friends. He was up early the next morning, for they were to leave that day, and there was still considerable to be done in seeing that their baggage and supplies were safely loaded, and in attending to the last details of some business matters. While at the hotel they had several glimpses of the members of the Beecher party who were awaiting the arrival of the young professor who was to lead them into the wilds of Honduras. But our friends did not seek the acquaintance of their rivals. The latter, likewise, remained by themselves, though they knew doubtless that there was likely to be a strenuous race for the possession of the idol of gold, then, it was presumed, buried deep in some forest-covered city. Professor Bumper had made his arrangements carefully. As he explained to his friends, they would take the steamer from New York to Puerto Cortes, one of the principal seaports of Honduras. This is a town of about three thousand inhabitants, with an excellent harbor and a big pier along which vessels can tie up and discharge their cargoes directly into waiting cars. The preparations were finally completed. The party went aboard the steamer, which was a large freight vessel, carrying a limited number of passengers, and late one afternoon swung down New York Bay. "Off for Honduras!" cried Ned gaily, as they passed the Statue of Liberty. "I wonder what will happen before we see that little lady again." "Who knows?" asked Tom, shrugging his shoulders, Spanish fashion. And there came before him the vision of a certain "little lady," about whom he had been thinking deeply of late. CHAPTER IX VAL JACINTO "Rather tame, isn't it, Tom?" "Well, Ned, it isn't exactly like going up in an airship," and Tom Swift who was gazing over the rail down into the deep blue water of the Caribbean Sea, over which their vessel was then steaming, looked at his chum beside him. "No, and your submarine voyage had it all over this one for excitement," went on Ned. "When I think of that----" "Bless my sea legs!" interrupted Mr. Damon, overhearing the conversation. "Don't speak of THAT trip. My wife never forgave me for going on it. But I had a fine time," he added with a twinkle of his eyes. "Yes, that was quite a trip," observed Tom, as his mind went back to it. "But this one isn't over yet remember. And I shouldn't be surprised if we had a little excitement very soon." "What do you mean?" asked Ned. Up to this time the voyage from New York down into the tropical seas had been anything but exciting. There were not many passengers besides themselves, and the weather had been fine. At first, used as they were to the actions of unscrupulous rivals in trying to thwart their efforts, Tom and Ned had been on the alert for any signs of hidden enemies on board the steamer. But aside from a little curiosity when it became known that they were going to explore little-known portions of Honduras, the other passengers took hardly any interest in our travelers. It was thought best to keep secret the fact that they were going to search for a wonderful idol of gold. Not even the mule and ox-cart drivers, whom they would hire to take them into the wilds of the interior would be told of the real object of the search. It would be given out that they were looking for interesting ruins of ancient cities, with a view to getting such antiquities as might be there. "What do you mean?" asked Ned again, when Tom did not answer him immediately. "What's the excitement?" "I think we're in for a storm," was the reply. "The barometer is falling and I see the crew going about making everything snug. So we may have a little trouble toward this end of our trip." "Let it come!" exclaimed Mr. Damon. "We're not afraid of trouble, Tom Swift, are we?" "No, to be sure we're not. And yet it looks as though the storm would be a bad one." "Then I am going to see if my books and papers are ready, so I can get them together in a hurry in case we have to take to the life-boats," said Professor Bumper, coming on deck at that moment. "It won't do to lose them. If we didn't have the map we might not be able to find----" "Ahem!" exclaimed Tom, with unnecessary emphasis it seemed. "I'll help you go over your papers, Professor," he added, and with a wink and a motion of his hand, he enjoined silence on his friend. Ned looked around for a reason for this, and observed a man, evidently of Spanish extraction, passing them as he paced up and down the deck. "What's the matter?" asked the scientist in a whisper, as the man went on. "Do you know him? Is he a----?" "I don't know anything about him," said Tom; "but it is best not to speak of our trip before strangers." "You are right, Tom," said Professor Bumper. "I'll be more careful." A storm was brewing, that was certain. A dull, sickly yellow began to obscure the sky, and the water, from a beautiful blue, turned a slate color and ran along the sides of the vessel with a hissing sound as though the sullen waves would ask nothing better than to suck the craft down into their depths. The wind, which had been freshening, now sang in louder tones as it hummed through the rigging and the funnel stays and bowled over the receiving conductors of the wireless. Sharp commands from the ship's officers hastened the work of the crew in making things snug, and life lines were strung along deck for the safety of such of the passengers as might venture up when the blow began. The storm was not long in coming. The howling of the wind grew louder, flecks of foam began to separate themselves from the crests of the waves, and the vessel pitched, rolled and tossed more violently. At first Tom and his friends thought they were in for no more than an ordinary blow, but as the storm progressed, and the passengers became aware of the anxiety on the part of the officers and crew, the alarm spread among them. It really was a violent storm, approaching a hurricane in force, and at one time it seemed as though the craft, having been heeled far over under a staggering wave that swept her decks, would not come back to an even keel. There was a panic among some of the passengers, and a few excited men behaved in a way that caused prompt action on the part of the first officer, who drove them back to the main cabin under threat of a revolver. For the men were determined to get to the lifeboats, and a small craft would not have had a minute to live in such seas as were running. But the vessel proved herself sturdier than the timid ones had dared to hope, and she was soon running before the blast, going out of her course, it is true, but avoiding the danger among the many cays, or small islands, that dot the Caribbean Sea. There was nothing to do but to let the storm blow itself out, which it did in two days. Then came a period of delightful weather. The cargo had shifted somewhat, which gave the steamer a rather undignified list. This, as well as the loss of a deckhand overboard, was the effect of the hurricane, and though the end of the trip came amid sunshine and sweet-scented tropical breezes, many could not forget the dangers through which they had passed. In due time Tom and his party found themselves safely housed in the small hotel at Puerto Cortes, their belongings stored in a convenient warehouse and themselves, rather weary by reason of the stress of weather, ready for the start into the interior wilds of Honduras. "How are we going to make the trip?" asked Ned, as they sat at supper, the first night after their arrival, eating of several dishes, the red-pepper condiments of which caused frequent trips to the water pitcher. "We can go in two ways, and perhaps we shall find it to our advantage to use both means," said Professor Bumper. "To get to this city of Kurzon," he proceeded in a low voice, so that none of the others in the dining-room would hear them, "we will have to go either by mule back or boat to a point near Copan. As near as I can tell by the ancient maps, Kurzon is in the Copan valley. "Now the Chamelecon river seems to run to within a short distance of there, but there is no telling how far up it may be navigable. If we can go by boat it will be much more comfortable. Travel by mules and ox-carts is slow and sure, but the roads are very bad, as I have heard from friends who have made explorations in Honduras. "And, as I said, we may have to use both land and water travel to get us where we want to go. We can proceed as far as possible up the river, and then take to the mules." "What about arranging for boats and animals?" asked Tom. "I should think----" He suddenly ceased talking and reached for the water, taking several large swallows. "Whew!" he exclaimed, when he could catch his breath. "That was a hot one." "What did you do?" asked Ned. "Bit into a nest of red pepper. Guess I'll have to tell that cook to scatter his hits. He's bunching 'em too much in my direction," and Tom wiped the tears from his eyes. "To answer your question," said Professor Bumper, "I will say that I have made partial arrangements for men and animals, and boats if it is found feasible to use them. I've been in correspondence with one of the merchants here, and he promised to make arrangements for us." "When do we leave?" asked Mr. Damon. "As soon as possible. I am not going to risk anything by delay," and it was evident the professor referred to his young rival whose arrival might be expected almost any time. As the party was about to leave the table, they were approached by a tall, dignified Spaniard who bowed low, rather exaggeratedly low, Ned thought, and addressed them in fairly good English. "Your pardons, Senors," he began, "but if it will please you to avail yourself of the humble services of myself, I shall have great pleasure in guiding you into the interior. I have at my command both mules and boats." "How do you know we are going into the interior?" asked Tom, a bit sharply, for he did not like the assurance of the man. "Pardon, Senor. I saw that you are from the States. And those from the States do not come to Honduras except for two reasons. To travel and make explorations or to start trade, and professors do not usually engage in trade," and he bowed to Professor Bumper. "I saw your name on the register," he proceeded, "and it was not difficult to guess your mission," and he flashed a smile on the party, his white teeth showing brilliantly beneath his small, black moustache. "I make it my business to outfit traveling parties, either for business, pleasure or scientific matters. I am, at your service, Val Jacinto," and he introduced himself with another low bow. For a moment Tom and his friends hardly knew how to accept this offer. It might be, as the man had said, that he was a professional tour conductor, like those who have charge of Egyptian donkey-boys and guides. Or might he not be a spy? This occurred to Tom no less than to Professor Bumper. They looked at one another while Val Jacinto bowed again and murmured: "At your service!" "Can you provide means for taking us to the Copan valley?" asked the professor. "You are right in one respect. I am a scientist and I purpose doing some exploring near Copan. Can you get us there?" "Most expensively--I mean, most expeditionlessly," said Val Jacinto eagerly. "Pardon my unhappy English. I forget at times. The charges will be most moderate. I can send you by boat as far as the river travel is good, and then have mules and ox-carts in waiting." "How far is it?" asked Tom. "A hundred miles as the vulture flies, Senor, but much farther by river and road. We shall be a week going." "A hundred miles in a week!" groaned Ned. "Say, Tom, if you had your aeroplane we'd be there in an hour." "Yes, but we haven't it. However, we're in no great rush." "But we must not lose time," said Professor Bumper. "I shall consider your offer," he added to Val Jacinto. "Very good, Senor. I am sure you will be pleased with the humble service I may offer you, and my charges will be small. Adios," and he bowed himself away. "What do you think of him?" asked Ned, as they went up to their rooms in the hotel, or rather one large room, containing several beds. "He's a pretty slick article," said Mr. Damon. "Bless my check-book! but he spotted us at once, in spite of our secrecy." "I guess these guide purveyors are trained for that sort of thing," observed the scientist. "I know my friends have often spoken of having had the same experience. However, I shall ask my friend, who is in business here, about this Val Jacinto, and if I find him all right we may engage him." Inquiries next morning brought the information, from the head of a rubber exporting firm with whom the professor was acquainted, that the Spaniard was regularly engaged in transporting parties into the interior, and was considered efficient, careful and as honest as possible, considering the men he engaged as workers. "So we have decided to engage you," Professor Bumper informed Val Jacinto the afternoon following the meeting. "I am more than pleased, Senor. I shall take you into the wilds of Honduras. At your service!" and he bowed low. "Humph! I don't just like the way our friend Val says that," observed Tom to Ned a little later. "I'd have been better pleased if he had said he'd guide us into the wilds and out again." If Tom could have seen the crafty smile on the face of the Spaniard as the man left the hotel, the young inventor might have felt even less confidence in the guide. CHAPTER X IN THE WILDS "All aboard! Step lively now! This boat makes no stops this side of Boston!" cried Ned Newton gaily, as he got into one of the several tree canoes provided for the transportation of the party up the Chamelecon river, for the first stage of their journey into the wilds of Honduras. "All aboard! This reminds me of my old camping days, Tom." It brought those days back, in a measure, to Tom also. For there were a number of canoes filled with the goods of the party, while the members themselves occupied a larger one with their personal baggage. Strong, half-naked Indian paddlers were in charge of the canoes which were of sturdy construction and light draft, since the river, like most tropical streams, was of uncertain depths, choked here and there with sand bars or tropical growths. Finding that Val Jacinto was regularly engaged in the business of taking explorers and mine prospectors into the interior, Professor Bumper had engaged the man. He seemed to be efficient. At the promised time he had the canoes and paddlers on hand and the goods safely stowed away while one big craft was fitted up as comfortably as possible for the men of the party. As Ned remarked, it did look like a camping party, for in the canoes were tents, cooking utensils and, most important, mosquito canopies of heavy netting. The insect pests of Honduras, as in all tropical countries, are annoying and dangerous. Therefore it was imperative to sleep under mosquito netting. On the advice of Val Jacinto, who was to accompany them, the travelers were to go up the river about fifty miles. This was as far as it would be convenient to use the canoes, the guide told Tom and his friends, and from there on the trip to the Copan valley would be made on the backs of mules, which would carry most of the baggage and equipment. The heavier portions would be transported in ox-carts. As Professor Bumper expected to do considerable excavating in order to locate the buried city, or cities, as the case might be, he had to contract for a number of Indian diggers and laborers. These could be hired in Copan, it was said. The plan, therefore, was to travel by canoes during the less heated parts of the day, and tie up at night, making camp on shore in the net-protected tents. As for the Indians, they did not seem to mind the bites of the insects. They sometimes made a smudge fire, Val Jacinto had said, but that was all. "Well, we haven't seen anything of Beecher and his friends," remarked the young inventor as they were about to start. "No, he doesn't seem to have arrived," agreed Professor Bumper. "We'll get ahead of him, and so much the better. "Well, are we all ready to start?" he continued, as he looked over the little flotilla which carried his party and his goods. "The sooner the better!" cried Tom, and Ned fancied his chum was unusually eager. "I guess he wants to make good before Beecher gets the chance to show Mary Nestor what he can do," thought Ned. "Tom sure is after that idol of gold." "You may start, Senor Jacinto," said the professor, and the guide called something in Indian dialect to the rowers. Lines were cast off and the boats moved out into the stream under the influence of the sturdy paddlers. "Well, this isn't so bad," observed Ned, as he made himself comfortable in his canoe. "How about it, Tom?" "Oh, no. But this is only the beginning." A canopy had been arranged over their boat to keep off the scorching rays of the sun. The boat containing the exploring party and Val Jacinto took the lead, the baggage craft following. At the place where it flowed into the bay on which Puerto Cortes was built, the stream was wide and deep. The guide called something to the Indians, who increased their stroke. "I tell them to pull hard and that at the end of the day's journey they will have much rest and refreshment," he translated to Professor Bumper and the others. "Bless my ham sandwich, but they'll need plenty of some sort of refreshment," said Mr. Damon, with a sigh. "I never knew it to be so hot." "Don't complain yet," advised Tom, with a laugh. "The worst is yet to come." It really was not unpleasant traveling, aside from the heat. And they had expected that, coming as they had to a tropical land. But, as Tom said, what lay before them might be worse. In a little while they had left behind them all signs of civilization. The river narrowed and flowed sluggishly between the banks which were luxuriant with tropical growth. Now and then some lonely Indian hut could be seen, and occasionally a craft propelled by a man who was trying to gain a meager living from the rubber forest which hemmed in the stream on either side. As the canoe containing the men was paddled along, there floated down beside it what seemed to be a big, rough log. "I wonder if that is mahogany," remarked Mr. Damon, reaching over to touch it. "Mahogany is one of the most valuable woods of Honduras, and if this is a log of that nature---- "Bless my watch chain!" he suddenly cried. "It's alive!" And the "log" was indeed so, for there was a sudden flash of white teeth, a long red opening showed, and then came a click as an immense alligator, having opened and closed his mouth, sank out of sight in a swirl of water. Mr. Damon drew back so suddenly that he tilted the canoe, and the black paddlers looked around wonderingly. "Alligator," explained Jacinto succinctly, in their tongue. "Ugh!" they grunted. "Bless my--bless my----" hesitated Mr. Damon, and for one of the very few times in his life his language failed him. "Are there many of them hereabouts?" asked Ned, looking back at the swirl left by the saurian. "Plenty," said the guide, with a shrug of his shoulders. He seemed to do as much talking that way, and with his hands, as he did in speech. "The river is full of them." "Dangerous?" queried Tom. "Don't go in swimming," was the significant advice. "Wait, I'll show you," and he called up the canoe just behind. In this canoe was a quantity of provisions. There was a chunk of meat among other things, a gristly piece, seeing which Mr. Damon had objected to its being brought along, but the guide had said it would do for fish bait. With a quick motion of his hand, as he sat in the awning-covered stern with Tom, Ned and the others, Jacinto sent the chunk of meat out into the muddy stream. Hardly a second later there was a rushing in the water as though a submarine were about to come up. An ugly snout was raised, two rows of keen teeth snapped shut as a scissors-like jaw opened, and the meat was gone. "See!" was the guide's remark, and something like a cold shiver of fear passed over the white members of the party. "This water is not made in which to swim. Be careful!" "We certainly shall," agreed Tom. "They're fierce." "And always hungry," observed Jacinto grimly. "And to think that I--that I nearly had my hand on it," murmured Mr. Damon. "Ugh! Bless my eyeglasses!" "The alligator nearly had your hand," said the guide. "They can turn in the water like a flash, wherefore it is not wise to pat one on the tail lest it present its mouth instead." They paddled on up the river, the dusky Indians now and then breaking out into a chant that seemed to give their muscles new energy. The song, if song it was, passed from one boat to the other, and as the chant boomed forth the craft shot ahead more swiftly. They made a landing about noon, and lunch was served. Tom and his friends were hungry in spite of the heat. Moreover, they were experienced travelers and had learned not to fret over inconveniences and discomforts. The Indians ate by themselves, two acting as servants to Jacinto and the professor's party. As is usual in traveling in the tropics, a halt was made during the heated middle of the day. Then, as the afternoon shadows were waning, the party again took to the canoes and paddled on up the river. "Do you know of a good place to stop during the night?" asked Professor Bumper of Jacinto. "Oh, yes; a most excellent place. It is where I always bring scientific parties I am guiding. You may rely on me." It was within an hour of dusk--none too much time to allow in which to pitch camp in the tropics, where night follows day suddenly--when a halt was called, as a turn of the river showed a little clearing on the edge of the forest-bound river. "We stay here for the night," said Jacinto. "It is a good place." "It looks picturesque enough," observed Mr. Damon. "But it is rather wild." "We are a good distance from a settlement," agreed the guide. "But one can not explore--and find treasure in cities," and he shrugged his shoulders again. "Find treasure? What do you mean?" asked Tom quickly. "Do you think that we----?" "Pardon, Senor," replied Jacinto softly. "I meant no offense. I think that all you scientific parties will take treasure if you can find it." "We are looking for traces of the old Honduras civilization," put in Professor Bumper. "And doubtless you will find it," was the somewhat too courteous answer of the guide. "Make camp quickly!" he called to the Indians in their tongue. "You must soon get under the nets or you will be eaten alive!" he told Tom. "There are many mosquitoes here." The tents were set up, smudge fires built and supper quickly prepared. Dusk fell rapidly, and as Tom and Ned walked a little way down toward the river before turning in under the mosquito canopies, the young financial man said: "Sort of lonesome and gloomy, isn't it, Tom?" "Yes. But you didn't expect to find a moving picture show in the wilds of Honduras, did you?" "No, and yet-- Look out! What's that?" suddenly cried Ned, as a great soft, black shadow seemed to sweep out of a clump of trees toward him. Involuntarily he clutched Tom's arm and pointed, his face showing fear in the fast-gathering darkness. CHAPTER XI THE VAMPIRES Tom Swift looked deliberately around. It was characteristic of him that, though by nature he was prompt in action, he never acted so hurriedly as to obscure his judgment. So, though now Ned showed a trace of strange excitement, Tom was cool. "What is it?" asked the young inventor. "What's the matter? What did you think you saw, Ned; another alligator?" "Alligator? Nonsense! Up on shore? I saw a black shadow, and I didn't THINK I saw it, either. I really did." Tom laughed quietly. "A shadow!" he exclaimed. "Since when were you afraid of shadows, Ned?" "I'm not afraid of ordinary shadows," answered Ned, and in his voice there was an uncertain tone. "I'm not afraid of my shadow or yours, Tom, or anybody's that I can see. But this wasn't any human shadow. It was as if a great big blob of wet darkness had been waved over your head." "That's a queer explanation," Tom said in a low voice. "A great big blob of wet darkness!" "But that just describes it," went on Ned, looking up and around. "It was just as if you were in some dark room, and some one waved a wet velvet cloak over your head--spooky like! It didn't make a sound, but there was a smell as if a den of some wild beast was near here. I remember that odor from the time we went hunting with your electric rifle in the jungle, and got near the den in the rocks where the tigers lived." "Well, there is a wild beast smell all around here," admitted Tom, sniffing the air. "It's the alligators in the river I guess. You know they have an odor of musk." "Do you mean to say you didn't feel that shadow flying over us just now?" asked Ned. "Well, I felt something sail through the air, but I took it to be a big bird. I didn't pay much attention. To tell you the truth I was thinking about Beecher--wondering when he would get here," added Tom quickly as if to forestall any question as to whether or not his thoughts had to do with Beecher in connection with Tom's affair of the heart. "Well it wasn't a bird--at least not a regular bird," said Ned in a low voice, as once more he looked at the dark and gloomy jungle that stretched back from the river and behind the little clearing where the camp had been made. "Come on!" cried Tom, in what he tried to make a cheerful voice. "This is getting on your nerves, Ned, and I didn't know you had any. Let's go back and turn in. I'm dog-tired and the mosquitoes are beginning to find that we're here. Let's get under the nets. Then the black shadows won't get you." Not at all unwilling to leave so gloomy a scene, Ned, after a brief glance up and down the dark river, followed his chum. They found Professor Bumper and Mr. Damon in their tent, a separate one having been set up for the two men adjoining that of the youths. "Bless my fountain pen!" exclaimed Mr. Damon, as he caught sight of Tom and Ned in the flickering light of the smudge fire between the two canvas shelters. "We were just wondering what had become of you." "We were chasing shadows!" laughed Tom. "At least Ned was. But you look cozy enough in there." It did, indeed, look cheerful in contrast to the damp and dark jungle all about. Professor Bumper, being an experienced traveler, knew how to provide for such comforts as were possible. Folding cots had been opened for himself, Mr. Damon and the guide to sleep on, others, similar, being set up in the tent where Tom and Ned were to sleep. In the middle of the tent the professor had made a table of his own and Mr. Damon's suit cases, and on this placed a small dry battery electric light. He was making some notes, doubtless for a future book. Jacinto was going about the camp, seeing that the Indians were at their duties, though most of them had gone directly to sleep after supper. "Better get inside and under the nets," advised Professor Bumper to Tom and Ned. "The mosquitoes here are the worst I ever saw." "We're beginning to believe that," returned Ned, who was unusually quiet. "Come on, Tom. I can't stand it any longer. I'm itching in a dozen places now from their bites." As Tom and Ned had no wish for a light, which would be sure to attract insects, they entered their tent in the dark, and were soon stretched out in comparative comfort. Tom was just on the edge of a deep sleep when he heard Ned murmur: "I can't understand it!" "What's that?" asked the young inventor. "I say I can't understand it." "Understand what?" "That shadow. It was real and yet----" "Oh, go to sleep!" advised Tom, and, turning over, he was soon breathing heavily and regularly, indicating that he, at least, had taken his own advice. Ned, too, finally succumbed to the overpowering weariness of the first day of travel, and he, too, slept, though it was an uneasy slumber, disturbed by a feeling as though some one were holding a heavy black quilt over his head, preventing him from breathing. The feeling, sensation or dream--whatever it was--perhaps a nightmare--became at last so real to Ned that he struggled himself into wakefulness. With an effort he sat up, uttering an inarticulate cry. To his surprise he was answered. Some one asked: "What is the matter?" "Who--who are you?" asked Ned quickly, trying to peer through the darkness. "This is Jacinto--your guide," was the soft answer. "I was walking about camp and, hearing you murmuring, I came to your tent. Is anything wrong?" For a moment Ned did not answer. He listened and could tell by the continued heavy and regular breathing of his chum that Tom was still asleep. "Are you in our tent?" asked Ned, at length: "Yes," answered Jacinto. "I came in to see what was the matter with you. Are you ill?" "No, of course not," said Ned, a bit shortly. "I--I had a bad dream, that was all. All right now." "For that I am glad. Try to get all the sleep you can, for we must start early to avoid the heat of the day," and there was the sound of the guide leaving and arranging the folds of the mosquito net behind him to keep out the night-flying insects. Once more Ned composed himself to sleep, and this time successfully, for he did not have any more unpleasant dreams. The quiet of the jungle settled down over the camp, at least the comparative quiet of the jungle, for there were always noises of some sort going on, from the fall of some rotten tree limb to the scream or growl of a wild beast, while, now and again, from the river came the pig-like grunts of the alligators. It was about two o'clock in the morning, as they ascertained later, when the whole camp--white travelers and all--was suddenly awakened by a wild scream. It seemed to come from one of the natives, who called out a certain word ever and over again. To Tom and Ned it sounded like: "Oshtoo! Oshtoo! Oshtoo!" "What's the matter?" cried Professor Bumper. "The vampires!" came the answering voice of Jacinto. "One of the Indians has been attacked by a big vampire bat! Look out, every one! It may be a raid by the dangerous creatures! Be careful!" Notwithstanding this warning Ned stuck his head out of the tent. The same instant he was aware of a dark enfolding shadow passing over him, and, with a shudder of fear, he jumped back. CHAPTER XII A FALSE FRIEND "What is it? What's the matter?" cried Tom springing from his cot and hastening to the side of his chum in the tent. "What has happened, Ned?" "I don't know, but Jacinto is yelling something about vampires!" "Vampires?" "Yes. Big bats. And he's warning us to be careful. I stuck my head out just now and I felt that same sort of shadow I felt this evening when we were down near the river." "Nonsense!" "I tell you I did!" At that instant Tom flashed a pocket electric lamp he had taken from beneath his pillow and in the gleam of it he and Ned saw fluttering about the tent some dark, shadow-like form, at the sight of which Tom's chum cried: "There it is! That's the shadow! Look out!" and he held up his hands instinctively to shield his face. "Shadow!" yelled Tom, unconsciously adding to the din that seemed to pervade every part of the camp. "That isn't a shadow. It's substance. It's a monster bat, and here goes for a strike at it!" He caught up his camera tripod which was near his cot, and made a swing with it at the creature that had flown into the tent through an opening it had made for itself. "Look out!" yelled Ned. "If it's a vampire it'll----" "It won't do anything to me!" shouted Tom, as he struck the creature, knocking it into the corner of the tent with a thud that told it must be completely stunned, if not killed. "But what's it all about, anyhow?" Tom asked. "What's the row?" From without the tent came the Indian cries of: "Oshtoo! Oshtoo!" Mingled with them were calls of Jacinto, partly in Spanish, partly in the Indian tongue and partly in English. "It is a raid by vampire bats!" was all Tom and Ned could distinguish. "We shall have to light fires to keep them away, if we can succeed. Every one grab up a club and strike hard!" "Come on!" cried Tom, getting on some clothes by the light of his gleaming electric light which he had set on his cot. "You're not going out there, are you?" asked Ned. "I certainly am! If there's a fight I want to be in it, bats or anything else. Here, you have a light like mine. Flash it on, and hang it somewhere on yourself. Then get a club and come on. The lights will blind the bats, and we can see to hit 'em!" Tom's plan seemed to be a good one. His lamp and Ned's had small hooks on them, so they could be carried in the upper coat pocket, showing a gleam of light and leaving the hands free for use. Out of the tents rushed the young men to find Professor Bumper and Mr. Damon before them. The two men had clubs and were striking about in the half darkness, for now the Indians had set several fires aglow. And in the gleams, constantly growing brighter as more fuel was piled on, the young inventor and his chum saw a weird sight. Circling and wheeling about in the camp clearing were many of the black shadowy forms that had caused Ned such alarm. Great bats they were, and a dangerous species, if Jacinto was to be believed. The uncanny creatures flew in and out among the trees and tents, now swooping low near the Indians or the travelers. At such times clubs would be used, often with the effect of killing or stunning the flying pests. For a time it seemed as if the bats would fairly overwhelm the camp, so many of them were there. But the increasing lights, and the attacks made by the Indians and the white travelers turned the tide of battle, and, with silent flappings of their soft, velvety wings, the bats flew back to the jungle whence they had emerged. "We are safe--for the present!" exclaimed Jacinto with a sigh of relief. "Do you think they will come back?" asked Tom. "They may--there is no telling." "Bless my speedometer!" cried Mr. Damon, "If those beasts or birds--whatever they are--come back I'll go and hide in the river and take my chances with the alligators!" "The alligators aren't much worse," asserted Jacinto with a visible shiver. "These vampire bats sometimes depopulate a whole village." "Bless my shoe laces!" cried Mr. Damon. "You don't mean to say that the creatures can eat up a whole village?" "Not quite. Though they might if they got the chance," was the answer of the Spanish guide. "These vampire bats fly from place to place in great swarms, and they are so large and blood-thirsty that a few of them can kill a horse or an ox in a short time by sucking its blood. So when the villagers find they are visited by a colony of these vampires they get out, taking their live stock with them, and stay in caves or in densely wooded places until the bats fly on. Then the villagers come back. "It was only a small colony that visited us tonight or we would have had more trouble. I do not think this lot will come back. We have killed too many of them," and he looked about on the ground where many of the uncanny creatures were still twitching in the death struggle. "Come back again!" cried Mr. Damon. "Bless my skin! I hope not! I've had enough of bats--and mosquitoes," he added, as he slapped at his face and neck. Indeed the party of whites were set upon by the night insects to such an extent that it was necessary to hurry back to the protection of the nets. Tom and Ned kicked outside the bat the former had killed in their tent, and then both went back to their cots. But it was some little time before they fell asleep. And they did not have much time to rest, for an early start must be made to avoid the terrible heat of the middle of the day. "Whew!" whistled Ned, as he and Tom arose in the gray dawn of the morning when Jacinto announced the breakfast which the Indian cook had prepared. "That was some night! If this is a sample of the wilds of Honduras, give me the tameness of Shopton." "Oh, we've gone through with worse than this," laughed Tom. "It's all in the day's work. We've only got started. I guess we're a bit soft, Ned, though we had hard enough work in that tunnel-digging." After breakfast, while the Indians were making ready the canoes, Professor Bumper, who, in a previous visit to Central America, had become interested in the subject, made a brief examination of some of the dead bats. They were exceptionally large, some almost as big as hawks, and were of the sub-family _Desmodidae_, the scientist said. "This is a true blood-sucking bat," went on the professor. "This," and he pointed to the nose-leaves, "is the sucking apparatus. The bat makes an opening in the skin with its sharp teeth and proceeds to extract the blood. I can well believe two or three of them, attacking a steer or mule at once, could soon weaken it so the animal would die." "And a man, too?" asked Ned. "Well a man has hands with which to use weapons, but a helpless quadruped has not. Though if a sufficient number of these bats attacked a man at the same time, he would have small chance to escape alive. Their bites, too, may be poisonous for all I know." The Indians seemed glad to leave the "place of the bats," as they called the camp site. Jacinto explained that the Indians believed a vampire could kill them while they slept, and they were very much afraid of the blood-sucking bats. There were many other species in the tropics, Professor Bumper explained, most of which lived on fruit or on insects they caught. The blood-sucking bats were comparatively few, and the migratory sort fewer still. "Well, we're on our way once more," remarked Tom as again they were in the canoes being paddled up the river. "How much longer does your water trip take, Professor?" "I hardly know," and Professor Bumper looked to Jacinto to answer. "We go two more days in the canoes," the guide answered, "and then we shall find the mules waiting for us at a place called Hidjio. From then on we travel by land until--well until you get to the place where you are going. "I suppose you know where it is?" he added, nodding toward the professor. "I am leaving that part to you." "Oh, I have a map, showing where I want to begin some excavations," was the answer. "We must first go to Copan and see what arrangements we can make for laborers. After that--well, we shall trust to luck for what we shall find." "There are said to be many curious things," went on Jacinto, speaking as though he had no interest. "You have mentioned buried cities. Have you thought what may be in them--great heathen temples, idols, perhaps?" For a moment none of the professor's companions spoke. It was as though Jacinto had tried to get some information. Finally the scientist said: "Oh, yes, we may find an idol. I understand the ancient people, who were here long before the Spaniards came, worshiped idols. But we shall take whatever antiquities we find." "Huh!" grunted Jacinto, and then he called to the paddlers to increase their strokes. The journey up the river was not very eventful. Many alligators were seen, and Tom and Ned shot several with the electric rifle. Toward the close of the third day's travel there was a cry from one of the rear boats, and an alarm of a man having fallen overboard was given. Tom turned in time to see the poor fellow's struggles, and at the same time there was a swirl in the water and a black object shot forward. "An alligator is after him!" yelled Ned. "I see," observed Tom calmly. "Hand me the rifle, Ned." Tom took quick aim and pulled the trigger. The explosive electric bullet went true to its mark, and the great animal turned over in a death struggle. But the river was filled with them, and no sooner had the one nearest the unfortunate Indian been disposed of than another made a dash for the man. There was a wild scream of agony and then a dark arm shot up above the red foam. The waters seethed and bubbled as the alligators fought under it for possession of the paddler. Tom fired bullet after bullet from his wonderful rifle into the spot, but though he killed some of the alligators this did not save the man's life. His body was not seen again, though search was made for it. The accident cast a little damper over the party, and there was a feeling of gloom among the Indians. Professor Bumper announced that he would see to it that the man's family did not want, and this seemed to give general satisfaction, especially to a brother who was with the party. Aside from being caught in a drenching storm and one or two minor accidents, nothing else of moment marked the remainder of the river journey, and at the end of the third day the canoes pulled to shore and a night camp was made. "But where are the mules we are to use in traveling to-morrow?" asked the professor of Jacinto. "In the next village. We shall march there in the morning. No use to go there at night when all is dark." "I suppose that is so." The Indians made camp as usual, the goods being brought from the canoes and piled up near the tents. Then night settled down. "Hello!" cried Tom, awakening the next morning to find the sun streaming into his tent. "We must have overslept, Ned. We were to start before old Sol got in his heavy work, but we haven't had breakfast yet." "I didn't hear any one call us," remarked Ned. "Nor I. Wonder if we're the only lazy birds." He looked from the tent in time to see Mr. Damon and the professor emerging. Then Tom noticed something queer. The canoes were not on the river bank. There was not an Indian in sight, and no evidence of Jacinto. "What's the matter?" asked the young inventor. "Have the others gone on ahead?" "I rather think they've gone back," was the professor's dry comment. "Gone back?" "Yes. The Indians seem to have deserted us at the ending of this stage of our journey." "Bless my time-table!" cried Mr. Damon. "You don't say so! What does it mean? What has becomes of our friend Jacinto?" "I'm afraid he was rather a false friend," was the professor's answer. "This is the note he left. He has gone and taken the canoes and all the Indians with him," and he held out a paper on which was some scribbled writing. CHAPTER XIII FORWARD AGAIN "What does it all mean?" asked Tom, seeing that the note was written in Spanish, a tongue which he could speak slightly but read indifferently. "This is some of Beecher's work," was Professor Bumper's grim comment. "It seems that Jacinto was in his pay." "In his pay!" cried Mr. Damon. "Do you mean that Beecher deliberately hired Jacinto to betray us?" "Well, no. Not that exactly. Here, I'll translate this note for you," and the professor proceeded to read: "Senors: I greatly regret the step I have to take, but I am a gentleman, and, having given my word, I must keep it. No harm shall come to you, I swear it on my honor!" "Queer idea of honor he has!" commented Tom, grimly. Professor Bumper read on: "Know then, that before I engaged myself to you I had been engaged by Professor Beecher through a friend to guide him into the Copan valley, where he wants to make some explorations, for what I know not, save maybe that it is for gold. I agreed, in case any rival expeditions came to lead them astray if I could. "So, knowing from what you said that you were going to this place, I engaged myself to you, planning to do what I have done. I greatly regret it, as I have come to like you, but I had given my promise to Professor Beecher's friend, that I would first lead him to the Copan valley, and would keep others away until he had had a chance to do his exploration. "So I have led you to this wilderness. It is far from the Copan, but you are near an Indian village, and you will be able to get help in a week or so. In the meanwhile you will not starve, as you have plenty of supplies. If you will travel northeast you will come again to Puerto Cortes in due season. As for the money I had from you, I deposit it to your credit, Professor Beecher having made me an allowance for steering rival parties on the wrong trail. So I lose nothing, and I save my honor. "I write this note as I am leaving in the night with the Indians. I put some harmless sedative in your tea that you might sleep soundly, and not awaken until we were well on our way. Do not try to follow us, as the river will carry us swiftly away. And, let me add, there is no personal animosity on the part of Professor Beecher against you. I should have done to any rival expedition the same as I have done with you. JACINTO." For a moment there was silence, and then Tom Swift burst out with: "Well, of all the mean, contemptible tricks of a human skunk this is the limit!" "Bless my hairbrush, but he is a scoundrel!" ejaculated Mr. Damon, with great warmth. "I'd like to start after him the biggest alligator in the river," was Ned's comment. Professor Bumper said nothing for several seconds. There was a strange look on his face, and then he laughed shortly, as though the humor of the situation appealed to him. "Professor Beecher has more gumption than I gave him credit for," he said. "It was a clever trick!" "Trick!" cried Tom. "Yes. I can't exactly agree that it was the right thing to do, but he, or some friend acting for him, seems to have taken precautions that we are not to suffer or lose money. Beecher goes on the theory that all is fair in love and war, I suppose, and he may call this a sort of scientific war." Ned wondered, as he looked at his chum, how much love there was in it. Clearly Beecher was determined to get that idol of gold. "Well, it can't be helped, and we must make the best of it," said Tom, after a pause. "True. But now, boys, let's have breakfast, and then we'll make what goods we can't take with us as snug as possible, until we can send the mule drivers after them," went on Professor Bumper. "Send the mule drivers after them?" questioned Ned. "What do you mean to do?" "Do? Why keep on, of course. You don't suppose I'm going to let a little thing like this stand between me and the discovery of Kurzon and the idol of gold, do you?" "But," began Mr. Damon, "I don't see how--" "Oh, we'll find a way," interrupted Tom. "It isn't the first time I've been pretty well stranded on an expedition of this kind, and sometimes from the same cause--the actions of a rival. Now we'll turn the tables on the other fellows and see how they like it. The professor's right--let's have breakfast. Jacinto seems to have told the truth. Nothing of ours is missing." Tom and Ned got the meal, and then a consultation was held as to what was best to be done. "We can't go on any further by water, that's sure," said Tom. "In the first place the river is too shallow, and secondly we have no canoes. So the only thing is to go on foot through the jungle." "But how can we, and carry all this stuff?" asked Ned. "We needn't carry it!" cried Professor Bumper. "We'll leave it here, where it will be safe enough, and tramp on to the nearest Indian village. There we'll hire bearers to take our stuff on until we can get mules. I'm not going to turn back!" "Good!" cried Mr. Damon. "Bless my rubber boots! but that's what I say--keep on!" "Oh, no! we'll never turn back," agreed Tom. "But how can we manage it?" asked Ned. "We've just got to! And when you have to do a thing, it's a whole lot easier to do than if you just feel as though you ought to. So, lively is the word!" cried Tom, in answer. "We'll pack up what we can carry and leave the rest," added the scientist. Being an experienced traveler Professor Bumper had arranged his baggage so that it could be carried by porters if necessary. Everything could be put into small packages, including the tents and food supply. "There are four of us," remarked Tom, "and if we can not pack enough along with us to enable us to get to the nearest village, we had better go back to civilization. I'm not afraid to try." "Nor I!" cried Mr. Damon. The baggage, stores and supplies that were to be left behind were made as snug as possible, and so piled up that wild beasts could do the least harm. Then a pack was made up for each one to carry. They would take weapons, of course, Tom Swift's electric rifle being the one he choose for himself. They expected to be able to shoot game on their way, and this would provide them food in addition to the concentrated supply they carried. Small tents, in sections, were carried, there being two, one for Tom and Ned and one for Mr. Damon and the professor. As far as could be learned from a casual inspection, Jacinto and his deserting Indians had taken back with them only a small quantity of food. They were traveling light and down stream, and could reach the town much more quickly than they had come away from it. "That Beecher certainly was slick," commented Professor Bumper when they were ready to start. "He must have known about what time I would arrive, and he had Jacinto waiting for us. I thought it was too good to be true, to get an experienced guide like him so easily. But it was all planned, and I was so engrossed in thinking of the ancient treasures I hope to find that I never thought of a possible trick. Well, let's start!" and he led the way into the jungle, carrying his heavy pack as lightly as did Tom. Professor Bumper had a general idea in which direction lay a number of native villages, and it was determined to head for them, blazing a path through the wilderness, so that the Indians could follow it back to the goods left behind. It was with rather heavy hearts that the party set off, but Tom's spirits could not long stay clouded, and the scientist was so good-natured about the affair and seemed so eager to do the utmost to render Beecher's trick void, that the others fell into a lighter mood, and went on more cheerfully, though the way was rough and the packs heavy. They stopped at noon under a bower they made of palms, and, spreading the nets over them, got a little rest after a lunch. Then, when the sun was less hot, they started off again. "Forward is the word!" cried Ned cheerfully. "Forward!"' They had not gone more than an hour on the second stage of their tramp when Tom, who was in the lead, following the direction laid out by the compass, suddenly stopped, and reached around for his electric rifle, which he was carrying at his back. "What is it?" asked Ned in a whisper. "I don't know, but it's some big animal there in the bushes," was Tom's low-voiced answer. "I'm ready for it." The rustling increased, and a form could be seen indistinctly. Tom aimed the deadly gun and stood ready to pull the trigger. Ned, who had a side view into the underbrush, gave a sudden cry. "Don't shoot, Tom!" he yelled. "It's a man!" CHAPTER XIV A NEW GUIDE In spite of Ned Newton's cry, Tom's finger pressed the switch-trigger of the electric rifle, for previous experience had taught him that it was sometimes the best thing to awe the natives in out-of-the-way corners of the earth. But the young inventor quickly elevated the muzzle, and the deadly missile went hissing through the air over the head of a native Indian who, at that moment, stepped from the bush. The man, startled and alarmed, shrank back and was about to run into the jungle whence he had emerged. Small wonder if he had, considering the reception he so unwittingly met with. But Tom, aware of the necessity for making inquiries of one who knew that part of the jungle, quickly called to him. "Hold on!" he shouted. "Wait a minute. I didn't mean that. I thought at first you were a tapir or a tiger. No harm intended. I say, Professor," Tom called back to the savant, "you'd better speak to him in his lingo, I can't manage it. He may be useful in guiding us to that Indian village Jacinto told us of." This Professor Bumper did, being able to make himself understood in the queer part-Spanish dialect used by the native Hondurians, though he could not, of course, speak it as fluently as had Jacinto. Professor Bumper had made only a few remarks to the man who had so unexpectedly appeared out of the jungle when the scientist gave an exclamation of surprise at some of the answers made. "Bless my moving picture!" cried Mr. Damon. "What's the matter now? Is anything wrong? Does he refuse to help us?" "No, it isn't that," was the answer. "In fact he came here to help us. Tom, this is the brother of the Indian who fell overboard and who was eaten by the alligators. He says you were very kind to try to save his brother with your rifle, and for that reason he has come back to help us." "Come back?" queried Tom. "Yes, he went off with the rest of the Indians when Jacinto deserted us, but he could not stand being a traitor, after you had tried to save his brother's life. These Indians are queer people. They don't show much emotion, but they have deep feelings. This one says he will devote himself to your service from now on. I believe we can count on him. He is deeply grateful to you, Tom." "I'm glad of that for all our sakes. But what does he say about Jacinto?" The professor asked some more questions, receiving answers, and then translated them. "This Indian, whose name is Tolpec, says Jacinto is a fraud," exclaimed Professor Bumper. "He made all the Indians leave us in the night, though many of them were willing to stay and fill the contract they had made. But Jacinto would not let them, making them desert. Tolpec went away with the others, but because of what Tom had done he planned to come back at the first chance and be our guide. Accordingly he jumped ashore from one of the canoes, and made his way to our camp. He got there, found it deserted and followed us, coming up just now." "Well I'm glad I didn't frighten him off with my gun," remarked Tom grimly. "So he agrees with us that Jacinto is a scoundrel, does he? I guess he might as well classify Professor Beecher in the same way." "I am not quite so sure of that," said Professor Bumper slowly. "I can not believe Beecher would play such a trick as this, though some over-zealous friend of his might." "Oh, of course Beecher did it!" cried Tom. "He heard we were coming here, figured out that we'd start ahead of him, and he wanted to side-track us. Well, he did it all right," and Tom's voice was bitter. "He has only side-tracked us for a while," announced Professor Bumper in cheerful tones. "What do you mean?" asked Mr. Damon. "I mean that this Indian comes just in the nick of time. He is well acquainted with this part of the jungle, having lived here all his life, and he offers to guide us to a place where we can get mules to transport ourselves and our baggage to Copan." "Fine!" cried Ned. "When can we start?" Once more the professor and the native conversed in the strange tongue, and then Professor Bumper announced: "He says it will be better for us to go back where we left our things and camp there. He will stay with us to-night and in the morning go on to the nearest Indian town and come back with porters and helpers." "I think that is good advice to follow," put in Tom, "for we do need our goods; and if we reached the settlement ourselves, we would have to send back for our things, with the uncertainty of getting them all." So it was agreed that they would make a forced march back through the jungle to where they had been deserted by Jacinto. There they would make camp for the night, and until such time as Tolpec could return with a force of porters. It was not easy, that backward tramp through the jungle, especially as night had fallen. But the new Indian guide could see like a cat, and led the party along paths they never could have found by themselves. The use of their pocket electric lights was a great help, and possibly served to ward off the attacks of jungle beasts, for as they tramped along they could hear stealthy sounds in the underbush on either side of the path, as though tigers were stalking them. For there was in the woods an animal of the leopard family, called tiger or "tigre" by the natives, that was exceedingly fierce and dangerous. But watchfulness prevented any accident, and eventually the party reached the place where they had left their goods. Nothing had been disturbed, and finally a fire was made, the tents set up and a light meal, with hot tea served. "We'll get ahead of Beecher yet," said Tom. "You seem as anxious as Professor Bumper," observed Mr. Damon. "I guess I am," admitted Tom. "I want to see that idol of gold in the possession of our party." The night passed without incident, and then, telling his new friends that he would return as soon as possible with help, Tolpec, taking a small supply of food with him, set out through the jungle again. As the green vines and creepers closed after him, and the explorers were left alone with their possessions piled around them, Ned remarked: "After all, I wonder if it was wise to let him go?" "Why not?" asked Tom. "Well, maybe he only wanted to get us back here, and then he'll desert, too. Maybe that's what he's done now, making us lose two or three days by inducing us to return, waiting for what will never happen--his return with other natives." A silence followed Ned's intimation. CHAPTER XV IN THE COILS "Ned, do you really think Tolpec is going to desert us?" asked Tom. "Well, I don't know," was the slowly given reply. "It's a possibility, isn't it?" "Yes, it is," broke in Professor Bumper. "But what if it is? We might as well trust him, and if he proves true, as I believe he will, we'll be so much better off. If he proves a traitor we'll only have lost a few days, for if he doesn't come back we can go on again in the way we started." "But that's just it!" complained Tom. "We don't want to lose any time with that Beecher chap on our trail." "I am not so very much concerned about him," remarked Professor Bumper, dryly. "Why not?" snapped out Mr. Damon. "Well, because I think he'll have just about as hard work locating the hidden city, and finding the idol of gold, as we'll have. In other words it will be an even thing, unless he gets too far ahead of us, or keeps us back, and I don't believe he can do that now. "So I thought it best to take a chance with this Indian. He would hardly have taken the trouble to come all the way back, and run the risks he did, just to delay us a few days. However, we'll soon know. Meanwhile, we'll take it easy and wait for the return of Tolpec and his friends." Though none of them liked to admit it, Ned's words had caused his three friends some anxiety, and though they busied themselves about the camp there was an air of waiting impatiently for something to occur. And waiting is about the hardest work there is. But there was nothing for it but to wait, and it might be at least a week, Professor Bumper said, before the Indian could return with a party of porters and mules to move their baggage. "Yes, Tolpec has not only to locate the settlement," Tom admitted, "but he must persuade the natives to come back with him. He may have trouble in that, especially if it is known that he has left Jacinto, who, I imagine, is a power among the tribes here." But there were only two things left to do--wait and hope. The travelers did both. Four days passed and there was no sign of Tolpec. Eagerly, and not a little anxiously, they watched the jungle path along which he had disappeared. "Oh, come on!" exclaimed Tom one morning, when the day seemed a bit cooler than its predecessor. "Let's go for a hunt, or something! I'm tired of sitting around camp." "Bless my watch hands! So am I!" cried Mr. Damon. "Let's all go for a trip. It will do us good." "And perhaps I can get some specimens of interest," added Professor Bumper, who, in addition to being an archaeologist, was something of a naturalist. Accordingly, having made everything snug in camp, the party, Tom and Ned equipped with electric rifles, and the professor with a butterfly net and specimen boxes, set forth. Mr. Damon said he would carry a stout club as his weapon. The jungle, as usual, was teeming with life, but as Ned and Tom did not wish to kill wantonly they refrained from shooting until later in the day. For once it was dead, game did not keep well in that hot climate, and needed to be cooked almost immediately. "We'll try some shots on our back trip," said the young inventor. Professor Bumper found plenty of his own particular kind of "game" which he caught in the net, transferring the specimens to the boxes he carried. There were beautiful butterflies, moths and strange bugs in the securing of which the scientist evinced great delight, though when one beetle nipped him firmly and painfully on his thumb his involuntary cry of pain was as real as that of any other person. "But I didn't let him get away," he said in triumph when he had dropped the clawing insect into the cyanide bottle where death came painlessly. "It is well worth a sore thumb." They wandered on through the jungle, taking care not to get too far from their camp, for they did not want to lose their way, nor did they want to be absent too long in case Tolpec and his native friends should return. "Well, it's about time we shot something, I think," remarked Ned, when they had been out about two hours. "Let's try for some of these wild turkeys. They ought to go well roasted even if it isn't Thanksgiving." "I'm with you," agreed Tom. "Let's see who has the best luck. But tone down the charge in your rifle and use a smaller projectile, or you'll have nothing but a bunch of feathers to show for your shot. The guns are loaded for deer." The change was made, and once more the two young men started off, a little ahead of Professor Bumper and Mr. Damon. Tom and Ned had not gone far, however, before they heard a strange cry from Mr. Damon. "Tom! Ned!" shouted the eccentric man, "Here's a monster after me! Come quick!" "A tiger!" ejaculated Tom, as he began once more to change the charge in his rifle to a larger one, running back, meanwhile, in the direction of the sound of the voice. There were really no tigers in Honduras, the jaguar being called a tiger by the natives, while the cougar is called a lion. The presence of these animals, often dangerous to man, had been indicated around camp, and it was possible that one had been bold enough to attack Mr. Damon, not through hunger, but because of being cornered. "Come on, Ned!" cried Tom. "He's in some sort of trouble!" But when, a moment later, the young inventor burst through a fringe of bushes and saw Mr. Damon standing in a little clearing, with upraised club, Tom could not repress a laugh. "Kill it, Tom! Kill it!" begged the eccentric man. "Bless my insurance policy, but it's a terrible beast!" And so it was, at first glance. For it was a giant iguana, one of the most repulsive-looking of the lizards. Not unlike an alligator in shape, with spikes on its head and tail, with a warty, squatty ridge-encrusted body, a big pouch beneath its chin, and long-toed claws, it was enough to strike terror into the heart of almost any one. Even the smaller ones look dangerous, and this one, which was about five feet long, looked capable of attacking a man and injuring him. As a matter of fact the iguanas are harmless, their shape and coloring being designed to protect them. "Don't be afraid, Mr. Damon," called Tom, still laughing. "It won't hurt you!" "I'm not so positive of that. It won't let me pass." "Just take your club and poke it out of the way," the young inventor advised. "It's only waiting to be shoved." "Then you do it, Tom. Bless my looking glass, but I don't want to go near it! If my wife could see me now she'd say it served me just right." Mr. Damon was not a coward, but the giant iguana was not pleasant to look at. Tom, with the butt of his rifle, gave it a gentle shove, whereupon the creature scurried off through the brush as though glad to make its escape unscathed. "I thought it was a new kind of alligator," said Mr. Damon with a sigh of relief. "Where is it?" asked Professor Bumper, coming up at this juncture. "A new species of alligator? Let me see it!" "It's too horrible," said Mr. Damon. "I never want to see one again. It was worse than a vampire bat!" Notwithstanding this, when he heard that it was one of the largest sized iguanas ever seen, the professor started through the jungle after it. "We can't take it with us if we get it," Tom called after his friend. "We might take the skin," answered the professor. "I have a standing order for such things from one of the museums I represent. I'd like to get it. Then they are often eaten. We can have a change of diet, you see." "We'd better follow him," said Tom to Ned. "We'll have to let the turkeys go for a while. He may get into trouble. Come on." Off they started through the jungle, trailing after the impetuous professor who was intent on capturing the iguana. The giant lizard's progress could be traced by the disturbance of the leaves and underbrush, and the professor was following as closely as possible. So fast did he go that Ned, Tom and Mr. Damon, following, lost sight of him several times, and Tom finally called: "Wait a minute. We'll all be lost if you keep this up." "I'll have him in another minute," answered the professor. "I can almost reach him now. Then---- Oh!" His voice ended in a scream that seemed to be one of terror. So sudden was the change that Tom and Ned, who were together, ahead of Mr. Damon, looked at one another in fear. "What has happened?" whispered Ned, pausing. "Don't stop to ask--come on!" shouted Tom. At that instant again came the voice of the savant. "Tom! Ned!" he gasped, rather than cried. "I'm caught in the coils! Quick--quick if you would save me!" "In the coils!" repeated Ned. "What does he mean? Can the giant iguana----" Tom Swift did not stop to answer. With his electric rifle in readiness, he leaped forward through the jungle. CHAPTER XVI A MEETING IN THE JUNGLE Before Tom and Ned reached the place whence Professor Bumper had called, they heard strange noises, other than the imploring voice of their friend. It seemed as though some great body was threshing about in the jungle, lashing the trees, bushes and leaves about, and when the two young men, followed by Mr. Damon, reached the scene they saw that, in a measure, this really accounted for what they heard. Something like a great whip was beating about close to two trees that grew near together. And then, when the storm of twigs, leaves and dirt, caused by the leaping, threshing thing ceased for a moment, the onlookers saw something that filled them with terror. Between the two trees, and seemingly bound to them by a great coiled rope, spotted and banded, was the body of Professor Bumper. His arms were pinioned to his sides and there was horror and terror on his face, that looked imploringly at the youths from above the topmost coil of those encircling him. "What is it?" cried Mr. Damon, as he ran pantingly up. "What has caught him? Is it the giant iguana?" "It's a snake--a great boa!" gasped Tom. "It has him in its coils. But it is wound around the trees, too. That alone prevents it from crushing the professor to death. "Ned, be ready with your rifle. Put in the heaviest charge, and watch your chance to fire!" The great, ugly head of the boa reared itself up from the coils which it had, with the quickness of thought, thrown about the man between the two trees. This species of snake is not poisonous, and kills its prey by crushing it to death, making it into a pulpy mass, with scarcely a bone left unbroken, after which it swallows its meal. The crushing power of one of these boas, some of which reach a length of thirty feet, with a body as large around as that of a full-grown man, is enormous. "I'm going to fire!" suddenly cried Tom. He had seen his chance and he took it. There was the faint report--the crack of the electric rifle--and the folds of the serpent seemed to relax. "I see a good chance now," added Ned, who had taken the small charge from his weapon, replacing it with a heavier one. His rifle was also discharged in the direction of the snake, and Tom saw that the hit was a good one, right through the ugly head of the reptile. "One other will be enough to make him loosen his coils!" cried Tom, as he fired again, and such was the killing power of the electric bullets that the snake, though an immense one, and one that short of decapitation could have received many injuries without losing power, seemed to shrivel up. Its folds relaxed, and the coils of the great body fell in a heap at the roots of the two trees, between which the scientist had been standing. Professor Bumper seemed to fall backward as the grip of the serpent relaxed, but Tom, dropping his rifle, and calling to Ned to keep an eye on the snake, leaped forward and caught his friend. "Are you hurt?" asked Tom, carrying the limp form over to a grassy place. There was no answer, the savant's eyes were closed and he breathed but faintly. Ned Newton fired two more electric bullets into the still writhing body of the boa. "I guess he's all in," he called to Tom. "Bless my horseradish! And so our friend seems to be," commented Mr. Damon. "Have you anything with which to revive him, Tom?" "Yes. Some ammonia. See if you can find a little water." "I have some in my flask." Tom mixed a dose of the spirits which he carried with him, and this, forced between the pallid lips of the scientist, revived him. "What happened?" he asked faintly as he opened his eyes. "Oh, yes, I remember," he added slowly. "The boa----" "Don't try to talk," urged Tom. "You're all right. The snake is dead, or dying. Are you much hurt?" Professor Bumper appeared to be considering. He moved first one limb, then another. He seemed to have the power over all his muscles. "I see how it happened," he said, as he sat up, after taking a little more of the ammonia. "I was following the iguana, and when the big lizard came to a stop, in a little hollow place in the ground, at the foot of those two trees, I leaned over to slip a noose of rope about its neck. Then I felt myself caught, as if in the hands of a giant, and bound fast between the two trees." "It was the big boa that whipped itself around you, as you leaned over," explained Tom, as Ned came up to announce that the snake was no longer dangerous. "But when it coiled around you it also coiled around the two trees, you, fortunately slipping between them. Had it not been that their trunks took off some of the pressure of the coils you wouldn't have lasted a minute." "Well, I was pretty badly squeezed as it was," remarked the professor. "I hardly had breath enough left to call to you. I tried to fight off the serpent, but it was of no use." "I should say not!" cried Mr. Damon. "Bless my circus ring! one might as well try to combat an elephant! But, my dear professor, are you all right now?" "I think so--yes. Though I shall be lame and stiff for a few days, I fear. I can hardly walk." Professor Bumper was indeed unable to go about much for a few days after his encounter with the great serpent. He stretched out in a hammock under trees in the camp clearing, and with his friends waited for the possible return of Tolpec and the porters. Ned and Tom made one or two short hunting trips, and on these occasions they kept a lookout in the direction the Indian had taken when he went away. "For he's sure to come back that way--if he comes at all," declared Ned; "which I am beginning to doubt." "Well, he may not come," agreed Tom, who was beginning to lose some of his first hope. "But he won't necessarily come from the same direction he took. He may have had to go in an entirely different way to get help. We'll hope for the best." A week passed. Professor Bumper was able to be about, and Tom and Ned noticed that there was an anxious look on his face. Was he, too, beginning to despair? "Well, this isn't hunting for golden idols very fast," said Mr. Damon, the morning of the eighth day after their desertion by the faithless Jacinto. "What do you say, Professor Bumper; ought we not to start off on our own account?" "We had better if Tolpec does not return today," was the answer. They had eaten breakfast, had put their camp in order, and were about to have a consultation on what was best to do, when Tom suddenly called to Ned, who was whistling: "Hark!" Through the jungle came a faint sound of singing--not a harmonious air, but the somewhat barbaric chant of the natives. "It is Tolpec coming back!" cried Mr. Damon. "Hurray! Now our troubles are over! Bless my meal ticket! Now we can start!" "It may be Jacinto," suggested Ned. "Nonsense! you old cold-water pitcher!" cried Tom. "It's Tolpec! I can see him! He's a good scout all right!" And then, walking at the head of a band of Indians who were weirdly chanting while behind them came a train of mules, was Tolpec, a cheerful grin covering his honest, if homely, dark face. "Me come back!" he exclaimed in gutteral English, using about half of his foreign vocabulary. "I see you did," answered Professor Bumper in the man's own tongue. "Glad to see you. Is everything all right?" "All right," was the answer. "These Indians will take you where you want to go, and will not leave you as Jacinto did." "We'll start in the morning!" exclaimed the savant his own cheerful self again, now that there was a prospect of going further into the interior. "Tell the men to get something to eat, Tolpec. There is plenty for all." "Good!" grunted the new guide and soon the hungry Indians, who had come far, were satisfying their hunger. As they ate Tolpec explained to Professor Bumper, who repeated it to the youths and Mr. Damon, that it had been necessary to go farther than he had intended to get the porters and mules. But the Indians were a friendly tribe, of which he was a member, and could be depended on. There was a feast and a sort of celebration in camp that night. Tom and Ned shot two deer, and these formed the main part of the feast and the Indians made merry about the fire until nearly midnight. They did not seem to mind in the least the swarms of mosquitoes and other bugs that flew about, attracted by the light. As for Tom Swift and his friends, their nets protected them. An early start was made the following morning. Such packages of goods and supplies as could not well be carried by the Indians in their head straps, were loaded on the backs of the pack-mules. Tolpec explained that on reaching the Indian village, where he had secured the porters, they could get some ox-carts which would be a convenience in traveling into the interior toward the Copan valley. The march onward for the next two days was tiresome; but the Indians Tolpec had secured were as faithful and efficient as he had described them, and good progress was made. There were a few accidents. One native fell into a swiftly running stream as they were fording it and lost a box containing some much-needed things. But as the man's life was saved Professor Bumper said it made up for the other loss. Another accident did not end so auspiciously. One of the bearers was bitten by a poisonous snake, and though prompt measures were taken, the poison spread so rapidly that the man died. In due season the Indian village was reached, where, after a day spent in holding funeral services over the dead bearer, preparations were made for proceeding farther. This time some of the bearers were left behind, and ox-carts were substituted for them, as it was possible to carry more goods this way. "And now we're really off for Copan!" exclaimed Professor Bumper one morning, when the cavalcade, led by Tolpec in the capacity of head guide, started off. "I hope we have no more delays." "I hope not, either," agreed Tom. "That Beecher may be there ahead of us." Weary marches fell to their portion. There were mountains to climb, streams to ford or swim, sending the carts over on rudely made rafts. There were storms to endure, and the eternal heat to fight. But finally the party emerged from the lowlands of the coast and went up in among the hills, where though the going was harder, the climate was better. It was not so hot and moist. Not wishing to attract attention in Copan itself, Professor Bumper and his party made a detour, and finally, after much consultation with Tom over the ancient maps, the scientist announced that he thought they were in the vicinity of the buried city. "We will begin test excavations in the morning," he said. The party was in camp, and preparations were made for spending the night in the forest, when from among the trees there floated to the ears of our friends a queer Indian chant. "Some one is coming," said Tom to Ned. Almost as he spoke there filed into the clearing where the camp had been set up, a cavalcade of white men, followed by Indians. And at the sight of one of the white men Tom Swift uttered a cry. "Professor Beecher!" gasped the young inventor. CHAPTER XVII THE LOST MAP The on-marching company of white men, with their Indian attendants, came to a halt on the edge of the clearing as they caught sight of the tents already set up there. The barbaric chant of the native bearers ceased abruptly, and there was a look of surprise shown on the face of Professor Fenimore Beecher. For Professor Beecher it was, in the lead of the rival expedition. "Bless my shoe laces!" exclaimed Mr. Damon. "Is it really Beecher?" asked Ned, though he knew as well as Tom that it was the young archaeologist. "It certainly is!" declared Tom. "And he has nerve to follow us so closely!" "Maybe he thinks we have nerve to get here ahead of him," suggested Ned, smiling grimly. "Probably," agreed Tom, with a short laugh. "Well, it evidently surprises him to find us here at all, after the mean trick he played on us to get Jacinto to lead us into the jungle and desert us." "That's right," assented Ned. "Well, what's the next move?" There seemed to be some doubt about this on the part of both expeditions. At the sight of Professor Beecher, Professor Bumper, who had come out of his tent, hurriedly turned to Tom and asked him what he thought it best to do. "Do!" exclaimed the eccentric Mr. Damon, not giving Tom time to reply. "Why, stand your ground, of course! Bless my house and lot! but we're here first! For the matter of that, I suppose the jungle is free and we can no more object to his coming here than he can to our coming. First come, first served, I suppose is the law of the forest." Meanwhile the surprise occasioned by the unexpected meeting of their rivals seemed to have spread something like consternation among the white members of the Beecher party. As for the natives they evidently did not care one way or the other. There was a hasty consultation among the professors accompanying Mr. Beecher, and then the latter himself advanced toward the tents of Tom and his friends and asked: "How long have you been here?" "I don't see that we are called upon to answer that question," replied Professor Bumper stiffly. "Perhaps not, and yet----" "There is no perhaps about it!" said Professor Bumper quickly. "I know what your object is, as I presume you do mine. And, after what I may term your disgraceful and unsportsmanlike conduct toward me and my friends, I prefer not to have anything further to do with you. We must meet as strangers hereafter." "Very well," and Professor Beecher's voice was as cold and uncompromising as was his rival's. "Let it be as your wish. But I must say I don't know what you mean by unsportsmanlike conduct." "An explanation would be wasted on you," said Professor Bumper stiffly. "But in order that you may know I fully understand what you did I will say that your efforts to thwart us through your tool Jacinto came to nothing. We are here ahead of you." "Jacinto!" cried Professor Beecher in real or simulated surprise. "Why, he was not my 'tool,' as you term it." "Your denial is useless in the light of his confession," asserted Professor Bumper. "Confession?" "Now look here!" exclaimed the older professor, "I do not propose to lower myself by quarreling with you. I know certainly what you and your party tried to do to prevent us from getting here. But we got out of the trap you set for us, and we are on the ground first. I recognize your right to make explorations as well as ourselves, and I presume you have not fallen so low that you will not recognize the unwritten law in a case of this kind--the law which says the right of discovery belongs to the one who first makes it." "I shall certainly abide by such conduct as is usual under the circumstances," said Professor Beecher more stiffly than before. "At the same time I must deny having set a trap. And as for Jacinto----" "It will be useless to discuss it further!" broke in Professor Bumper. "Then no more need be said," retorted the younger man. "I shall give orders to my friends, as well as to the natives, to keep away from your camp, and I shall expect you to do the same regarding mine." "I should have suggested the same thing myself," came from Tom's friend, and the two rival scientists fairly glared at one another, the others of both parties looking on with interest. Professor Bumper turned and walked defiantly back to his tent. Professor Beecher did the same thing. Then, after a short consultation among the white members of the latter's organization, their tents were set up in another clearing, removed and separated by a screen of trees and bushes from those of Tom Swift's friends. The natives of the Beecher party also withdrew a little way from those of Professor Bumper's organization, and then preparations for spending the night in the jungle went on in the rival headquarters. "Well, he certainly had nerve, to deny, practically, that he had set Jacinto up to do what he did," commented Tom. "I should say so!" agreed Ned. "How do you imagine he got here nearly as soon as we did, when he did not start until later?" asked Mr. Damon. "He did not have the unfortunate experience of being deserted in the jungle," replied Tom. "He probably had Jacinto, or some of that unprincipled scoundrel's friends, show him a short route to Copan and he came on from there." "Well, I did hope we might have the ground to ourselves, at least for the preliminary explorations and excavations. But it is not to be. My rival is here," sighed Professor Bumper. "Don't let that discourage you!" exclaimed Tom. "We can fight all the better now the foe is in the open, and we know where he is." "Yes, Tom Swift, that is true," agreed the scientist. "I am not going to give up, but I shall have to change my plans a little. Perhaps you will come into the tent with me," and he nodded to Tom and Ned. "I want to talk over certain matters with you and Mr. Damon." "Pleased to," assented the young inventor, and his financial secretary nodded. A little later, supper having been eaten, the camp made shipshape and the natives settled down, Tom, Ned, Mr. Damon and Professor Bumper assembled in the tent of the scientist, where a dry battery lamp gave sufficient illumination to show a number of maps and papers scattered over an improvised table. "Now, gentlemen," said the professor, "I have called you here to go over my plans more in detail than I have hitherto done, now we are on the ground. You know in a general way what I hope to accomplish, but the time has come when I must be specific. "Aside from being on the spot, below which, or below the vicinity where, I believe, lies the lost city of Kurzon and, I hope, the idol of gold, a situation has arisen--an unexpected situation, I may say--which calls for different action from that I had counted on. "I refer to the presence of my rival, Professor Beecher. I will not dwell now on what he has done. It is better to consider what he may do." "That's right," agreed Ned. "He may get up in the night, dig up this city and skip with that golden image before we know it." "Hardly," grinned Tom. "No," said Professor Bumper. "Excavating buried cities in the jungle of Honduras is not as simple as that. There is much work to be done. But accidents may happen, and in case one should occur to me, and I be unable to prosecute the search, I want one of you to do it. For that reason I am going to show you the maps and ancient documents and point out to you where I believe the lost city lies. Now, if you will give me your attention, I'll proceed." The professor went over in detail the story of how he had found the old documents relating to the lost city of Kurzon, and of how, after much labor and research, he had located the city in the Copan valley. The great idol of gold was one of the chief possessions of Kurzon, and it was often referred to in the old papers; copies and translations of which the professor had with him. "But this is the most valuable of all," he said, as he opened an oiled-silk packet. "And before I show it to you, suppose you two young men take a look outside the tent." "What for?" asked Mr. Damon. "To make sure that no emissaries from the Beecher crowd are sneaking around to overhear what we say," was the somewhat bitter answer of the scientist. "I do not trust him, in spite of his attempted denial." Tom and Ned took a quick but thorough observation outside the tent. The blackness of the jungle night was in strange contrast to the light they had just left. "Doesn't seem to be any one around here," remarked Ned, after waiting a minute or two. "No. All's quiet along the Potomac. Those Beecher natives are having some sort of a song-fest, though." In the distance, and from the direction of their rivals' camp, came the weird chant. "Well, as long as they stay there we'll be all right," said Tom. "Come on in. I'm anxious to hear what the professor has to say." "Everything's quiet," reported Ned. "Then give me your attention," begged the scientist. Carefully, as though about to exhibit some, precious jewel, he loosened the oiled-silk wrappings and showed a large map, on thin but tough paper. "This is drawn from the old charts," the professor explained. "I worked on it many months, and it is the only copy in the world. If it were to be destroyed I should have to go all the way back to New York to make another copy. I have the original there in a safe deposit vault." "Wouldn't it have been wise to make two copies?" asked Tom. "It would have only increased the risk. With one copy, and that constantly in my possession, I can be sure of my ground. Otherwise not. That is why I am so careful of this. Now I will show you why I believe we are about over the ancient city of Kurzon." "Over it!" cried Mr. Damon. "Bless my gunpowder! What do you mean?" and he looked down at the earthen floor of the tent as though expecting it to open and swallow him. "I mean that the city, like many others of Central and South America, is buried below the refuse of centuries," went on the professor. "Very soon, if we are fortunate, we shall be looking on the civilization of hundreds of years ago--how long no one knows. "Considerable excavation has been done in Central America," went on Professor Bumper, "and certain ruins have been brought to light. Near us are those of Copan, while toward the frontier are those of Quirigua, which are even better preserved than the former. We may visit them if we have time. But I have reason to believe that in this section of Copan is a large city, the existence of which has not been made certain of by any one save myself--and, perhaps, Professor Beecher. "Certainly no part of it has seen the light of day for many centuries. It shall be our pleasure to uncover it, if possible, and secure the idol of gold." "How long ago do you think the city was buried?" asked Tom. "It would be hard to say. From the carvings and hieroglyphics I have studied it would seem that the Mayan civilization lasted about five hundred years, and that it began perhaps in the year A. D. five hundred." "That would mean," said Mr. Damon, "that the ancient cities were in ruins, buried, perhaps, long before Columbus discovered the new world." "Yes," assented the professor. "Probably Kurzon, which we now seek, was buried deep for nearly five hundred years before Columbus landed at San Salvadore. The specimens of writing and architecture heretofore disclosed indicate that. But, as a matter of fact, it is very hard to decipher the Mayan pictographs. So far, little but the ability to read their calendars and numerical system is possessed by us, though we are gradually making headway. "Now this is the map of the district, and by the markings you can see where I hope to find what I seek. We shall begin digging here," and he made a small mark with a pencil on the map. "Of course," the professor explained, "I may be wrong, and it will take some time to discover the error if we make one. When a city is buried thirty or forty feet deep beneath earth and great trees have grown over it, it is not easy to dig down to it." "How do you ever expect to find it?" asked Ned. "Well, we will sink shafts here and there. If we find carved stones, the remains of ancient pottery and weapons, parts of buildings or building stones, we shall know we are on the right track," was the answer. "And now that I have shown you the map, and explained how valuable it is, I will put it away again. We shall begin our excavations in the morning." "At what point?" asked Tom. "At a point I shall indicate after a further consultation of the map. I must see the configuration of the country by daylight to decide. And now let's get some rest. We have had a hard day." The two tents housing the four white members of the Bumper party were close together, and it was decided that the night would be divided into four watches, to guard against possible treachery on the part of the Beecher crowd. "It seems an unkind precaution to take against a fellow scientist," said Professor Bumper, "but I can not afford to take chances after what has occurred." The others agreed with him, and though standing guard was not pleasant it was done. However the night passed without incident, and then came morning and the excitement of getting breakfast, over which the Indians made merry. They did not like the cold and darkness, and always welcomed the sun, no matter how hot. "And now," cried Tom, when the meal was over, "let us begin the work that has brought us here." "Yes," agreed Professor Bumper, "I will consult the map, and start the diggers where I think the city lies, far below the surface. Now, gentlemen, if you will give me your attention----" He was seeking through his outer coat pockets, after an ineffectual search in the inner one. A strange look came over his face. "What's the matter?" asked Tom. "The map--the map!" gasped the professor. "The map I was showing you last night! The map that tells where we are to dig for the idol of gold! It's gone!" "The map gone?" gasped Mr. Damon. "I--I'm afraid so," faltered the professor. "I put it away carefully, but now----" He ceased speaking to make a further search in all his pockets. "Maybe you left it in another coat," suggested Ned. "Or maybe some of the Beecher crowd took it!" snapped Tom. CHAPTER XVIII "EL TIGRE!" The four men gazed at one another. Consternation showed on the face of Professor Bumper, and was reflected, more or less, on the countenances of his companions. "Are you sure the map is gone?" asked Tom. "I know how easy it is to mislay anything in a camp of this sort. I couldn't at first find my safety razor this morning, and when I did locate it the hoe was in one of my shoes. I'm sure a rat or some jungle animal must have dragged it there. Now maybe they took your map, Professor. That oiled silk in which it was wrapped might have appealed to the taste of a rat or a snake." "It is no joking matter," said Professor Bumper. "But I know you appreciate the seriousness of it as much as I do, Tom. But I had the map in the pocket of this coat, and now it is gone!" "When did you put it there?" asked Ned. "This morning, just before I came to breakfast." "Oh, then you have had it since last night!" Tom ejaculated. "Yes, I slept with it under my clothes that I rolled up for a pillow, and when it was my turn to stand guard I took it with me. Then I put it back again and went to sleep. When I awoke and dressed I put the packet in my pocket and ate breakfast. Now when I look for it--why, it's gone!" "The map or the oiled-silk package?" asked Mr. Damon, who, once having been a businessman, was sometimes a stickler for small points. "Both," answered the professor. "I opened the silk to tie it more smoothly, so it would not be such a lump in my pocket, and I made sure the map was inside." "Then the whole thing has been taken--or you have lost it," suggested Ned. "I am not in the habit of losing valuable maps," retorted the scientist. "And the pocket of my coat I had made deep, for the purpose of carrying the long map. It could not drop out." "Well, we mustn't overlook any possible chances," suggested Tom. "Come on now, we'll search every inch of the ground over which you traveled this morning, Professor." "It MUST be found," murmured the scientist. "Without it all our work will go for naught." They all went into the tent where the professor and Mr. Damon had slept when they were not on guard. The camp was a busy place, with the Indians finishing their morning meal, and getting ready for the work of the day. For word had been given out that there would be no more long periods of travel. In consequence, efforts were being directed by the head men of the bearers to making a more permanent camp in the wilderness. Shelters of palm-thatched huts were being built, a site for cooking fires made, and, at the direction of Mr. Damon, to whom this part was entrusted, some sanitary regulations were insisted on. Leaving this busy scene, the four, with solemn faces, proceeded to the tent where it was hoped the map would be found. But though they went through everything, and traced and retraced every place the professor could remember having traversed about the canvas shelter, no signs of the important document could be found. "I don't believe I dropped it out of my pocket," said the scientist, for perhaps the twentieth time. "Then it was taken," declared Tom. "That's what I say!" chimed in Ned. "And by some of Beecher's party!" "Easy, my boy," cautioned Mr. Damon. "We don't want to make accusations we can't prove." "That is true," agreed Professor Bumper. "But, though I am sorry to say it of a fellow archaelogist, I can not help thinking Beecher had something to do with the taking of my map." "But how could any of them get it?" asked Mr. Damon. "You say you had the map this morning, and certainly none of them has been in our camp since dawn, though of course it is possible that some of them sneaked in during the night." "It does seem a mystery how it could have been taken in open daylight, while we were about camp together," said Tom. "But is the loss such a grave one, Professor Bumper?" "Very grave. In fact I may say it is impossible to proceed with the excavating without the map." "Then what are we to do?" asked Ned. "We must get it back!" declared Tom. "Yes," agreed the scientist, "we can not work without it. As soon as I make a little further search, to make sure it could not have dropped in some out-of-the-way place, I shall go over to Professor Beecher's camp and demand that he give me back my property." "Suppose he says he hasn't taken it?" asked Tom. "Well, I'm sure he either took it personally, or one of his party did. And yet I can't understand how they could have come here without our seeing them," and the professor shook his head in puzzled despair. A more detailed search did not reveal the missing map, and Mr. Damon and his friend the scientist were on the point of departing for the camp of their rivals, less than a mile away, when Tom had what really amounted to an inspiration. "Look here, Professor!" he cried. "Can you remember any of the details of your map--say, for instance, where we ought to begin excavating to get at the wonders of the underground city?" "Well, Tom, I did intend to compare my map with the configuration of the country about here. There is a certain mountain which serves as a landmark and a guide for a starting point. I think that is it over there," and the scientist pointed to a distant snow-capped peak. The party had left the low and marshy land of the true jungle, and were among the foothills, though all about them was dense forest and underbush, which, in reality, was as much a jungle as the lower plains, but was less wet. "The point where I believe we should start to dig," said the professor, "is near the spot where the top of the mountain casts a shadow when the sun is one hour high. At least that is the direction given in the old manuscripts. So, though we can do little without the map, we might make a start by digging there." "No, not there!" exclaimed Tom. "Why not?" "Because we don't want to let Beecher's crowd know that we are on the track of the idol of gold." "But they know anyhow, for they have the map," commented Ned, puzzled by his chum's words. "Maybe not," said Tom slowly. "I think this is a time for a big bluff. It may work and it may not. Beecher's crowd either has the map or they have not. If they have it they will lose no time in trying to find the right place to start digging and then they'll begin excavating. "Very good! If they do that we have a right to dig near the same place. But if they have not the map, which is possible, and if we start to dig where the professor's memory tells him is the right spot, we'll only give them the tip, and they'll dig there also." "I'm sure they have the map," the professor said. "But I believe your plan is a good one, Tom." "Just what do you propose doing?" asked Ned. "Fooling 'em!" exclaimed Tom quickly. "We'll dig in some place remote from the spot where the mountain casts its shadow. They will think, if they haven't the map, that we are proceeding by it, and they'll dig, too. When they find nothing, as will also happen to us, they may go away. "If, on the other hand, they have the map, and see us digging at a spot not indicated on it, they will be puzzled, knowing we must have some idea of where the buried city lies. They will think the map is at fault, perhaps, and not make use of it. Then we can get it back." "Bless my hatband!" cried Mr. Damon. "I believe you're right, Tom. We'll dig in the wrong place to fool 'em." And this was done. Search for the precious map was given up for the time being, and the professor and his friends set the natives to work digging shafts in the ground, as though sinking them down to the level of the buried city. But though this false work was prosecuted with vigor for several days, there was a feeling of despair among the Bumper party over the loss of the map. "If we could only get it back!" exclaimed the professor, again and again. Meanwhile the Beecher party seemed inactive. True, some members of it did come over to look on from a respectful distance at what the diggers were doing. Some of the rival helpers, under the direction of the head of the expedition, also began sinking shafts. But they were not in the locality remembered by Professor Bumper as being correct. "I can't imagine what they're up to," he said. "If they have my map they would act differently, I should think." "Whatever they're up to," answered Tom, "the time has come when we can dig at the place where we can hope for results." And the following day shafts were started in the shadow of the mountain. Until some evidence should have been obtained by digging, as to the location beneath the surface of a buried city, there was nothing for the travelers to do but wait. Turns were taken in directing the efforts of the diggers, and an occasional inspection was made of the shafts. "What do you expect to find first?" asked Tom of Professor Bumper one day, when the latter was at the top of a shaft waiting for a bucket load of dirt to be hoisted up. "Potsherds and artifacts," was the answer. "What sort of bugs are they?" asked Ned with a laugh. He and Tom were about to go hunting with their electric rifles. "Artifacts are things made by the Indians--or whatever members of the race who built the ancient cities were called--such as household articles, vases, ornaments, tools and so on. Anything made by artificial means is called an artifact." "And potsherds are things with those Chinese laundry ticket scratches on them," added Tom. "Exactly," said the professor, laughing. "Though some of the strange-appearing inscriptions give much valuable information. As soon as we find some of them--say a broken bit of pottery with hieroglyphics on--I will know I am on the right track." And while the scientist and Mr. Damon kept watch at the top of the shaft, Tom and Ned went out into the jungle to hunt. They had killed some game, and were stalking a fine big deer, which would provide a feast for the natives, when suddenly the silence of the lonely forest was broken by a piercing scream, followed by an agonized cry of "El tigre! El tigre!" CHAPTER XIX POISONED ARROWS "Did you hear that, Tom?" asked Ned, in a hoarse whisper. "Surely," was the cautious answer. "Keep still, and I'll try for a shot." "Better be quick," advised Ned in a tense voice. "The chap who did that yelling seems to be in trouble!" And as Ned's voice trailed off into a whisper, again came the cry, this time in frenzied pain. "El tigre! El tigre!" Then there was a jumble of words. "It's over this way!" and this time Ned shouted, seeing no need for low voices since the other was so loud. Tom looked to where Ned had parted the bushes alongside a jungle path. Through the opening the young inventor saw, in a little glade, that which caused him to take a firmer grip on his electric rifle, and also a firmer grip on his nerves. Directly in front of him and Ned, and not more than a hundred yards away, was a great tawny and spotted jaguar--the "tigre" or tiger of Central America. The beast, with lashing tail, stood over an Indian upon whom it seemed to have sprung from some lair, beating the unfortunate man to the ground. Nor had he fallen scatheless, for there was blood on the green leaves about him, and it was not the blood of the spotted beast. "Oh, Tom, can you--can you----" and Ned faltered. The young inventor understood the unspoken question. "I think I can make a shot of it without hitting the man," he answered, never turning his head. "It's a question, though, if the beast won't claw him in the death struggle. It won't last long, however, if the electric bullet goes to the right place, and I've got to take the chance." Cautiously Tom brought his weapon to bear. Quiet as Ned and he had been after the discovery, the jaguar seemed to feel that something was wrong. Intent on his prey, for a time he had stood over it, gloating. Now the brute glanced uneasily from side to side, its tail nervously twitching, and it seemed trying to gain, by a sniffing of the air, some information as to the direction in which danger lay, for Tom and Ned had stooped low, concealing themselves by a screen of leaves. The Indian, after his first frenzied outburst of fear, now lay quiet, as though fearing to move, moaning in pain. Suddenly the jaguar, attracted either by some slight movement on the part of Ned or Tom, or perhaps by having winded them, turned his head quickly and gazed with cruel eyes straight at the spot where the two young men stood behind the bushes. "He's seen us," whispered Ned. "Yes," assented Tom. "And it's a perfect shot. Hope I don't miss!" It was not like Tom Swift to miss, nor did he on this occasion. There was a slight report from the electric rifle--a report not unlike the crackle of the wireless--and the powerful projectile sped true to its mark. Straight through the throat and chest under the uplifted jaw of the jaguar it went--through heart and lungs. Then with a great coughing, sighing snarl the beast reared up, gave a convulsive leap forward toward its newly discovered enemies, and fell dead in a limp heap, just beyond the native over which it had been crouching before it delivered the death stroke, now never to fall. "You did it, Tom! You did it!" cried Ned, springing up from where he had been kneeling to give his chum a better chance to shoot. "You did it, and saved the man's life!" And Ned would have rushed out toward the still twitching body. "Just a minute!" interposed Tom. "Those beasts sometimes have as many lives as a cat. I'll give it one more for luck." Another electric projectile through the head of the jaguar produced no further effect than to move the body slightly, and this proved conclusively that there was no life left. It was safe to approach, which Tom and Ned did. Their first thought, after a glance at the jaguar, was for the Indian. It needed but a brief examination to show that he was not badly hurt. The jaguar had leaped on him from a low tree as he passed under it, as the boys learned afterward, and had crushed the man to earth by the weight of the spotted body more than by a stroke of the paw. The American jaguar is not so formidable a beast as the native name of tiger would cause one to suppose, though they are sufficiently dangerous, and this one had rather badly clawed the Indian. Fortunately the scratches were on the fleshy parts of the arms and shoulders, where, though painful, they were not necessarily serious. "But if you hadn't shot just when you did, Tom, it would have been all up with him," commented Ned. "Oh, well, I guess you'd have hit him if I hadn't," returned the young inventor. "But let's see what we can do for this chap." The man sat up wonderingly--hardly able to believe that he had been saved from the dreaded "tigre." His wounds were bleeding rather freely, and as Tom and Ned carried with them a first-aid kit they now brought it into use. The wounds were bound up, the man was given water to drink and then, as he was able to walk, Tom and Ned offered to help him wherever he wanted to go. "Blessed if I can tell whether he's one of our Indians or whether he belongs to the Beecher crowd," remarked Tom. "Senor Beecher," said the Indian, adding, in Spanish, that he lived in the vicinity and had only lately been engaged by the young professor who hoped to discover the idol of gold before Tom's scientific friend could do so. Tom and Ned knew a little Spanish, and with that, and simple but expressive signs on the part of the Indian, they learned his story. He had his palm-thatched hut not far from the Beecher camp, in a small Indian village, and he, with others, had been hired on the arrival of the Beecher party to help with the excavations. These, for some reason, were delayed. "Delayed because they daren't use the map they stole from us," commented Ned. "Maybe," agreed Tom. The Indian, whose name, it developed, was Tal, as nearly as Tom and Ned could master it, had left camp to go to visit his wife and child in the jungle hut, intending to return to the Beecher camp at night. But as he passed through the forest the jaguar had dropped on him, bearing him to earth. "But you saved my life, Senor," he said to Tom, dropping on one knee and trying to kiss Tom's hand, which our hero avoided. "And now my life is yours," added the Indian. "Well, you'd better get home with it and take care of it," said Tom. "I'll have Professor Bumper come over and dress your scratches in a better and more careful way. The bandages we put on are only temporary." "My wife she make a poultice of leaves--they cure me," said the Indian. "I guess that will be the best way," observed Ned. "These natives can doctor themselves for some things, better than we can." "Well, we'll take him home," suggested Tom. "He might keel over from loss of blood. Come on," he added to Tal, indicating his object. It was not far to the native's hut from the place where the jaguar had been killed, and there Tom and Ned underwent another demonstration of affection as soon as those of Tal's immediate family and the other natives understood what had happened. "I hate this business!" complained Tom, after having been knelt to by the Indian's wife and child, who called him the "preserver" and other endearing titles of the same kind. "Come on, let's hike back." But Indian hospitality, especially after a life has been saved, is not so simple as all that. "My life--my house--all that I own is yours," said Tal in deep gratitude. "Take everything," and he waved his hand to indicate all the possessions in his humble hut. "Thanks," answered Tom, "but I guess you need all you have. That's a fine specimen of blow gun though," he added, seeing one hanging on the wall. "I wouldn't mind having one like that. If you get well enough to make me one, Tal, and some arrows to go with it, I'd like it for a curiosity to hang in my room at home." "The Senor shall have a dozen," promised the Indian. "Look, Ned," went on Tom, pointing to the native weapon. "I never saw one just like this. They use small arrows or darts, tipped with wild cotton, instead of feathers." "These the arrows," explained Tal's wife, bringing a bundle from a corner of the one-room hut. As she held them out her husband gave a cry of fear. "Poisoned arrows! Poisoned arrows!" he exclaimed. "One scratch and the senors are dead men. Put them away!" In fear the Indian wife prepared to obey, but as she did so Tom Swift caught sight of the package and uttered a strange cry. "Thundering hoptoads, Ned!" he exclaimed. "The poisoned arrows are wrapped in the piece of oiled silk that was around the professor's missing map!" CHAPTER XX AN OLD LEGEND Fascinated, Tom and Ned gazed at the package the Indian woman held out to them. Undoubtedly it was oiled silk on the outside, and through the almost transparent covering could be seen the small arrows, or darts, used in the blow gun. "Where did you get that?" asked Tom, pointing to the bundle and gazing sternly at Tal. "What is the matter, Senor?" asked the Indian in turn. "Is it that you are afraid of the poisoned arrows? Be assured they will not harm you unless you are scratched by them." Tom and Ned found it difficult to comprehend all the rapid Spanish spoken by their host, but they managed to understand some, and his eloquent gestures made up the rest. "We're not afraid," Tom said, noting that the oiled skin well covered the dangerous darts. "But where did you get that?" "I picked it up, after another Indian had thrown it away. He got it in your camp, Senor. I will not lie to you. I did not steal. Valdez went to your camp to steal--he is a bad Indian--and he brought back this wrapping. It contained something he thought was gold, but it was not, so he----" "Quick! Yes! Tell us!" demanded Tom eagerly. "What did he do with the professor's map that was in the oiled silk? Where is it?" "Oh, Senors!" exclaimed the Indian woman, thinking perhaps her husband was about to be dealt harshly with when she heard Tom's excited voice. "Tal do no harm!" "No, he did no harm," went on Tom, in a reassuring tone. "But he can do a whole lot of good if he tells us what became of the map that was in this oiled silk. Where is it?" he asked again. "Valdez burn it up," answered Tal. "What, burned the professor's map?" cried Ned. "If that was in this yellow cloth--yes," answered the injured man. "Valdez he is bad. He say to me he is going to your camp to see what he can take. How he got this I know not, but he come back one morning with the yellow package. I see him, but he make me promise not to tell. But you save my life I tell you everything. "Valdez open the package; but it is not gold, though he think so because it is yellow, and the man with no hair on his head keep it in his pocket close, so close," and Tal hugged himself to indicate what he meant. "That's Professor Bumper," explained Ned. "How did Valdez get the map out of the professor's coat?" asked Tom. "Valdez he very much smart. When man with no hair on his head take coat off for a minute to eat breakfast Valdez take yellow thing out of pocket." "The Indian must have sneaked into camp when we were eating," said Tom. "Those from Beecher's party and our workers look all alike to us. We wouldn't know one from the other, and one of our rival's might slip in." "One evidently did, if this is really the piece of oiled silk that was around the professor's map," said Ned. "It certainly is the same," declared the young inventor. "See, there is his name," and he stretched out his hand to point. "Don't touch!" cried Tal. "Poisoned arrows snake poison--very dead-like and quick." "Don't worry, I won't touch," said Tom grimly. "But go on. You say Valdez sneaked into our camp, took the oiled-silk package from the coat pocket of Professor Bumper and went back to his own camp with it, thinking it was gold." "Yes," answered Tal, though it is doubtful if he understood all that Tom said, as it was half Spanish and half English. But the Indian knew a little English, too. "Valdez, when he find no gold is very mad. Only papers in the yellow silk-papers with queer marks on. Valdez think it maybe a charm to work evil, so he burn them up--all up!" "Burned that rare map!" gasped Tom. "All in fire," went on Tal, indicating by his hands the play of flames. "Valdez throw away yellow silk, and I take for my arrows so rain not wash off poison. I give to you, if you like, with blow gun." "No, thank you," answered Tom, in disappointed tones. "The oiled silk is of no use without the map, and that's gone. Whew! but this is tough!" he said to his chum. "As long as it was only stolen there was a chance to get it back, but if it's burned, the jig is up." "It looks so," agreed Ned. "We'd better get back and tell the professor. It he can't get along without the map it's time he started a movement toward getting another. So it wasn't Beecher, after all, who got it." "Evidently not," assented Tom. "But I believe him capable of it." "You haven't much use for him," remarked Ned. "Huh!" was all the answer given by his chum. "I am sorry, Senors," went on Tal, "but I could not stop Valdez, and the burning of the papers----" "No, you could not help it," interrupted the young inventor. "But it just happens that it brings bad luck to us. You see, Tal, the papers in this yellow covering, told of an old buried city that the bald-headed professor--the-man-with-no-hair-on-his-head--is very anxious to discover. It is somewhere under the ground," and he waved to the jungle all about them, pointing earthwards. "Paper Valdez burn tell of lost city?" asked Tal, his face lighting up. "Yes. But now, of course, we can't tell where to dig for it." The Indian turned to his wife and talked rapidly with her in their own dialect. She, too, seemed greatly excited, making quick gestures. Finally she ran out of the hut. "Where is she going?" asked Tom suspiciously. "To get her grandfather. He very old Indian. He know story of buried cities under trees. Very old story--what you call legend, maybe. But Goosal know. He tell same as his grandfather told him. You wait. Goosal come, and you listen." "Good, Ned!" suddenly cried Tom. "Maybe, we'll get on the track of lost Kurzon after all, through some ancient Indian legend. Maybe we won't need the map!" "It hardly seems possible," said Ned slowly. "What can these Indians know of buried cities that were out of existence before Columbus came here? Why, they haven't any written history." "No, and that may be just the reason they are more likely to be right," returned Tom. "Legends handed down from one grandfather to another go back a good many hundred years. If they were written they might be destroyed as the professor's map was. Somehow or other, though I can't tell why, I begin to see daylight ahead of us." "I wish I did," remarked Ned. "Here comes Goosal I think," murmured Tom, and he pointed to an Indian, bent with the weight of years, who, led by Tal's wife, was slowly approaching the hut. CHAPTER XXI THE CAVERN "Now Goosal can tell you," said Tal, evidently pleased that he had, in a measure, solved the problem caused by the burning of the professor's map. "Goosal very old Indian. He know old stories--legends--very old." "Well, if he can tell us how to find the buried city of Kurzon and the--the things in it," said Tom, "he's all right!" The aged Indian proceeded slowly toward the hut where the impatient youths awaited him. "I know what you seek in the buried city," remarked Tal. "Do you?" cried Tom, wondering if some one had indiscreetly spoken of the idol of gold. "Yes you want pieces of rock, with strange writings on them, old weapons, broken pots. I know. I have helped white men before." "Yes, those are the things we want," agreed Tom, with a glance at his chum. "That is--some of them. But does your wife's grandfather talk our language?" "No, but I can tell you what he says." By this time the old man, led by "Mrs. Tal"--as the young men called the wife of the Indian they had helped--entered the hut. He seemed nervous and shy, and glanced from Tom and Ned to his grandson-in-law, as the latter talked rapidly in the Indian dialect. Then Goosal made answer, but what it was all about the boys could not tell. "Goosal say," translated Tal, "that he know a story of a very old city away down under ground." "Tell us about it!" urged Tom eagerly. But a difficulty very soon developed. Tal's intentions were good, but he was not equal to the task of translating. Nor was the understanding of Tom and Ned of Spanish quite up to the mark. "Say, this is too much for me!" exclaimed Tom. "We are losing the most valuable part of this by not understanding what Goosal says, and what Tal translates." "What can we do?" asked Ned. "Get the professor here as soon as possible. He can manage this dialect, and he'll get the information at first hand. If Goosal can tell where to begin excavating for the city he ought to tell the professor, not us." "That's right," agreed Ned. "We'll bring the professor here as soon as we can." Accordingly they stopped the somewhat difficult task of listening to the translated story and told Tal, as well as they could, that they would bring the "man-with-no-hair-on-his-head" to listen to the tale. This seemed to suit the Indians, all of whom in the small colony appeared to be very grateful to Tom and Ned for having saved the life of Tal. "That was a good shot you made when you bowled over the jaguar," said Ned, as the two young explorers started back to their camp. "Better than I realized, if it leads to the discovery of Kurzon and the idol of gold," remarked Tom. "And to think we should come across the oiled-silk holding the poisoned arrows!" went on Ned. "That's the strangest part of the whole affair. If it hadn't been that you shot the jaguar this never would have come about." That Professor Bumper was astonished, and Mr. Damon likewise, when they heard the story of Tom and Ned, is stating it mildly. "Come on!" exclaimed the scientist, as Tom finished, "we must see this Goosal at once. If my map is destroyed, and it seems to be, this old Indian may be our only hope. Where did he say the buried city was, Tom?" "Oh, somewhere in this vicinity, as nearly as I could make out. But you'd better talk with him yourself. We didn't say anything about the idol of gold." "That's right. It's just as well to let the natives think we are only after ordinary relics." "Bless my insurance policy!" gasped Mr. Damon. "It does not seem possible that we are on the right track." "Well, I think we are, from what little information Goosal gave us," remarked Tom. "This buried city of his must be a wonderful place." "It is, if it is what I take it to be," agreed the professor. "I told you I would bring you to a land of wonders, Tom Swift, and they have hardly begun yet. Come, I am anxious to talk to Goosal." In order that the Indians in the Bumper camp might not hear rumors of the new plan to locate the hidden city, and, at the same time, to keep rumors from spreading to the camp of the rivals, the scientist and his friends started a new shaft, and put a shift of men at work on it. "We'll pretend we are on the right track, and very busy," said Tom. "That will fool Beecher." "Are you glad to know he did not take your map Professor Bumper?" asked Mr. Damon. "Well, yes. It is hard to believe such things of a fellow scientist." "If he didn't take it he wanted to," said Tom. "And he has done, or will do, things as unsportsmanlike." "Oh, you are hardly fair, perhaps, Tom," commented Ned. "Um!" was all the answer he received. With the Indians in camp busy on the excavation work, and having ascertained that similar work was going on in the Beecher outfit, Professor Bumper, with Mr. Damon and the young men, set off to visit the Indian village and listen to Goosal's story. They passed the place where Tom had slain the jaguar, but nothing was left but the bones; the ants, vultures and jungle animals having picked them clean in the night. On the arrival of Tom and his friends at the Indian's hut, Goosal told, in language which Professor Bumper could understand, the ancient legend of the buried city as he had had it from his grandfather. "But is that all you know about it, Goosal?" asked the savant. "No, Learned One. It is true most of what I have told you was told to me by my father and his father's father. But I--I myself--with these eyes, have looked upon the lost city." "You have!" cried the professor, this time in English. "Where? When? Take us to it! How do you get here?" "Through the cavern of the dead," was the answer when the questions were modified. "Bless my diamond ring!" exclaimed Mr. Damon, when Professor Bumper translated the reply. "What does he mean?" And then, after some talk, this information came out. Years before, when Goosal was a young man, he had been taken by his grandfather on a journey through the jungle. They stopped one day at the foot of a high mountain, and, clearing away the brush and stones at a certain place, an entrance to a great cavern was revealed. This, it appeared, was the Indian burial ground, and had been used for generations. Goosal, though in fear and trembling, was lead through it, and came to another cavern, vaster than the first. And there he saw strange and wonderful sights, for it was the remains of a buried city, that had once been the home of a great and powerful tribe unlike the Indians--the ancient Mayas it would seem. "Can you take us to this cavern?" asked the professor. "Yes," answered Goosal. "I will lead to it those who saved the life of Tal--them and their friends. I will take you to the lost city!" "Good!" cried Mr. Damon, when this had been translated. "Now let Beecher try to play any more tricks on us! Ho! for the cavern and the lost city of Kurzon." "And the idol of gold," said Tom Swift to himself. "I hope we can get it ahead of Beecher. Perhaps if I can help in that--Oh, well, here's hoping, that's all!" and a little smile curved his lips. Greatly excited by the strange news, but maintaining as calm an air outwardly as possible, so as not to excite the Indians, Tom and his friends returned to camp to prepare for their trip. Goosal had said the cavern lay distant more than a two-days' journey into the jungle. CHAPTER XXII THE STORM "Now," remarked Tom, once they were back again in their camp, "we must go about this trip to the cavern in a way that will cause no suspicion over there as to what our object is," and he nodded in the direction of the quarters of his rival. "Do you mean to go off quietly?" asked Ned. "Yes. And to keep the work going on here, at these shafts," put in the scientist, "so that if any of their spies happen to come here they will think we still believe the buried city to be just below us. To that end we must keep the Indians digging, though I am convinced now that it is useless." Accordingly preparations were made for an expedition into the jungle under the leadership of Goosal. Tal had not sufficiently recovered from the jaguar wounds to go with the party, but the old man, in spite of his years, was hale and hearty and capable of withstanding hardships. One of the most intelligent of the Indians was put in charge of the digging gangs as foreman, and told to keep them at work, and not to let them stray. Tolpec, whose brother Tom had tried to save, proved a treasure. He agreed to remain behind and look after the interests of his friends, and see that none of their baggage or stores were taken. "Well, I guess we're as ready as we ever shall be," remarked Tom, as the cavalcade made ready to start. Mules carried the supplies that were to be taken into the jungle, and others of the sturdy animals were to be ridden by the travelers. The trail was not an easy one, Goosal warned them. Tom and his friends found it even worse than they had expected, for all their experience in jungle and mountain traveling. In places it was necessary to dismount and lead the mules along, sometimes pushing and dragging them. More than once the trail fairly hung on the edge of some almost bottomless gorge, and again it wound its way between great walls of rock, so poised that they appeared about to topple over and crush the travelers. But they kept on with dogged patience, through many hardships. To add to their troubles they seemed to have entered the abode of the fiercest mosquitoes encountered since coming to Honduras. At times it was necessary to ride along with hats covered with mosquito netting, and hands encased in gloves. They had taken plenty of condensed food with them, and they did not suffer in this respect. Game, too, was plentiful and the electric rifles of Tom and Ned added to the larder. One night, after a somewhat sound sleep induced by hard travel on the trail that day, Tom awoke to hear some one or something moving about among their goods, which included their provisions. "Who's there?" asked the young inventor sharply, as he reached for his electric rifle. There was no answer, but a rattling of the pans. "Speak, or I'll fire!" Tom warned, adding this in such Spanish as he could muster, for he thought it might be one of the Indians. No reply came, and then, seeing by the light of the stars a dark form moving in front of the tent occupied by himself and Ned, Tom fired. There was a combined grunt and squeal of pain, then a savage growl, and Ned yelled: "What's the matter, Tom?" for he had been awakened, and heard the crackle of the electrical discharge. "I don't know," Tom answered. "But I shot something--or somebody!" "Maybe some of Beecher's crowd," ventured his chum. But when they got their electric torches, and focused them on the inert, black object, it was found to be a bear which had come to nose about the camp for dainty morsels. Bruin was quite dead, and as he was in prime condition there was a feast of bear meat at the following dinner. The white travelers found it rather too strong for their palates, but the Indians reveled in it. It was shortly after noon the next day, when Goosal, after remarking that a storm seemed brewing, announced that they would be at the entrance to the cavern in another hour. "Good!" cried Professor Bumper. "At last we are near the buried city." "Don't be too sure," advised Mr. Damon, "We may be disappointed. Though I hope not for your sake, my dear Professor." Goosal now took the lead, and the old Indian, traveling on foot, for he said he could better look for the old landmark that way than on the back of a mule, walked slowly along a rough cliff. "Here, somewhere, is the entrance to the cavern," said the aged man. "It was many years ago that I was here--many years. But it seems as though yesterday. It is little changed." Indeed little did change in that land of wonders. Only nature caused what alterations there were. The hand of man had long been absent. Slowly Goosal walked along the rocky trail, on one side a sheer rock, towering a hundred feet or more toward the sky. On the other side a deep gash leading to a great fertile valley below. Suddenly the old man paused, and looked about him as though uncertain. Then, more slowly still, he put out his hand and pulled at some bushes that grew on a ledge of the rock. They came away, having no depth of earth, and a small opening was disclosed. "It is here," said Goosal quietly. "The entrance to the cavern that leads to the burial place of the dead, and the city that is dead also. It is here." He stood aside while the others hurried forward. It took but a few minutes to prove that he was right--at least as to the existence of the cavern--for the four men were soon peering into the opening. "Come on!" cried Tom, impetuously. "Wait a moment," suggested the professor, "Sometimes the air in these places is foul. We must test it." But a torch one of the Indians threw in burned with a steady glow. That test was conclusive at least. They made ready to enter. Torches of a light bark, that glowed with a steady flame and little smoke, had been provided, as well as a good supply of electric dry-battery lamps, and the way into the cavern was thus well lighted. At first the Indians were afraid to enter, but a word or two from Goosal reassured them, and they followed Professor Bumper, Tom, and the others into the cavern. For several hundred feet there was nothing remarkable about the cave. It was like any other cavern of the mountains, though wonderful for the number of crystal formations on the roof and walls--formations that sparkled like a million diamonds in the flickering lights. "Talk about a wonderland!" cried Tom. "This is fairyland!" A moment later, as Goosal walked on beside the professor and Tom, the aged Indian came to a pause, and, pointing ahead, murmured: "The city of the dead!" They saw the niches cut in the rock walls, niches that held the countless bones of those who had died many, many years before. It was a vast Indian grave. "Doubtless a wealth of material of historic interest here," said Professor Bumper, flashing his torch on the skeletons. "But it will keep. Where is the city you spoke of, Goosal?" "Farther on, Senor. Follow me." Past the stone graves they went, deeper and deeper into the great cave. Their footsteps echoed and re-echoed. Suddenly Tom, who with Ned had gone a little ahead, came to a sudden halt and said: "Well, this may be a burial place sure enough, but I think I see something alive all right--if it isn't a ghost." He pointed ahead. Surely those were lights flickering and moving about, and, yes, there were men carrying them. The Bumper party came to a surprised halt. The other lights advanced, and then, to the great astonishment of Professor Bumper and his friends, there confronted them in the cave several scientists of Professor Beecher's party and a score or more of Indians. Professor Hylop, who was known to Professor Bumper, stepped forward and asked sharply: "What are you doing here?" "I might ask you the same thing," was the retort. "You might, but you would not be answered," came sharply. "We have a right here, having discovered this cavern, and we claim it under a concession of the Honduras Government. I shall have to ask you to withdraw." "Do you mean leave here?" asked Mr Damon. "That is it, exactly. We first discovered this cave. We have been conducting explorations in it for several days, and we wish no outsiders." "Are you speaking for Professor Beecher?" asked Tom. "I am. But he is here in the cave, and will speak for himself if you desire it. But I represent him, and I order you to leave. If you do not go peaceably we will use force. We have plenty of it," and he glanced back at the Indians grouped behind him--scowling savage Indians. "We have no wish to intrude," observed Professor Bumper, "and I fully recognize the right of prior discovery. But one member of our party (he did not say which one) was in this cave many years ago. He led us to it." "Ours is a government concession!" exclaimed Professor Hylop harshly. "We want no intruders! Go!" and he pointed toward the direction whence Tom's party had come. "Drive them out!" he ordered the Indians in Spanish, and with muttered threats the dark-skinned men advanced toward Tom and the others. "You need not use force," said Professor Bumper. He and Professor Hylop had quarreled bitterly years before on some scientific matter, and the matter was afterward found to be wrong. Perhaps this made him vindictive. Tom stepped forward and started to protest, but Professor Bumper interposed. "I guess there is no help for it but to go. It seems to be theirs by right of discovery and government concession," he said, in disappointed tone. "Come friends"; and dejectedly they retraced their steps. Followed by the threatening Indians, the Bumper party made its way back to the entrance. They had hoped for great things, but if the cavern gave access to the buried city--the ancient city of Kurzon on the chief altar of which stood the golden idol, Quitzel--it looked as though they were never to enter it. "We'll have to get our Indians and drive those fellows out!" declared Tom. "I'm not going to be beaten this way--and by Beecher!" "It is galling," declared Professor Bumper. "Still he has right on his side, and I must give in to priority, as I would expect him to. It is the unwritten law." "Then we've failed!" cried Tom bitterly. "Not yet," said Professor Bumper. "If I can not unearth that buried city I may find another in this wonderland. I shall not give up." "Hark! What's that noise?" asked Tom, as they approached the entrance to the cave. "Sounds like a great wind blowing," commented Ned. It was. As they stood in the entrance they looked out to find a fierce storm raging. The wind was sweeping down the rocky trail, the rain was falling in veritable bucketfuls from the overhanging cliff, and deafening thunder and blinding lightning roared and flashed. "Surely you would not drive us out in this storm," said Professor Bumper to his former rival. "You can not stay in the cave! You must get out!" was the answer, as a louder crash of thunder than usual seemed to shake the very mountain. CHAPTER XXIII ENTOMBED ALIVE For an instant Tom and his friends paused at the entrance to the wonderful cavern, and looked at the raging storm. It seemed madness to venture out into it, yet they had been driven from the cave by those who had every right of discovery to say who, and who should not, partake of its hospitality. "We can't go out into that blow!" cried Ned. "It's enough to loosen the very mountains!" "Let's stay here and defy them!" murmured Tom. "If the--if what we seek--is here we have as good a right to it as they have." "We must go out," said Professor Bumper simply. "I recognize the right of my rival to dispossess us." "He may have the right, but it isn't human," said Mr. Damon. "Bless my overshoes! If Beecher himself were here he wouldn't have the heart to send us out in this storm." "I would not give him the satisfaction of appealing to him," remarked Professor Bumper. "Come, we will go out. We have our ponchos, and we are not fair-weather explorers. If we can't get to the lost city one way we will another. Come my friends." And despite the downpour, the deafening thunder and the lightning that seemed ready to sear one's eyes, he walked out of the cave entrance, followed by Tom and the others. "Come on!" cried Tom, in a voice he tried to render confident, as they went out into the terrible storm. "We'll beat 'em yet!" The rain fell harder than ever. Small torrents were now rushing down the trail, and it was only a question of a few minutes before the place where they stood would be a raging river, so quickly does the rain collect in the mountains and speed toward the valleys. "We must take to the forest!" cried Tom. "There'll be some shelter there, and I don't like the way the geography of this place is behaving. There may be a landslide at any moment." As he spoke he motioned upward through the mist of the rain to the sloping side of the mountain towering above them. Loose stones were beginning to roll down, accompanied by patches of earth loosened by the water. Some of the patches carried with them bunches of grass and small bushes. "Yes, it will be best to move into the jungle," said the professor. "Goosal, you had better take the lead." It was wonderful to see how well the aged Indian bore up in spite of his years, and walked on ahead. They had left their mules tethered some distance back, in a sheltering clump of trees, and they hoped the animals would be safe. The guide found a place where they could leave the trail, though going down a dangerous slope, and take to the forest. As carefully as possible they descended this, the rain continuing to fall, the wind to blow, the lightning to sizzle all about them and the thunder to boom in their ears. They went on until they were beneath the shelter of the thick jungle growth of trees, which kept off some of the pelting drops. "This is better!" exclaimed Ned, shaking his poncho and getting rid of some of the water that had settled on it. "Bless my overcoat!" cried Mr. Damon. "We seem to have gotten out of the frying pan into the fire!" "How?" asked Tom. "We are partly sheltered here, though had we stayed in the cave in spite of----" A deafening crash interrupted him, and following the flash one of the giant trees of the forest was seen to blaze up and then topple over. "Struck by lightning!" yelled Ned. "Yes; and it may happen to us!" exclaimed Mr. Damon. "We were safer from the lightning in the open. Maybe----" Again came an interruption, but this time a different one. The very ground beneath their feet seemed to be shaking and trembling. "What is it?" gasped Ned, while Goosal fell on his knees and began fervently to pray. "It's an earthquake!" yelled Tom Swift. As he spoke there came another sound--the sound of a mass of earth in motion. It came from the direction of the mountain trail they had just left. They looked toward it and their horror-stricken eyes saw the whole side of the mountain sliding down. Slowly at first the earth slid down, but constantly gathering force and speed. In the face of this new disaster the rain seemed to have ceased and the thunder and lightning to be less severe. It was as though one force of nature gave way to the other. "Look! Look!" gasped Ned. In silence, which was broken now only by a low and ominous rumble, more menacing than had been the awful fury of the elements, the travelers looked. Suddenly there was a quicker movement of seemingly one whole section of the mountain. Great rocks and trees, carried down by the appalling force of the landslide were slipping over the trail, obliterating it as though it had never existed. "There goes the entrance to the cavern!" cried Ned, and as the others looked to where he pointed they saw the hole in the side of the mountain--the mouth of the cave that led to the lost city of Kurzon--completely covered by thousands of tons of earth and stones. "That's the end of them!" exclaimed Tom, as the rumble of the earthquake died away. "Of----" Ned stopped, his eyes staring. "Of Professor Beecher's party. They're entombed alive!" CHAPTER XXIV THE REVOLVING STONE Stunned, not alone by the realization of the awfulness of the fate of their rivals, but also by the terrific storm and the effect of the earthquake and the landslide, Tom and his friends remained for a moment gazing toward the mouth of the cavern, now completely out of sight, buried by a mass of broken trees, tangled bushes, rocks and earth. Somewhere, far beyond that mass, was the Beecher party, held prisoners in the cave that formed the entrance to the buried city. Tom was the first to come to a realization of what was needed to be done. "We must help them!" he exclaimed, and it was characteristic of him that he harbored no enmity. "How?" asked Ned. "We must get a force of Indians and dig them out," was the prompt answer. At Tom's vigorous words Professor Bumper's forces were energized into action, and he stated: "Fortunately we have plenty of excavating tools. We may be in time to save them. Come on! the storm seems to have passed as suddenly as it came up, and the earthquake, which, after all did not cover a wide area, seems to be over. We must start the work of rescue at once. We must go back to camp and get all the help we can muster." The storm, indeed, seemed to be over, but it was no easy matter to get back over the soggy, rain-soaked ground to the trail they had left to take shelter in the forest. Fortunately the earthquake had not involved that portion where they had left their mules, but most of the frightened animals had broken loose, and it was some little time before they could all be caught. "It is no use to try to get back to camp tonight," said Tom, when the last of the pack and saddle animals had been corralled. "It is getting late and there is no telling the condition of the trail. We must stay here until morning." "But what about them?" and Mr. Damon nodded in the direction of the entombed ones. "We can help them best by waiting until the beginning of a new day," said the professor. "We shall need a large force, and we could not bring it up to-night. Besides, Tom is right, and if we tried to go along the trail after dark, torn and disturbed as it is bound to be by the rain, we might get into difficulties ourselves. No, we must camp here until morning and then go for help." They all decided finally this was best. The professor, too, pointed out that their rivals were in a large and roomy cave, not likely to suffer from lack of air nor food or water, since they must have supplies with them. "The only danger is that the cave has been crushed in," added Tom; "but in that event we would be of no service to them anyhow." The night seemed very long, and it was a most uncomfortable one, because of the shock and exertions through which the party had passed. Added to this was the physical discomfort caused by the storm. But in time there was the light in the east that meant morning was at hand, and with it came action. A hasty breakfast, cups of steaming coffee forming a most welcome part, put them all in better condition, and once more they were on their way, heading back to the main camp where they had left their force of Indians. "My!" exclaimed Tom, as they made their way slowly along, "it surely was some storm! Look at those big trees uprooted over there. They're almost as big as the giant redwoods of California, and yet they were bowled over as if they were tenpins." "I wonder if the wind did it or the earthquake," ventured Mr. Damon. "No wind could do that," declared Ned. "It must have been the landslide caused by the earthquake." "The wind could do it if the ground was made soft by the rain; and that was probably what did it," suggested Tom. "There is no harm in settling the point," commented Professor Bumper. "It is not far off our trail, and will take only a few minutes to go over to the trees. I should like to get some photographs to accompany an article that perhaps I shall write on the effects of sudden and severe tropical storms. We will go to look at the overturned trees and then we'll hurry on to camp to get the rescue party." The uprooted trees lay on one side of the mountain trail, perhaps a mile from the mouth of the cave which had been covered over, entombing the Beecher party. Leaving the mules in charge of one of the Indians, Professor Bumper and his friends, accompanied by Goosal, approached the fallen trees. As they neared them they saw that in falling the trees had lifted with their roots a large mass of earth and imbedded rocks that had clung to the twisted and gnarled fibers. This mass was as large as a house. "Look at the hole left when the roots pulled out!" cried Ned. "Why, it's like the crater of a small volcano!" he added. And, as they stood on the edge of it looking curiously at the hole made, the others agreed with Tom's chum. Professor Bumper was looking about, trying to ascertain if there were any evidences of the earthquake in the vicinity, when Tom, who had cautiously gone a little way down into the excavation caused by the fallen trees, uttered a cry of surprise. "Look!" he shouted. "Isn't that some sort of tunnel or underground passage?" and he pointed to a square opening, perhaps seven feet high and nearly as broad, which extended, no one knew where, downward and onward from the side of the hole made by the uprooting of the trees. "It's an underground passage all right," said Professor Bumper eagerly; "and not a natural one, either. That was fashioned by the hand of man, if I am any judge. It seems to go right under the mountain, too. Friends, we must explore this! It may be of the utmost importance! Come, we have our electric torches, and we shall need them, for it's very dark in there," and he peered into the passage in front of which they all stood now. It seemed to have been tunneled through the earth, the sides being lined by either slabs of stone, or walls made by a sort of concrete. "But what about the rescue work?" asked Mr. Damon. "I am not forgetting Professor Beecher and his friends," answered the scientist. "Perhaps this may be a better means of rescuing them than by digging them out, which will take a week at least," observed Tom. "This a better way?" asked Ned, pointing to the tunnel. "That's it," confirmed the savant. "If you will notice it extends back in the direction of the cave from which we were driven. Now if there is a buried city beneath all this jungle, this mountain of earth and stones, the accumulation of centuries, it is probably on the bottom of some vast cavern. It is my opinion that we were only in one end of that cavern, and this may be the entrance to another end of it." "Then," asked Mr. Damon, "do you mean that we can enter here, get into the cave that contains the buried city, or part of it, and find there Beecher and his friends?" "That's it. It is possible, and if we could it would save an immense lot of work, and probably be a surer way to save their lives than by digging a tunnel through the landslide to find the mouth of the cave where we first entered." "It's a chance worth taking," said Mr. Damon. "Of course it is a chance. But then everything connected with this expedition is; so one is no worse than another. As you say, we may find the entombed men more easily this way than any other." "I wonder," said Tom slowly, "if, by any chance, we shall find, through this passage, the lost city we are looking for." "And the idol of gold," added Ned. "Goosal, do you know anything about this?" asked Professor Bumper. "Did you ever hear of another passage leading to the cave where you saw the ancient city?" "No, Learned One, though I have heard stories about there being many cities, or parts of a big one, beneath the mountain, and when it was above ground there were many entrances to it." "That settles it!" cried the professor in English, having talked to Goosal in Spanish. "We'll try this and see where it leads." They entered the stone-lined passage. In spite of the fact that it had probably been buried and concealed from light and air for centuries, as evidenced by the growth of the giant trees above it, the air was fresh. "And this is one reason," said Tom, in commenting on this fact, "why I believe it leads to some vast cavern which is connected in some fashion with the outer air. Well, perhaps we shall soon make a discovery." Eagerly and anxiously the little party pressed forward by the light of the pocket electric lamps. They were obsessed by two thoughts--what they might find and the necessity for aiding in the rescue of their rivals. On and on they went, the darkness illuminated only by the torches they carried. But they noticed that the air was still fresh, and that a gentle wind blew toward them. The passage was undoubtedly artificial, a tunnel made by the hands of men now long crumbled into dust. It had a slightly upward slope, and this, Professor Bumper said, indicated that it was bored upward and perhaps into the very heart of the mountain somewhere in the interior of which was the Beecher party. Just how far they went they did not know, but it must have been more than two miles. Yet they did not tire, for the way was smooth. Suddenly Tom, who, with Professor Bumper, was in the lead, uttered a cry, as he held his torch above his head and flashed it about in a circle. "We're blocked!" he exclaimed. "We're up against a stone wall!" It was but too true. Confronting them, and extending from side to side across the passage and from roof to floor, was a great rough stone. Immense and solid it seemed when they pushed on it in vain. "Nothing short of dynamite will move that," said Ned in despair. "This is a blind lead. We'll have to go back." "But there must be something on the other side of that stone," cried Tom. "See, it is pierced with holes, and through them comes a current of air. If we could only move the stone!" "I believe it is an ancient door," remarked Professor Bumper. Eagerly and frantically they tried to move it by their combined weight. The stone did not give the fraction of the breadth of a hair. "We'll have to go back and get some of your big tunnel blasting powder, Tom," suggested Ned. As he spoke old Goosal glided forward. He had remained behind them in the passage while they were trying to move the rock. Now he said something in Spanish. "What does he mean?" asked Ned. "He asks that he be allowed to try," translated Professor Bumper. "Sometimes, he says, there is a secret way of opening stone doors in these underground caves. Let him try." Goosal seemed to be running his fingers lightly over the outer edge of the door. He was muttering to himself in his Indian tongue. Suddenly he uttered an exclamation, and, as he did so, there was a noise from the door itself. It was a grinding, scraping sound, a rumble as though rocks were being rolled one against the other. Then the astonished eyes of the adventurers saw the great stone door revolve on its axis and swing to one side, leaving a passage open through which they could pass. Goosal had discovered the hidden mechanism. What lay before them? CHAPTER XXV THE IDOL OF GOLD "Forward! cried Tom Swift. "Where?" asked Mr Damon, hanging back for an instant. "Bless my compass, Tom! do you know where you're going?" "I haven't the least idea, but it must lead to something, or the ancients who made this revolving stone door wouldn't have taken such care to block the passage." "Ask Goosal if he knows anything about it," suggested Mr. Damon to the professor. "He says he never was here before," translated the savant, "but years ago, when he went into the hidden city by the cave we left yesterday, he saw doors like this which opened this way." "Then we're on the right track!" cried Tom. "If this is the same kind of door, it must lead to the same place. Ho for Kurzon and the idol of gold!" As they passed through the stone door, Tom and Professor Bumper tried to get some idea of the mechanism by which it worked. But they found this impossible, it being hidden within the stone itself or in the adjoining walls. But, in order that it might not close of itself and entomb them, the portal was blocked open with stones found in the passage. "It's always well to have a line of retreat open," said Tom. "There's no telling what may lie beyond us." For a time there seemed to be nothing more than the same passage along which they had come. Then the passage suddenly widened, like the large end of a square funnel. Upward and outward the stone walls swept, and they saw dimly before them, in the light of their torches, a vast cavern, seemingly formed by the falling in of mountains, which, in toppling over, had met overhead in a sort of rough arch, thus protecting, in a great measure, that which lay beneath them. Goosal, who had brought with him some of the fiber bark torches, set a bundle of them aflame. As they flared up, a wondrous sight was revealed to Tom Swift and his friends. Stretching out before them, as though they stood at the end of an elevated street and gazed down on it, was a city--a large city, with streets, houses, open squares, temples, statues, fountains, dry for centuries--a buried and forgotten city--a city in ruins--a city of the dead, now dry as dust, but still a city, or, rather, the strangely preserved remains of one. "Look!" whispered Tom. A louder voice just then, would have seemed a sacrilege. "Look!" "Is it what we are looking for?" asked Ned in a low voice. "I believe it is," replied the professor. "It is the lost city of Kurzon, or one just like it. And now if we can find the idol of gold our search will be ended--at least the major part of it." "Where did you expect to find the idol?" asked Tom. "It should be in the main temple. Come, we will walk in the ancient streets--streets where no feet but ours have trod in many centuries. Come!" In eager silence they pressed on through this newly discovered wonderland. For it was a wonderful city, or had been. Though much of it was in ruins, probably caused by an earthquake or an eruption from a volcano, the central portion, covered as it was by the overtoppling mountains that formed the arching roof, was well preserved. There were rude but beautiful stone buildings. There were archways; temples; public squares; and images, not at all beautiful, for they seemed to be of man-monsters--doubtless ancient gods. There were smoothly paved streets; wondrously carved fountains, some in ruins, all now as dry as bone, but which must have been places of beauty where youths and maidens gathered in the ancient days. Of the ancient population there was not a trace left. Tom and his friends penetrated some of the houses, but not so much as a bone or a heap of mouldering dust showed where the remains of the people were. Either they had fled at the approaching doom of the city and were buried elsewhere, or some strange fire or other force of nature had consumed and obliterated them. "What a wealth of historic information I shall find here!" murmured Professor Bumper, as he caught sight of many inscriptions in strange characters on the walls and buildings. "I shall never get to the end of them." "But what about the idol of gold?" asked Mr. Damon, "Do you think you'll find that?" "We must hurry on to the temple over there," said the scientist, indicating a building further along. "And then we must see about rescuing your rivals, Professor," put in Tom. "Yes, Tom. But fortunately we are on the ground here before them," agreed the professor. Undoubtedly it was the chief temple, or place of worship, of the long-dead race which the explorers now entered. It was a building beautiful in its barbaric style, and yet simple. There were massive walls, and a great inner court, at the end of which seemed to be some sort of altar. And then, as they lighted fresh torches, and pressed forward with them and their electric lights, they saw that which caused a cry of satisfaction to burst from all of them. "The idol of gold!" Yes, there it squatted, an ugly, misshapen, figure, a cross between a toad and a gila monster, half man, half beast, with big red eyes--rubies probably--that gleamed in the repulsive golden face. And the whole figure, weighing many pounds, seemed to be of SOLID GOLD! Eagerly the others followed Professor Bumper up the altar steps to the very throne of the golden idol. The scientist touched it, tried to raise it and make sure of its solidity and material. "This is it!" he cried. "It is the idol of gold! I have found-- We have found it, for it belongs to all of us!" "Hurray!" cried Tom Swift, and Ned and Mr. Damon joined in the cry. There was no need for silence or caution now; and yet, as they stood about the squat and ugly figure, which, in spite of its hideousness, was worth a fortune intrinsically and as an antique, they heard from the direction of the stone passage a noise. "What is it?" asked Tom Swift. There was a murmur of voices. "Indians!" cried Professor Bumper, recognizing the language--a mixture of Spanish and Indian. The cave was illuminated by the glare of other torches which seemed to rush forward. A moment later it was seen that they were being carried by a number of Indians. "Friends," murmured Goosal, using the Spanish term, "Amigos." "They are our own Indians!" cried Tom Swift. "I see Tolpec!" and he pointed to the native who had deserted from Jacinto's force to help them. "How did they get here?" asked Professor Bumper. This was quickly told. In their camp, where, under the leadership of Tolpec they had been left to do the excavating, the natives had heard, seen and felt the effects of the storm and the earthquake, though it did little damage in their vicinity. But they became alarmed for the safety of the professor and his party and, at Tolpec's suggestion, set off in search of them. The Indians had seen, passing along the trail, the uprooted trees, and had noted the footsteps of the explorers going down to the stone passage. It was easy for them to determine that Tom and his friends had gone in, since the marks of their boots were plainly in evidence in the soft soil. None of the Indians was as much wrought up over the discovery of Kurzon and the idol as were the white adventurers. The gold, of course, meant something to the natives, but they were indifferent to the wonders of the underground city. Perhaps they had heard too many legends concerning such things to be impressed. "That statue is yours--all yours," said old Goosal when he had talked with his relatives and friends among the natives. "They all say what you find you keep, and we will help you keep it." "That's good," murmured Professor Bumper. "There was some doubt in my mind as to our right to this, but after all, the natives who live in this land are the original owners, and if they pass title to us it is clear. That settles the last difficulty." "Except that of getting the idol out," said Mr. Damon. "Oh, we'll accomplish that!" cried Tom. "I can hardly believe my good luck," declared Professor Bumper. "I shall write a whole book on this idol alone and then----" Once more came an interruption. This time it was from another direction, but it was of the same character--an approaching band of torch-bearers. They were Indians, too, but leading them were a number of whites. And at their head was no less personage than Professor Beecher himself. For a moment, as the three parties stood together in the ancient temple, in the glare of many torches, no one spoke. Then Professor Bumper found his voice. "We are glad to see you," he said to his rival. "That is glad to see you alive, for we saw the landslide bury you. And we were coming to dig you out. We thought this cave--the cave of the buried city--would lead us to you easier than by digging through the slide. We have just discovered this idol," and he put his hand on the grim golden image. "Oh, you have discovered it, have you?" asked Professor Beecher, and his voice was bitter. "Yes, not ten minutes ago. The natives have kindly acknowledged my right to it under the law of priority. I am sorry but----" With a look of disgust and chagrined disappointment on his face, Professor Beecher turned to the other scientists and said: "Let us go. We are too late. He has what I came after." "Well, it is the fortune of war--and discovery," put in Mr. Hardy, one of the party who seemed the least ill-natured. "Your luck might have been ours, Professor Bumper. I congratulate you." "Thank you! Are you sure your party is all right--not in need of assistance? How did you get out of the place you were buried?" "Thank you! We do not require any help. It was good of you to think of us. But we got out the way we came in. We did not enter the tunnel as you did, but came in through another entrance which was not closed by the landslide. Then we made a turn through a gateway in a tunnel connecting with ours--a gateway which seems to have been opened by the earthquake--and we came here, just now. "Too late, I see, to claim the discovery of the idol of gold," went on Mr. Hardy. "But I trust you will be generous, and allow us to make observations of the buildings and other relics." "As much as you please, and with the greatest pleasure in the world," was the prompt answer of Professor Bumper. "All I lay sole claim to is the golden idol. You are at liberty to take whatever else you find in Kurzon and to make what observations you like." "That is generous of you, and quite in contrast to--er--to the conduct of our leader. I trust he may awaken to a sense of the injustice he did you." But Professor Beecher was not there to hear this. He had stalked away in anger. "Humph!" grunted Tom. Then he continued: "That story about a government concession was all a fake, Professor, else he'd have put up a fight now. Contemptible sneak!" In fact the story of Tom Swift's trip to the underground land of wonders is ended, for with the discovery of the idol of gold the main object of the expedition was accomplished. But their adventures were not over by any means, though there is not room in this volume to record them. Suffice it to say that means were at once taken to get the golden image out of the cave of the ancient city. It was not accomplished without hard work, for the gold was heavy, and Professor Bumper would not, naturally, consent to the shaving off of so much as an ear or part of the flat nose, to say nothing of one of the half dozen extra arms and legs with which the ugly idol was furnished. Finally it was safely taken out of the cave, and along the stone passage to the opening formed by the overthrown trees, and thence on to camp. And at the camp a surprise awaited Tom. Some long-delayed mail had been forwarded from the nearest place of civilization and there were letters for all, including several for our hero. One in particular he picked out first and read eagerly. "Well, is every little thing all right, Tom?" asked Ned, as he saw a cheerful grin spread itself over his chum's face. "I should say it is, and then some! Look here, Ned. This is a letter from----" "I know. Mary Nestor. Go on." "How'd you guess?" "Oh, I'm a mind-reader." "Huh! Well, you know she was away when I went to call to say good-bye, and I was a little afraid Beecher had got an inside edge on me." "Had he?" "No, but he tried hard enough. He went to see Mary in Fayetteville, just as you heard, before he came on to join his party, but he didn't pay much of a visit to her." "No?" "No. Mary told him he'd better hurry along to Central America, or wherever it was he intended going, as she didn't care for him as much as he flattered himself she did." "Good!" cried Ned. "Shake, old man. I'm glad!" They shook hands. "Well, what's the matter? Didn't you read all of her letter?" asked Ned when he saw his chum once more perusing the epistle. "No. There's a postscript here." "'Sorry I couldn't see you before you left. It was a mistake, but when you come back----'" "Oh, that part isn't any of your affair!" and, blushing under his tan, Tom thrust the letter into his pocket and strode away, while Ned laughed happily. With the idol of gold safe in their possession, Professor Bumper's party could devote their time to making other explorations in the buried city. This they did, as is testified to by a long list of books and magazine articles since turned out by the scientist, dealing strictly with archaeological subjects, touching on the ancient Mayan race and its civilization, with particular reference to their system of computing time. Professor Beecher, young and foolish, would not consent to delve into the riches of the ancient city, being too much chagrined over the loss of the idol. It seems he had really promised to give a part of it to Mary Nestor. But he never got the chance. His colleagues, after their first disappointment at being beaten, joined forces with Professor Bumper in exploring the old city, and made many valuable discoveries. In one point Professor Bumper had done his rival an injustice. That was in thinking Professor Beecher was responsible for the treachery of Jacinto. That was due to the plotter's own work. It was true that Professor Beecher had tentatively engaged Jacinto, and had sent word to him to keep other explorers away from the vicinity of the ancient city if possible; but Jacinto, who did not return Professor Bumper's money, as he had promised, had acted treacherously in order to enrich himself. Professor Beecher had nothing to do with that, nor had he with the taking of the map, as has been seen, the loss of which, after all, was a blessing in disguise, for Kurzon would never have been located by following the directions given there, as it was very inaccurate. In another point it was demonstrated that the old documents were at fault. This was in reference to the golden idol having been overthrown and another set up in its place, an act which had caused the destruction of Kurzon. It is true that the city was destroyed, or rather, buried, but this catastrophe was probably brought about by an earthquake. And another great idol, one of clay, was found, perhaps a rival of Quitzel, but it was this clay image which was thrown down and broken, and not the golden one. Perhaps an effort had been made, just before the burying of the city, to change idols and the system of worship, but Quitzel seemed to have held his own. The old manuscripts were not very reliable, it was found, except in general. "Well, I guess this will hold Beecher for a while," said Tom, the night of the arrival of Mary's letter, and after he had written one in answer, which was dispatched by a runner to the nearest place whence mail could be forwarded. "Yes, luck seems to favor you," replied Ned. "You've had a hand in the discovery of the idol of gold, and----" "Yes. And I discovered something else I wasn't quite sure of," interrupted Tom, as he felt to make sure he had a certain letter safe in his pocket. It was several weeks later that the explorations of Kurzon came to an end--a temporary end, for the rainy season set in, when the tropics are unsuitable for white men. Tom, Professor Bumper, Ned and Mr. Damon set sail for the United States, the valuable idol of gold safe on board. And there, with their vessel plowing the blue waters of the Caribbean Sea, we will take leave of Tom Swift and his friends. 
4635	----	Tom Swift and His Great Searchlight or On the Border for Uncle Sam by Victor Appleton AUTHOR OF "TOM SWIFT AND HIS MOTOR-CYCLE," "TOM SWIFT AND HIS SUBMARINE BOAT," "TOM SWIFT AND HIS WIRELESS MESSAGE," "TOM SWIFT IN CAPTIVITY," ETC. ILLUSTRATED CONTENTS I A SCRAP OF PAPER II A SPY IN TOWN III QUEER REPAIRS IV SEARCHING FOR SMUGGLERS V THE RAID VI THE APPEAL TO TOM VII A SEARCHLIGHT IS NEEDED VIII TOM'S NEWEST INVENTION IX "BEWARE OF THE COMET!" X OFF FOR THE BORDER XI ANDY'S NEW AIRSHIP XII WARNED AWAY XIII KOKU SAVES THE LIGHT XIV A FALSE CLEW XV THE RESCUE ON THE LAKE XVI KOKU'S PRISONER XVII WHAT THE INDIAN SAW XVIII THE PURSUIT XIX IN DIRE PERIL XX SUSPICIOUS ACTIONS XXI MR. PERIOD ARRIVES XXII HOVERING O'ER THE BORDER XXIII NED IS MISSING XXIV THE NIGHT RACE XXV THE CAPTURE--CONCLUSION TOM SWIFT AND HIS GREAT SEARCHLIGHT CHAPTER I A SCRAP OF PAPER "Tom, did you know Andy Foger was back in town?" "Great Scott, no, I didn't Ned! Not to stay, I hope." "I guess not. The old Foger homestead is closed up, though I did see a man working around it to-day as I came past. But he was a carpenter, making some repairs I think. No, I don't believe Andy is here to stay." "But if some one is fixing up the house, it looks as if the family would come back," remarked Tom, as he thought of the lad who had so long been his enemy, and who had done him many mean turns before leaving Shopton, where our hero lived. "I don't think so," was the opinion of Ned Newton, who was Tom Swift's particular chum. "You know when Mr. Foger lost all his money, the house was supposed to be sold. But I heard later that there was some flaw in the title, and the sale fell through. It is because he couldn't sell the place that Mr. Foger couldn't get money to pay some of his debts. He has some claim on the house, I believe, but I don't believe he'd come back to live in it." "Why not?" "Because it's too expensive a place for a poor man to keep up, and Mr. Foger is now poor." "Yes, he didn't get any of the gold, as we did when we went to the underground city," remarked Tom. "Well, I don't wish anybody bad luck but I certainly hope the Fogers keep poor enough to stay away from Shopton. They bothered me enough. But where did you see Andy?" "Oh, he was with his crony, Sam Snedecker. You know Sam said, some time ago, that Andy was to pay him a visit, but Andy didn't come then, for some reason or other. I suppose this call makes up for it. I met them down near Parker's drug store." "You didn't hear Andy say anything about coming back here?" and the young inventor's voice was a trifle anxious. "No," replied Ned. "What makes you so nervous about it?" "Well, Ned, you know what Andy is--always trying to make trouble for me, even sneaking in my shop sometimes, trying to get the secret of some of my airships and machinery. And I admit I think it looks suspicious when they have a carpenter working on the old homestead. Andy may come back, and--" "Nonsence, Tom! If he does you and I can handle him. But I think perhaps the house may be rented, and they may be fixing it up for a tenant. It's been vacant a long time you know, and I heard the other day that it was haunted." "Haunted, Ned! Get out! Say, you don't believe in that sort of bosh, do you?" "Of course not. It was Eradicate who told me, and he said when he came past the place quite late the other night he heard groans, and the clanking of chains coming from it, and he saw flashing lights." "Oh, wow! Eradicate is getting batty in his old age, poor fellow! He and his mule Boomerang are growing old together, and I guess my colored helper is 'seeing things,' as well as hearing them. But, as you say, it may be that the house is going to be rented. It's too valuable a property to let stand idle. Did you hear how long Andy was going to stay?" "A week, I believe." "A week! Say, one day would be enough I should think." "You must have some special reason for being afraid Andy will do you some harm," exclaimed Ned. "Out with it, Tom." "Well, I'll tell you what it is, Ned," and Tom led his chum inside the shop, in front of which the two lads had been talking. It was a shop where the young inventor constructed many of his marvelous machines, aircraft, and instruments of various sorts. "Do you think some one may hear you?" asked Ned. "They might. I'm not taking any chances. But the reason I want to be especially careful that Andy Foger doesn't spy on any of my inventions is that at last I have perfected my noiseless airship motor!" "You have!" cried Ned, for he knew that his chum had been working for a long time on this motor, that would give out no sound, no matter at how high a speed it was run. "That's great, Tom! I congratulate you. I don't wonder you don't want Andy to get even a peep at it." "Especially as I haven't it fully patented," went on the young inventor. He had met with many failures in his efforts to perfect this motor, which he intended to install on one of his airships. "If any one saw the finished parts now it wouldn't take them long to find out the secret of doing away with the noise." "How do you do it?" asked Ned, for he realized that his chum had no secrets from him. "Well, it's too complicated to describe," said Tom, "but the secret lies in a new way of feeding gasolene into the motor, a new sparking device, and an improved muffler. I think I could start my new airship in front of the most skittish horse, and he wouldn't stir, for the racket wouldn't wake a baby. It's going to be great." "What are you going to do with it, when you get it all completed?" "I haven't made up my mind yet. It's going to be some time before I get it all put together, and installed, and in that time something may turn up. Well, let's talk about something more pleasant than Andy Foger. I guess I won't worry about him." "No, I wouldn't. I'd like to see the motor run." "You can, in a day or so, but just now I need a certain part to attach to the sparker, and I had to send to town for it. Koku has gone after it." "What, that big giant servant? He might break it on the way back, he's so strong. He doesn't realize how much muscle he has." "No, that's so. Well, while we're waiting for him, come on in the house, and I'll show you some new books I got." The two lads were soon in the Swift homestead, a pleasant and large old-fashioned residence, in the suburbs of Shopton. Tom brought out the books, and he and his chum poured over them. "Mr. Damon gave me that one on electricity," explained the young inventor, handing Ned a bulky volume. "'Bless my bookmark!' as Mr. Damon himself would say if he were here," exclaimed Ned with a laugh. "That's a dandy. But Mr. Damon didn't give you THIS one," and Ned picked up a dainty volume of verse. "'To Tom Swift, with the best wishes of Mary--'" but that was as far as he read, for Tom grabbed the book away, and closed the cover over the flyleaf, which bore some writing in a girl's hand. I think my old readers can guess whose hand it was. "Wow! Tom Swift reading poetry!" laughed Ned. "Oh, cut it out," begged his chum. "I didn't know that was among the books. I got it last Christmas. Now here's a dandy one on lion hunting, Ned," and to cover his confusion Tom shoved over a book containing many pictures of wild animals. "Lion hunting; eh," remarked Ned. "Well, I guess you could give them some points on snapping lions with your moving picture camera, Tom." "Yes, I got some good views," admitted the young inventor modestly. "I may take the camera along on some trips in my noiseless airship. Hello! here comes Koku back. I hope he got what I wanted." A man, immense in size, a veritable giant, one of two whom Tom Swift had brought away from captivity with him, was entering the front gate. He stopped to speak to Mr. Swift, Tom's father, who was setting out some plants in a flower bed, taking them from a large wheel barrow filled with the blooms. Mr. Swift, who was an inventor of note, had failed in his health of late, and the doctor had recommended him to be out of doors as much as possible. He delighted in gardening, and was at it all day. "Look!" suddenly cried Ned, pointing to the giant. Then Tom and his chum saw a strange sight. With a booming laugh, Koku picked up Mr. Swift gently and set him on a board that extended across the front part of the wheel barrow. Then, as easily as if it was a pound weight, the big man lifted Mr. Swift, barrow, plants and all, in his two hands, and carried them across the garden to another flower bed, that was ready to be filled. "No use to walk when I can carry you, Mr. Swift," exclaimed Koku with a laugh. "I overtook you quite nice; so?" "Yes, you took me over in great shape, Koku!" replied the aged inventor with a smile at Koku's English, for the giant frequently got his words backwards. "That barrow is quite heavy for me to wheel." "You after this call me," suggested Koku. "Say, but he's strong all right," exclaimed Ned, "and that was an awkward thing to carry." "It sure was," agreed Tom. "I haven't yet seen any one strong enough to match Koku. And he's gentle about it, too. He's very fond of dad." "And you too, I guess," added Ned. "Well, Koku, did you get that attachment?" asked Tom, as his giant servant entered the room. "Yes, Mr. Tom. I have it here," and from his pocket Koku drew a heavy piece of steel that would have taxed the strength of either of the boys to lift with one hand. But Koku's pockets were very large and made specially strong of leather, for he was continually putting odd things in them. Koku handed over the attachment, for which his master had sent him. He held it out on a couple of fingers, as one might a penknife, but Tom took both hands to set it on the ground. "I the female get, also," went on Koku, as he began taking some letters and papers from his pocket. "I stop in the office post, and the female get." "Mail, Koku, not female," corrected Tom with a laugh. "A female is a lady you know." "For sure I know, and the lady in the post office gave me the female. That is I said what, did I not?" "Well, I guess you meant it all right," remarked Ned. "But letter mail and a male man and a female woman are all different." "Oh such a language!" gasped the giant. "I shall never learn it. Well, then, Mr. Tom, here is your mail, that the female lady gave to me for you, and you are a male. It is very strange." Koku pulled out a bundle of letters, which Tom took, and then the giant continued to delve for more. One of the papers, rolled in a wrapper, stuck on the edge of the pocket. "You must outcome!" exclaimed Koku, giving it a sudden yank, and it "outcame" with such suddenness that the paper was torn in half, tightly wrapped as it was, and it was considerable of a bundle. "Koku, you're getting too strong!" exclaimed Tom, as scraps of paper were scattered about the room. "I think I'll give you less to eat." "I am your forgiveness," said Koku humbly, as he stooped over to pick up the fragments. "I did not mean." "It's all right," said Tom kindly. "That's only a big bundle of Sunday papers I guess." "I'll give him a hand," volunteered Ned, stooping over to help Koku clear the rug of the litter. As he did so Tom's chum gave a gasp of surprise. "Hello, Tom!" Ned cried. "Here's something new, and I guess it will interest you." "What is it?" "It's part of an account of some daring smugglers who are working goods across the Canadian border into the northern part of this state. The piece is torn, but there's something here which says the government agents suspect the men of using airships to transport the stuff." "Airships! Smugglers using airships!" cried Tom. "It doesn't seem possible!" "That's what it says here, Tom. It says the custom house authorities have tried every way to catch them, and when they couldn't land 'em, the only theory they could account for the way the smuggling was going on was by airships, flying at night." "That's odd. I wonder how it would seem to chase a smuggler in an airship at night? Some excitement about that; eh, Ned? Let's see that scrap of paper." Ned passed it over, and Tom scanned it closely. Then in his turn, he uttered an exclamation of surprise. "What is it?" inquired his chum. "Great Scott, Ned, listen to this! 'It is suspected that some of the smugglers have'--then there's a place where the paper is torn-'in Shopton, N.Y.'" finished Tom. "Think of that, Ned. Our town here, is in some way connected with the airship smugglers! We must find the rest of this scrap of paper, and paste it together. This may be a big thing! Find that other scrap! Koku, you go easy on papers next time," cautioned Tom, good naturedly, as he and his chum began sorting over the torn parts of the paper. CHAPTER II A SPY IN TOWN Tom Swift, Ned Newton and Koku, the giant, are busy trying to piece together the torn parts of the paper, containing an account of the airship smugglers. I will take the opportunity of telling you something about the young inventor and his work, for, though many of my readers have made Tom's acquaintances in previous books of this series, there may be some who pick up this one as their first volume. Tom lived with his father, also an inventor of note, in the town of Shopton, New York state. His mother was dead, and a Mrs. Baggert kept house. Eradicate was an eccentric, colored helper, but of late had become too old to do much. Mr. Swift was also quite aged, and had been obliged to give up most of his inventive work. Ned Newton was Tom Swift's particular chum, and our hero had another friend, a Mr. Wakefield Damon, of the neighboring town of Waterford. Mr. Damon had the odd habit of blessing everything he saw or could think of. Another of Tom's friends was Miss Mary Nestor, whom I have mentioned, while my old readers will readily recognize in Andy Foger a mean bully, who made much trouble for Tom. The first book of the series was called "Tom Swift and His Motor-Cycle," and on that machine Tom had many advances on the road, and not a little fun. After that Tom secured a motor boat, and had a race with Andy Foger. In his airship our hero made a stirring cruise, while in his submarine boat he and his father recovered a sunken treasure. When Tom Swift invented a new electric run-about he did not realize that it was to be the speediest car on the road, but so it proved, and he was able to save the bank with it. In the book called "Tom Swift and His Wireless Message," I told you how he saved the castaways of Earthquake Island, among whom were Mr. and Mrs. Nestor, the parents of Mary. Tom Swift had not been long on the trail of the diamond makers before he discovered the secret of Phantom Mountain, and after that adventure he went to the caves of ice, where his big airship was wrecked. But he got home, and soon made another, which he called a sky racer, and in that he made the quickest flight on record. With his electric rifle Tom went to elephant land, where he succeeded in rescuing two missionaries from the red pygmies. A little later he set out for the city of gold, and had marvelous adventures underground. Hearing of a deposit of valuable platinum in Siberia, Tom started for that lonely place, and, to reach a certain part of if, he had to invent a new machine, called an air glider. It was an aeroplane without means of propulsion save the wind. In the book, "Tom Swift in Captivity," I related the particulars of how he brought away two immense men from giant land. One, Koku, he kept for himself, while the other made a good living by being exhibited in a circus. When the present story opens Tom had not long been home after a series of strange adventures. A moving picture concern, with which Mr. Nestor was associated, wanted some views of remarkable scenes, such as fights among wild beasts, the capture of herds of elephants, earthquakes, and volcanos in action, and great avalanches in the Alps. Tom invented a wizard camera, and got many good views, though at times he was in great danger, even in his airship. Especially was this so at the erupting volcano. But our hero came swiftly back to Shopton, and there, all Winter and Spring, he busied himself perfecting a new motor for an airship--a motor that would make no noise. He perfected it early that Summer, and now was about to try it, when the incident of the torn newspaper happened. "Have you got all the pieces, Tom?" asked Ned, as he passed his chum several scraps, which were gathered up from the floor. "I think so. Now we'll paste them together, and see what it says. We may be on the trail of a big mystery, Ned." "Maybe. Go ahead and see what you can make of it." Tom fitted together, as best he could, the ragged pieces, and then pasted them on a blank sheet of paper. "I guess I've got it all here now," he said finally. "I'll skip the first part. You read me most of that, Ned. Just as you told me, it relates how the government agents, having tried in vain to get a clew to the smugglers, came to the conclusion that they must be using airships to slip contraband goods over the border at night." "Now where's that mention of Shopton? Oh, here it is," and he read: "'It is suspected that some of the smugglers have been communicating with confederates in Shopton, New York. This came to the notice of the authorities to-day, when one of the government agents located some of the smuggled goods in a small town in New York on the St. Lawrence. The name of this town is being kept secret for the present." "'It was learned that the goods were found in a small, deserted house, and that among them were letters from someone in Shopton, relating to the disposal of the articles. They refuse to say who the letters were from, but it is believed that some of Uncle Sam's men may shortly make their appearance in the peaceful burg of Shopton, there to follow up the clew. Many thousands of dollars worth of goods have been smuggled, and the United States, as well as the Dominion of Canada custom authorities, say they are determined to put a stop to the daring efforts of the smugglers. The airship theory is the latest put forth.'" "Well, say, that's the limit!" cried Ned, as Tom finished reading. "What do you know about that?" "It brings it right home to us," agreed the young inventor. "But who is there in Shopton who would be in league with the smugglers?" "That's hard to say." "Of course we don't know everyone in town," went on Tom, "but I'm pretty well acquainted here, and I don't know of a person who would dare engage in such work." "Maybe it's a stranger who came here, and picked out this place because it was so quiet," suggested Ned. "That's possible. But where would he operate from?" asked Tom. "There are few in Shopton who would want to buy smuggled goods." "They may only ship them here, and fix them so they can't be recognized by the custom authorities, and then send them away again," went on Ned. "This may be a sort of clearing-house for the smugglers." "That's so. Well, I don't know as we have anything to do with it. Only if those fellows are using an airship I'd like to know what kind it is. Well, come on out to the shop now, and we'll see how the silent motor works." On the way Tom passed his father, and, telling him not to work too hard in the sun, gave his parent the piece of paper to read, telling about the smugglers. "Using airships! eh?" exclaimed Mr. Swift. "And they think there's a clew here in Shopton? Well, we'll get celebrated if we keep on, Tom," he added with a smile. Tom and Ned spent the rest of the day working over the motor, which was set going, and bore out all Tom claimed for it. It was as silent as a watch. "Next I want to get it in the airship, and give it a good test," Tom remarked, speeding it up, as it was connected on a heavy base in the shop. "I'll help you," promised Ned, and for the next few days the chums were kept busy fitting the silent motor into one of Tom's several airships. "Well, I think we can make a flight to-morrow," said the young inventor, about a week later. "I need some new bolts though, Ned. Let's take a walk into town and get them. Oh, by the way, have you seen anything more of Andy Foger?" "No, and I don't want to. I suppose he's gone back home after his visit to Sam. Let's go down the street, where the Foger house is, and see if there's anything going on." As the two lads passed the mansion, they saw a man, in the kind of suit usually worn by a carpenter, come out of the back door and stand looking across the garden. In his hand he held a saw. "Still at the repairs, I guess," remarked Ned. "I wonder what--" "Look there! Look! Quick!" suddenly interrupted Tom, and Ned, looking, saw someone standing behind the carpenter in the door. "If that isn't Andy Foger, I'll eat my hat!" cried Tom. "It sure is," agreed Ned. "What in the world is he doing there?" But his question was not answered, for, a moment later, Andy turned, and went inside, and the carpenter followed, closing the door behind them. "That's queer," spoke Tom. "Very," agreed Ned. "He didn't go back after all. I'd like to know what's going on in there." "And there's someone else who would like to know, also, I think," said Tom in a low voice. "Who?" asked Ned. "That man hiding behind the big tree across the street. I'm sure he's watching the Foger house, and when Andy came to the door that time, I happened to look around and saw that man focus a pair of opera glasses on him and the carpenter." "You don't mean it, Tom!" exclaimed Ned. "I sure do. I believe that man is some sort of a spy or a detective." "Do you think he's after Andy?" "I don't know. Let's not get mixed up in the affair, anyhow. I don't want to be called in as a witness. I haven't the time to spare." As if the man behind the tree was aware that he had attracted the attention of our friends, he quickly turned and walked away. Tom and Ned glanced up at the Foger house, but saw nothing, and proceeded on to the store. "I'll wager anything that Andy has been getting in some sort of trouble in the town he moved to from here," went on Tom, "and he daren't go back. So he came here, and he's hiding in his father's old house. He could manage to live there for a while, with the carpenter bringing him in food. Say, did you notice who that man was, with the saw?" "Yes, he's James Dillon, a carpenter who lives down on our street," replied Ned. "A nice man, too. The next time I see him, I'm going to ask him what Andy is doing in town, and what the repairs are that he's making on the house." "Well, of course if Andy has been doing anything wrong, he wouldn't admit it," said Tom. "Though Mr. Dillon may tell you about the carpenter work. But I'm sure that man was a detective from the town where Andy moved to. You'll see." "I don't think so," was Ned's opinion. "If Andy was hiding he wouldn't show himself as plainly as he did." The two chums argued on this question, but could come to no decision. Then, having reached Tom's home with the bolts, they went hard at work on the airship. "Well, now to see what happens!" exclaimed Tom the next day, when everything was ready for a trial flight. "I wish Mr. Damon was here. I sent him word, but I didn't hear from him." "Oh, he may show up any minute," replied Ned, as he helped Tom and Koku wheel the newly-equipped airship out of the shed. "The first thing you'll hear will be him blessing something. Is this far enough out, Tom?" "No, a little more, and then head her up into the wind. I say, Ned, if this is a success, and--" Tom stopped suddenly and looked out into the road. Then, in a low voice, he said, to Ned: "Don't move suddenly, or he'll suspect that we're onto his game, but turn around slowly, and look behind that big sycamore tree in front of our house Ned. Tell me what you see." "There's a man hiding there, Tom," reported his chum, a little later, after a cautious observation. "I thought so. What's he doing?" "Why he--by Jove! Tom, he's looking at us through opera glasses, like that other--" "It isn't ANOTHER, it's the same fellow!" whispered Tom. "It's the spy who was watching Andy! I'm going to see what's up," and he strode rapidly toward the street, at the curb of which was the tree that partly screened the man behind it. CHAPTER III QUEER REPAIRS Quickly Tom Swift crossed the space between the airship, that was ready for a flight, and the tree. The man behind it had apparently not seen Tom coming, being so interested in looking at the airship, which was a wonderful craft. He was taken completely by surprise as Tom, stepping up to him, asked sharply: "Who are you and what are you doing here?" The man started so that he nearly dropped the opera glasses, which he had held focused on the aeroplane. Then he stepped back, and eyed Tom sharply. "What do you want?" repeated our hero. "What right have you to be spying on that airship--on these premises?" The man hesitated a moment, and then coolly returned the glasses to his pocket. He did not seem at all put out, after his first start of surprise. "What are you doing?" Tom again asked. He looked around to see where Koku, the giant, was, and beheld the big man walking slowly toward him, for Ned had mentioned what had taken place. "What right have you to question my actions?" asked the man, and there was in his tones a certain authority that made Tom wonder. "Every right," retorted our hero. "That is my airship, at which you have been spying, and this is where I live." "Oh, it is; eh?" asked the man calmly. "And that's your airship, too?" "I invented it, and built the most of it myself. If you are interested in such things, and can assure me that you have no spying methods in view, I can show you--" "Have you other airships?" interrupted the man quickly. "Yes, several," answered Tom. "But I can't understand why you should be spying on me. If you don't care to accept my offer, like a gentleman, tell me who you are, and what your object is, I will have my assistant remove you. You are on private property, as this street is not a public one, being cut through by my father. I'll have Koku remove you by force, if you won't go peaceably, and I think you'll agree with me that Koku can do it. Here Koku," he called sharply, and the big man advanced quickly. "I wouldn't do anything rash, if I were you," said the man quietly. "As for this being private property, that doesn't concern me. You're Tom Swift, aren't you; and you have several airships?" "Yes, but what right have you to--" "Every right!" interrupted the man, throwing back the lapel of his coat, and showing a badge. "I'm Special Agent William Whitford, of the United States Customs force, and I'd like to ask you a few questions, Tom Swift." He looked our hero full in the face. "Customs department!" gasped Tom. "You want to ask me some questions?" "That's it," went on the man, in a business-like voice. "What about?" "Smuggling by airship from Canada!" "What!" cried Tom. "Do you mean to say you suspect me of being implicated in--" "Now go easy," advised the man calmly. "I didn't say anything, except that I wanted to QUESTION you. If you'd like me to do it out here, why I can. But as someone might hear us--" "Come inside," said Tom quietly, though his heart was beating in a tumult. "You may go, Koku, but stay within call," he added significantly. "Come on, Ned," and he motioned to his chum who was approaching. "This man is a custom officer and not a spy or a detective, as we thought." "Oh, yes, I am a SORT of a detective," corrected Mr. Whitford. "And I'm a spy, too, in a way, for I've been spying on you, and some other parties in town. But you may be able to explain everything," he added, as he took a seat in the library between Ned and Tom. "I only know I was sent here to do certain work, and I'm going to do it. I wanted to make some observations before you saw me, but I wasn't quite quick enough." "Would you mind telling me what you want to know?" asked Tom, a bit impatiently. "You mentioned smuggling, and--" "Smuggling!" interrupted Ned. "Yes, over from Canada. Maybe you have seen something in the papers about our department thinking airships were used at night to slip the goods over the border." "We saw it!" cried Tom eagerly. "But how does that concern me?" "I'll come to that, presently," replied Mr. Whitford. "In the first place, we have been roundly laughed at in some papers for proposing such a theory. And yet it isn't so wild as it sounds. In fact, after seeing your airship, Tom Swift, I'm convinced--" "That I've been smuggling?" asked Tom with a laugh. "Not at all. As you have read, we confiscated some smuggled goods the other day, and among them was a scrap of paper with the words Shopton, New York, on it." "Was it a letter from someone here, or to someone here?" asked Ned. "The papers intimated so." "No. they only guessed at that part of it. It was just a scrap of paper, evidently torn from a letter, and it only had those three words on it. Naturally we agents thought we could get a clew here. We imagined, or at least I did, for I was sent to work up this end, that perhaps the airships for the smugglers were made here. I made inquiries, and found that you, Tom Swift, and one other, Andy Foger, had made, or owned, airships in Shopton." "I came here, but I soon exhausted the possibility of Andy Foger making practical airships. Besides he isn't at home here any more, and he has no facilities for constructing the craft as you have. So I came to look at your place, and I must say that it looks a bit suspicious, Mr. Swift. Though, of course, as I said," he added with a smile, "you may be able to explain everything." "I think I can convince you that I had no part in the smuggling," spoke Tom, laughing. "I never sell my airships. If you like you may talk with my father, the housekeeper, and others who can testify that since my return from taking moving pictures, I have not been out of town, and the smuggling has been going on only a little while." "That is true," assented the custom officer. "I shall be glad to listen to any evidence you may offer. This is a very baffling case. The government is losing thousands of dollars every month, and we can't seem to stop the smugglers, or get much of a clew to them. This one is the best we have had so far." It did not take Tom many hours to prove to the satisfaction of Mr. Whitford that none of our hero's airships had taken any part in cheating Uncle Sam out of custom duties. "Well, I don't know what to make of it," said the government agent, with a disappointed air, as he left the office of the Shopton chief of police, who, with others, at Tom's request, had testified in his favor. "This looked like a good clew, and now it's knocked into a cocked hat. There's no use bothering that Foger fellow," he went on, "for he has but one airship, I understand." "And that's not much good." put in Ned. "I guess it's partly wrecked, and Andy has kept it out in the barn since he moved away." "Well, I guess I'll be leaving town then," went on the agent. "I can't get any more clews here, and there may be some new ones found on the Canadian border where my colleagues are trying to catch the rascals. I'm sorry I bothered you, Tom Swift. You certainly have a fine lot of airships," he added, for he had been taken through the shop, and shown the latest, noiseless model. "A fine lot. I don't believe the smugglers, if they use them, have any better." "Nor as good!" exclaimed Ned. "Tom's can't be beat." "It's too late for our noiseless trial now," remarked Tom, after the agent had gone. "Let's put her back in the shed, and then I'll take you down street, and treat you to some ice cream, Ned. It's getting quite summery now." As the boys were coming out of the drug store, where they had eaten their ice cream in the form of sundaes, Ned uttered a cry of surprise at the sight of a man approaching them. "It's Mr. Dillon, the carpenter whom we saw in the Foger house, Tom!" exclaimed his chum. "This is the first chance I've had to talk to him. I'm going to ask him what sort of repairs he's making inside the old mansion." Ned was soon in conversation with him. "Yes, I'm working at the Foger house," admitted the carpenter, who had done some work for Ned's father. "Mighty queer repairs, too. Something I never did before. If Andy wasn't there to tell me what he wanted done I wouldn't know what to do." "Is Andy there yet?" asked Tom quickly. "Yes, he's staying in the old house. All alone too, except now and then, he has a chum stay there nights with him. They get their own meals. I bring the stuff in, as Andy says he's getting up a surprise and doesn't want any of the boys to see him, or ask questions. But they are sure queer repairs I'm doing," and the carpenter scratched his head reflectively. "What are you doing?" asked Ned boldly. "Fixing up Andy's old airship that was once busted," was the unexpected answer, "and after I get that done, if I ever do, he wants me to make a platform for it on the roof of the house, where he can start it swooping through the air. Mighty queer repairs, I call 'em. Well, good evening, boys," and the carpenter passed on. CHAPTER IV SEARCHING FOR SMUGGLERS. "Well, of all things!" "Who in the world would think such a thing?" "Andy going to start out with his airship again!" "And going to sail it off the roof of his house!" These were the alternate expressions that came from Tom and Ned, as they stood gazing at each other after the startling information given them by Mr. Dillon, the carpenter. "Do you really think he means it?" asked Tom, after a pause, during which they watched the retreating figure of the carpenter. "Maybe he was fooling us." "No, Mr. Dillon seldom jokes," replied Ned, "and when he does, you can always tell. He goes to our church, and I know he wouldn't deliberately tell an untruth. Oh. Andy's up to some game all right." "I thought he must be hanging around here the way he has been, instead of being home. But I admit I may have been wrong about the police being after him. If he'd done something wrong, he would hardly hire a man to work on the house while he was hiding in it. I guess he just wants to keep out of the way of everybody but his own particular cronies. But I wonder what he is up to, anyhow; getting his airship in shape again?" "Give it up, unless there's an aero meet on somewhere soon," replied Ned. "Maybe he's going to try a race again." Tom shook his head. "I'd have heard about any aviation meets, if there were any scheduled," he replied. "I belong to the national association, and they send out circulars whenever there are to be races. None are on for this season. No, Andy has some other game." "Well, I don't know that it concerns us," spoke Ned. "Not as long as he doesn't bother me," answered the young inventor. "Well, Ned, I suppose you'll be over in the morning and help me try out the noiseless airship?" "Sure thing. Say, it was queer, about that government agent, wasn't it? suspecting you of supplying airships to the smugglers?" "Rather odd," agreed Tom. "He might much better suspect Andy Foger." "That's so, and now that we know Andy is rebuilding his old airship, maybe we'd better tell him." "Tell who?" "That government agent. Tell him he's wrong in thinking that Andy is out of the game. We might send him word that we just learned that Andy is getting active again. He has as much right to suspect and question him, as he had you." "Oh, I don't know," began Tom slowly. He was not a vindicative youth, nor, for that matter, was Ned. And Tom would not go out of his way to give information about an enemy, when it was not certain that the said enemy meant anything wrong. "I don't believe there's anything in it," finished our hero. "Andy may have a lot of time on his hands, and, for want of something better to do, he's fixing up his aeroplane." "Look!" suddenly exclaimed Ned. "There's that agent now! He's going to the depot to get a train, I guess," and he pointed to the government man, who had so lately interviewed Tom. "I'm going to speak to him!" impulsively declared Ned. "I wouldn't," objected Tom, but his chum had already hastened on ahead, and soon was seen talking excitedly to Mr. Whitford. Tom sauntered up in time to hear the close of the conversation. "I'm much obliged to you for your information," said the custom officer, "but I'm afraid, just as you say your chum felt about it, that there's nothing in it. This Foger chap may have been bad in the past, but I hardly think he's in with the smugglers. What I'm looking for is not a lad who has one airship, but someone who is making a lot of them, and supplying the men who are running goods over the border. That's the sort of game I'm after, and if this Andy Foger only has one aeroplane I hardly think he can be very dangerous." "Well, perhaps not," admitted Ned. "But I thought I'd tell you." "And I'm glad you did. If you hear anything more, I'll be glad to have you let me know. Here's my card," and thanking the boys for their interest Mr. Whitford passed on. Tom and Ned gave the noiseless airship a test the next day. The craft, which was the stanch Falcon, remodeled, was run out of the shed, Koku the giant helping, while Mr. Swift stood looking on, an interested spectator of what his son was about to do. Eradicate, the old colored man, who was driving his mule Boomerang, hitched to a wagon in which he was carting away some refuse that had been raked up in the garden, halted his outfit nearby. "I say, Massa Tom!" he called, as the young inventor passed near him, in making a tour of the ship. "Well, Rad, what is it?" "Doan't yo'-all want fo' ma an' Boomerang t' gib yo'-all a tow? Mebby dat new-fangled contraption yo'-all has done put on yo' ship won't wuk, an' mebby I'd better stick around t' pull yo'-all home." "No, Rad, I guess it will work all right. If it doesn't, and we get stuck out a mile or two, I'll send you a wireless message." "Doan't do dat!" begged the colored man. "I neber could read dem wireless letters anyhow. Jest gib a shout, an' me an' Boomerang will come a-runnin'." "All right, Rad, I will. Now, Ned, is everything in shape?" "I think so, Tom." "Koku, just put a little more wind in those tires. But don't pump as hard as you did the other day," Tom cautioned. "What happened then?" asked Ned. "Oh, Koku forgot that he had so much muscle, and he kept on pumping air into the bicycle wheel tires until he burst one. Go easy this time, Koku." "I will, Mr. Tom," and the giant took the air pump. "Is he going along?" asked Ned, as he looked to see that all the guy wires and stays were tight. "I guess so," replied Tom. "He makes good ballast. I wish Mr. Damon was here. If everything goes right we may take a run over, and surprise him." In a little while the noiseless airship was ready for the start. Tom, Ned and Koku climbed in, and took their positions. "Good luck!" Mr. Swift called after them. Tom waved his hand to his father, and the next moment his craft shot into the air. Up and up it went, the great propeller blades beating the air, but, save for a soft whirr, such as would be made by the wings of a bird, there was absolutely no sound. "Hurrah!" cried Tom. "She works! I've got a noiseless airship at last!" "Say, don't yell at a fellow so," begged Ned, for Tom had been close to his chum when he made his exulting remark. "Yell! I wasn't yelling," replied Tom. "Oh, I see what happened. I'm so used to speaking loud on the other airships, that make such a racket, that I didn't realize how quiet it was aboard the new Falcon. No wonder I nearly made you deaf, Ned. I'll be careful after this," and Tom lowered his voice to ordinary tones. In fact it was as quiet aboard his new craft, as if he and Ned had been walking in some grass-grown country lane. "She certainly is a success," agreed Ned. "You could creep up on some other airship now, and those aboard would never know you were coming." "I've been planning this for a long time," went on our hero, as he shifted the steering gear, and sent the craft around in a long, sweeping curve. "Now for Waterford and Mr. Damon." They were soon above the town where the odd man lived, and Tom, picking out Mr. Damon's house, situated as it was in the midst of extensive grounds, headed for it. "There he is, walking through the garden," exclaimed Ned, pointing to their friend down below. "He hasn't heard us, as he would have done if we had come in any other machine." "That's so!" exclaimed Tom. "I'm going to give him a sensation. I'll fly right over his head, and he won't know it until he sees us. I'll come up from behind." A moment later he put this little trick into execution. Along swept the airship, until, with a rush, it passed right over Mr. Damon's head. He never heard it, and was not aware of what was happening until he saw the shadow it cast. Then, jumping aside, as if he thought something was about to fall on him, he cried: "Bless my mosquito netting! What in the world--" Then he saw Tom and Ned in the airship, which came gently to earth a few yards further on. "Well of all things!" cried Mr. Damon. "What are you up to now, Tom Swift?" "It's my noiseless airship," explained our hero. "She doesn't make a sound. Get aboard, and have a ride." Mr. Damon looked toward the house. "I guess my wife won't see me," he said with a chuckle. "She's more than ever opposed to airships, Tom, since we went on that trip taking moving pictures. But I'll take a chance." And in he sprang, when the two lads started up again. They made quite a flight, and Tom found that his new motor exceeded his expectations. True, it needed some adjustments, but these could easily be made. "Well, what are you going to do with it, now that you have it?" asked Mr. Damon, as Tom once more brought the machine around to the odd man's house, and stopped it. "What's it for?" "Oh, I think I'll find a use for it," replied the young inventor. "Will you come back to Shopton with us?" "No, I must stay here. I have some letters to write. But I'll run over in a few days, and see you. Then I'll go on another trip, if you've got one planned." "I may have," answered Tom with a laugh. "Good-bye." He and Ned made a quick flight home, and Tom at once started on making some changes in the motor. He was engaged at this work the next day, when he noticed a shadow pass across an open window. He looked up to see Ned. "Hello, Tom!" cried his chum. "Have you heard the news?" "No, what news? Has Andy Foger fallen out of his airship?" "No, but there are a whole lot of Custom House detectives in town, looking for clews to the smugglers." "Still at it, eh? Shopton can't seem to keep out of the limelight. Has anything new turned up?" "Yes. I just met Mr. Whitford. He's back on the case and he has several men with him. They received word that some smuggled goods came to Shopton, and were shipped out of here again." "How, by airship?" "No, by horse and wagon. A lot of cases of valuable silks imported from England to Canada, where the duty is light, were slipped over the border somehow, in airships, it is thought. Then they came here by freight, labeled as calico, and when they reached this town they were taken away in a wagon." "But how did they get here?" "On the railroad, of course, but the freight people had no reason to suspect them." "And where were they taken from the freight station?" "That's what the customs authorities want to find out. They think there's some secret place here, where the goods are stored and reshipped. That's why so many detectives are here. They are after the smugglers hot-footed." CHAPTER V THE RAID Tom Swift dropped the tool he was using, and came over to where Ned stood, his chum having vaulted in through the open window. "Ned," said the young inventor, "there's something queer about this business." "I'm beginning to think so myself, Tom. But just what do you mean?" "I mean it's queer that the smugglers should pick out a place like Shopton--a small town--for their operations, or part of them, when there are so many better places. We're quite a distance from the Canadian border. Say, Ned, where was it that Mr. Foger moved to? Hogan's alley, or some such name as that; wasn't it?" "Logansville, this state, was the place. I once saw Tom Snedecker mail Andy a letter addressed to there. But what has that to do with it?" Tom's answer was to turn to a large map on the wall of his shop. With a long stick he pointed out the city of Logansville. "That isn't very far from the Canadian border; is it, Ned?" he asked. "Say, what are you driving at, Tom? It's right on the border between New York and Canada, according to that map." "Well, that's a good map, and you can be sure it is nearly right. And, look here. There's the town of Montford, in Canada, almost opposite Logansville." "Well?" "Oh, nothing, only I'm going to see Mr. Whitford." "What do you mean, Tom?" "I mean that the something queer part about this business may be explained. They have traces of the smugglers sending their goods to Shopton to be re-shipped here, to avoid suspicion, probably. They have a suspicion that airships are used to get the goods over the Canadian border at night." "But," broke in Ned, "the government agent said that it was across the St. Lawrence River they brought them. Montford is quite a distance from the river. I suppose the smugglers take the goods from the river steamers, land them, pack them in airships, and fly across with them. But if you're trying to connect the Fogers, and Logansville, and Montford with the smugglers, I don't see where it comes in with the St. Lawrence, and the airships, Tom." "Forget that part of it for a while, Ned. Maybe they are all off on airships, anyhow. I don't take much stock in that theory, though it may be true." "Just think of the Fogers," went on Tom. "Mr. Foger has lost all his money, he lives in a town near the Canadian border, it is almost certain that smuggled goods have been shipped here. Mr. Foger has a deserted house here, and--see the connection?" "By Jove, Tom, I believe you're right!" cried his chum. "Maybe the airships aren't in it after all, and Andy is only making a bluff at having his repaired, to cover up some other operations in the house." "I believe so." "But that would mean that Mr. Dillon, the carpenter is not telling the truth, and I can't believe that of him." "Oh, I believe he's honest, but I think Andy is fooling him. Mr. Dillon doesn't know much about airships, and Andy may have had him doing something in the house, telling him it was repair work on an airship, when, as a matter of fact, the carpenter might be making boxes to ship the goods in, or constructing secret places in which to hide them." "I don't believe it, Tom. But I agree with you that there is something queer going on in Shopton. The Fogers may, or may not, be connected with it. What are you going to do?" "I'm first going to have a talk with Mr. Whitford. Then I'm going to see if I can't prove, or disprove, that the Fogers are concerned in the matter. If they're not, then some one else in Shopton must be guilty. But I'm interested, because I have been brought into this thing in a way, and I want it sifted to the bottom." "Then you're going to see Mr. Whitford?" "I am, and I'm going to tell him what I think. Come on, we'll look him up now." "But your noiseless airship?" "Oh, that's all right. It's nearly finished anyhow, I've just got a little more work on the carburetor. That will keep. Come on, we'll find the government agent." But Mr. Whitford was not at the hotel where he and the other custom inspectors had put up. They made no secret of their presence in Shopton, and all sorts of rumors were flying about regarding them. Mr. Whitford, the hotel clerk said, had gone out of town for the day, and, as Ned and Tom did not feel like telling their suspicions to any of the other agents, they started back home. "I understand they're going to search every house in Shopton, before they go away," said the clerk to the boys. "They are going to look for smuggled goods." "They are; eh?" exclaimed Colonel Henry Denterby, who had fought in the Civil War. "Search my house; eh? Well I guess not! A man's house is his castle, sir! That's what it is. No one shall enter mine, no matter if he is a government official, unless I give him permission, sir! And I won't do that, sir! I'll be revolutionized if I do! No, sir!" "Why, you haven't any smuggled goods concealed, have you, Colonel?" slyly asked a hotel lounger. "Smuggled goods? What do you mean, sir?" cried the veteran, who was something of a fire-eater. "No, sir! Of course not, sir! I pay my taxes, sir; and all my debts. But no government spy is going to come into my house, and upset everything, sir, looking for smuggled goods, sir. No, sir!" Some were of one opinion, and some another, and there was quite a discussion underway concerning the rights of the custom officers, as the boys came out of the hotel. Likewise there was talk about who might be the guilty ones, but no names were mentioned, at least openly. "Let's go past the Foger house on our way back," proposed Ned, and as he and Tom came in front of it, they heard a pounding going on within, but saw no signs of Andy or the carpenter. "They're keeping mighty close," commented Tom. The two boys worked that afternoon on the new airship, and in the evening, when Ned came over, Tom proposed that they make another attempt to see Mr. Whitford. "I want to get this thing off my mind," spoke the young inventor, and he and his chum started for the hotel. Once more they passed the Foger house. It was in darkness, but, as the two lads stood watching, they saw a flash of a light, as if it came through a crack in a shutter or a shade. "Some one is in there," declared Tom. "Yes, probably Andy is getting his own supper. It's queer he wants to lead that sort of a life. Well, everyone to their notion, as the old lady said when she kissed the cow." They stood for a few minutes watching the old mansion, and then went on. As they passed down a lane, to take a short cut, they approached a small house, that, in times past, had been occupied by the gardener of the Foger estate. Now, that too, was closed. But, in front of it stood a wagon with a big canvass cover over it, and, as the lads came nearer, the wagon drove off quickly, and in silence. At the same time a door in the gardener's house was heard to shut softly. "Did you see that?" cried Ned. "Yes, and did you hear that?" asked Tom. "They're carting stuff away from the old gardener's house," went on Ned. "Maybe it's there that the smugglers are working from! Let's hurry to see Mr. Whitford." "Hold on!" exclaimed Tom in a whisper. "I've got one suggestion. Ned. Let's tell all we know, and what we think may be the case, but don't make any rash statements. We might be held responsible. Tell what we have seen, and let the government men do the rest." "All right. I'm willing." They watched the wagon as it passed on out of sight in the darkness, and then hurried on to see Mr. Whitford. To say that the custom officer was astonished at what the boys related to him, is putting it mildly. He was much excited. "I think we're on the right trail!" he exclaimed. "You may have done a big service for Uncle Sam. Come on!" "Where?" the boys asked him. "We'll make a raid on the old Foger home, and on the gardener's house at once. We may catch the rascals red-handed. You can have the honor of representing Uncle Sam. I'll make you assistant deputies for the night. Here are some extra badges I always carry," and he pinned one each on the two young men. Mr. Whitford quietly summoned several of his men to his hotel room, and imparted to them what he had learned. They were eager for the raid, and it was decided to go to the Foger home, and the other house at once, first seeking to gain an entrance to the mansion. Accompanied by Tom and Ned, Mr. Whitford left the hotel. There were few persons about, and no attention was attracted. The other agents left the hotel one by one, and in the darkness gathered about the seemingly deserted mansion. "Stand ready now, men," whispered Mr. Whitford. "Tom, Ned and I will go up the steps first, and knock. If they don't let us in I'm going to smash the door. Then you follow." Rather excited by what was about to take place, the two chums accompanied the chief custom agent. He rapped loudly on the door of the house, where only darkness showed. There was a moment of silence, and then a voice which Tom and Ned recognized as that of Andy Foger, asked: "What do you want?" "We want to come in," replied Mr. Whitford. "But who are you?" "Uncle Sam's officers, from the custom house." Tom distinctly heard a gasp of surprise on the other side of the portal, and then a bolt was drawn. The door was thrown back, and there, confronting the two lads and Mr. Whitford, were Andy Foger and his father. CHAPTER VI THE APPEAL TO TOM "Well, what does this mean?" asked Mr. Foger in indignant tones, as he faced the custom officer and Tom and Ned. "What do you mean by coming to my house at this hour, and disturbing me? I demand an answer!" "And you shall have it," replied Mr. Whitford calmly. He was used to dealing with "indignant" persons, who got very much on their dignity when accused of smuggling. "We are here, Mr. Foger, because of certain information we have received, and we must ask you to submit to some questions, and allow your house to be searched." "What! You question me? Search this house? That is an indignity to which I will not submit!" "You will have to, Mr. Foger. I have ample authority for what I am doing, and I am backed by the most powerful government in the world. I also have plenty of help with me." Mr. Whitford blew his whistle, and at once his several deputies came running up. "You see I am well prepared to meet force with force, Mr. Foger," said the chief agent, calmly. "Force! What do you mean, sir?" "I mean that I have certain information against you. There has been smuggling going on from Canada into the United States." "Canada? What have I to do with Canada?" "You don't live far from there," said Mr. Whitford significantly. "Airships have been used. Your son has one, but I don't believe that figured in the game. But two friends of mine saw something to-night that made me decide on this raid. Tom and Ned, tell Mr. Foger what you saw." The agent stepped back, so that the two lads could be seen. There was another gasp of surprise, this time from Andy Foger, who had remained in the background. "Tom Swift!" gasped the bully. "Tell them what you saw. Tom," went on the agent, and Tom and Ned by turns, relayed the incident of the wagon load of goods driving away from the gardener's house. "This, with what has gone before, made us suspicious," said Mr. Whitford. "So we decided on a raid. If you are not willing to let us in peaceably, we will come by force." "By all means come in!" was the unexpected reply of Mr. Foger, as he stepped back, and opened wider the door. "Andy, these are some friends of yours, are they not?" "Friends? I guess not!" exclaimed Andy with a sneer. "I won't even speak to them." "Not much lost," commented Tom with a laugh. "Search the house!" ordered Mr. Whitford sharply. "I'll show you around," offered Mr. Foger. "We can find our way," was the curt rejoinder of the chief agent. "The place is deserted," went on Mr. Foger. "My son and I are just living here until certain repairs are made, when I am going to make another effort to sell it." "Yes, we knew it was being repaired, and that your son was staying here," said Mr. Whitford, "But we did not expect to see you." "I--er--that is--I came on unexpectedly," said Mr. Foger. "You may look about all you wish. You will find nothing wrong here." And they did not, strange to say. There was considerable litter in many of the rooms, and in one was Andy's airship in parts. Clearly work was being done on that, and Mr. Dillon's story was confirmed, for tools, with his initials burned in the handles, were lying about. The custom men, with Tom and Ned, went all over the house. Andy scowled blackly at our hero, but said nothing. Mr. Foger seemed anxious to show everything, and let the men go where they would. Finally a tour of the house had been completed, and nothing of a suspicious nature was found. "I guess we'll just take a look at the roof, and see that airship platform your son is going to use," said Mr. Whitford, in rather disappointed tones, when he had found nothing. "It isn't started yet," said Andy. But they all went up through a scuttle, nevertheless, and saw where some posts had been made fast to the roof, to provide a platform foundation. "I'll beat you all to pieces when I get flying," said the bully to Tom, as they went down the scuttle again. "I'm not in the racing game any more," replied Tom coldly. "Besides I only race with my FRIENDS." "Huh! Afraid of getting beat!" sneered Andy. "Well. I guess there's nothing here," said Mr. Whitford to Mr. Foger, as they stood together in the front room. "No, I knew you'd find nothing, and you have had your trouble for your pains." "Oh, Uncle Sam doesn't mind trouble." "And you have caused me much annoyance!" said Mr. Foger sharply. "I'm afraid we'll have to cause you more," was the agent's comment. "I want to have a look in the gardener's house, from where Tom Swift saw the load going away." "There is nothing there!" declared Mr. Foger quickly. "That is, nothing but some old furniture. I sold a lot of it, and I suppose the man who bought it came for it to-night." "We'll take a look," repeated the agent, "I am very fond of old furniture." "Very well," responded the bully's father, as he eyed Tom and Ned blackly. He led the way out of the house, and soon they stood before the small cottage. It was dark, and when Mr. Foger unlocked the door he turned on the gas, and lighted it. "I left the gas on until all the furniture should be taken out," he explained. "But you will find nothing here." It needed but a glance about the place to show that only some odds and ends of furniture was all that it contained. "Where does this door lead to," asked Mr. Whitford, when he had made a tour of the place. "Nowhere. Oh, that is only down into the cellar." was the reply. "There is nothing there." "We can't take anything for granted," went on the agent with a smile. "I'll take a look down there." He descended with some of his men. Tom and Ned remained in the kitchen of the cottage, while Andy and his father conversed in low tones, occasionally casting glances at our heroes. Once Tom thought Mr. Foger looked apprehensively toward the door, through which the custom men had descended. He also appeared to be anxiously listening. But when Mr. Whitford came back, with a disappointed look on his face, and said there was nothing to be found, Mr. Foger smiled: "What did I tell you?" he asked triumphantly. "Never mind," was the retort of Uncle Sam's man. "We are not through with Shopton yet." "I'm sorry we gave you so much trouble on a false clew," said Tom, as he and Ned left the Foger premises with Mr. Whitford, the other deputies following. "That's all right, Tom. We have to follow many false clews. I'm much obliged to you. Either we were on the wrong track, or the Fogers are more clever than I gave them credit for. But I am not done yet. I have something to propose to you. It has come to me in the last few minutes. I saw you in your airship once, and I know you know how to manage such craft. Now there is no question in my mind but what the smugglers are using airships. Tom, will you undertake a mission for Uncle Sam?" "What do you mean?" "I mean will you go to the border, in your airship, and try to catch the smugglers? I can promise you a big reward, and much fame if we catch them. An airship is just what is needed. You are the one to do it. Will you?" CHAPTER VII A SEARCHLIGHT IS NEEDED For a few moments after the custom officer had made his appeal, Tom Swift did not reply. His thoughts were busy with many things. Somehow, it seemed of late, there had been many demands on him, demands that had been hard and trying. In the past he had not hesitated, but in those cases friendship, as well as a desire for adventures, had urged him. Now he thought he had had his fill of adventures. "Well?" asked Mr. Whitford, gently. "What's your answer, Tom? Don't you think this is a sort of duty-call to you?" "A duty-call?" repeated the young inventor. "Yes. Of course I realize that it isn't like a soldier's call to battle, but Uncle Sam needs you just the same. When there is a war the soldiers are called on to repel an enemy. Now the smugglers are just as much an enemy of the United States, in a certain way, as an armed invader would be." "One strikes at the life and liberty of the people, while the smugglers try to cheat Uncle Sam out of money that is due him. I'm not going to enter into a discussion as to the right of the government to impose duties. People have their own opinion as to that. But, as long as the law says certain duties are to be collected, it is the duty of every citizen, not only to pay those dues, but to help collect them. That's what I'm asking you to do, Tom." "I don't want to get prosy, or deliver a lecture on the work of the custom house, Tom, but, honestly, I think it is a duty you owe to your country to help catch these smugglers. I admit I'm at the end of my rope. This last clew has failed. The Fogers seem to be innocent of wrong doing. We need your help, Tom." "But I don't see how I can help you." "Of course you can! You're an expert with airships. The smugglers are using airships, of that I'm sure. You tell me you have just perfected a noiseless aircraft. That will be just the thing. You can hover on the border, near the line dividing New York State from Canada, or near the St. Lawrence, which is the natural division for a certain distance, and when you see an airship coming along you can slip up in your noiseless one, overhaul it, and make them submit to a search." "But I won't have any authority to do that," objected Tom, who really did not care for the commission. "Oh, I'll see that you get the proper authority all right," said Mr. Whitford significantly. "I made you a temporary deputy to-night, but if you'll undertake this work, to catch the smugglers in their airships, you will be made a regular custom official." "Yes, but supposing I can't catch them?" interposed our hero. "They may have very fast airships, and--" "I guess you'll catch 'em all right!" put in Ned, who was at his chum's side as they walked along a quiet Shopton street in the darkness. "There's not an aeroplane going that can beat yours, Tom." "Well, perhaps I COULD get them," admitted the young inventor. "But--" "Then you'll undertake this work for Uncle Sam?" interrupted Mr. Whitford eagerly. "Come, Tom, I know you will." "I'm not so sure of that," spoke Tom. "It isn't going to be as easy as you think. There are many difficulties in the way. In the first place the smuggling may be done over such a wide area that it would need a whole fleet of airships to capture even one of the others, for they might choose a most unfrequented place to cross the border." "Oh, we would be in communication with you," said the agent. "We can come pretty near telling where the contraband goods will be shipped from, but the trouble is, after we get our tips, we can't get to the place before they have flown away. But with your airship, you could catch them, after we sent you, say a wireless message, about where to look for them. So that's no objection. You have a wireless outfit on your airships, haven't you, Tom?" "Yes, that part is all right." "Then you can't have any more objections, Tom." "Well, there are some. For instance you say most of this smuggling is done at night." "Practically all of it, yes." "Well, it isn't going to be easy to pick out a contraband airship in the dark, and chase it. But I'll tell you what I'll do, Mr. Whitford, I feel as if I had sort of 'fallen down' on this clew business, as the newspaper men say, and I owe it to you to make good in some way." "That's what I want--not that I think you haven't done all you could," interposed the agent. "Well, if I can figure out some way, by which I think I can come anywhere near catching these smugglers, I'll undertake the work!" exclaimed Tom. "I'll do it as a duty to Uncle Sam, and I don't want any reward except my expenses. It's going to cost considerable, but--" "Don't mind the expense!" interrupted Mr. Whitford. "Uncle Sam will stand that. Why, the government is losing thousands of dollars every week. It's a big leak, and must be stopped, and you're the one to stop it, Tom." "Well, I'll try. I'll see you in a couple of days, and let you know if I have formed any plan. Now come on, Ned. I'm tired and want to get to bed." "So do I," added the agent. "I'll call on you day after to-morrow, Tom, and I expect you to get right on the job," he added with a laugh. "Have you any idea what you are going to do, Tom?" asked his chum, as they turned toward their houses. "Not exactly. If I go I'll use my noiseless airship. That will come in handy. But this night business rather stumps me. I don't quite see my way to get around that. Of course I could use an ordinary searchlight, but that doesn't give a bright enough beam, or carry far enough. It's going to be quite a problem and I've got to think it over." "Queer about the Fogers; wasn't it, Tom?" "Yes, I didn't think they were going to let us in." "There's something going on there, in spite of the fact that they were willing for an inspection to be made," went on Ned. "I agree with you. I thought it was funny the way Mr. Foger acted about not wanting the men to go down in the cellar." "So did I, and yet when they got down there they didn't find anything." "That's so. Well, maybe we're on the wrong track, after all. But I'm going to keep my eyes open. I don't see what Andy wants with an airship platform on the roof of his house. The ground is good enough to start from and land on." "I should think so, too. But then Andy always did like to show off, and do things different from anybody else. Maybe it's that way now." "Perhaps," agreed Tom. "Well, here's your house, Ned. Come over in the morning," and, with a good-night, our hero left his chum, proceeding on toward his own home. "Why, Koku, haven't you gone to bed yet?" asked the young inventor, as, mounting the side steps, he saw his giant servant sitting there on a bench he had made especially for his own use, as ordinary chairs were not substantial enough. "What is the matter?" "Nothing happen YET," spoke Koku significantly, "but maybe he come pretty soon, and then I get him." "Get who, Koku?" asked Tom, with quick suspicion. "I do not know, but Eradicate say he hear someone sneaking around his chicken coop, and I think maybe it be same man who was here once before." "Oh, you mean the rivals, who were trying to get my moving picture camera?" "That's what!" exclaimed Koku. "Hum!" mused Tom. "I must be on the look-out. I'll tell you what I'll do, Koku. I'll set my automatic camera to take the moving pictures of any one who tries to get in my shop, or in the chicken coop. I'll also set the burglar alarm. But you may also stay on the watch, and if anything happens--" "If anything happens, I will un-happen him!" exclaimed the giant, brandishing a big club he had beside him. "All right," laughed Tom. "I'm sleepy, and I'm going to bed, but I'll set the automatic camera, and fix it with fuse flashlights, so they will go off if the locks are even touched." This Tom did, fixing up the wizard camera, which I have told you about in the book bearing that title. It would take moving pictures automatically, once Tom had set the mechanism to unreel the films back of the shutter and lens. The lights would instantly flash, when the electrical connections on the door locks were tampered with, and the pictures would be taken. Then Tom set the burglar alarm, and, before going to bed he focused a searchlight, from one of his airships, on the shed and chicken coop, fastening it outside his room window. "There!" he exclaimed, as he got ready to turn in, not having awakened the rest of the household, "when the burglar alarm goes off, if it does, it will also start the searchlight, and I'll get a view of who the chicken thief is. I'll also get some pictures." Then, thinking over the events of the evening, and wondering if he would succeed in his fight with the smugglers, providing he undertook it, Tom fell asleep. It must have been some time after midnight that he was awakened by the violent ringing of a bell at his ear. At first he thought it was the call to breakfast, and he leaped from bed crying out: "Yes, Mrs. Baggert, I'm coming!" A moment later he realized what it was. "The burglar alarm!" he cried. "Koku, are you there? Someone is trying to get into the chicken coop!" for a glance at the automatic indicator, in connection with the alarm, had shown Tom that the henhouse, and not his shop, had been the object of attack. "I here!" cried Koku, "I got him!" A series of startled cries bore eloquent testimony to this. "I'm coming!" cried Tom. And then he saw a wonderful sight. The whole garden, his shop, the henhouse and all the surrounding territory was lighted up with a radiance almost like daylight. The beams of illumination came from the searchlight Tom had fixed outside his window, but never before had the lantern given such a glow. "That's wonderful!" cried Tom, as he ran to examine it. "What has happened? I never had such a powerful beam before. There must be something that I have stumbled on by accident. Say, that is a light all right! Why it goes for miles and miles, and I never projected a beam as far as this before." As Tom looked into a circle of violet-colored glass set in the side of the small searchlight, to see what had caused the extraordinary glow, he could observe nothing out of the ordinary. The violet glass was to protect the eyes from the glare. "It must be that, by accident, I made some new connection at the dynamo," murmured Tom. "Hi! Lemme go! Lemme go, Massa giant! I ain't done nuffin'!" yelled a voice. "I got you!" cried Koku. "It's an ordinary chicken thief this time I guess," said Tom. "But this light--this great searchlight--" Then a sudden thought came to him. "By Jove!" he cried. "If I can find out the secret of how I happened to project such a beam, it will be the very thing to focus on the smugglers from my noiseless airship! That's what I need--a searchlight such as never before has been made--a terrifically powerful one. And I've got it, if I can only find out just how it happened. I've got to look before the current dies out." Leaving the brilliant beams on in full blast, Tom ran down the stairs to get to his shop, from which the electrical power came. CHAPTER VIII TOM'S NEWEST INVENTION "I got him, Mr. Tom!" "Oh, please, good Massa Swift! Make him leggo me! He suah am squeezin' de liber outer me!" "Shall I conflict the club upon him, Mr. Tom?" It was Koku who asked this last question, as Tom came running toward the giant. In the strange glare from the searchlight, the young inventor saw his big servant holding tightly to a rather small, colored man, while the camera, which was focused full on them, was clicking away at a great rate, taking picture after picture on the roll of films. "No, don't INFLICT nor CONFLICT the club on him, Koku," advised Tom. "Who is he?" "I don't know, Mr. Tom. I was in hiding, in the darkness, waiting for him to come back. He had been here once before in the evening, Eradicate says. Well, he came while I was waiting and I detained him. Then the lights went up. They are very bright lights, Mr. Tom." "Yes, brighter than I expected they would be. I must look and see what causes it. So you detained him, did you, Koku?" "Yes, and what exposition shall I make of him?" "What DISPOSITION?" corrected Tom, with a laugh. "Well, did he get any chickens, Koku?" "Oh, no, I was too tight for him." "Oh, you mean too fast, or quick. Well, if he didn't get any, I guess you might let him go. I have too much to attend to, to bother with him." "Oh, bress yo' for dat, Massa Tom!" cried the negro, whom Tom recognized as a worthless character about the town. "I didn't go fo' to do nuffin', Massa Tom. I were jest goin' t' look in de coop, t' count an' see how many fowls mah friend Eradicate had, an' den--" "Yes, and then I tie you!" broke in Koku. "You collared him, I guess you mean to say," spoke Tom with a laugh. "Well, I guess, Sam," speaking to the negro, "if YOU had counted Rad's chickens HE couldn't have counted as many in the morning. But be off, and don't come around again, or you might have to count the bars in a jail cell for a change." "Bress yo' honey. I won't neber come back." "Shall release him?" asked Koku doubtfully. "Yes," said Tom. "And not reflict the club on him?" The giant raised his club longingly. "Oh, Massa Tom, protect me!" cried Sam. "No, don't even REFLECT the club on him," advised the young inventor with a laugh. "He hasn't done any harm, and he may have been the means of a great discovery. Remember Sam," Tom went on sternly, "I have your picture, as you were trying to break into the coop, and if you come around again, I'll use it as evidence against you." "Oh, I won't come. Not as long as dat giant am heah, anyhow," said the negro earnestly. "Besides, I were only goin' t' count Eradicate's chickens, t' see ef he had as many as I got." "All right," responded Tom. "Now, Koku, you may escort him off the premises, and be on the lookout the rest of the night, off and on. Where's Rad?" "He has what he says is 'de misery' in his back so that he had to go to bed," explained the giant, to account for the faithful colored man not having responded to the alarm. "All right, get rid of Sam, and then come back." As Tom turned to go in his shop he saw his aged father coming slowly toward him. Mr. Swift had hastily dressed. "What is the matter, Tom?" he asked. "Has anything happened? I heard your alarm go off, and I came as quickly as I could." "Nothing much has happened, father, excepting a chicken thief. But something great may come of it. Do you notice that searchlight, and how powerful it is?" "I do, Tom. I never knew you had one as big as that." "Neither did I, and I haven't, really. That's one of my smallest ones, but something seems to have happened to it to make it throw out a beam like that. I'm just going to look. Come on in the shop." The two inventors, young and old, entered, and Tom quickly crossed to where the wires from the automatic dynamo, extended to the searchlight outside the window of his room. He made a quick inspection. "Look, father!" he cried. "The alternating current from the automatic dynamo has become crossed with direct current from the big storage battery in a funny way. It must have been by accident, for never in the world would I think of connecting up in that fashion. I would have said it would have made a short circuit at once." "But it hasn't. On the contrary, it has given a current of peculiar strength and intensity--a current that would seem to be made especially for searchlights. Dad, I'm on the edge of a big discovery." "I believe you, Tom," said his father. "That certainly is a queer way for wires to be connected. How do you account for it?" "I can't. That is unless some one meddled with the connections after I made them. That must be it. I'll ask Rad and Koku." Just then the giant came in. "Koku, did you touch the wires?" asked Tom. "Well, Mr. Tom, I didn't mean to. I accidentally pulled one out a while ago, when I was waiting for the thief to come, but I put it right back again. I hope I did no damage." "No, on the contrary, you did a fine thing, Koku. I never would have dared make such connections myself, but you, not knowing any better, did just the right thing to make an almost perfect searchlight current. It is wonderful! Probably for any other purpose such a current would be useless, but it is just the thing for a great light." "And why do you need such a powerful light, Tom?" asked Mr. Swift. "Why, it is of extraordinary brilliancy, and it goes for several miles. Look how plainly you can pick out the trees on Nob's Hill," and he pointed to an elevation some distance away from the Swift homestead, across the woods and meadows. "I believe I could see a bird perched there, if there was one!" exclaimed Tom enthusiastically. "That certainly is a wonderful light. With larger carbons, better parobolic mirrors, a different resistance box, better connections, and a more powerful primary current there is no reason why I could not get a light that would make objects more plainly visible than in the daytime, even in the darkest night, and at a great distance." "But what would be the object of such a light, Tom?" "To play upon the smugglers, dad, and catch them as they come over the border in the airship." "Smugglers, Tom! You don't mean to tell me you are going away again, and after smugglers?" "Well, dad, I've had an offer, and I think I'll take it. There's no money in it, but I think it is my duty to do my best for Uncle Sam. The one thing that bothered me was how to get a view of the airship at night. This searchlight has solved the problem--that is if I can make a permanent invention of this accident, and I think I can." "Oh, Tom, I hate to think of you going away from home again," said his father a bit sadly. "Don't worry, father. I'm not going far this time. Only to the Canadian border, and that's only a few hundred miles. But I want to see if I can cut the current off, and turn it on again. When a thing happens by accident you never know whether you can get just exactly the same conditions again." Tom shut off the current from the dynamo, and the powerful beam of light died out. Then he turned it on once more, and it glowed as brightly as before. He did this several times, and each time it was a success. "Hurrah!" cried Tom. "To-morrow I'll start on my latest invention, a great searchlight!" CHAPTER IX "BEWARE OF THE COMET!" "Well, Tom, what are you up to now?" Ned Newton peered in the window of the shop at his chum, who was busy over a bench. "This is my latest invention, Ned. Come on in." "Looks as though you were going to give a magic lantern show. Or is it for some new kinds of moving pictures? Say, do you remember the time we gave a show in the barn, and charged a nickel to come in? You were the clown, and--" "I was not! You were the clown. I was part of the elephant. The front end, I think." "Oh. so you were. I'm thinking of another one. But what are you up to now? Is it a big magic lantern?" Ned came over toward the bench, in front of which Tom stood, fitting together sheets of heavy brass in the form of a big square box. In one side there was a circular opening, and there were various wheels and levers on the different sides and on top. The interior contained parobolic curved mirrors. "It's a SORT of a lantern, and I hope it's going to do some MAGIC work," explained Tom with a smile. "But it isn't the kind of magic lantern you mean. It won't throw pictures on a screen, but it may show some surprising pictures to us--that is if you come along, and I think you will." "Talking riddles; eh?" laughed Ned. "What's the answer?" "Smugglers." "I thought you were talking about a lantern." "So I am, and it's the lantern that's going to show up the smugglers, so you can call it a smuggler's magic lantern if you like." "Then you're going after them?" This conversation took place several days after the raid on the Foger house, and after Tom's accidental discovery of how to make a new kind of searchlight. In the meantime he had not seen Ned, who had been away on a visit. "Yes, I've made up my mind to help Uncle Sam," spoke Tom, "and this is one of the things I'll need in my work. It's going to be the most powerful searchlight ever made--that is, I never heard of any portable electric lights that will beat it." "What do you mean, Tom?" "I mean that I'm inventing a new kind of searchlight, Ned. One that I can carry with me on my new noiseless airship, and one that will give a beam of light that will be visible for several miles, and which will make objects in its focus as plain as if viewed by daylight." "And it's to show up the smugglers?" "That's what. That is it will if we can get on the track of them." "But what did you mean when you said it would be the most powerful portable light ever made." "Just what I said. I've got to carry this searchlight on an airship with me, and, in consequence, it can't be very heavy. Of course there are stationary searchlights, such lights as are in lighthouses, that could beat mine all to pieces for candle power, and for long distance visibility. But they are the only ones." "That's the way to do things, Tom! Say, I'm going with you all right after those smugglers. But where are some of those powerful stationary searchlights you speak of?" "Oh, there are lots of them. One was in the Eiffel Tower, during the Paris Exposition. I didn't see that, but I have read about it. Another is in one of the twin lighthouses at the Highlands, on the Atlantic coast of New Jersey, just above Asbury Park. That light is of ninety-five million candle power, and the lighthouse keeper there told me it was visible, on a clear night, as far as the New Haven, Connecticut, lighthouse, a distance of fifty miles." "Fifty miles! That's some light!" gasped Ned. "Well, you must remember that the Highlands light is up on a very high hill, and the tower is also high, so there is quite an elevation, and then think of ninety-five million candle power--think of it!" "I can't!" cried Ned. "It gives me a head-ache." "Well, of course I'm not going to try to beat that," went on Tom with a laugh, "but I am going to have a very powerful light." And he then related how he had accidently discovered a new way to connect the wires, so as to get, from a dynamo and a storage battery a much stronger, and different, current than usual. "I'm making the searchlight now," Tom continued, "and soon I'll be ready to put in the lens, and the carbons." "And then what?" "Then I'm going to attach it to my noiseless airship, and we'll have a night flight. It may work, and it may not. If it does, I think we'll have some astonishing results." "I think we will, Tom. Can I do anything to help you?" "Yes, file some of the rough edges off these sheets of brass, if you will. There's an old pair of gloves to put on to protect your hands, otherwise you'll be almost sure to cut 'em, when the file slips. That brass is extra hard." The two boys were soon working away, and were busy over the big lantern when Mr. Whitford came along. Koku was, as usual, on guard at the outer door of the shop, but he knew the custom officer, and at once admitted him. "Well, Tom, how you coming on?" he asked. "Pretty good. I think I've got just what I want. A powerful light for night work." "That's good. You'll need it. They've got so they only smuggle the goods over in the night now. How soon do you think you'll be able to get on the border for Uncle Sam?" "Why, is there any great rush?" asked Tom, as he noticed a look of annoyance pass over the agent's face. "Yes, the smugglers have been hitting us pretty hard lately. My superiors are after me to do something, but I can't seem to do it. My men are working hard, but we can't catch the rascals." "You see, Tom, they've stopped, temporarily, bringing goods over the St. Lawrence. They're working now in the neighborhood of Huntington, Canada, and the dividing line between the British possessions and New York State, runs along solid ground there. It's a wild and desolate part of country, too, and I haven't many men up there." "Don't the Canadian custom officers help?" asked Ned. "Well, they haven't been of any aid to us so far," was the answer. "No doubt they are trying, but it's hard to get an airship at night when you're on the ground, and can't even see it." "How did they come to use airships?" asked Tom. "Well, it was because we were too sharp after them when they tried to run things across the line afoot, or by wagons," replied the agent. "You must know that in every principal city, at or near the border line, there is a custom house. Goods brought from Canada to the United States must pass through there and pay a duty." "Of course if lawless people try to evade the duty they don't go near the custom house. But there are inspectors stationed at the principal roads leading from the Dominion into Uncle Sam's territory, and they are always on the lookout. They patrol the line, sometimes through a dense wilderness, and again over a desolate plain, always on the watch. If they see persons crossing the line they stop them and examine what they have. If there is nothing dutiable they are allowed to pass. If they have goods on which there is a tax, they either have to pay or surrender the goods." "But don't the smugglers slip over in spite of all the precautions?" asked Ned. "Say at some lonely ravine, or stretch of woods?" "I suppose they do, occasionally," replied Mr. Whitford. "Yet the fact that they never can tell when one of the inspectors or deputies is coming along, acts as a stop. You see the border line is divided up into stretches of different lengths. A certain man, or men, are held responsible for each division. They must see that no smugglers pass. That makes them on the alert." "Why, take it out west, I have a friend who told me that he often travels hundreds of miles on horseback, with pack ponies carrying his camping outfit, patroling the border on the lookout for smugglers." "In fact Uncle Sam has made it so hard for the ordinary smuggler to do business on foot or by wagon, that these fellows have taken to airships. And it is practically impossible for an inspector patroling the border to be on the lookout for the craft of the air. Even if they saw them, what could they do? It would be out of the question to stop them. That's why we need some one with a proper machine who can chase after them, who can sail through the air, and give them a fight in the clouds if they have to." "Our custom houses on the ground, and our inspectors on horse back, traveling along the border, can't meet the issue. We're depending on you, Tom Swift, and I hope you don't disappoint us." "Well," spoke Tom, when Mr. Whitford had finished. "I'll do my best for you. It won't take very long to complete my searchlight, and then I'll give it a trial. My airship is ready for service, and once I find we're all right I'll start for the border." "Good! And I hope you'll catch the rascals!" fervently exclaimed the custom official. "Well, Tom, I'm leaving it all to you. Here are some reports from my deputies. I'll leave them with you, and you can look them over, and map out a campaign. When you are ready to start I'll see you again, and give you any last news I have. I'll also arrange so that you can communicate with me, or some of my men." "Have you given up all suspicion of the Fogers?" asked the young inventor. "Yes. But I still think Shopton is somehow involved in the custom violations. I'm going to put one of my best men on the ground here, and go to the border myself." "Well, I'll be ready to start in a few days," said Tom, as the government agent departed. For the next week our hero and his chum were busy completing work on the great searchlight, and in attaching it to the airship. Koku helped them, but little of the plans, or of the use to which the big lantern was to be put, were made known to him, for Koku liked to talk, and Tom did not want his project to become known. "Well, we'll give her a trial to-night," said Tom one afternoon, following a day of hard work. "We'll go up, and flash the light down." "Who's going?" "Just us two. You can manage the ship, and I'll look after the light." So it was arranged, and after supper Tom and his chum, having told Mr. Swift were they were going, slipped out to the airship shed, and soon were ready to make an ascent. The big lantern was fastened to a shaft that extended above the main cabin. The shaft was hollow and through it came the wires that carried the current. Tom, from the cabin below, could move the lantern in any direction, and focus it on any spot he pleased. By means of a toggle joint, combined with what are known as "lazy-tongs," the lantern could be projected over the side of the aircraft and be made to gleam on the earth, directly below the ship. For his new enterprise Tom used the Falcon in which he had gone to Siberia after the platinum. The new noiseless motor had been installed in this craft. "All ready, Ned?" asked Tom after an inspection of the searchlight. "All ready, as far as I'm concerned, Tom." "Then let her go!" Like a bird of the night, the great aeroplane shot into the air, and, with scarcely a sound that could be heard ten feet away, she moved forward at great speed. "What are you going to do first?" asked Ned. "Fly around a bit, and then come back over my house. I'm going to try the lantern on that first, and see what I can make out from a couple of miles up in the air." Up and up went the Falcon, silently and powerfully, until the barograph registered nearly fourteen thousand feet. "This is high enough." spoke Tom. He shifted a lever that brought the searchlight into focus on Shopton, which lay below them. Then, turning on the current, a powerful beam of light gleamed out amid the blackness. "Jove! That's great!" cried Ned. "It's like a shaft of daylight!" "That's what I intended it to be!" cried Tom in delight. With another shifting of the lever he brought the light around so that it began to pick up different buildings in the town. "There's the church!" cried Ned. "It's as plain as day, in that gleam." "And there's the railroad depot," added Tom. "And Andy Foger's house!" "Yes, and there's my house!" exclaimed Tom a moment later, as the beam rested on his residence and shops. "Say, it's plainer than I thought it would be. Hold me here a minute, Ned." Ned shut off the power from the propellers, and the airship was stationary. Tom took a pair of binoculars, and looked through them at his home in the focus of light. "I can count the bricks in the chimney!" he cried in eagerness at the success of his great searchlight. "It's even better than I thought it was! Let's go down, Ned." Slowly the airship sank. Tom played his light all about, picking up building after building, and one familiar spot after another. Finally he brought the beam on his own residence again, when not far above it. Suddenly there arose a weird cry. Tom and Ned knew at once that it was Eradicate. "A comet! A comet!" yelled the colored man. "De end ob de world am comin'! Run, chillens, run! Beware ob de comet!" "Eradicate's afraid!" cried Tom with a laugh. "Oh good mistah comet! Doan't take me!" went on the colored man. "I ain't neber done nuffin', an' mah mule Boomerang ain't needer. But ef yo' has t' take somebody, take Boomerang!" "Keep quiet, Rad! It's all right!" cried Tom. But the colored man continued to shout in fear. Then, as the two boys looked on, and as the airship came nearer to the earth, Ned, who was looking down amid the great illumination, called to Tom: "Look at Koku!" Tom glanced over, and saw his giant servant, with fear depicted on his face, running away as fast as he could. Evidently Eradicate's warning had frightened him. "Say, he can run!" cried Ned. "Look at him leg it!" "Yes, and he may run away, never to come back," exclaimed Tom. "I don't want to lose him, he's too valuable. I know what happened once when he got frightened. He was away for a week before I could locate him, and he hid in the swamp. I'm not going to have that happen again." "What are you going to do?" "I'm going to chase after him in the airship. It will be a good test for chasing the smugglers. Put me after him, Ned, and I'll play the searchlight on him so we can't lose him!" CHAPTER X OFF FOR THE BORDER "There he goes, Tom!" "Yes, I see him!" "Look at him run!" "No wonder. Consider his long legs, Ned. Put on a little more speed, and keep a little lower down. It's clear of trees right here." "There he goes into that clump of bushes." "I see him. He'll soon come out," and Tom flashed the big light on the fleeing giant to whom fear seemed to lend more than wings. But even a giant, long legged though he be, and powerful, cannot compete with a modern airship--certainly not such a one as Tom Swift had. "We're almost up to him, Tom!" cried Ned a little later. "Yes! I'm keeping track of him. Oh, why doesn't he know enough to stop? Koku! Koku!" called Tom. "It's all right! I'm in the airship! This is a searchlight, not a comet. Wait for us!" They could see the giant glance back over his shoulder at them, and, when he saw how close the gleaming light was he made a desperate spurt. But it was about his last, for he was a heavy man, and did not have any too good wind. "We'll have him in another minute," predicted Tom. "Give me a bit more speed, Ned." The lad who was managing the Falcon swung the accelerating lever over another notch, and the craft surged ahead. Then Ned executed a neat trick. Swinging the craft around in a half circle, he suddenly opened the power full, and so got ahead of Koku. The next minute, sliding down to earth, Tom and Ned came to a halt, awaiting the oncoming of Koku, who, finding the glaring light full in his face, came to a halt. "Why, Koku, what's the matter?" asked Tom kindly, as he turned off the powerful beams, and switched on some ordinary incandescents, that were on the outside of the craft. They made an illumination by which the giant could make out his master and the latter's chum. "Why did you run, Koku?" asked Tom. "Eradicate say to," was the simple answer. "He say comet come to eat up earth. Koku no want to be eaten." "Eradicate is a big baby!" exclaimed Tom. "See, there is no danger. It is only my new searchlight," and once more the young inventor switched it on. Koku jumped back, but when he saw that nothing happened he did not run. "It's harmless," said Tom, and briefly he explained how the big lantern worked. Koku was reassured now, and consented to enter the airship. He was rather tired from his run, and was glad to sit down. "Where to now; back home?" asked Ned, as they made ready to start. "No, I was thinking of going over to Mr. Damon's house. I'd like him to see my searchlight. And I want to find out if he's going with us on the trip to the border." "Of course he will!" predicted Ned. "He hasn't missed a trip with you in a long while. He'll go if his wife will let him," and both boys laughed, for Mr. Damon's wife was nearly always willing to let him do as he liked, though the odd man had an idea that she was violently opposed to his trips. Once more the Falcon went aloft, and again the searchlight played about. It brought out with startling distinctness the details of the towns and villages over which they passed, and distant landmarks were also made plainly visible. "We'll be there in a few minutes now," said Tom, as he flashed the light on a long slant toward the town of Waterford, where Mr. Damon lived. "I can see his house," spoke Ned a moment later. He changed the course of the craft, to bring it to a stop in the yard of the eccentric man, and, shortly afterward, they landed. Tom who had shut off the searchlight for a minute, turned it on again, and the house and grounds of Mr. Damon were enveloped in a wonderful glow. "That will bring him out," predicted Tom. A moment later they heard his voice. "Bless my astronomy!" cried Mr. Damon. "There's a meteor fallen in our yard. Come out, wife--everybody--call the servants. It's a chance of a lifetime to see one, and they're valuable, too! Bless my star dust! I must tell Tom Swift of this!" Out into the glare of the great searchlight ran Mr. Damon, followed by his wife and several of the servants. "There it is!" cried the odd man. "There's the meteor!" "First we're a comet and then we're a meteor," said Ned with a laugh. "Oh. I hope it doesn't bury itself in the earth before I can get Tom Swift here!" went on Mr. Damon, capering about. "Bless my telephone book. I must call him up right away!" "I'm here now, Mr. Damon!" shouted Tom, as he alighted from the airship. "That's my new searchlight you're looking at." "Bless my--" began Mr. Damon, but he couldn't think of nothing strong enough for a moment, until he blurted out "dynamite cartridge! Bless my dynamite cartridge! Tom Swift! His searchlight! Bless my nitro-glycerine!" Then Tom shut off the glare, and, as Mr. Damon and his wife came aboard he showed them how the light worked. He only used a part of the current, as he knew if he put on the full glare toward Mr. Damon's house, neighbors might think it was on fire. "Well, that's certainly wonderful," said Mrs. Damon. "In fact this is a wonderful ship." "Can't you take Mrs. Damon about, and show her how it works," said Mr. Damon suddenly. "Show her the ship." "I will," volunteered Tom. "No, let Ned," said the eccentric man. "I--er--I want to speak to you, Tom." Mrs. Damon, with a queer glance at her husband, accompanied Ned to the motor room. As soon as she was out of hearing the odd gentleman came over and whispered to the young inventor. "I say, Tom, what's up?" "Smugglers. You know. I told you about 'em. I'm going after 'em with my big searchlight." "Bless my card case! So you did. But, I say, Tom, I--I want to go!" "I supposed you would. Well, you're welcome, of course. We leave in a few days. It isn't a very long trip this time, but there may be plenty of excitement. Then I'll book you for a passage, and--" "Hush! Not another word! Here she comes, Tom. My wife! Don't breathe a syllable of it to her. She'll never let me go." Then, for the benefit of Mrs. Damon, who came back into the main cabin with Ned at that moment, her husband added in loud tones: "Yes, Tom it certainly is a wonderful invention. I congratulate you," and, at the same time he winked rapidly at our hero. Tom winked in return. "Well, I guess we'll start back," remarked Tom, after a bit. "I'll see you again, I suppose, Mr. Damon?" "Oh yes, of course. I'll be over--soon," and once more he winked as he whispered in Tom's ear: "Don't leave me behind, my boy." "I won't," whispered the young inventor in answer. Mrs. Damon smiled, and Tom wondered if she had discovered her husband's innocent secret. Tom and Ned, with Koku, made a quick trip back to Shopton, using the great searchlight part of the way. The next day they began preparations for the journey to the border. It did not take long to get ready. No great amount of stores or supplies need be taken along, as they would not be far from home, not more than a two days' journey at any time. And they would be near large cities, where food and gasolene could easily be obtained. About a week later, therefore, Mr. Whitford the government agent, having been communicated with in the meanwhile, Tom and Ned, with Koku and Mr. Damon were ready to start. "I wonder if Mr. Whitford is coming to see us off?" mused Tom, as he looked to see if everything was aboard, and made sure that the searchlight was well protected by its waterproof cover. "He said he'd be here," spoke Ned. "Well, it's past time now. I don't know whether to start, or to wait." "Wait a few minutes more," advised Ned. "His train may be a few minutes behind time." They waited half an hour, and Tom was on the point of starting when a messenger boy came hurrying into the yard where the great airship rested on its bicycle wheels. "A telegram for you, Tom," called the lad, who was well acquainted with our hero. Hastily the young inventor tore open the envelope. "Here's news!" he exclaimed, "What is it?" asked Ned. "It's from Mr. Whitford," answered his chum. "He says: 'Can't be with you at start. Will meet you in Logansville. Have new clew to the Fogers!'" "Great Scott!" cried Ned, staring at his chum. CHAPTER XI ANDY'S NEW AIRSHIP Tom Swift tossed a quarter to the messenger boy, and leaped over the rail to the deck of his airship, making his way toward the pilot house. "Start the motor, Ned," he called. "Are you all ready, Mr. Damon?" "Bless my ancient history, yes. But--" "Are you going, Tom?" asked Ned. "Of course. That's why we're here; isn't it? We're going to start for the border to catch the smugglers. Give me full speed, I want the motor to warm up." "But that message from Mr. Whitford? He says he has a new clew to the Fogers." "That's all right. He may have, but he doesn't ask us to work it up. He says he will meet us in Logansville, and he can't if we don't go there. We're off for Logansville. Good-bye dad. I'll bring you back a souvenir, Mrs. Baggert," he called to the housekeeper. "Sorry you're not coming, Rad, but I'll take you next time." "Dat's all right, Massa Tom. I doan't laik dem smugger-fellers, nohow. Good-bye an' good luck!" "Bless my grab bag!" gasped Mr. Damon. "You certainly do things, Tom." "That's the only way to get things done," replied the young inventor. "How about you, Ned? Motor all right?" "Sure." "Then let her go!" A moment later Ned had started the machinery, and Tom, in the pilot house, had pulled the lever of the elevating rudder. Whizzing along, but making scarcely any sound, the noiseless airship mounted upward, and was off on her flight to capture the men who were cheating Uncle Sam. "What are you going to do first, when you get there, Tom?" asked Ned, as he joined his chum in the pilot house, having set the motor and other apparatus to working automatically. "I mean in Logansville?" "I don't know. I'll have to wait and see how things develop." "That's where Mr. Foger lives, you know." "Yes, but I doubt if he is there now. He and Andy are probably still in the old house here, though what they are doing is beyond me to guess." "What do you suppose this new clew is that Mr. Whitford wired you about?" "Haven't any idea. If he wants us to get after it he'll let us know. It won't take us long to get there at this rate. But I think I'll slow down a bit, for the motor is warmed up now, and there's no use racking it to pieces. But we're moving nicely; aren't we, Ned?" "I should say so. This is the best all-around airship you've got." "It is since I put the new motor in. Well, I wonder what will happen when we get chasing around nights after the smugglers? It isn't going to be easy work, I can tell you." "I should say not. How you going to manage it?" "Well, I haven't just decided. I'm going to have a talk with the customs men, and then I'll go out night after night and cruise around at the most likely place where they'll rush goods across the border. As soon as I see the outlines of an airship in the darkness, or hear the throb of her motor, I'll take after her, and--" "Yes, and you can do it, too, Tom, for she can't hear you coming and you can flash the big light on her and the smugglers will think the end of the world has come. Cracky! Its going to be great, Tom! I'm glad I came along. Maybe they'll fight, and fire at us! If they have guns aboard, as they probably will have, we'll--" "Bless my armor plate!" interrupted Mr. Damon. "Please don't talk about such hair-raising things, Ned! Talk about something pleasant." "All right," agreed Tom's chum, and then, as the airship sailed along, high above the earth, they talked of many things. "I think when we sight Logansville." said Tom, after a while, "that I will come down in some quiet spot, before we reach the city." "Don't you want to get into a crowd?" asked Ned. "No, it isn't that. But Mr. Foger lives there you know, and, though he may not be at home, there are probably some men who are interested in the thing he is working at." "You mean smuggling?" "Well, I wouldn't say that. At the same time it may have leaked out that we are after the smugglers in an airship and it may be that Mr. Whitford doesn't want the Fogers to know I'm on the ground until he has a chance to work up his clew. So I'll just go slowly, and remain in the background for a while." "Well, maybe it's a good plan," agreed Ned. [Original text says "Tom". (note of etext transcriber.)] "Of course," began Tom, "it would be--" He was interrupted by a shout from Koku, who had gone to the motor room, for the giant was as fascinated over machinery as a child. As he yelled there came a grinding, pounding noise, and the big ship seemed to waver, to quiver in the void, and to settle toward the earth. "Something's happened!" cried Ned, as he sprang for the place where most of the mechanism was housed. "Bless my toy balloon!" shouted Mr. Damon. "We're falling, Tom!" It needed but a glance at the needle of the barograph, to show this. Tom followed Ned at top speed, but ere either of them reached the engine room the pounding and grinding noises ceased, the airship began to mount upward again, and it seemed that the danger had passed. "What can have happened?" gasped Tom. "Come on, we'll soon see," said Ned, and they rushed on, followed by Mr. Damon, who was blessing things in a whisper. The chums saw a moment later--saw a strange sight--for there was Koku, the giant, kneeling down on the floor of the motor room, with his big hands clasped over one of the braces of the bed-plate of the great air pump, which cooled the cylinders of the motor. The pump had torn partly away from its fastenings. Kneeling there, pressing down on the bed-plate with all his might, Koku was in grave danger, for the rod of the pump, plunging up and down, was within a fraction of an inch of his head, and, had he moved, the big taper pin, which held the plunger to the axle, would have struck his temple and probably would have killed him, for the pin, which held the plunger rigid, projected several inches from the smooth side of the rod. "Koku, what is the matter? Why are you there?" cried Tom, for he could see nothing wrong with the machinery now. The airship was sailing on as before. "Bolt break," explained the giant briefly, for he had learned some engineering terms since he had been with Tom. "Bolt that hold pump fast to floor crack off. Pump him begin to jump up. Make bad noise. Koku hold him down, but pretty hard work. Better put in new bolt, Mr. Tom." They could see the strain that was put upon the giant in his swelling veins and the muscles of his hands and arms, for they stood out knotted, and in bunches. With all his great strength it was all Koku could do to hold the pump from tearing completely loose. "Quick, Ned!" cried Tom. "Shut off all the power! Stop the pump! I've got to bolt it fast. Start the gas machine, Mr. Damon. You know how to do it. It works independent of the motor. You can let go in a minute, Koku!" It took but a few seconds to do all this. Ned stopped the main motor, which had the effect of causing the propellers to cease revolving. Then the airship would have gone down but for the fact that she was now a balloon, Mr. Damon having started the generating machine which sent the powerful lifting gas into the big bag over head. "Now you can let go, Koku," said Tom, for with the stooping of the motor the air pump ceased plunging, and there was no danger of it tearing loose. "Bless my court plaster!" cried Mr. Damon. "What happened, Tom?" As the giant arose from his kneeling position the cause of the accident could easily be seen. Two of the big bolts that held down one end of the pump bed-plate to the floor of the airship, had cracked off, probably through some defect, or because of the long and constant vibration on them. This caused a great strain on the two forward bolts, and the pump started to tear itself loose. Had it done so there would have been a serious accident, for there would have been a tangle in the machinery that might never have been repairable. But Koku, who, it seems, had been watching the pump, saw the accident as soon as it occurred. He knew that the pump must be held down, and kept rigid, and he took the only way open to him to accomplish this. He pressed his big hands down over the place where the bolts had broken off, and by main strength of muscle he held the bed-plate in place until the power was shut off. "Koku, my boy, you did a great thing!" cried Tom, when he realized what had happened. "You saved all our lives, and the airship as well." "Koku glad," was the simple reply of the giant. "But, bless my witch hazel!" cried Mr. Damon. "There's blood on your hands, Koku!" They looked at the giant's palms. They were raw and bleeding. "How did it happen?" asked Ned. "Where belts break off, iron rough-like," explained Koku. "Rough! I should say it was!" cried Tom. "Why, he just pressed with all his might on the jagged end of the belts. Koku you're a hero!" "Hero same as giant?" asked Koku, curiously. "No, it's a heap sight better," spoke Tom, and there was a trace of tears in his eyes. "Bless my vaseline!" exclaimed Mr. Damon, blowing his nose harder than seemed necessary. "Come over here, Koku, and I'll bandage up your hands. Poor fellow, it must hurt a lot!" "Oh, not so bad," was the simple reply. While Mr. Damon gave first aid to the injured, Tom and Ned put new bolts in place of the broken ones on the bed-plate, and they tested them to see that they were perfect. New ones were also substituted for the two that had been strained, and in the course of an hour the repairs were made. "Now we can run as an aeroplane again," said Tom. "But I'm not going to try such speed again. It was the vibration that did it I guess." They were now over a wild and desolate stretch of country, for the region lying on either side of the imaginary line dividing Canada and New York State, at the point where the St. Lawrence flows north-east, is sparsely settled. There were stretches of forest that seemed never to have been penetrated, and here and there patches of stunted growth, with little lakes dotted through the wilderness. There were hills and valleys, small streams and an occasional village. "Just the place for smuggling," observed Tom, as he looked at a map, consulted a clock and figured out that they must be near Logansville. "We can go down here in one of these hollows, surrounded by this tangled forest, and no one would ever know we were here. The smugglers could do the same." "Are you going to try it?" asked Ned. "I think I will. We'll go up to quite a height now, and I'll see if I can pick out Logansville. That isn't much of a place I guess. When I sight it I'll select a good place to lay hidden for a day or two, until Mr. Whitford has had a chance to work up his clew." The airship machinery was now working well again, and Tom sent his craft up about three miles. From there, taking observations through a powerful telescope, he was able, after a little while, to pick out a small town. From its location and general outline he knew it to be Logansville. "We'll go down about three miles from it," he said to his chum. "They won't be likely to see us then, and we'll stay concealed for a while." This plan was put into operation, and, a little later the Falcon came to rest in a little grassy clearing, located in among a number of densely wooded hills. It was an ideal place to camp, though very lonesome. "Now, Ned, let's cut a lot of branches, and pile them over the airship," suggested Tom. "Cover over the airship? What for?" "So that in case anyone flies over our heads they won't look down and see us. If the Fogers, or any of the smugglers, should happen to pass over this place, they'd spot us in a minute. We've got to play foxy on this hunt." "That's so," agreed his chum; and soon the three of them were busy making the airship look like a tangled mass of underbrush. Koku helped by dragging big branches along under his arm, but he could not use his hands very well. They remained in the little grassy glade three days, thoroughly enjoying their camp and the rest. Tom and Ned went fishing in a nearby lake and had some good luck. They also caught trout in a small stream and broiled the speckled beauties with bacon inside them over live coals at a campfire. "My! But that's good!" mumbled Ned, with his mouth full of hot trout, and bread and butter. "Yes, I'd rather do this than chase smugglers," said Tom, stretching out on his back with his face to the sky. "I wish--" But he did not finish the sentence. Suddenly from the air above them came a curious whirring, throbbing noise. Tom sat up with a jump! He and Ned gazed toward the zenith. The noise increased and, a moment later, there came into view a big airship, sailing right over their heads. "Look at that!" cried Tom. "Hush! They'll hear you," cautioned Ned. "Nonsense! They're too high up," was Tom's reply. "Mr. Damon, bring me the big binoculars, please!" he called. "Bless my spectacles, what's up?" asked the odd gentleman as he ran with the glasses toward Tom. Our hero focused them on the airship that was swiftly sailing across the open space in the wilderness but so high up that there was no danger of our friends being recognized. Then the young inventor uttered a cry of astonishment. "It's Andy Foger!" he cried. "He's in that airship, and he's got two men with him. Andy Foger, and it's a new biplane. Say, maybe that's the new clew Mr. Whitford wired me about. We must get ready for action! Andy in a new airship means business, and from the whiteness of the canvas planes, I should say that craft was on its first trip." CHAPTER XII WARNED AWAY "Tom, are you sure it's Andy?" "Take a look yourself," replied the young inventor, passing his chum the binoculars. "Bless my bottle of ink!" cried Mr. Damon. "Is it possible?" "Quick, Ned, or you'll miss him!" cried Tom. The young bank clerk focused the glasses on the rapidly moving airship, and, a moment later, exclaimed: "Yes, that's Andy all right, but I don't know who the men are with him." "I couldn't recognize them, either," announced Tom. "But say, Ned, Andy's got a good deal better airship than he had before." "Yes. This isn't his old one fixed over. I don't believe he ever intended to repair the old one. That hiring of Mr. Dillon to do that, was only to throw him, and us, too, off the track." Ned passed the glasses to Mr. Damon, who was just in time to get a glimpse of the three occupants of Andy's craft before it passed out of sight over the trees. "I believe you're right," said Tom to his chum. "And did you notice that there's quite a body, or car, to that craft?" "Yes, room enough to carry considerable goods," commented Ned. "I wonder where he's going in it?" "To Logansville, most likely. I tell you what it is, Ned. I think one of us will have to go there, and see if Mr. Whitford has arrived. He may be looking for us. I'm not sure but what we ought not to have done this first. He may think we have not come, or have met with some accident." "I guess you're right, Tom. But how shall we go? It isn't going to be any fun to tramp through those woods," and Ned glanced at the wilderness that surrounded the little glade where they had been camping. "No, and I've about concluded that we might as well risk it, and go in the airship. Mr. Whitford has had time enough to work up his clew, I guess, and Andy will be sure to find out, sooner or later, that we are in the neighborhood. I say let's start for Logansville." Ned and Mr. Damon agreed with this and soon they were prepared to move. "Where will you find Mr. Whitford?" asked Ned of his chum, as the Falcon arose in the air. "At the post-office. That's where we arranged to meet. There is a sort of local custom house there, I believe." Straight over the forest flew Tom Swift and his airship, with the great searchlight housed on top. They delayed their start until the other craft had had a chance to get well ahead, and they were well up in the air; there was no sight of the biplane in which Andy had sailed over their heads a short time before. "Where are you going to land?" asked Ned, as they came in view of the town. "The best place I can pick out," answered Tom. "Just on the outskirts of the place, I think. I don't want to go down right in the centre, as there'll be such a crowd. Yet if Andy has been using his airship here the people must be more or less used to seeing them." But if the populace of Logansville had been in the habit of having Andy Foger sail over their heads, still they were enough interested in a new craft to crowd around when Tom dropped into a field near some outlying houses. In a moment the airship was surrounded by a crowd of women and children, and there would probably been a lot of men, but for the fact that they were away at work. Tom had come down in a residential section. "Say, that's a beauty!" cried one boy. "Let's see if they'll let us go on!" proposed another. "We're going to have our own troubles," said Tom to his chum. "I guess I'll go into town, and leave the rest of you on guard here. Keep everybody off, if you have to string mildly charged electrical wires about the rail." But there was no need to take this precaution, for, just as the combined juvenile population of that part of Logansville was prepared to storm, and board the Falcon, Koku appeared on deck. "Oh, look at the giant!" "Say, this is a circus airship?" "Wow! Ain't he big!" "I'll bet he could lift a house!" These and other expressions came from the boys and girls about the airship. The women looked on open-mouthed, and murmurs of surprise and admiration at Koku's size came from a number of men who had hastily run up. Koku stepped from the airship to the ground, and at once every boy and girl made a bee-line for safety. "That will do the trick!" exclaimed Tom with a laugh. "Koku, just pull up a few trees, and look as fierce as Bluebeard, and I guess we won't be troubled with curiosity seekers. You can guard the airship, Koku, better than electric wires." "I fix 'em!" exclaimed the giant, and he tried to look fierce, but it was hard work, for he was very good natured. But he proved a greater attraction than the aircraft, and Tom was glad of it, for he did not like meddlers aboard. "With Koku to help you, and Mr. Damon to bless things. I guess you can manage until I come back, Ned," said the young inventor, as he made ready to go in to town to see if Mr. Whitford had arrived. "Oh, we'll get along all right," declared Ned. "Don't worry." Tom found Mr. Whitford in one of the rooms over the post-office. The custom house official was restlessly pacing the floor. "Well, Tom!" he exclaimed, shaking hands, "I'm glad to see you. I was afraid something had happened. I was delayed myself, but when I did arrive and found you hadn't been heard from, I didn't know what to think. I couldn't get you on the wireless. The plant here is out of repair." Tom told of their trip, and the wait they had decided on, and asked: "What about the new clew; the Fogers?" "I'm sorry to say it didn't amount to anything. I ran it down, and came to nothing." "You know Andy has a new airship?" "Yes. I had men on the trail of it. They say Andy is agent for a firm that manufactures them, but I have my doubts. I haven't given up yet. But say, Tom, you've got to get busy. A big lot of goods was smuggled over last night." "Where?" "Well, quite a way from here. I got a telegram about it. Can you get on the job to-night, and do some patrol work along the border? You're only half a mile from it now. Over there is Canada," and he pointed to a town on a hill opposite Logansville. "Yes, I can get right into action. What place is that?" "Montford, Canada. I've got men planted there, and the Dominion customs officials are helping us. But I think the smugglers have changed the base of their operations for the time being. If I were you I'd head for the St. Lawrence to-night." "I will. Don't you want to come along?" "Why, yes. I believe I'm game. I'll join you later in the day," Mr. Whitford added, as Tom told him where the Falcon was anchored. The young inventor got back to find a bigger crowd than ever around his airship. But Koku and the others had kept them at a distance. With the government agent aboard Tom sent his craft into the air at dusk, the crowd cheering lustily. Then, with her nose pointed toward the St. Lawrence, the Falcon was on her way to do a night patrol, and, if possible, detect the smugglers. It was monotonous work, and unprofitable, for, though Tom sent the airship back and forth for many miles along the wonderful river that formed the path from the Great Lakes to the sea, he had no glimpse of ghostly wings of other aircraft, nor did he hear the beat of propellers, nor the throb of motors, as his own noiseless airship cruised along. It came on to rain after midnight, and a mist crept down from the clouds, so that even with the great searchlight flashing its powerful beams, it was difficult to see for any great distance. "Better give it up, I guess," suggested Mr. Whitford toward morning, when they had covered many miles, and had turned back toward Logansville. "All right," agreed Tom. "But we'll try it again to-morrow night." He dropped his craft at the anchorage he had selected in the gray dawn of the morning. All on board were tired and sleepy. Ned, looking from a window of the cabin, as the Falcon came to a stop, saw something white on the ground. "I wonder what that is?" he said as he hurried out to pick it up. It was a large white envelope, addressed to Tom Swift, and the name was in printed characters. "Somebody who wants to disguise their writing," remarked Tom, as he tore it open. A look of surprise came over his face. "Look here! Mr. Whitford," he cried. "This is the work of the smugglers all right!" For, staring at Tom, in big printed letters, on a white sheet of paper, was this message: "If you know what is good for you, Tom Swift, you had better clear out. If you don't your airship will burned, and you may get hurt. We'll burn you in mid-air. Beware and quit. You can't catch us." "THE COMMITTEE OF THREE." "Ha! Warned away!" cried Tom. "Well, it will take more than this to make me give up!" and he crumpled the anonymous warning in his hand. CHAPTER XIII KOKU SAVES THE LIGHT "Don't do that!" cried Mr. Whitford. "What?" asked Tom, in some surprise. "Don't destroy that letter. It may give us a clew. Let me have it. I'll put a man at work on that end of this game." "Bless my checkerboard!" cried Mr. Damon. "This game has so many ends that you don't know where to begin to play it." The government man smoothed out the crumpled piece of paper, and looked at it carefully, and also gazed at the envelope. "It's pretty hard to identify plain print, done with a lead pencil," he murmured. "And this didn't came through the mail." "I wonder how it got here?" mused Ned. "Maybe some of the crowd that was here when we started off dropped it for the smugglers. Maybe the smugglers were in that crowd!" "Let's take a look outside," suggested Mr. Whitford. "We may be able to pick up a clew there." Although our friends were tired and sleepy, and hungry as well, they forgot all this in the desire to learn more about the mysterious warning that had come to them during the night. They all went outside, and Ned pointed to where he had picked up the envelope. "Look all around, and see if you can find anything more," directed the custom agent. "Footprints won't count," said Tom. "There was a regular circus crowd out here yesterday." "I'm not looking for footprints," replied Mr. Whitford, "I have an idea--" "Here's something!" interrupted Mr. Damon. "It looks like a lead weight for a deep-sea fishing line. Bless my reel. No one could do fishing here." "Let me see that!" exclaimed Mr. Whitford eagerly. Then, as he looked at it, he uttered a cry of delight. "I thought so," he said. "Look at this bit of cord tied to the weight." "What does that signify?" asked Tom. "And see this little hole in the envelope, or, rather a place that was a hole, but it's torn away now." "I'm not much the wiser," confessed Ned, with a puzzled look. "Why, it's as plain as print," declared the government agent. "This warning letter was dropped from an airship, Tom." "From an airship?" "Yes. They sailed right over this place, and let the letter fall, with this lead weight attached, to bring it to earth just where they wanted it to fall." "Bless my postage stamp!" cried Mr. Damon. "I never heard of such a thing." "I see it now!" exclaimed Tom. "While we were off over the river, watching for the smugglers, they were turning a trick here, and giving us a warning into the bargain. We should have stayed around here. I wonder if it was Andy's airship that was used?" "We can easily find that out," said Mr. Whitford. "I have a detective stationed in a house not far from where the Fogers live. Andy came back from Shopton yesterday, just before you arrived here, and I can soon let you know whether he was out last night. I'll take this letter with me, and get right up to my office, though I'm afraid this won't be much of a clew after all. Print isn't like handwriting for evidence." "And to think they sailed right over this place, and we weren't home," mourned Tom. "It makes me mad!" But there was no use in regretting what had happened, and, after a hot breakfast in the airship, with Mr. Damon presiding at the electrical stove, they all felt more hopeful. Mr. Whitford left for his office, promising to send word to Tom as to whether or not Andy was abroad in the airship during the night. "I wonder if that 'Committee of Three' is Andy and these two fellows with him in the airship?" asked Ned. "Hard telling," responded his chum. "Now for a good sleep. Koku, keep the crowd away while we have a rest," for the giant had indulged in a good rest while the airship was on patrol during the night. Not so much of a crowd came out as on the first day, and Koku had little trouble in keeping them far enough away so that Tom and the others could get some rest. Koku walked about, brandishing a big club, and looking as fierce as a giant in a fairy tale. It was afternoon when a message came from Mr. Whitford to the effect that Andy's airship was not out the previous night, and that so far no clews had developed from the letter, or from any other source. "We'll just have to keep our eyes open," wrote Mr. Whitford. "I think perhaps we are altogether wrong about the Fogers, unless they are deeper than I give them credit for. It might be well to let the smugglers think you are frightened, and go away for a day or so, selecting a more secluded spot to remain in. That may cause them to get bolder, and we may catch them unawares." "That's a good plan. I'll try it," decided Tom. "We'll move to-morrow to a new location." "Why not to-night?" asked Ned. "Because it's getting late, and I want to circle about in daylight and pick out a good place. Morning will do all right." "Then you're not going out to-night?" "No. Mr. Whitford writes that as goods were smuggled over last night it will hardly be likely that they will repeat the trick to-night. We'll have a little rest." "Going to mount guard?" asked Ned. "No, I don't think so. No one will disturb us." Afterward the young inventor wished that he had kept a better watch that night, for it nearly proved disastrous for him. It must have been about midnight that Tom was awakened by a movement in the airship. "Who's that?" he asked suddenly. "Koku," came the reassuring reply. "Too hot to sleep in my bunk. I go out on deck." "All right, Koku," and Tom dozed off again. Suddenly he was awakened by the sound of a terrific scuffle on deck. Up he jumped, rushing toward the door that led from his sleeping cabin. "What is it! What's the matter!" he cried. There came the sound of a blow, a cry of pain, and then the report of a gun. "Bless my cartridge belt!" cried Mr. Damon. "What's the matter? Who is it? What happened?" yelled Ned, tumbling out of his bunk. "Something wrong!" answered Tom, as he switched on the electric lights. He was just in time to see Koku wrench a gun from a man who stood near the pedestal, on which the great searchlight was poised. Tossing the weapon aside, Koku caught up his club, and aimed a blow at the man. But the latter nimbly dodged and, a moment later leaped over the rail, followed by the giant. "Who is he? What did he do?" cried Tom after his big servant. "What happened?" "Him try to shoot searchlight, but I stop him!" yelled back Koku, as he rushed on in pursuit. With a leap Tom sprang to the switch of his lantern, and sent a flood of light toward where Koku was racing after the intruder. CHAPTER XIV A FALSE CLEW Full in the glare of the powerful beam from the light there was revealed the giant and the man he was pursuing. The latter neither Tom, nor any one on the airship, knew. All they could see was that he was racing away at top speed, with Koku vainly swinging his club at him. "Bless my chicken soup!" cried Mr. Damon. "Is anything damaged, Tom?" "No, Koku was too quick for him." yelled the youth, as he, too leaped over the rail and joined in the pursuit. "Stop! Stop!" called Koku to the man who had sought to damage the great searchlight. But the fellow knew better than to halt, with an angry giant so close behind him. He ran on faster than ever. Suddenly the stranger seemed to realize that by keeping in the path of the light he gave his pursuers a great advantage. He dodged to one side, off the path on which he had been running, and plunged into the bushes. "Where him go?" called Koku, coming to a puzzled halt. "Ned, play the light on both sides!" ordered Tom to his chum, who was now on the deck of the airship, near the wheels and levers that operated the big lantern. "Show him up!" Obediently the young bank clerk swung the searchlight from side to side. The powerful combined electric current, hissing into the big carbons, and being reflected by the parabolic mirrors, made the growth of underbrush as brightly illuminated as in day time. Tom detected a movement. "There he is, Koku!" he called to his giant servant. "Off there to the left. After him!" Raising his club on high, Koku made a leap for the place where the fugitive was hiding. As the man saw the light, and sprang forward, he was, for a moment, in the full glare of the rays. Then, just as the giant was about to reach him, Koku stumbled over a tree root, and fell heavily. "Never mind, I'll get him!" yelled Tom, but the next moment the man vanished suddenly, and was no longer to be seen in the finger of light from the lantern. He had probably dipped down into some hollow, lying there hidden, and as of course was out of the focus of the searchlight. "Come on, Koku, we'll find him!" exclaimed Tom, and together they made a search, Mr. Damon joining them, while Ned worked the lantern. But it was of no avail, for they did not find the stranger. "Well, we might as well go back," said Tom, at length. "We can't find him. He's probably far enough off by this time." "Who was he?" panted Mr. Damon, as he walked beside Tom and Koku to the airship. Ned had switched off the big light on a signal from the young inventor. "I don't know!" answered Tom. "But what did he want? What was he doing? I don't quite understand." "He wanted to put my searchlight out of commission," responded our hero. "From that I should argue that he was either one of the smugglers, or trying to aid them." And this theory was borne out by Mr. Whitford, who, on calling the next morning, was told of the occurrence of the night. Koku related how he had found it uncomfortable in his bunk, and had gone out on deck for air. There, half dozing, he heard a stealthy step. At once he was on the alert. He saw a man with a gun creeping along, and at first thought the fellow had evil designs on some of those aboard the Falcon. Then, when Koku saw the man aim at the big searchlight the giant sprang at him, and there was a scuffle. The gun went off, and the man escaped. An examination of the weapon he had left behind showed that it carried a highly explosive shell, which, had it hit the lantern, would have completely destroyed it, and might have damaged the airship. "It was the smugglers, without a doubt," declared Mr. Whitford. "You can't get away from this place any too soon, Tom. Get a new hiding spot, and I will communicate with you there." "But they are on the watch," objected Ned. "They'll see where we go, and follow us. The next time they may succeed in smashing the lantern." "And if they do," spoke Tom, "it will be all up with trying to detect the smugglers, for it would take me quite a while to make another searchlight. But I have a plan." "What is it?" asked the government agent. "I'll make a flight to-day," went on the young inventor, "and sail over quite an area. I'll pick out a good place to land, and we'll make our camp there instead of here. Then I'll come back to this spot, and after dark I'll go up, without a light showing. There's no moon to-night, and they'll have pretty good eyes if they can follow me, unless they get a searchlight, and they won't do that for fear of giving themselves away. We'll sail off in the darkness, go to the spot we have previously picked out, and drop down to it. There we can hide and I don't believe they can trace us." "But how can you find in the darkness, the spot you pick out in daylight?" Mr. Whitford wanted to know. "I'll arrange some electric lights, in a certain formation in trees around the landing place," said Tom. "I'll fix them with a clockwork switch, that will illuminate them at a certain hour, and they'll run by a storage battery. In that way I'll have my landing place all marked out, and, as it can only be seen from above, if any of the smugglers are on the ground, they won't notice the incandescents." "But if they are in their airship they will," said Mr. Damon. "Of course that's possible," admitted Tom, "but, even if they see the lights I don't believe they will know what they mean. And, another thing, I don't imagine they'll come around here in their airship when they know that we're in the neighborhood, and when the spy who endeavored to damage my lantern reports that he didn't succeed. They'll know that we are likely to be after them any minute." "That's so," agreed Ned. "I guess that's a good plan." It was one they adopted, and, soon after Mr. Whitford's visit the airship arose, with him on board, and Tom sent her about in great circles and sweeps, now on high and again, barely skimming over the treetops. During this time a lookout was kept for any other aircraft, but none was seen. "If they are spying on us, which is probably the case," said Tom, "they will wonder what we're up to. I'll keep 'em guessing. I think I'll fly low over Mr. Foger's house, and see if Andy has his airship there. We'll give him a salute." Before doing this, however, Tom had picked out a good landing place in a clearing in the woods, and had arranged some incandescent lights on high branches of trees. The lights enclosed a square, in the centre of which the Falcon was to drop down. Of course it was necessary to descend to do this, to arrange the storage battery and the clock switch. Then, so as to throw their enemies off their track, they made landings in several other places, though they did nothing, merely staying there as a sort of "bluff" as Ned called it. "They'll have their own troubles if they investigate every place we stopped at," remarked Tom, "and, even if they do hit on the one we have selected for our camp they won't see the lights in the trees, for they're well hidden." This work done, they flew back toward Logansville, and sailed over Andy's house. "There he is, on the roof, working at his airship!" exclaimed Ned, as they came within viewing distance, and, surely enough, there was the bully, tinkering away at his craft. Tom flew low enough down to speak to him, and, as the Falcon produced no noise, it was not difficult to make their voices heard. "Hello, Andy!" called Tom, as he swept slowly overhead. Andy looked up, but only scowled. "Nice day; isn't it?" put in Ned. "You get on away from here!" burst out the bully. "You are trespassing, by flying over my house, and I could have you arrested for it. Keep away." "All right," agreed Tom with a laugh. "Don't trespass by flying over our ship, Andy. We also might have a gun to shoot searchlights with," he added. Andy started, but did not reply, though Tom, who was watching him closely, thought he saw an expression of fear come over the bully's face. "Do you think it was Andy who did the shooting?" asked Ned. "No, he hasn't the nerve," replied Tom. "I don't know what to think about that affair last night." "Excepting that the smugglers are getting afraid of you, and want to get you out of the way," put in the custom official. That night, when it was very dark, the Falcon noiselessly made her way upward and sailed along until she was over the square in the forest, marked out by the four lights. Then Tom sent her safely down. "Now let 'em find us if they can!" the young inventor exclaimed, as he made the craft fast. "We'll turn in now, and see what happens to-morrow night." "I'll send you word, just as soon as I get any myself," promised Mr. Whitford, when he left the next morning. Tom and Ned spent the day in going over the airship, making some minor repairs to it, and polishing and oiling the mechanism of the searchlight, to have it in the best possible condition. It was about dusk when the wireless outfit, with which the Falcon was fitted, began snapping and cracking. "Here comes a message!" cried Tom, as he clapped the receiver over his head, and began to translate the dots and dashes. "It's from Mr. Whitford!" he exclaimed, when he had written it down, and had sent back an answer, "He says: 'Have a tip that smugglers will try to get goods over the border at some point near Niagara Falls to-morrow night. Can you go there, and cruise about? Better keep toward Lake Ontario also. I will be with you. Answer.'" "What answer did you send?" asked Ned. "I told him we'd be on the job. It's quite a little run to make, and we can't start until after dark, or otherwise some of the smugglers around here may see us, and tip off their confederates. But I guess we can make the distance all right." Mr. Whitford arrived at the airship the next afternoon, stating that he had news from one of the government spies to the effect that a bold attempt would be made that night. "They're going to try and smuggle some diamonds over on this trip," said the custom agent. "Well, we'll try to nab them!" exclaimed Tom. As soon as it was dark enough to conceal her movements, the Falcon was sent aloft, not a light showing, and, when on high, Tom started the motor at full speed. The great propellers noiselessly beat the air, and the powerful craft was headed for Lake Ontario. "They're pretty good, if they attempted to cross the lake to-night," observed the young inventor, as he looked at the barometer. "Why so?" asked Ned. "Because there's a bad storm coming up. I shouldn't want to risk it. We'll keep near shore. We can nab them there as good as over the lake." This plan was adopted, and as soon as they reached the great body of water--the last in the chain of the Great Lakes--Tom cruised about, he and Ned watching through powerful night glasses for a glimpse of another airship. Far into the night they sailed about, covering many miles, for Tom ran at almost top speed. They sailed over Niagara Falls, and then well along the southern shore of Ontario, working their way north-east and back again. But not a sign of the smugglers did they see. Meanwhile the wind had arisen until it was a gale, and it began to rain. Gently at first the drops came down, until at length there was a torrent of water descending from the overhead clouds. But those in the Falcon were in no discomfort. "It's a bad storm all right!" exclaimed Tom, as he looked at the barometer, and noted that the mercury was still falling. "Yes, and we have had our trouble for our pains!" declared Mr. Whitford. "What do you mean?" "I mean I believe that we have been deceived by a false clew. The smugglers probably had no intention of getting goods across at this point to-night. They saw to it that my agent got false information, believing that we would follow it, and leave the vicinity of Logansville." "So they could operate there?" asked Tom. "That's it," replied the agent. "They drew us off the scent. There's no help for it. We must get back as soon as we can. My! This is a bad storm!" he added, as a blast careened the airship. CHAPTER XV THE RESCUE ON THE LAKE For a time the Falcon shot onward through the storm and darkness, for Tom did not want to give up. With but a single shaded light in the pilot house, so that he could see to read the gauges and dials, telling of the condition of the machinery in the motor room, he pushed his stanch craft ahead. At times she would be forced downward toward the angry waters of Lake Ontario, over which she was sailing, but the speed of her propellers and the buoyancy of the gas bag, would soon lift her again. "How much longer are you going to stay?" called Ned in his chum's ear--called loudly, not to be heard above the noise of the airship, but above the racket of the gale. "Oh, I guess we may as well start back," spoke Tom, after a look at the clock on the wall. "We can just about make our camp by daylight, and they won't see us." "It won't be light very early," observed Mr. Whitford, looking in the pilot house from the cabin, just aft of it. "But there is no use waiting around here any more, Tom. They gave us a false clew, all right." "Bless my police badge!" cried Mr. Damon. "They must be getting desperate." "I believe they are," went on the custom officer. "They are afraid of us, and that's a good sign. We'll keep right after 'em, too. If we don't get 'em this week, we will next. Better put back." "I will," decided the young inventor. "It certainly is a gale," declared Ned, as he made his way along a dim passage, as few lights had been set aglow, for fear of the smugglers seeing the craft outlined in the air. Now, however, when it was almost certain that they were on the wrong scent, Tom switched on the incandescents, making the interior of the Falcon more pleasant. The giant came into the pilot house to help Tom, and the airship was turned about, and headed toward Logansville. The wind was now sweeping from the north across Lake Ontario, and it was all the powerful craft could do to make headway against it. There came a terrific blast, which, in spite of all that Tom and Koku could do, forced the Falcon down, dangerously close to the dashing billows. "Hard over, Koku!" called Tom to his giant. As the airship began to respond to the power of her propellers, and the up-tilted rudder, Tom heard, from somewhere below him, a series of shrill blasts on a whistle. "What's that?" he cried. "Sounds like a boat below us," answered Mr. Whitford. "I guess it is," agreed the young inventor. "There she goes again." Once more came the frantic tooting of a whistle, and mingled with it could be heard voices shouting in fear, but it was only a confused murmur of sound. No words could be made out. "That's a compressed air whistle!" decided Tom. "It must be some sort of a motor boat in distress. Quick, Mr. Whitford! Tell Ned to switch on the searchlight, and play it right down on the lake. If there's a boat in this storm it can't last long. Even an ocean liner would have trouble. Get the light on quick, and we'll see what we can do!" It was the work of but an instant to convey the message to Ned. The latter called Mr. Damon to relieve him in the motor room, and, a few seconds later, Ned had switched on the electricity. By means of the lazy-tongs, and the toggle joints, the bank clerk lifted the lantern over until the powerful beam from it was projected straight down into the seething waters of the lake. "Do you see anything?" asked Mr. Damon from the motor room, at one side of which Ned stood to operate the lantern. "Nothing but white-caps," was the answer. "It's a fearful storm." Once more came the series of shrill whistles, and the confused calling of voices. Ned opened a window, in order to hear more plainly. As the whistle tooted again he could locate the sound, and, by swinging the rays of the searchlight to and fro he finally picked up the craft. "There she is!" he cried, peering down through the plate glass window in the floor of the motor room. "It's a small gasolene boat, and there are several men in her! She's having a hard time." "Can we rescue them?" asked Mr. Damon. "If anybody can, Tom Swift will," was Ned's reply. Then came a whistle from the speaking tube, that led to the pilot house. "What is it?" asked Ned, putting the tube to his ear. "Stand by for a rescue!" ordered Tom, who had also, through a window in the floor of the pilot house, seen the hapless motor boat. The men in it were frantically waving their hands to those on the airship. "I'm going down as close as I dare," went on Tom. "You watch, and when it's time, have Koku drop from the stern a long, knotted rope. That will be a sort of ladder, and they can make it fast to their boat and climb up, hand over hand. It's the only plan." "Good!" cried Ned. "Send Koku to me. Can you manage alone in the pilot house?" "Yes," came back the answer through the tube. Koku came back on the run, and was soon tying knots in a strong rope. Meanwhile Ned kept the light on the tossing boat, while Tom, through a megaphone had called to the men to stand by to be rescued. The whistle frantically tooted their thanks. Koku went out on the after deck, and, having made the knotted rope fast, dropped the end overboard. Then began a difficult feature of airship steering. Tom, looking down through the glass, watched the boat in the glare of the light. Now coming forward, now reversing against the rush of the wind; now going up, and now down, the young inventor so directed the course of his airship so that, finally, the rope dragged squarely across the tossing boat. In a trice the men grabbed it, and made it fast. Then Tom had another difficult task--that of not allowing the rope to become taut, or the drag of the boat, and the uplift of the airship might have snapped it in twain. But he handled his delicate craft of the air as confidently as the captain of a big liner brings her skillfully to the deck against wind and tide. "Climb up! Climb up!" yelled Tom, through the megaphone, and he saw, not a man, but a woman, ascending the knotted rope, hand over hand, toward the airship that hovered above her head. CHAPTER XVI KOKU'S PRISONER "Bless my knitting needles!" cried Mr. Damon, as he looked down, and saw, in the glare of the great light, the figure of the woman clinging to the swaying rope. "Help her, someone! Tom! Ned! She'll fall!" The eccentric man started to rush from the motor room, where he had been helping Ned. But the latter cried: "Stay where you are, Mr. Damon. No one can reach her now without danger to himself and her. She can climb up, I think." Past knot after knot the woman passed, mounting steadily upward, with a strength that seemed remarkable. "Come on!" cried Tom to the others. "Don't wait until she gets up. There isn't time. Come on--the rope will hold you all! Climb up!" The men in the tossing and bobbing motor boat heard, and at once began, one after the other, to clamber up the rope. There were five of them, as could be seen in the glare of the light, and Tom, as he watched, wondered what they were doing out in the terrific storm at that early hour of the morning, and with a lone woman. "Stand by to help her, Koku!" called Ned to the giant. "I help," was the giant's simple reply, and as the woman's head came above the rail, over which the rope ran, Koku, leaning forward, raised her in his powerful arms, and set her carefully on the deck. "Come into the cabin, please," Ned called to her. "Come in out of the wet." "Oh, it seems a miracle that we are saved!" the woman gasped, as, rain-drenched and wind-tossed, she staggered toward the door which Tom had opened by means of a lever in the pilot house. The young inventor had his hands full, manipulating the airship so as to keep it above the motor boat, and not bring too great a strain on the rope. The woman passed into the cabin, which was between the motor room and the pilot house, and Ned saw her throw herself on her knees, and offer up a fervent prayer of thanksgiving. Then, springing to her feet, she cried: "My husband? Is he safe? Can you save him? Oh, how wonderful that this airship came in answer to our appeals to Providence. Whose is it?" Before Ned got a chance to answer her, as she came to the door of the motor room, a man's voice called: "My wife! Is she safe?" "Yes, here I am," replied the woman, and a moment later the two were in each other's arms. "The others; are they safe?" gasped the woman, after a pause. "Yes," replied the man. "They are coming up the rope. Oh, what a wonderful rescue! And that giant man who lifted us up on deck! Oh, do you recall in Africa how we were also rescued by airship--" "Come on now, I got you!" interrupted the voice of Koku out on the after deck, and there was a series of thumps that told when he had lifted the men over the rail, and set them down. "All saved!" cried the giant at last. "Then cut the rope!" shouted Tom. "We've got to get out of this, for it's growing worse!" There was the sound of a hatchet blow, and the airship shot upward. Into the cabin came the dripping figures of the other men, and Ned, as he stood by the great searchlight, felt a wave of wonder sweep over him as he listened to the voices of the first man and woman. He knew he had heard them before, and, when he listened to the remark about a rescue by airship, in Africa, a flood of memory came to him. "Can it be possible that these are the same missionaries whom Tom and I rescued from the red pygmies?" he murmured. "I must get a look at them." "Our boat, it is gone I suppose," remarked one of the other men, coming into the motor room. "I'm afraid so," answered Ned, as he played the light on the doomed craft. Even as he did so he saw a great wave engulf her, and, a moment later she sank. "She's gone," he said softly. "Too bad!" exclaimed the man. "She was a fine little craft. But how in the world did you happen along to rescue us? Whose airship is this?" "Tom Swift's," answered Ned, and, at the sound of the name the woman uttered a cry, as she rushed into the motor room. "Tom Swift!" she exclaimed. "Where is he? Oh, can it be possible that it is the same Tom Swift that rescued us in Africa?" "I think it is, Mrs. Illingway," spoke Ned quietly, for he now recognized the missionary, though he wondered what she and her husband were doing so far from the Dark Continent. "Oh, I know you--you're Ned Newton--Tom's chum! Oh, I am so glad! Where is Tom?" "In the pilot house. He'll be here in a moment." Tom came in at that juncture, having set the automatic steering geer to take the ship on her homeward course. "Are they all saved?" he asked, looking at the little group of persons who had climbed up from the motor boat. "Mr. Damon, you had better make some hot coffee. Koku, you help. I--" "Tom Swift!" cried out Mr. and Mrs. Illingway together, as they made a rush for the young inventor. "Don't you know us?" To say that Tom was surprised at this, would be putting it mildly. He had to lean up against the side of the cabin for support. "Mrs. Illingway!" he gasped. "You here--were you in that boat?" "Yes. it's all very simple. My husband and I are on a vacation for a year. We got fever and had to leave Africa. We are staying with friends at a resort on the lake shore. These are our friends," she went on, introducing the other gentlemen. "We went out for a trip in the motor boat," the missionary continued, "but we went too far. Our motor broke down, we could get no help, and the storm came up. We thought we were doomed, until we saw your lights. I guessed it was a balloon, or some sort of an airship, and we whistled; and called for help. Then you rescued us! Oh, it is almost too wonderful to believe. It is a good thing I have practiced athletics or I never could have climbed that rope." "It is like a story from a book!" added Mr. Illingway, as he grasped Tom's hand. "You rescued us in Africa and again here." I may say here that the African rescue is told in detail in the volume entitled, "Tom Swift and His Electric Rifle." The shipwrecked persons were made as comfortable as possible. There was plenty of room for them, and soon they were sitting around warm electric heaters, drinking hot coffee, and telling their adventures over again. Mr. and Mrs. Illingway said they soon expected to return to Africa. Tom told how he happened to be sailing over the lake, on the lookout for smugglers, and how he had been disappointed. "And it's a good thing you were--for our sakes," put in Mrs. Illingway, with a smile. "Where do you want to be landed?" asked Tom. "I don't want to take you all the way back to Logansville." "If you will land us anywhere near a city or town, we can arrange to be taken back to our cottage," said one of the men, and Tom sent the airship down until, in the gray dawn of the morning, they could pick out a large village on the lake shore. Then, in much better condition than when they had been saved, the rescued ones alighted, showering Tom and the others with thanks, and sought a hotel. "And now for our camp, and a good rest!" cried the young inventor, as he sent the airship aloft again. They reached their camp in the forest clearing without having been observed, as far as they could learn, and at once set about making things snug, for the storm was still raging. "I don't believe any of the smugglers were abroad last night," remarked Mr. Whitford, as he prepared to go back into town, he having come out on horseback, leaving the animal over night in an improvised stable they had made in the woods of boughs and tree branches. "I hope not," replied Tom, but the next day, when the government agent called again, his face wore a look of despair. "They put a big one over on us the night of the rescue." he said. "They flew right across the border near Logansville, and got away with a lot of goods. They fooled us all right." "Can you find out who gave the wrong tip?" asked Tom. "Yes, I know the man. He pretended to be friendly to one of my agents, but he was only deceiving him. But we'll get the smugglers yet!" "That's what we will!" cried Tom, determinedly. Several days passed, and during the night time Tom, in his airship, and with the great searchlight aglow, flew back and forth across the border, seeking the elusive airships, but did not see them. In the meanwhile he heard from Mr. and Mrs. Illingway, who sent him a letter of thanks, and asked him to come and see them, but, much as Tom would liked to have gone, he did not have the time. It was about a week after the sensational rescue, when one evening, as Tom was about to get ready for a night flight, he happened to be in the pilot house making adjustments to some of the apparatus. Mr. Damon and Ned had gone out for a walk in the woods, and Mr. Whitford had not yet arrived. As for Mr. Koku, Tom did not know where his giant servant was. Suddenly there was a commotion outside. A trampling in the bushes, and the breaking of sticks under feet. "I got you now!" cried the voice of the giant. Tom sprang to the window of the pilot house. He saw Koku tightly holding a man who was squinting about, and doing his best to break away. But it was useless. When Koku got hold of any one, that person had to stay. "What is it, Koku!" cried Tom. "I got him!" cried the giant. "He sneaking up on airship, but I come behind and grab him," and Koku fairly lifted his prisoner off his feet and started with him toward the Falcon. CHAPTER XVII WHAT THE INDIAN SAW "Hello!" cried Tom. "What's up, Koku?" "Him up!" replied the giant with a laugh, as he looked at his squirming prisoner, whose feet he had lifted from the ground. "No, I mean what was he doing?" went on Tom, with a smile at the literal way in which the giant had answered his question. "I wasn't doing anything!" broke in the man. "I'd like to know if I haven't a right to walk through these woods, without being grabbed up by a man as big as a mountain? There'll be something up that you won't like, if you don't let me go, too!" and he struggled fiercely, but he was no match for giant Koku. "What was he doing?" asked Tom of his big servant, ignoring the man. Tom looked closely at him, however, but could not remember to have seen him before. "I walking along in woods, listen to birds sing," said Koku simply, taking a firmer hold on his victim. "I see this fellow come along, and crawl through grass like so a snake wiggle. I to myself think that funny, and I watch. This man he wiggle more. He wiggle more still, and then he watch. I watch too. I see him have knife in hand, but I am no afraid. I begin to go like snake also, but I bigger snake than he." "I guess so," laughed Tom, as he watched the man trying in vain to get out of Koku's grip. "Then I see man look up at balloon bag, so as if he like to cut it with knife. I say to myself, 'Koku, it is time for you to go into business for yourself.' You stand under me?" "I understand!" exclaimed Tom. "You thought it was time for you to get busy." "Sure," replied Koku. "Well, I get business, I give one jump, and I am so unlucky as to jump with one foot on him, but I did not mean it. I go as gentle as I can." "Gentle? You nearly knocked the wind out of me!" snarled the prisoner. "Gentle! Huh!" "I guess he was the unlucky one, instead of you," put in Tom. "Well, what happened next?" "I grab him, and--he is still here," said Koku simply. "He throw knife away though." "I see," spoke Tom. "Now will you give an account of yourself, or shall I hand you over to the police?" he asked sternly of the man. "What were you sneaking up on us in that fashion for?" "Well, I guess this isn't your property!" blustered the man. "I have as good a right here as you have, and you can't have me arrested for that." "Perhaps not," admitted Tom. "You may have a right on this land, but if you are honest, and had no bad intentions, why were you sneaking up, trying to keep out of sight? And why did you have a big knife?" "That's my business, young man." "All right, then I'll make it MY business, too," went on the young inventor. "Hold him, Koku, until I can find Mr. Damon, or Ned, and I'll see what's best to be done. I wish Mr. Whitford was here." "Aren't you going to let me go?" demanded the man. "I certainly am not!" declared Tom firmly. "I'm going to find out more about you. I haven't any objections to any one coming to look at my airship, out of curiosity, but when they come up like a snake in the grass and with a big knife, then I get suspicious, and I want to know more about them." "Well, you won't know anything more about me!" snarled the fellow. "And it will be the worse for you, if you don't let me go. You'd better!" he threatened. "Don't pay any attention to him, Koku," said Tom. "Maybe you'd better tie him up. You'll find some rope in the motor room." "Don't you dare tie me up!" blustered the prisoner. "Go ahead and tie him," went on Tom. "You'll be free to guard the ship then. I'll go for Ned and Mr. Damon." "Tie who up? What's the matter?" asked a voice, and a moment later the government agent came along the woodland path on his horse. "What's up, Tom? Have you captured a wild animal?" "Not exactly a wild animal. Mr. Whitford. But a wild man. I'm glad you came along. Koku has a prisoner." And Tom proceeded to relate what had happened. "Sneaking up on you with a knife; eh? I guess he meant business all right, and bad business, too," said Mr. Whitford. "Let me get a look at him, Tom," for Koku had taken his prisoner to the engine room, and there, amid a storm of protests and after a futile struggle on the part of the fellow, had tied him securely. Tom and the custom officer went in to look at the man, just as Ned and Mr. Damon came back from their stroll in the woods. It was rapidly getting dusk, and was almost time for the start of the usual flight, to see if any trace could be had of the smugglers. "There he is," said Tom, waving his hand toward the bound man who sat in a chair in one corner of the motor room. The young inventor switched on the light, and a moment later Mr. Whitford exclaimed: "Great Scott! It's Ike Shafton!" "Do you know him?" asked Tom eagerly. "Know him? I should say I did! Why he's the man who pretended to give one of my men information about smugglers that drew us off on the false scent. He pretended to be for the government, and, all the while, he was in with the smugglers! Know him? I should say I did!" A queer change had come over the prisoner at the sight of Mr. Whitford. No longer was Shafton surly and blustering. Instead he seemed to slink down in his chair, bound as he was, as if trying to get out of sight. "Why did you play double?" demanded the government agent, striding over to him. "I--I--don't hit me!" whined Shafton. "Hit you! I'm not going to hit you!" exclaimed Mr. Whitford, "but I'm going to search you, and then I'm going to wire for one of my men to take you in custody." "I--I didn't do anything!" "You didn't; eh? Well, we'll see what the courts think of giving wrong information to Uncle Sam with the intent to aid criminals. Let's see what he's got in his pockets." The spy did not have much, but at a sight of one piece of paper Mr. Whitford uttered a cry of surprise. "Ha! This is worth something!" he exclaimed. "It may be stale news, and it may be something for the future, but it's worth trying. I wonder I didn't think of that before." "What is it?" asked Tom. For answer the custom officer held out a scrap of paper on which was written one word. ST. REGIS. "What does it mean," asked Ned, who, with Mr. Damon, had entered the motor room, and stood curiously regarding the scene. "Bless my napkin ring!" said the odd man. "That's the name of a hotel. Do you suppose the smugglers are stopping there?" "Hardly," replied Mr. Whitford with a smile. "But St. Regis is the name of an Indian reservation in the upper part of New York state, right on the border, and in the corner where the St. Lawrence and the imaginary dividing line between New York and Canada join. I begin to see things now. The smugglers have been flying over the Indian Reservation, and that's why they have escaped us so far. We never thought of that spot. Tom, I believe we're on the right track at last! Shafton was probably given this to inform him where the next trick would be turned, so he could get us as far away as possible, or, maybe prevent us leaving at all." An involuntary start on the part of the prisoner seemed to confirm this, but he kept silent. "Of course," went on Mr. Whitford, "they may have already flown over the St. Regis reservation, and this may be an old tip, but it's worth following up." "Why don't you ask him?" Tom wanted to know, as he nodded toward Shafton. "He wouldn't tell the truth. I'll put him where he can't get away to warn his confederates, and then we'll go to the reservation. And to think that my man trusted him!" Mr. Whitford was soon in communication with his headquarters by means of the wireless apparatus on Tom's airship, and a little later two custom officers arrived, with an extra horse on which they were to take their prisoner back. "And now we'll try our luck once more," said Mr. Whitford as his men left with Shafton securely bound. "Can you make the reservation in good time, Tom? It's quite a distance," and he pointed it out on the map. "Oh, I'll do it," promised the young inventor, as he sent his powerful craft aloft in the darkness. Then, with her nose pointed in the right direction, the Falcon beat her way forward through the night, flying silently, with the great searchlight ready for instant use. In comparatively short time, though it was rather late at night, they reached the St. Lawrence, and then it was an easy matter to drop down into the midst of the reservation grounds. Though the redmen, whom the state thus quartered by themselves, had all retired, they swarmed out of their cabins as the powerful light flashed back and forth. "We want to question some of the head men of the tribe," said Mr. Whitford. "I know some of them, for on several occasions I've had to come here to look into rumors that tobacco and liquor and other contraband goods dear to the Indian heart were smuggled into the reservation against the law. I never caught any of them at it though." With guttural exclamations, and many grunts of surprise, the redmen gathered around the big airship. It was too much even for their usual reserve, and they jabbered among themselves. "How Big Foot!" greeted the custom officer, to one Indian who had an extremely large left foot. "How!" "How!" responded the Indian, with a grunt. "Plenty much fine air-bird; eh?" and the agent waved his hand toward the Falcon. "Yep. Plenty much big." "Big Foot never see bird like this; eh?" "Oh sure. Big Foot see before many times. Huh!" "What! Has he seen this before?" asked Tom. "No. Wait a minute," cautioned Mr. Whitford. "I'm on the track of something. Big Foot see air-bird like this?" he questioned. "Sure. Fly over Indians' land many times. Not same as him," and he nodded toward Tom's ship, "but plenty much like. Make heap noise. Come down once--break wheel mebby. Indians help fix. Indians get firewater. You got firewater in your air-bird?" "No firewater, but maybe we've got some tobacco, if you tell us what we want to know, Big Foot. And so you've seen air-birds flying around here before?" "Sure, Heap times. We all see," and he waved his hand to indicate the redmen gathered around him. There came grunts of confirmation. "We're getting there!" exclaimed Mr. Whitford to Tom. "We're on the right track now. Which way air-birds come, Big Foot?" "Over there," and he pointed toward Canada. "Which way go?" "Over there," and he pointed toward the east, in the direction of Shopton, as much as anywhere. "That's what we want to know. Tom, we'll just hang around here for a while, until one of the smugglers' airships pass over head. I believe one is due to-night, and that's why Shafton had that paper. It was sent to him to tip him off. He was sneaking up, trying to put your airship out of commission when Koku caught him. These Indians have used their eyes to good advantage. I think we're on the trail at last." "Baccy for Big Foot?" asked the redman. "Yes, plenty of it. Tom, give them some of Koku's, will you? I'll settle with you later," for the giant had formed a liking for the weed, and Tom did not have the heart to stop him smoking a pipe once in a while. With his usual prodigality, the giant had brought along a big supply, and some of this was soon distributed among the Indians, who grunted their thanks. CHAPTER XVIII THE PURSUIT "What plan have you in mind?" asked Tom of Mr. Whitford, when some of the Indians had gone back to their shanties, leaving a few staring curiously at the airship, as she rested on the ground, bathed in the glow of her electric lights. "Well, I think the best thing we can do is just to stay right here, Tom; all night if need be. As Big Foot says, there have been airships passing overhead at frequent intervals. Of course that is not saying that they were the smugglers, but I don't see who else they could be. There's no meet going on, and no continental race. They must be the smugglers." "I think so," put in Ned. "Bless my diamond ring!" exclaimed Mr. Damon. "But what are you going to do when you see them overhead?" "Take after them, of course!" exclaimed Tom. "That's what we're here for; isn't it Mr. Whitford?" "Yes. Do you think you can rise from the ground, and take after them in time to stand a chance of overhauling them, Tom? You know they may go very fast." "I know, but I don't believe they can beat the Falcon. I'd rather wait down here than hover in the air. It isn't as dark as it was the other night, and they might see us with their glasses. Then they would turn back, and we'd have our trouble for nothing. They've actually got to cross the border with smuggled goods before the law can touch them; haven't they?" "Yes, I couldn't arrest them on Canadian territory, or over it. I've got to get them on this side of the border. So perhaps it will be as well to lie here. But do you suppose you can hear them or see them, as they fly over?" "I'm pretty sure I can. The sound of their motor and the whizz of the propellers carries for some distance. And then, too, I'm going to set the searchlight to play a beam up in the air. If that gets focused on 'em, we'll spot 'em all right." "But suppose they see it, and turn back?" "I don't believe they will. The beam will come from the ground straight upward you know, and they won't connect it with my ship." "But that fellow who was sneaking up when Koku caught him, may find some way to warn them that you have come here," suggested Ned. "He won't get much chance to communicate with his friends, while my men have him," said Mr. Whitford significantly. "I guess we'll take a chance here, Tom." So it was arranged. Everything on the airship was gotten ready for a quick flight, and then Tom set his great searchlight aglow once more. Its powerful beams cut upward to the clouds, making a wonderful illumination. "Now all we have to do is to wait and watch," remarked Tom, as he came back from a last inspection of the apparatus in the motor room. "And that is sometimes the hardest kind of work," said Mr. Whitford. "Many a time I have been watching for smugglers for days and nights at a stretch, and it was very wearying. When I got through, and caught my man, I was more tired than if I had traveled hundreds of miles. Just sitting around, and waiting is tiresome work." The others agreed with him, and then the custom officer told many stories of his experiences, of the odd places smugglers would hit upon to conceal the contraband goods, and of fights he had taken part in. "Diamonds and jewels, from their smallness, and from the great value, and the high duty on them when brought into the United States, form the chief articles of the high class smugglers," he said. "In fact the ones we are after have been doing more in diamonds than anything else, though they have, of late, brought much valuable hand-made lace. That can be bought comparatively cheap abroad, and if they can evade paying Uncle Sam the duty on it, they can sell it in the United States at a large profit." "But the government has received so many complaints from legitimate dealers, who can not stand this unfair competition, that we have been ordered to get the smugglers at any cost." "They are sharp rascals," commented Mr. Damon. "They seem to be making more efforts since Tom Swift got on their trail." "But, just the same, they are afraid of him, and his searchlight," declared Mr. Whitford. "I guess they fancied that when they took to airships to get goods across the border that they would not be disturbed. But two can play at that game." The talk became general, with pauses now and then while Tom swept the sky with the great searchlight, the others straining their eyes for a sight of the smugglers' airships. But they saw nothing. The young inventor had just paid a visit to the pilot house, to see that his wheels and guiding levers were all right, and was walking back toward the stern of the ship, when he heard a noise there, and the fall of a heavy body. "Who's that?" he cried sharply. "Is that you, Koku?" A grunt was the only answer, and, as Tom called the giant's name the big man came out. "What you want, Mr. Tom?" he asked. "I thought you were at the stern," spoke Tom. "Someone is there. Ned, throw the light on the stern!" he called sharply. In a moment that part of the ship was in a bright glare and there, in the rays of the big lantern, was stretched out Big Foot, the Indian, comfortably sleeping. "Here! What are you doing?" demanded Mr. Whitford, giving him a vigorous shake. "Me sleep!" murmured Big Foot. "Lemme be! Me sleep, and take ride to Happy Hunting Grounds in air-bird. Go 'way!" "You'll have to sleep somewhere else, Big Foot," spoke the agent with a laugh. "Koku, put him down under one of the trees over there. He can finish his nap in the open, it's warm." The Indian only protested sleepily, as the giant carried him off the ship, and soon Big Foot was snoring under the trees. "He's a queer chap," the custom officer said. "Sometimes I think he's a little off in his head. But he's good natured." Once more they resumed their watching. It was growing more and more wearisome, and Tom was getting sleepy, in spite of himself. Suddenly the silence of the night was broken by a distant humming and throbbing sound. "Hark!" cried Ned. They all listened intently. "That's an airship, sure enough!" cried Tom. He sprang to the lever that moved the lantern, which had been shut off temporarily. An instant later a beam of light cut the darkness. The throbbing sounded nearer. "There they are!" cried Ned, pointing from a window toward the sky. A moment later, right into the glare of the light, there shot a powerful biplane. "After 'em, Tom!" shouted Mr. Whitford. Like a bird the Falcon shot upward in pursuit noiselessly and resistlessly, the beam of the great searchlight playing on the other craft, which dodged to one side in an endeavor to escape. "On the trail at last!" cried Tom, as he shoved over the accelerator lever, sending his airship forward on an upward slant, right at the stern of the smugglers' biplane. CHAPTER XIX IN DIRE PERIL Upward shot the Falcon. With every revolution of her big propellers she came nearer and nearer to the fleeing craft of the supposed smugglers who were using every endeavor to escape. "Do you think you can catch them, Tom?" asked Mr. Whitford as he stood at the side of our hero in the pilot house, and looked upward and forward to where, bathed in the light of the great search-lantern, the rival craft was beating the air. "I'm sure we can--unless something happens." "Bless my overshoes! What can happen?" asked Mr. Damon, who, after finding that everything in the motor room was running smoothly, had come forward. Ned was attending to the searchlight. "What can happen, Tom?" "Almost anything, from a broken shaft to a short-circuited motor. Only, I hope nothing does occur to prevent us from catching them." "You don't mean to say that you're actually going to try to catch them, do you, Tom?" asked the custom officer, "I thought if we could trail them to the place where they have been delivering the goods, before they shipped them to Shopton we'd be doing well. But I never thought of catching them in mid-air." "I'm going to try it," declared the young inventor. "I've got a grappling anchor on board," he went on, "attached to a meter and windlass. If I can catch that anchor in any part of their ship I can bring them to a stop, just as a fisherman lands a trout. Only I've got to get close enough to make a cast, and I want to be above them when I do it." "Don't you think you can catch them, Tom?" asked Mr. Damon. "Well, I'm pretty sure I can, and yet they seem to have a faster biplane than I gave them credit for. I guess I'll have to increase our speed a little," and he shifted a lever which made the Falcon shoot along at nearly doubled speed. Still the other airship kept ahead, not far, but sufficiently so to prevent the grappling anchor from being tossed at her rail. "I wonder if they are the smugglers?" questioned Mr. Damon. "It might be possible, Tom, that we're chasing the wrong craft." "Possible, but not probable," put in Mr. Whitford. "After the clew we got, and what the Indians told us, and then to have a biplane come sailing over our heads at night, it's pretty sure to be the one we want. But, Tom, can't you close up on 'em?" "I'm going to try. The machinery is warmed up now, and I'll send it to the limit." Once more he adjusted the wheels and levers, and at his touch the Falcon seemed to gain new strength. She fairly soared through the air. Eagerly those in the pilot house watched the craft they were pursuing. She could be seen, in the glare of the big searchlight, like some bird of gloom and evil omen, fluttering along ahead of them. "They certainly have a fine motor!" cried Tom. "I was sure I could have caught up to them before this." "How do you account for it?" asked Mr. Damon. "Well, they're flying a good deal lighter than we are. They probably have no load to speak of, while we carry a heavy one, to say nothing of Koku." "Diamonds aren't very heavy," put in Mr. Whitford grimly. "I think they are smuggling diamonds to-night. How I wish we could catch them, or trace them to where they have their headquarters." "We'll do it!" declared Tom. "Bless my stars! They've gone!" suddenly exclaimed Mr. Damon. "They've disappeared, Tom, I can't see them." It was indeed true. Those in the pilot house peering ahead through the darkness, could not get a glimpse of the airship they were pursuing. The beam of the searchlight showed nothing but a black void. All at once the beam shifted downward, and then it picked up the white-winged craft. "They went down!" cried Tom. "They tried to drop out of sight." "Can't you get them?" asked Mr. Whitford. "Oh, yes, we can play that game too. I'll do a little volplaning myself," and the young inventor shut off the power and coasted earthward, while Ned, who had picked up the forward craft, kept the searchlight playing on her. And now began a wonderful chase. The smugglers' craft, for such she proved later to be, did her best to dodge the Falcon. Those managing the mechanism of the fleeing airship must have been experts, to hold out as they did against Tom Swift, but they had this advantage, that their craft was much lighter, and more powerfully engined as regards her weight. Then, too, there were not so many on board, and Tom, having a combined balloon and aeroplane, had to carry much machinery. It was like the flight of two big birds in the air. Now the smugglers' craft would be mounting upward, with the Falcon after her. Again she would shoot toward the earth, and Tom would follow, with a great downward swoop. Ned kept the great lantern going, and, though occasionally the craft they were after slipped out of the focus of the beams, the young bank clerk would pick her up again. To the right and left dodged the forward airship, vainly endeavoring to shake off Tom Swift, but he would not give up. He followed move for move, swoop for swoop. "She's turning around!" suddenly cried Mr. Damon. "She's given up the flight, Tom, and is going back!" "That's so!" agreed Mr. Whitford. "They're headed for Canada, Tom. We've got to catch 'em before they get over the Dominion line!" "I'll do it!" cried Tom, between his clenched teeth. He swung his airship around in a big circle, and took after the fleeing craft. The wind was against the smugglers now, and they could not make such good speed, while to Tom the wind mattered not, so powerful were the propellers of the Falcon. "I think we're gaining on them," murmured Mr. Damon. Suddenly, from the engine room, came a cry from Ned. "Tom! Tom!" he shouted, "Something is wrong with the gas machine! She registers over five hundred pounds pressure, and that's too much. It's going up, and I haven't touched it!" "Mr. Damon, take the wheel!" exclaimed the young inventor. "I've got to see what's wrong. Hold her right on their trail." Tom sprang to the motor room, and one glance at the gas generating machine showed him that they were in dire peril. In some manner the pressure was going up enormously, and if it went up much more the big tank would blow to pieces. "What is it?" cried Ned, from his position near the light. "I don't know! Something wrong." "Are you going to give up the chase?" "I am not. Stick to the light. Koku, tell Mr. Damon to hold her on the course I set. I'll try to get this pressure down!" And Tom Swift began to work feverishly, while his ship rushed on through the night in danger, every moment, of being blown to atoms. Yet the young inventor would not give up, and descend to earth. CHAPTER XX SUSPICIOUS ACTIONS The chase was kept up, and Tom, when he had a chance to look up at the speed register, as he labored frantically at the clogged gas machine, saw that they were rushing along as they never had before. "Are we catching them, Ned?" he cried to his chum, who was not far away, playing the powerful light on the smugglers' craft. "I think we're coming closer, but it's going to be a long chase. I don't see why we can't close up on 'em." "Because they've got a very fast ship, Ned, and they are flying much lighter than we are. But we'll get 'em!" "How are you making out with that gas machine?" "Well, I'm doing all I can, but I can't seem to get the pressure down. I can't understand it. Some of the pipes must be clogged with a carbon deposit. I ought to have cleaned them out some time ago." Ned gave a hasty glance at the gauge which showed the gas pressure. It registered six hundred pounds now, having risen a hundred in a short time. "And she'll go up, sure, at eight hundred," murmured Ned, as he held the light steadily on the smugglers' aircraft. "Well, if Tom sticks to the chase, I will too, but I think it would be better to go down, open up everything, and let the gas escape. We could get the rascals later." Tom, however, did not seem to think so, for he kept on with his task, working away at the pipes, trying to force the obstruction out, so that the gas from the generator would flow into the bag. At the same time he tried to shut off the generating apparatus, but that had become jammed in consequence of the pipe clogging, and the powerful vapor continued to manufacture itself automatically in spite of all that Tom could do. The only safe way out of the danger, unless he could remove the obstruction, was to descend to earth, and, as Ned had said, open every outlet. But to have done that in mid-air would have been dangerous, as the large volume of gas, suddenly liberated, would have hung about the airship in a cloud, smothering all on board. If they were on the earth they could run away from it, and remain away until the vapor had blown off. "Is Mr. Damon keeping her on the course, Ned?" asked Tom, pausing a moment to get his breath after a series of frantic efforts. "Yes, and I think we're closing in on them a little." "That's good. Are they still headed for the border?" "Yes, I guess they're going to take no chances to-night. They're going right back to Canada where they came from." "Well, we'll be hot after 'em. Whistle through the tube, and tell Koku to come here and give me a hand. He's with Mr. Damon in the pilot house." Ned sent the message, and then gave his whole attention to the light. This was necessary, as the smugglers were resorting to dodging tactics, in an endeavor to escape. Now they would shoot upward, and again toward the earth, varying the performance by steering to the right or left. Ned had constantly to shift the light to keep them in focus, so that Mr. Damon could see where to steer, but, with all this handicap, the eccentric man did very well, and he was never far out in his judgment. "By Jove!" suddenly murmured Tom, as he tried once more in vain to open a clogged valve. "I'm afraid we can't do it. Koku, lend a hand here!" he exclaimed as the giant entered. "See if you can twist this wrench around, but don't break off the handle, whatever you do." "Me shove," replied the giant simply, as he grasped the big wrench. Once more Ned glanced at the pressure gage. It showed seven hundred pounds now, and there was only a margin of safety of one hundred pounds more, ere a terrific explosion would occur. Still Tom had not given the order to descend to earth. "Are you going to make it, Tom?" asked the government agent, anxiously, as he stood over the young inventor. "I--I think so," panted Tom. "Are we near the Dominion line," "Pretty close," was the discouraging answer. "I'm afraid we can't get 'em before they cross. Can you use any more speed?" "I don't know. Ned, see if you can get another notch out of her." With one hand Ned reached for the accelerator lever on the wall near him, and pulled it to the last notch. The Falcon shot ahead with increased speed, but, at the same instant there came a gasp from Koku, and the sound of something breaking. "There! He's done it!" cried Tom in despair. "I was afraid you'd be too strong for that wrench, Koku. You've broken off the handle. Now we'll never be able to loosen that valve." Ned gave one more glance at the pressure gage. It showed seven hundred and fifty pounds, and the needle was slowly moving onward. "Hadn't we better descend," asked Mr. Whitford in a low voice. "I--I guess so," answered Tom, despairingly. "Where are we?" Ned flashed the light downward for an instant. "Just crossing over the St. Regis Indian reservation again," he replied. "We'll be in Canada in a few minutes more." "Where are the smugglers?" "Still ahead, and they're bearing off to the right." "Going toward Montford," commented the government man. "We've lost 'em for to-night, anyhow, but they didn't get their goods landed, at any rate." "Send her down, Ned!" exclaimed Tom, and it was high time, for the pressure was now within twenty-five pounds of the exploding point. Down shot the Falcon, while her rival passed onward triumphantly in the darkness. Ned held the light on the smugglers as long as he dared, and then he flashed it to earth to enable Mr. Damon to pick out a good landing place. In a few moments Tom's silent airship came to rest on a little clearing in the forest, and Tom, with Ned's help, at once opened every outlet of the gas machine, a thing they had not dared do while up in the air. "Come on, now, run, everybody!" cried Tom. "Otherwise you'll be smothered!" They leaped from the craft, about which gathered the fumes of the powerful gas, as it hissed from the pipes. Running a hundred yards away they were safe, and could return in a few minutes. "We're in Canada," remarked Mr. Whitford, as they came to a halt, watching the airship. "How do you know?" asked Ned. "As we landed I saw one of the stone boundary posts," was the answer. "We're on English territory, and we can't touch the smugglers if we should see them now." "Well, we'll soon be back in Uncle Sam's land," declared Tom. "We can go back on board the Falcon to sleep shortly. Jove! I wish I could have caught those fellows!" "Never mind, we'll get 'em yet," counseled Mr. Whitford. Waiting until he was sure all the vapor had disappeared, Tom led the way back to the Falcon. No great harm had been done, save to lose considerable gas, and this could be remedied. Tired and disappointed from the chase, they sought their bunks, and were soon asleep. In the morning Tom and Ned began work on the clogged pipes. This work was nearly accomplished by noon, when Mr. Damon, coming back from a stroll, announced that they were but fifteen minutes walk from the St. Lawrence River, as he had seen the sparkling waters from a neighboring hill. "Let's go over and have a look at it," proposed Ned. "We can easily finish this when we get back. Besides, Tom, we don't want to get to our regular camp until after dark, anyhow." The young inventor was willing, and the two lads, with Mr. Whitford, strolled toward the historic stream. As they drew near the bank, they saw, anchored a little distance out, a small steamer. Approaching it, as if she had just left the shore at a point near where our friends stood, was a gasolene launch, containing several men, while on shore, in front of a small shanty, stood another man. This latter individual, at the sight of Tom, Ned and Mr. Whitford, blew a shrill whistle. Those in the launch looked back. The man on shore waved a red flag in a peculiar way, almost as the soldiers in the army wig-wag signals. In another moment the launch turned about, and put for shore, while the lone man hurried back into the hut. "Hum!" remarked Tom. "Those are queer actions." "Suspicious actions, I should say," said Mr. Whitford. "I'm going to see what this means." CHAPTER XXI MR. PERIOD ARRIVES Greatly interested in what was about to take place, and not a little suspicious, our friends stood on the bank of the river and watched the motor boat returning. As it reached a little dock in front of the hut, the man who had waved the red flag of warning came out, and talked rapidly to those in the power craft. At the same time he pointed occasionally to Tom, Ned and the government agent. "This is getting interesting," remarked Mr. Whitford. "We may have accidentally stumbled on something important Tom." "See, they're signalling to the steamer now," spoke Ned, and, as he said this, his companions looked, and noted the man from the hut waving a white flag, in a peculiar manner. His signals were answered by those on the vessel anchored out in the stream, and, a little later, black smoke could be seen pouring from her funnel. "Looks as if they were getting ready to leave," spoke Tom. "Yes, we seem to have started things moving around here," observed Ned. "Or else we have prevented from moving," remarked the custom agent. "What do you mean?" Tom wanted to know. "I mean that these men were evidently going to do something just as we arrived, and spoiled their plans. I would say they were going to land goods from that schooner. Now they are not." "What kind of goods?" asked Ned. "Well, of course I'm not sure, but I should say smuggled goods." "The smugglers!" cried Tom. "Why, they can't be smugglers, for we are on Canadian territory. The river isn't the dividing line between the Dominion and the United States at this point. The St. Lawrence lies wholly in Canada here, and the men have a right to land any goods they want to, dutiable or not." "That's just it." put in Mr. Whitford. "They have the right, but they are afraid to exercise it, and that's what makes me suspicious. If they were doing a straight business they wouldn't be afraid, no matter who saw them. They evidently recognize us, by description, if by no other means, and they know we are after smugglers. That's why they stopped the bringing of goods from that vessel to shore. They want to wait until we are gone." "But we couldn't stop them from landing goods, even if they know we are working for Uncle Sam," declared Tom. "That's very true, but it is evidently their intention, not only to land goods here, which they have a perfect right to do, but to send them into the United States, which they have not a right to do without paying the duty." "Then you really think they are the smugglers?" asked Ned. "I'm pretty sure of it. I think we have stumbled on one of the places where the goods are landed, and where they are loaded into the airships. This is the best luck we could have, and it more than makes up for not catching the rascals last night. Now we know where to get on their trail." "If they don't change the place," observed Tom. "Oh, of course, we've got to take that chance." "Here's one of them coming over to speak to us, I guess," remarked Tom in a low voice, as he observed the man, who had waved the flag approaching. There was no doubt of his intention for, as soon as he came within talking distance, the stranger called out: "What are you fellows doing here?" "Looking at the river," replied Mr. Whitford, calmly. "Well, you'd better find some other place for a view. This is private property, and we don't like trespassers. Get a move on--get out!" "Are we doing any harm?" asked the agent. "I didn't say you were. This is our land, and we don't like strangers snooping around. That's all." "Particularly when you are going to land some goods." "What do you mean?" gasped the man. "I guess you know well enough," was Mr. Whitford's reply. The man suddenly turned, and gave a shrill whistle. Instantly, from the hut, came several men who had been in the motor boat. One or two of them had weapons. "I guess you'd better go now," said the first man sharply. "You're not in the United States now, you know." "It's easy to see that, by the POLITENESS of the residents of this section," put in Tom. "None of your back talk! Get away from here!" cried the man. "If you don't go peaceably--" "Oh, we're going," interposed Mr. Whitford calmly. "But that isn't saying we won't come back. Come on, boys. We'll get over on Uncle Sam's territory." The group of men stood silently watching them, as they filed back through the woods. "What do you make of it?" asked Tom of the agent. "I'm positive that I'm right, and that they're the smugglers. But I can't do anything on this side of the line. If ever I can catch them across the border, though, there'll be a different story to tell." "What had we better do?" inquired Ned. "Go back to our airship, and leave for Logansville. We don't need to land until night, though, but we can make a slow trip. Is the gas machine all right again, Tom?" "Practically so. If that hadn't gone back on me we would have had those fellows captured by this time." "Never mind. We did our best." It did not take Tom and his chum long to complete the repairs, and soon they arose in the air. "Let's take a flight over where those fellows are, just to show them what we can do," proposed Ned, and Tom and Mr. Whitford agreed to it. Soon they were circling over the hut. The launch was just starting out again, when a cry from the man who seemed to be a sort of guard, drew the attention of his confederates to the noiseless airship. Once more the launch was turned about, and sent back to shore, while those in it shook their fists at Tom and his friends. "We can play tag with 'em up here!" chuckled Ned. "There's the small vessel that pulled up anchor a while ago," remarked Mr. Whitford, pointing to the vessel which had steamed around a wooded point. "They thought we had gone for good, and they were getting ready to land the stuff. Well, we'll know where to head for next time, when we watch for the smugglers at night." Realizing that nothing more could be done, Tom sent his airship toward the camp, just outside of Loganville. But he did not land until after dark, when, making out the spot by means of the electric lights, which were set aglow automatically at dark, he descended. "We won't try anything to-night," said Mr. Whitford. "I doubt if the smugglers will themselves, after their experience last night. I'll get into town, see some of my men, and come out here to-morrow night again." Tom and Ned spent the following day in going carefully over the Falcon, making some slight repairs. The great searchlight was cleaned and adjusted, and then, as dusk came on once more Tom remarked: "Well, we're ready for 'em any time Mr. Whitford is." Hardly had he spoken than the tramp of horses' feet was heard coming along the bridle path through the woods, and a voice was heard to exclaim: "There, now, I understand it perfectly! You don't need to say another word. I know it may be against the regulations, but I can fix that. I'm the busiest man in the world, but I just had to come up here and see Tom Swift. It's costing me a thousand dollars, but the money is well spent. Now don't interrupt me! I know what you're going to say! That you haven't time to bother with moving pictures. But you have! I must have some moving pictures of your chase after the smugglers. Now, don't speak to me, I know all about it. You can't tell me anything. I'll talk to Tom. Are we most there?" "Yes, we're here," answered Mr. Whitford's voice, and Tom fancied the government agent was a bit puzzled by his strange companion. "Bless my shoe string!" gasped Mr. Damon. "Him picture man!" cried Koku. "Mr. Period!" exclaimed Tom. "I wonder what he is doing here?" and the next moment the excitable little man, for whom Tom had run so many risks getting marvelous moving pictures, with the wizard camera, entered the clearing where the airship was anchored. CHAPTER XXII HOVERING O'ER THE BORDER "Well, Tom, you see I couldn't get along without you," exclaimed Mr. Period, as he rushed forward and grasped Tom's hand, having alighted in rather an undignified manner from the horse that he had ridden. "I'm after you again." "So I see." remarked our hero. "But I'm afraid I can't--" "Tut! Tut! Don't say that," interrupted the moving picture man. "I know what you're going to say. Don't do it! Don't go back on me, Tom! Have you the wonderful moving picture camera with you." "I have, Mr. Period, but--" "Now! Now! That'll do," broke in the excitable little man. "If you have it, that's enough. I want you to get me some films, showing you in chase of the smugglers. They'll be great to exhibit in our chain of theatres." "How did you know I was here?" asked Tom. "Easily enough. I called at your house. Your father told me where you were. I came on. It cost me a thousand dollars--maybe more. I don't care! I've got to have those films! You'll get them for me; won't you?" "Well, I--" "That's enough! I know what you're going to say. Of course you will! Now how soon may I expect them. They ought to make a good run. Say in a week?" "It all depends on the smugglers," said Mr. Whitford. "Yes, yes! I understand, of course. I know! This friend of yours has been very kind to me, Tom. I looked him up as soon as I got to Logansville, and told him what I wanted. He offered to show me the way out here, and here I am. Let's have a look at the camera, to see if it's in good shape. Are you going to have a try for the smugglers to-night?" "I think so," answered Tom. "As for the camera, really I've been so busy I haven't had time to look at it since we started. I guess it's all right. I don't know what made me bring it along, as I didn't expect to use it." "But with your great searchlight it will be just the thing," suggested Ned. "Yes, I think so," added Mr. Whitford, who had been told about the wizard instrument. "Bless my detective badge!" cried Mr. Damon. "It may be just the thing, Tom. You can offer moving pictures of the smugglers in court, for evidence." "Of course!" added Mr. Period. "Now, Tom, don't disappoint me." "Well, I suppose I'll have to get the camera out, and set it up," conceded Tom with a laugh. "As you say, Mr. Damon, the pictures MAY come in valuable. Come, Ned, you get out the camera, and set it up, while Koku and I see to getting the ship in shape for a flight. You'll come along, Mr. Period?" "I don't know. I was thinking of going back. I'm losing about a hundred dollars a minute by being away from my business." "You'll have to go back alone," said Mr. Whitford, "as I have to be with Tom, in case of a capture." "Ride back alone, through these woods? Never! The smugglers might catch me, and I'm too valuable a man to go that way! I'll take a chance in the airship." Ned busied himself over the wizard camera, which had been stored away, and Mr. Period went with the young bank clerk to look after the apparatus. Meanwhile Tom and Koku saw to it that the Falcon was ready for a quick flight, Mr. Damon and Mr. Whitford lending whatever aid was necessary. The horses, which the agent and Mr. Period had ridden, were tethered in the clearing where they could get food and water. "Did the smugglers rush anything over last night?" asked Tom. "No, we evidently had them frightened. But I shouldn't be surprised but what they made the attempt to-night. We'll go back toward the St. Regis Indian reservation, where they were getting ready to unload that steamer, and hover around the border there. Something is sure to happen, sooner or later." "I guess that's as good a plan as any," agreed Tom, and in a little while they started. All that night they hovered over the border, sailing back and forth, flashing the great light at intervals to pick up the white wings of a smuggling airship. But they saw nothing. Mr. Period was in despair, as he fully counted on a capture being made while he was present, so that he might see the moving pictures made. But it was not to be. The wizard camera was all in readiness, but there was no need to start the automatic machinery. For, search as Tom and his friends did for a trace of the smugglers, they could see nothing. They put on full speed, and even went as far as the limits of the Indian reservation, but to no purpose. They heard no throbbing motor, no whizz of great propellers, and saw no white, canvas wings against the dark background of the sky, as Tom's craft made her way noiselessly along. "I guess we've frightened them away," said Mr. Whitford dubiously, as it came near morning, and nothing suspicious had been seen or heard. "They're holding back their goods, Tom until they think they can take us unawares. Then they'll rush a big shipment over." "Then's the time we must catch them," declared the young inventor. "We may as well go back now." "And not a picture!" exclaimed Mr. Period tragically. "Well, be sure to get good ones when you do make a capture, Tom." "I will," promised the young inventor. Then, with a last sweep along the border he turned the nose of his craft toward Logansville. He had almost reached the place, and was flying rather low over the country roads, when Ned called: "Hark! I hear something!" The unmistakable noise of a gasolene motor in operation could be distinguished. "There they are!" cried Mr. Period. "Bless my honeysuckle vine!" gasped Mr. Damon. "The light, Ned, the light!" cried Tom. His chum flashed the powerful beam all around the horizon, and toward the sky, but nothing was visible. "Try down below," suggested Mr. Whitford. Ned sent the beams earthward. And there, in the glare, they saw a youth speeding along on a motor-cycle. In an instant Tom grabbed up the binoculars and focussed them on the rider. "It's Andy Foger!" he cried. CHAPTER XXIII NED IS MISSING There was a period of silence, following Tom's startling announcement. There were several plate glass windows in the floor of the airship, and through these they all gazed at the youth on the motor-cycle. Only Tom, however, by the aid of the glasses, was able to make out his features. "Bless my spark plug! Andy Foger!" cried Mr. Damon. "Are you going to try to catch him?" "Get him and break chug-chug machine!" suggested Koku. "What do you suppose he's up to, Tom?" asked Ned. "Andy Foger speeding along at this hour of the morning," remarked Mr. Whitford. "There must be something in the wind." "Get a moving picture of him," urged Mr. Period. "I might be able to use that." "I hardly think it would be worth while," decided Tom. "You see Andy hasn't done anything criminal, as far as we know. Of course I think he is capable of it, but that's a different thing. He may be out only on a pleasure jaunt, and he could stop us from showing the pictures, if we took them." "That's so," agreed Mr. Period. "Don't run any risks of a lawsuit. It takes up too much of my time. Never mind the pictures." "Just capture him, Tom, and see what he is doing," suggested Mr. Damon. "Bless my chewing gum! But he must be up to something." "Well, he's aware of the fact that we're watching him, at all events!" exclaimed Mr. Whitford, for, at that moment, Andy, having seen the glare of the light, glanced up. They could see him looking at him, and, a second later, the Shopton bully steered his machine down a side road where the overhanging trees were so thick that he could not be made out, even by the powerful gleams of the great searchlight. "He's gone!" gasped Ned. "Afraid I guess," added Mr. Damon. "That shows he was up to something wrong. Well, what are we going to do?" "Nothing, that I can see," spoke Mr. Whitford. "We can only go back to our camping place, and make another try. This Andy Foger may, or may not, be in with the smugglers. That's something we have yet to prove. However, we can't do anything now." In vain did Ned try to get the bully within range of the light. They could hear the sounds of the motor cycle growing more and more faint, and then, as it was rapidly getting light, and as they did not want to be seen dropping into their camping place, they made all haste toward it, before dawn should break. "Well, I can't spend any more time here," declared Mr. Period, when a hasty breakfast had been served. "Will you ride back with me?" asked Mr. Whitford of the moving picture man. "Will I? Well, I guess I will! You can't lose me! I'm not going to be captured by those smugglers. I'd be a valuable man for them to have as a hostage. They'd probably ask a million dollars ransom for me," and Mr. Period carefully straightened his brilliant red necktie. Soon he and Mr. Whitford were riding back to town, taking a roundabout way, as the agent always did, to throw any possible spies off the track. Everyone, even including the giant Koku was tired enough to take a sleep after dinner. It was about three o'clock when Ned awoke, and he found Tom already up, and at the wireless instrument, which was clicking and buzzing. "Message coming?" asked the young bank clerk. Tom nodded, and clasped the receiver over his ear. A moment later he began jotting down a message. "Mr. Whitford says he has a tip that something is going to take place to-night," read the young inventor a few minutes later. "The smugglers have accumulated a big store of goods, and they are anxious to get them over the border. There are silks, laces, diamonds, and other things on which there is a high duty, or tax for bringing into the United States. He will be here early, and we must be ready for a start at once." "All right. I guess we are ready now. Say, I'm going over to that little brook, and see if I can catch a few trout for supper." "All right. Good idea. Don't be gone too long." "I won't. Say, where is my coat, anyhow? I never can seem to keep track of that, or my cap either." "Never mind. Wear mine, and you won't be delayed looking for them," so Ned donned Tom's garment and headpiece, and set out. Three hours passed, and Mr. Damon prepared to get supper. "I wonder why Ned doesn't come back with the fish?" he said. "It's time, if we're going to cook them to-night." "That's right, he ought to be here," agreed Tom. "Koku take a walk over to the trout brook, and tell Mr. Ned to come here, whether he has any fish or not." "Sure, me go, Mr. Tom!" Koku was gone perhaps five minutes, and when he came back he was much excited. "Mr. Ned he no there!" the giant cried. "But fish pole all broken, and ground all full of holes. Look like fight." Tom started for the place where he knew Ned usually went to fish. Koku and Mr. Damon followed. On reaching it our hero saw indeed that the ground was "full of holes," as the giant described the indentations made by the heels of boots and shoes. "There's been a fight here!" cried Tom. "Yes, and Ned is missing," added Mr. Damon. CHAPTER XXIV THE NIGHT RACE The three looked at each other. For a moment they could not understand, and then, as they stood there, the meaning came to them. "The smugglers!" whispered Tom. "Of course!" agreed Mr. Damon. "And they must have taken him for you, Tom, for he had on your coat and cap. What can they have done with him?" "Taken him away, that's evident," spoke Tom. "Let's look around, and see if we can find him." They looked, but to no purpose. Ned had disappeared. There were the signs of a struggle, the fish rod was broken in several places, as if Ned had used it as a club, and the ground was torn up. "Bless my tin whistle!" cried Mr. Damon. "What shall we do?" For a moment no one knew what to say, then, as they looked at each other in silence, a voice called: "I say! What's up? What's the matter? Where are you all? Hey, Tom Swift!" "It's Mr. Whitford!" cried Tom. "He's just in time." Then he called in louder tones: "Here we are! In the woods by the trout brook! Come on over! Ned is gone!" There was a commotion in the bushes, the trampling of a horse, and a moment later the government agent had joined the others. "What's this?" he cried. "Ned gone? What do you mean?" "He's missing. The smugglers have him, I'm afraid," explained Tom, and then he gave the details. "It certainly looks so," agreed Mr. Whitford. "His wearing of your coat and cap fooled them. They must have spied out this camping place, and they were in hiding. When they saw Ned coming to fish they took him for you. Having failed in their attempt to damage the airship, they decided to get her captain. Probably they thought that if they did the Falcon could not be run, and they would be safe. But they got the wrong man." "Then we must get Ned back at once!" cried Tom. "Come on, we'll start right away! Where do you think we can nab them, Mr. Whitford?" "Wait a minute," suggested the government agent. He seemed in deep thought, and paced up and down. It was clear that a great question was confronting him. "Well!" exclaimed Tom impatiently, "if we're going to get Ned we must start at once." "Perhaps it would be best not to try to rescue Ned at once," said the custom house man after a pause. "What!" cried Tom. "Not rescue Ned, my best chum?" "Not at once," repeated Mr. Whitford. "Look here, Tom. I know it seems a hard thing to say, but perhaps if we proceed on our original plan, to hover over the border, and get on the trail of the smugglers, chasing them to where they land the goods in the United States, it will be best." "And not rescue Ned?" "We can best rescue him by catching the smugglers." "Then you think--" "That they have him with them--on board one of their airships very likely. If we get THEM we'll have NED." "Then we'll get 'em!" cried Tom with energy. "Come on back to the Falcon. We'll get ready for a big flight!" "Yes, I think they'll make a desperate effort to-night," went on the agent. "They have a lot of goods ready to rush over the border, and the fact that they tried to capture you, shows that they are ready to pull off a big trick. I think if we can catch them to-night, it will put an end to their operations, and, at the same time, bring Ned back to us." "Where do you think they will start to cross the line?" asked Tom. "Near the place where we saw the man waving the flags. I have information to the effect that they have a store of valuable goods there. They imagine that they have the master of the airship, and the owner of the great searchlight in their power, and that they can not be molested, so they will be bold." "But they'll soon find out that Ned isn't Tom," said Mr. Damon. "No they won't! Not if it depends on Ned!" cried Tom. "Ned is game. He'll soon get wise to the fact that they have taken him for me, and he'll carry on the deception. None of the smugglers know me intimately." "Unless Andy Foger should be with them," suggested Mr. Damon. "Oh, Ned can fool Andy any day. Come on, Mr. Whitford. We'll get the smugglers to-night, spoil their game, and rescue Ned. Somehow, I feel that we're going to succeed." "Bless my tin dishpan!" cried Mr. Damon. "I hope we do." Slowly, and with no very cheerful hearts, they filed away from the scene of Ned's capture. In spite of the fact that they did not think he would be harshly treated, they worried about him, Tom especially. A hasty supper was eaten, and then, Tom, having seen that everything aboard the ship was in good order, sent her aloft on what he hoped would be the last chase after the smugglers. He decided to have Mr. Damon steer the craft, as this was comparatively easy, once she was started on her course, while the young inventor would manage the searchlight, and start the automatic wizard camera, in case there was anything to photograph. Up and up went the Falcon, and soon she was making her way toward the St. Regis Indian reservation, near which it was expected the smugglers would start. Tom put out every light, as he wanted to remain in darkness, until he could see a moving glow in the sky that would tell him of a rival airship on the wing. It did not take them long to reach the desired spot, and they hovered in the air over it, every one with tense nerves, waiting for what would happen next. Tom did not want to show his searchlight just yet, as he feared the gleam of it might stop the operations of the smugglers. So he waited in darkness, approaching close to the earth in his noiseless ship several times, and endeavoring to see something through the powerful night glasses. Suddenly, from below them, came a subdued throb and hum of a motor. "There they are!" exclaimed Mr. Damon. "I think so," agreed Tom. He looked below. He saw two flickering lights, rather far apart. Mr. Whitford observed them at the same moment. "There are TWO of them!" exclaimed the agent, "TWO airships, Tom!" "So I see. Koku, get out my electric rifle. We can't chase two, if they separate, so I may have to stop one. It's best to be prepared. I'm going to follow them in the dark, until they get over the border, and then I'll turn on the light and the camera. Then it will be a race to the finish." The twin lights came nearer. Tom stood with his mouth to the signal tube that communicated with Mr. Damon in the pilot house. From a side window he watched the smugglers' airships. They shot upward and then came on straight ahead, to pass to one side of him. Now they were past. Tom started the wizard camera. "Half speed ahead!" the young inventor signalled, and the Falcon shot forward. The night race was on. CHAPTER XXV THE CAPTURE--CONCLUSION "Do you think they know we are here, Tom?" asked Mr. Whitford, as he stood at the side of the young inventor in the motor room. "I don't believe so, as yet. They can't hear us, and, unless they have pretty powerful glasses, they can't pick us up. We can soon tell however, if they are aware that we are following them." "Have you made any plan about capturing them?" "No, I'm going to wait and see what turns up. I can't certainly chase two of them, if they separate, and that's why I'm going to cripple one if I have to." "But won't that be dangerous? I don't want to see any of them killed, or even hurt, though they are smugglers." "And I don't want to hurt them, either. If worst comes to worst I'm going to put a few holes in the wing planes of the smaller craft. That will cause her to lose headway, and she can't keep up. They'll have to volplane to earth, but, if they know anything at all about airships, they can do that easily, and not get a bit hurt. That will put them out of the race, and I can keep on after the big ship. I fancy that carries the more valuable cargo." "I presume so. Well, don't bring the one to earth until you get over Uncle Sam's territory, and then maybe there will be a chance to capture them, and the goods too." "I will," promised Tom. They were still over Canadian territory, but were rapidly approaching the border. "I think I will send a wireless to my men in Logansville, to start out and try to pick up the crippled airship after you disable her," decided Mr. Whitford, and as Tom agreed that this was a good plan, the wireless was soon cracking away, the government agent being an adept in its use. "I've told them we'd give another signal to tell them, as nearly as possible where we made them take to earth," he said to Tom, and the young inventor nodded in agreement. "Ned in them ship?" asked Koku, as he came back from the pilot house to report that Mr. Damon was all right, and needed no help. "Yes, I think Ned is in one of them," said Tom. "The big one most likely. Poor Ned a prisoner! Well, I'll soon have him away from them--if nothing happens," and Tom looked about the motor room, to make sure that every piece of apparatus was working perfectly. The two airships of the smugglers were hanging close together, and it was evident that the larger one had to make her pace slow, so as not to get ahead of the small craft. Tom followed on relentlessly, not using half his speed, but creeping on silently in the darkness. "We're over the United States now," said Mr. Whitford, after a glance earthward through the binoculars. "Let 'em get a little farther over the line before you pop 'em with your electric rifle, Tom." Our hero nodded, and looked out of a side window to note the progress of the smugglers. For several miles the chase was thus kept up, and then, suddenly the smaller craft was seen to swerve to one side. "They are separating!" cried Mr. Whitford, at the same time Mr. Damon called through the tube from the pilot house: "Which one shall I follow, Tom?" "The big one," the youth answered. "I'll take care of the other!" With a quick motion he flashed the current into the great searchlight, and, calling to Mr. Whitford to hold it so that the beams played on the small aeroplane, Tom leveled his wonderful electric rifle at the big stretch of canvas. He pressed the lever, a streak of blue flame shot out through an opened port, and, an instant later, the small craft of the smugglers was seen to stagger about, dipping to one side. "There they come!" cried Mr. Whitford. "They're done for!" "One shot more," said Tom grimly. "It won't hurt 'em!" Again the deadly electric rifle sent out its wireless charge, and the airship slowly fluttered toward the earth. "They're volplaning down!" cried Tom. "That's the end of them. Now to catch the other!" "Take the lantern!" cried Mr. Whitford. "I'm going to send a wireless to my men to get after this disabled craft." Tom swung the beam of the searchlight forward and a moment later had picked up the big aeroplane. It was some distance in advance, and going like the wind. He heard the automatic camera clicking away. "They speeded her up as soon as they saw what was on!" cried Tom. "But we haven't begun to go yet!" He signalled to Mr. Damon, who pulled over the accelerating lever and instantly the Falcon responded. Now indeed the race was on in earnest. The smugglers must have understood this, for they tried all their tactics to throw the pursuing airship off the track. They dodged and twisted, now going up, and now going down, and even trying to turn back, but Tom headed them off. Ever the great beam of light shone relentlessly on them, like some avenging eye. They could not escape. "Are we gaining?" cried Mr. Whitford. "A little, and slowly," answered Tom. "They have a bigger load on than when we chased them before, but still they have a speed almost equal to ours. They must have a magnificent motor." Faster and faster sped on the Falcon. The other craft kept ahead of her, however, though Tom could see that, inch by inch, he was overhauling her. "Where do they seem to be heading for?" asked the government agent. "Shopton, as near as I can make out," replied the youth. "They probably want to get there ahead of us, and hide the goods. I must prevent that. Mr. Damon is steering better than he ever did before." Tom shifted the light to keep track of the smugglers, who had dipped downward on a steep slant. Then they shot upward, but the Falcon was after them. The hours of the night passed. The chase was kept up. Try as the smugglers did, they could not shake Tom off. Nearer and nearer he crept. There was the gray dawn of morning in the sky, and Tom knew, from the great speed they had traveled that they must be near Shopton. "They're slowing up. Tom!" suddenly cried Mr. Whitford who was watching them through an open port. "Yes, I guess they must have heated some of their bearings. Well, here's where I capture them, if it's ever to be. Koku, let down the grappling anchor." "Are you really going to capture them, Tom?" asked the custom officer. "I'm going to try," was the answer, as Koku came back to say that the anchor was dragging over the stern by a long rope. "You work the light, Mr. Whitford," cried Tom. "I'm going to relieve Mr. Damon in the pilot house. He can help you here. It will be all over in another minute." In the pilot house Tom grasped the steering levers. Then in a final burst of speed he sent his craft above, and past that of the smugglers. Suddenly he felt a shock. It was the grappling anchor catching in the rail of the other air craft. A shout of dismay arose from the smugglers. "You've got 'em! You've got 'em, Tom!" yelled Mr. Whitford. "Bless my hasty pudding! So he has!" gasped Mr. Damon. Changing the course of his craft Tom sent the Falcon toward the earth, pulling the other aeroplane with him. Down and down he went, and the frantic efforts of the smugglers to release themselves were useless. They were pulled along by the powerful airship of our hero. A few minutes later Tom picked out a good landing place in the dim light of the breaking dawn, and went to earth. Jamming on the brakes he leaped from the pilot house to the stern of his own craft, catching up his electric rifle. The other airship, caught by the grappling anchor at the end of a long rope, was just settling down, those in her having the good sense to shut off their power, and volplane when they found that they could not escape. As the smugglers' craft touched the earth, several figures leaped from her, and started to run away. "Hold on!" cried Tom. "I've got you all covered with the electric rifle! Don't move! Koku, you, and Mr. Whitford and Mr. Damon take care of them. Tie 'em up." "Bless my hat band!" cried the eccentric man. "What a great capture! Where are we?" "Not far from Shopton," answered Tom. "But look after the prisoners." There was a cry of astonishment from Mr. Whitford as he reached the sullen occupants of the smugglers' craft. "Here are the Fogers--father and son!" the agent called to Tom. "They were in it after all. Great Scott! What a surprise. And here are a lot of men whom I've been after for some time! Oh, Tom Swift, this IS a capture." "What right have you to use these high-handed methods on us?" demanded Mr. Foger pompously. "Yes, dad make 'em let us go; we haven't done anything!" snarled Andy. "I guess you won't go yet a while," said the agent. "I'll have a look inside this craft. Keep 'em covered, Tom." "I will. I guess Andy knows what this rifle can do. See if Ned is a prisoner." There was a few moments of waiting during which Koku and Mr. Damon securely bound the prisoners. Then Mr. Whitford reappeared. He was accompanied by some one. "Hello, Tom!" called the latter. "I'm all right. Much obliged for the rescue." "Are you all right, Ned?" asked Tom, of his chum. "Yes, except that they kept me gagged. The men who captured me took me for you, and, after the Fogers found out the mistake, they decided to keep me anyhow. Say, you've made a great haul." And so it proved, for in the airship was a quantity of valuable silks and laces, while on the persons of the smugglers, including Mr. Foger, were several packets of diamonds. These were taken possession of by Mr. Whitford, who also confiscated the bales and packages. Ned was soon aboard the Falcon, while the prisoners, securely tied were laid in the cabin of their own craft with Koku to stand guard over them. Mr. Damon went to Shopton, which was the nearest town, for police aid, and soon the smugglers were safe in jail, though Mr. Foger protested vigorously against going. Ned explained how he had been pounced upon by two men when he was fishing, and told how without a chance to warn his friends, he had been gagged and bound and taken to the headquarters of the smugglers in Canada, just over the border. They went by carriages. Then the Fogers, who, it seemed, were hand in glove with the law violators, saw him, and identified him. The smugglers had thought they were capturing Tom. "It was your coat and hat that did it, Tom," explained Ned. "I fought against being taken away, but when I happened to think if they took me for you it might be a trick against them. And it was. The Fogers didn't discover the mistake until just before we started." "They planned for a big shipment of goods last night and used two airships. I don't know what became of the other." "We've got her, and the men, too," interposed Mr. Whitford, as this conversation was taking place several hours later in the Swift home. "I just had a wire from my deputy. They got right after the damaged airship, and reached her just as the men were hiding the goods, and preparing to dismantle the craft. We have them all, thanks to you, Tom!" "And to think that the Fogers were in it all the while!" remarked Tom. "They certainly fooled us." "I'm not done with them yet," said Mr. Whitford. "I'm going to have another look at their house, and the gardener's home." "The Fogers were in dire straits, that's why they went in with the smugglers," explained Ned. "Though they gagged me, they didn't stop up my ears, and when they hid me in a little room on the airship, I could hear them talking together. It seems that the smugglers put up the money to buy the airships, and just happened to stumble on Andy to run the machinery for them. His father helped, too. They shared in the proceeds, and they must have made considerable, for the smuggling has been going on for some time." "Well, they'll lose all they made," declared the agent. Later he, Tom and Ned made another inspection of the Foger premises. Down in the cellar of the gardener's house they found, behind a cunningly concealed door, a tunnel leading into the old mansion. Later it was learned that the smugglers had been in the habit of bringing goods across the border in airships, landing them in a lonely stretch of woods outside of Shopton, and later bringing them by wagon to the mansion. Inside there, in some secret rooms that had been constructed off of the main apartments, the goods would be unpacked, put in different boxes, carried through the tunnel to the gardener's house, and thence shipped as "old furniture" to various unscrupulous agents who disposed of them. The hiring of Mr. Dillon had been only a blind. Later the smugglers, in the guise of carpenters, made the desired changes. So cunningly had the opening of the tunnel in the cellar of the gardener's house been concealed, that it was only discovered after a most careful search. There is little more to tell. With the capture of the two airships, an end was put to the smuggling operations, especially since nearly all the gang was captured. A few, those who brought the goods up the St. Lawrence, from the ocean steamers, managed to escape, but they had to go into hiding. The goods captured proved very valuable, and partly made up to Uncle Sam's treasury the losses sustained. Tom was offered a big reward, but would not take it, accepting only money for his expenses, and requesting that the reward be divided among the agents of Mr. Whitford's staff, who needed it more than Tom did. There was no difficulty about convicting the prisoners, including the Fogers, for Tom's wizard camera had taken pictures of the chase and capture, and the men were easily identified. Mr. Period was quite delighted with the roll of films that Tom gave him. Some of the smugglers were sent to prison for long terms, and others, including Andy and his father, had to pay heavy fines. "Well, Tom Swift, I can't thank you enough," said Mr. Whitford, one day as he called to pay the young inventor a visit. "I'm ordered to the Pacific coast and I may have to send for you with your airship, and great searchlight." "I don't believe I'll come," laughed the lad. "I'm going to take a long rest and settle down." "He's going to get married!" exclaimed Ned, taking care to get behind a chair. "If Mr. Tom marry, he keep Koku for servant?" asked the giant anxiously. "Oh, I'm not going to get married, just yet, Koku!" exclaimed Tom, who was blushing furiously. "I'm going to invent something new." "Bless my fountain pen!" cried Mr. Damon. "Oh, Tom, it seems good to have you home again," said aged Mr. Swift softly. "Dat's what it do!" added Eradicate. "Boomerang hab been monstrous lonely sence yo'-all been gone, Massa Tom." "Well, I'm going to stay home--for a while," said Tom. And thus, surrounded as he is by his friends and relatives, we will take leave of Tom Swift. THE END 
949	----	TOM SWIFT AND HIS SUBMARINE BOAT or Under the Ocean for Sunken Treasure by VICTOR APPLETON CONTENTS I News of a Treasure Wreck II Finishing the Submarine III Mr. Berg Is Astonished IV Tom Is Imprisoned V Mr. Berg Is Suspicious VI Turning the Tables VII Mr. Damon Will Go VIII Another Treasure Expedition IX Captain Weston's Advent X Trial of the Submarine XI On the Ocean Bed XII For a Breath of Air XIII Off for the Treasure XIV In the Diving Suits XV At the Tropical Island XVI "We'll Race You For It!" XVII The Race XVIII The Electric Gun XIX Captured XX Doomed to Death XXI The Escape XXII At the Wreck XXIII Attacked by Sharks XXIV Ramming the Wreck XXV Home with the Gold TOM SWIFT AND HIS SUBMARINE BOAT Chapter One News of a Treasure Wreck There was a rushing, whizzing, throbbing noise in the air. A great body, like that of some immense bird, sailed along, casting a grotesque shadow on the ground below. An elderly man, who was seated on the porch of a large house, started to his feet in alarm. "Gracious goodness! What was that, Mrs. Baggert?" he called to a motherly-looking woman who stood in the doorway. "What happened?" "Nothing much, Mr. Swift," was the calm reply "I think that was Tom and Mr. Sharp in their airship, that's all. I didn't see it, but the noise sounded like that of the Red Cloud." "Of course! To be sure!" exclaimed Mr. Barton Swift, the well-known inventor, as he started down the path in order to get a good view of the air, unobstructed by the trees. "Yes, there they are," he added. "That's the airship, but I didn't expect them back so soon. They must have made good time from Shopton. I wonder if anything can be the matter that they hurried so?" He gazed aloft toward where a queerly-shaped machine was circling about nearly five hundred feet in the air, for the craft, after swooping down close to the house, had ascended and was now hovering just above the line of breakers that marked the New Jersey seacoast, where Mr. Swift had taken up a temporary residence. "Don't begin worrying, Mr. Swift," advised Mrs. Baggert, the housekeeper. "You've got too much to do, if you get that new boat done, to worry." "That's so. I must not worry. But I wish Tom and Mr. Sharp would land, for I want to talk to them." As if the occupants of the airship had heard the words of the aged inventor, they headed their craft toward earth. The combined aeroplane and dirigible balloon, a most wonderful traveler of the air, swung around, and then, with the deflection rudders slanted downward, came on with a rush. When near the landing place, just at the side of the house, the motor was stopped, and the gas, with a hissing noise, rushed into the red aluminum container. This immediately made the ship more buoyant and it landed almost as gently as a feather. No sooner had the wheels which formed the lower part of the craft touched the ground than there leaped from the cabin of the Red Cloud a young man. "Well, dad!" he exclaimed. "Here we are again, safe and sound. Made a record, too. Touched ninety miles an hour at times--didn't we, Mr. Sharp?" "That's what," agreed a tall, thin, dark-complexioned man, who followed Tom Swift more leisurely in his exit from the cabin. Mr. Sharp, a veteran aeronaut, stopped to fasten guy ropes from the airship to strong stakes driven into the ground. "And we'd have done better, only we struck a hard wind against us about two miles up in the air, which delayed us," went on Tom. "Did you hear us coming, dad?" "Yes, and it startled him," put in Mrs. Baggert. "I guess he wasn't expecting you." "Oh, well, I shouldn't have been so alarmed, only I was thinking deeply about a certain change I am going to make in the submarine, Tom. I was day-dreaming, I think, when your ship whizzed through the air. But tell me, did you find everything all right at Shopton? No signs of any of those scoundrels of the Happy Harry gang having been around?" and Mr. Swift looked anxiously at his son. "Not a sign, dad," replied Tom quickly. "Everything was all right. We brought the things you wanted. They're in the airship. Oh, but it was a fine trip. I'd like to take another right out to sea." "Not now, Tom," said his father. "I want you to help me. And I need Mr. Sharp's help, too. Get the things out of the car, and we'll go to the shop." "First I think we'd better put the airship away," advised Mr. Sharp. "I don't just like the looks of the weather, and, besides, if we leave the ship exposed we'll be sure to have a crowd around sooner or later, and we don't want that." "No, indeed," remarked the aged inventor hastily. "I don't want people prying around the submarine shed. By all means put the airship away, and then come into the shop." In spite of its great size the aeroplane was easily wheeled along by Tom and Mr. Sharp, for the gas in the container made it so buoyant that it barely touched the earth. A little more of the powerful vapor and the Red Cloud would have risen by itself. In a few minutes the wonderful craft, of which my readers have been told in detail in a previous volume, was safely housed in a large tent, which was securely fastened. Mr. Sharp and Tom, carrying some bundles which they had taken from the car, or cabin, of the craft, went toward a large shed, which adjoined the house that Mr. Swift had hired for the season at the seashore. They found the lad's father standing before a great shape, which loomed up dimly in the semi-darkness of the building. It was like an immense cylinder, pointed at either end, and here and there were openings, covered with thick glass, like immense, bulging eyes. From the number of tools and machinery all about the place, and from the appearance of the great cylinder itself, it was easy to see that it was only partly completed. "Well, how goes it, dad?" asked the youth, as he deposited his bundle on a bench. "Do you think you can make it work?" "I think so, Tom. The positive and negative plates are giving me considerable trouble, though. But I guess we can solve the problem. Did you bring me the galvanometer?" "Yes, and all the other things," and the young inventor proceeded to take the articles from the bundles he carried. Mr. Swift looked them over carefully, while Tom walked about examining the submarine, for such was the queer craft that was contained in the shed. He noted that some progress had been made on it since he had left the seacoast several days before to make a trip to Shopton, in New York State, where the Swift home was located, after some tools and apparatus that his father wanted to obtain from his workshop there. "You and Mr. Jackson have put on several new plates," observed the lad after a pause. "Yes," admitted his father. "Garret and I weren't idle, were we, Garret?" and he nodded to the aged engineer, who had been in his employ for many years. "No; and I guess we'll soon have her in the water, Tom, now that you and Mr. Sharp are here to help us," replied Garret Jackson. "We ought to have Mr. Damon here to bless the submarine and his liver and collar buttons a few times," put in Mr. Sharp, who brought in another bundle. He referred to an eccentric individual who had recently made an airship voyage with himself and Tom, Mr. Damon's peculiarity being to use continually such expressions as: "Bless my soul! Bless my liver!" "Well, I'll be glad when we can make a trial trip," went on Tom. "I've traveled pretty fast on land with my motorcycle, and we certainly have hummed through the air. Now I want to see how it feels to scoot along under water." "Well, if everything goes well we'll be in position to make a trial trip inside of a month," remarked the aged inventor. "Look here, Mr. Sharp, I made a change in the steering gear, which I'd like you and Tom to consider." The three walked around to the rear of the odd-looking structure, if an object shaped like a cigar can be said to have a front and rear, and the inventor, his son, and the aeronaut were soon deep in a discussion of the technicalities connected with under-water navigation. A little later they went into the house, in response to a summons from the supper bell, vigorously rung by Mrs. Baggert. She was not fond of waiting with meals, and even the most serious problem of mechanics was, in her estimation, as nothing compared with having the soup get cold, or the possibility of not having the meat done to a turn. The meal was interspersed with remarks about the recent airship flight of Tom and Mr. Sharp, and discussions about the new submarine. This talk went on even after the table was cleared off and the three had adjourned to the sitting-room. There Mr. Swift brought out pencil and paper, and soon he and Mr. Sharp were engrossed in calculating the pressure per square inch of sea water at a depth of three miles. "Do you intend to go as deep as that?" asked Tom, looking up from a paper he was reading. "Possibly," replied his father; and his son resumed his perusal of the sheet. "Now," went on the inventor to the aeronaut, "I have another plan. In addition to the positive and negative plates which will form our motive power, I am going to install forward and aft propellers, to use in case of accident." "I say, dad! Did you see this?" suddenly exclaimed Tom, getting up from his chair, and holding his finger on a certain place in the page of the paper. "Did I see what?" asked Mr. Swift. "Why, this account of the sinking of the treasure ship." "Treasure ship? No. Where?" "Listen," went on Tom. "I'll read it: 'Further advices from Montevideo, Uruguay, South America, state that all hope has been given up of recovering the steamship Boldero, which foundered and went down off that coast in the recent gale. Not only has all hope been abandoned of raising the vessel, but it is feared that no part of the three hundred thousand dollars in gold bullion which she carried will ever be recovered. Expert divers who were taken to the scene of the wreck state that the depth of water, and the many currents existing there, due to a submerged shoal, preclude any possibility of getting at the hull. The bullion, it is believed, was to have been used to further the interests of a certain revolutionary faction, but it seems likely that they will have to look elsewhere for the sinews of war. Besides the bullion the ship also carried several cases of rifles, it is stated, and other valuable cargo. The crew and what few passengers the Boldero carried were, contrary to the first reports, all saved by taking to the boats. It appears that some of the ship's plates were sprung by the stress in which she labored in a storm, and she filled and sank gradually.' There! what do you think of that, dad?" cried Tom as he finished. "What do I think of it? Why, I think it's too bad for the revolutionists, Tom, of course." "No; I mean about the treasure being still on board the ship. What about that?" "Well, it's likely to stay there, if the divers can't get at it. Now, Mr. Sharp, about the propellers--" "Wait, dad!" cried Tom earnestly. "Why, Tom, what's the matter?" asked Mr. Swift in some surprise. "How soon before we can finish our submarine?" went on Tom, not answering the question. "About a month. Why?" "Why? Dad, why can't we have a try for that treasure? It ought to be comparatively easy to find that sunken ship off the coast of Uruguay. In our submarine we can get close up to it, and in the new diving suits you invented we can get at that gold bullion. Three hundred thousand dollars! Think of it, dad! Three hundred thousand dollars! We could easily claim all of it, since the owners have abandoned it, but we would be satisfied with half. Let's hurry up, finish the submarine, and have a try for it." "But, Tom, you forget that I am to enter my new ship in the trials for the prize offered by the United States Government." "How much is the prize if you win it?" asked Tom. "Fifty thousand dollars." "Well, here's a chance to make three times that much at least, and maybe more. Dad, let the Government prize go, and try for the treasure. Will you?" Tom looked eagerly at his father, his eyes shining with anticipation. Mr. Swift was not a quick thinker, but the idea his son had proposed made an impression on him. He reached out his hand for the paper in which the young inventor had seen the account of the sunken treasure. Slowly he read it through. Then he passed it to Mr. Sharp. "What do you think of it?" he asked of the aeronaut. "There's a possibility," remarked the balloonist "We might try for it. We can easily go three miles down, and it doesn't lie as deeply as that, if this account is true. Yes, we might try for it. But we'd have to omit the Government contests." "Will you, dad?" asked Tom again. Mr. Swift considered a moment longer. "Yes, Tom, I will," he finally decided. "Going after the treasure will be likely to afford us a better test of the submarine than would any Government tests. We'll try to locate the sunken Boldero." "Hurrah!" cried the lad, taking the paper from Mr. Sharp and waving it in the air. "That's the stuff! Now for a search for the submarine treasure!" Chapter Two Finishing the Submarine "What's the matter?" cried Mrs. Baggert, the housekeeper, hurrying in from the kitchen, where she was washing the dishes. "Have you seen some of those scoundrels who robbed you, Mr. Swift? If you have, the police down here ought to--" "No, it's nothing like that," explained Mr. Swift. "Tom has merely discovered in the paper an account of a sunken treasure ship, and he wants us to go after it, down under the ocean." "Oh, dear! Some more of Captain Kidd's hidden hoard, I suppose?" ventured the housekeeper. "Don't you bother with it, Mr. Swift. I had a cousin once, and he got set in the notion that he knew where that pirate's treasure was. He spent all the money he had and all he could borrow digging for it, and he never found a penny. Don't waste your time on such foolishness. It's bad enough to be building airships and submarines without going after treasure." Mrs. Baggert spoke with the freedom of an old friend rather than a hired housekeeper, but she had been in the family ever since Tom's mother died, when he was a baby, and she had many privileges. "Oh, this isn't any of Kidd's treasure," Tom assured her. "If we get it, Mrs. Baggert, I'll buy you a diamond ring." "Humph!" she exclaimed, as Tom began to hug her in boyish fashion. "I guess I'll have to buy all the diamond rings I want, if I have to depend on your treasure for them," and she went back to the kitchen. "Well," went on Mr. Swift after a pause, "if we are going into the treasure-hunting business, Tom, we'll have to get right to work. In the first place, we must find out more about this ship, and just where it was sunk." "I can do that part," said Mr. Sharp. "I know some sea captains, and they can put me on the track of locating the exact spot. In fact, it might not be a bad idea to take an expert navigator with us. I can manage in the air all right, but I confess that working out a location under water is beyond me." "Yes, an old sea captain wouldn't be a bad idea, by any means," conceded Mr. Swift. "Well, if you'll attend to that detail, Mr. Sharp, Tom, Mr. Jackson and I will finish the submarine. Most of the work is done, however, and it only remains to install the engine and motors. Now, in regard to the negative and positive electric plates, I'd like your opinion, Tom." For Tom Swift was an inventor, second in ability only to his father, and his advice was often sought by his parent on matters of electrical construction, for the lad had made a specialty of that branch of science. While father and son were deep in a discussion of the apparatus of the submarine, there will be an opportunity to make the reader a little better acquainted with them. Those of you who have read the previous volumes of this series do not need to be told who Tom Swift is. Others, however, may be glad to have a proper introduction to him. Tom Swift lived with his father, Barton Swift, in the village of Shopton, New York. The Swift home was on the outskirts of the town, and the large house was surrounded by a number of machine shops, in which father and son, aided by Garret Jackson, the engineer, did their experimental and constructive work. Their house was not far from Lake Carlopa, a fairly large body of water, on which Tom often speeded his motor-boat. In the first volume of this series, entitled "Tom Swift and His Motor-Cycle," it was told how he became acquainted with Mr. Wakefield Damon, who suffered an accident while riding one of the speedy machines. The accident disgusted Mr. Damon with motor-cycles, and Tom secured it for a low price. He had many adventures on it, chief among which was being knocked senseless and robbed of a valuable patent model belonging to his father, which he was taking to Albany. The attack was committed by a gang known as the Happy Harry gang, who were acting at the instigation of a syndicate of rich men, who wanted to secure control of a certain patent turbine engine which Mr. Swift had invented. Tom set out in pursuit of the thieves, after recovering from their attack, and had a strenuous time before he located them. In the second volume, entitled "Tom Swift and His Motor-Boat," there was related our hero's adventures in a fine craft which was recovered from the thieves and sold at auction. There was a mystery connected with the boat, and for a long time Tom could not solve it. He was aided, however, by his chum, Ned Newton, who worked in the Shopton Bank, and also by Mr. Damon and Eradicate Sampson, an aged colored whitewasher, who formed quite an attachment for Tom. In his motor-boat Tom had more than one race with Andy Foger, a rich lad of Shopton, who was a sort of bully. He had red hair and squinty eyes, and was as mean in character as he was in looks. He and his cronies, Sam Snedecker and Pete Bailey, made trouble for Tom, chiefly because Tom managed to beat Andy twice in boat races. It was while in his motor-boat, Arrow, that Tom formed the acquaintance of John Sharp, a veteran balloonist. While coming down Lake Carlopa on the way to the Swift home, which had been entered by thieves, Tom, his father and Ned Newton, saw a balloon on fire over the lake. Hanging from a trapeze on it was Mr. Sharp, who had made an ascension from a fair ground. By hard work on the part of Tom and his friends the aeronaut was saved, and took up his residence with the Swifts. His advent was most auspicious, for Tom and his father were then engaged in perfecting an airship, and Mr. Sharp was able to lend them his skill, so that the craft was soon constructed. In the third volume, called "Tom Swift and His Airship," there was set down the doings of the young inventor, Mr. Sharp and Mr. Damon on a trip above the clouds. They undertook it merely for pleasure, but they encountered considerable danger, before they completed it, for they nearly fell into a blazing forest once, and were later fired at by a crowd of excited people. This last act was to effect their capture, for they were taken for a gang of bank robbers, and this was due directly to Andy Foger. The morning after Tom and his friends started on their trip in the air, the Shopton Bank was found to have been looted of seventy-five thousand dollars. Andy Foger at once told the police that Tom Swift had taken the money, and when asked how he knew this, he said he had seen Tom hanging around the bank the night before the vault was burst open, and that the young inventor had some burglar tools in his possession. Warrants were at once sworn out for Tom and Mr. Damon, who was also accused of being one of the robbers, and a reward of five thousand dollars was offered. Tom, Mr. Damon and Mr. Sharp sailed on, all unaware of this, and unable to account for being fired upon, until they accidentally read in the paper an account of their supposed misdeeds. They lost no time in starting back home, and on the way got on the track of the real bank robbers, who were members of the Happy Harry gang. How the robbers were captured in an exciting raid, how Tom recovered most of the stolen money, and how he gave Andy Foger a deserved thrashing for giving a false clue was told of, and there was an account of a race in which the Red Cloud (as the airship was called) took part, as well as details of how Tom and his friends secured the reward, which Andy Foger hoped to collect. Those of you who care to know how the Red Cloud was constructed, and how she behaved in the air, even during accidents and when struck by lightning, may learn by reading the third volume, for the airship was one of the most successful ever constructed. When the craft was finished, and the navigators were ready to start on their first long trip, Mr. Swift was asked to go with them. He declined, but would not tell why, until Tom, pressing him for an answer, learned that his father was planning a submarine boat, which he hoped to enter in some trials for Government prizes. Mr. Swift remained at home to work on this submarine, while his son and Mr. Sharp were sailing above the clouds. On their return, however, and after the bank mystery had been cleared up, Tom and Mr. Sharp, aided Mr. Swift in completing the submarine, until, when the present story opens, it needed but little additional work to make the craft ready for the water. Of course it had to be built near the sea, as it would have been impossible to transport it overland from Shopton. So, before the keel was laid, Mr. Swift rented a large cottage at a seaside place on the New Jersey coast and there, after erecting a large shed, the work on the Advance, as the under-water ship was called, was begun. It was soon to be launched in a large creek that extended in from the ocean and had plenty of water at high tide. Tom and Mr. Sharp made several trips back and forth from Shopton in their airship, to see that all was safe at home and occasionally to get needed tools and supplies from the shops, for not all the apparatus could be moved from Shopton to the coast. It was when returning from one of these trips that Tom brought with him the paper containing an account of the wreck of the Boldero and the sinking of the treasure she carried. Until late that night the three fortune-hunters discussed various matters. "We'll hurry work on the ship," said Mr. Swift at length. "Tom, I wonder if your friend, Mr. Damon, would care to try how it seems under water? He stood the air trip fairly well." "I'll write and ask him," answered the lad. "I'm sure he'll go." Securing, a few days later, the assistance of two mechanics, whom he knew he could trust, for as yet the construction of the Advance was a secret, Mr. Swift prepared to rush work on the submarine, and for the next three weeks there were busy times in the shed next to the seaside cottage. So busy, in fact, were Tom and Mr. Sharp, that they only found opportunity for one trip in the airship, and that was to get some supplies from the shops at home. "Well," remarked Mr. Swift one night, at the close of a hard day's work, "another week will see our craft completed. Then we will put it in the water and see how it floats, and whether it submerges as I hope it does. But come on, Tom. I want to lock up. I'm very tired to-night." "All right, dad," answered the young inventor coming from the darkened rear of the shop. "I just want to--" He paused suddenly, and appeared to be listening. Then he moved softly back to where he had come from. "What's the matter?" asked his father in a whisper. "What's up, Tom?" The lad did not answer Mr. Swift, with a worried look on his face, followed his son. Mr. Sharp stood in the door of the shop. "I thought I heard some one moving around back here," went on Tom quietly. "Some one in this shop!" exclaimed the aged inventor excitedly. "Some one trying to steal my ideas again! Mr. Sharp, come here! Bring that rifle! We'll teach these scoundrels a lesson!" Tom quickly darted back to the extreme rear of the building. There was a scuffle, and the next minute Tom cried out: "What are you doing here?" "Ha! I beg your pardon," replied a voice. "I am looking for Mr. Barton Swift." "My father," remarked Tom. "But that's a queer place to look for him. He's up front. Father, here's a man who wishes to see you," he called. "Yes, I strolled in, and seeing no one about I went to the rear of the place," the voice went on. "I hope I haven't transgressed." "We were busy on the other side of the shop, I guess," replied Tom, and he looked suspiciously at the man who emerged from the darkness into the light from a window. "I beg your pardon for grabbing you the way I did," went on the lad, "but I thought you were one of a gang of men we've been having trouble with." "Oh, that's all right," continued the man easily. "I know Mr. Swift, and I think he will remember me. Ah, Mr. Swift, how do you do?" he added quickly, catching sight of Tom's father, who, with Mr. Sharp, was coming to meet the lad. "Addison Berg!" exclaimed the aged inventor as he saw the man's face more plainly. "What are you doing here?" "I came to see you," replied the man. "May I have a talk with you privately?" "I--I suppose so," assented Mr. Swift nervously. "Come into the house." Mr. Berg left Tom's side and advanced to where Mr. Swift was standing. Together the two emerged from the now fast darkening shop and went toward the house. "Who is he?" asked Mr. Sharp of the young inventor in a whisper. "I don't know," replied the lad; "but, whoever he is, dad seems afraid of him. I'm going to keep my eyes open." Chapter Three Mr. Berg is Astonished Following his father and the stranger whom the aged inventor had addressed as Mr. Berg, Tom and Mr. Sharp entered the house, the lad having first made sure that Garret Jackson was on guard in the shop that contained the submarine. "Now," said Mr. Swift to the newcomer, "I am at your service. What is it you wish?" "In the first place, let me apologize for having startled you and your friends," began the man. "I had no idea of sneaking into your workshop, but I had just arrived here, and seeing the doors open I went in. I heard no one about, and I wandered to the back of the place. There I happened to stumble over a board--" "And I heard you," interrupted Tom. "Is this one of your employees?" asked Mr. Berg in rather frigid tones. "That is my son," replied Mr. Swift. "Oh, I beg your pardon." The man's manner changed quickly. "Well, I guess you did hear me, young man. I didn't intend to bark my shins the way I did, either. You must have taken me for a burglar or a sneak thief." "I have been very much bothered by a gang of unscrupulous men," said Mr. Swift, "and I suppose Tom thought it was some of them sneaking around again." "That's what I did," added the lad. "I wasn't going to have any one steal the secret of the submarine if I could help it." "Quite right! Quite right!" exclaimed Mr. Berg. "But my purpose was an open one. As you know, Mr. Swift, I represent the firm of Bentley & Eagert, builders of submarine boats and torpedoes. They heard that you were constructing a craft to take part in the competitive prize tests of the United States Government, and they asked me to come and see you to learn when your ship would be ready. Ours is completed, but we recognize that it will be for the best interests of all concerned if there are a number of contestants, and my firm did not want to send in their entry until they knew that you were about finished with your ship. How about it? Are you ready to compete?" "Yes," said Mr. Swift slowly. "We are about ready. My craft needs a few finishing touches, and then it will be ready to launch." "Then we may expect a good contest on your part," suggested Mr. Berg. "Well," began the aged inventor, "I don't know about that." "What's that?" exclaimed Mr. Berg. "I said I wasn't quite sure that we would compete," went on Mr. Swift. "You see, when I first got this idea for a submarine boat I had it in mind to try for the Government prize of fifty thousand dollars." "That's what we want, too," interrupted Mr. Berg with a smile. "But," went on Tom's father, "since then certain matters have come up, and I think, on the whole, that we'll not compete for the prize after all." "Not compete for the prize?" almost shouted the agent for Bentley & Eagert. "Why, the idea! You ought to compete. It is good for the trade. We think we have a very fine craft, and probably we would beat you in the tests, but--" "I wouldn't be too sure of that," put in Tom. "You have only seen the outside of our boat. The inside is better yet." "Ah, I have no doubt of that," spoke Mr. Berg, "but we have been at the business longer than you have, and have had more experience. Still we welcome competition. But I am very much surprised that you are not going to compete for the prize, Mr. Swift. Very much surprised, indeed! You see, I came down from Philadelphia to arrange so that we could both enter our ships at the same time. I understand there is another firm of submarine boat builders who are going to try for the prize, and I want to arrange a date that will be satisfactory to all. I am greatly astonished that you are not going to compete." "Well, we were going to," said Mr. Swift, "only we have changed our minds, that's all. My son and I have other plans." "May I ask what they are?" questioned Mr. Berg. "You may," exclaimed Tom quickly; "but I don't believe we can tell you. They're a secret," he added more cordially. "Oh, I see," retorted Mr. Berg. "Well, of course I don't wish to penetrate any of your secrets, but I hoped we could contest together for the Government prize. It is worth trying for I assure you--fifty thousand dollars. Besides, there is the possibility of selling a number of submarines to the United States. It's a fine prize." "But the one we are after is a bigger one," cried Tom impetuously, and the moment he had spoken he wished he could recall the words. "Eh? What's that?" exclaimed Mr. Berg. "You don't mean to say another government has offered a larger prize? If I had known that I would not have let my firm enter into the competition for the bonus offered by the United States. Please tell me." "I'm sorry," went on Tom more soberly. "I shouldn't have spoken. Mr. Berg, the plans of my father and myself are such that we can't reveal them now. We are going to try for a prize, but not in competition with you. It's an entirely different matter." "Well, I guess you'll find that the firm of Bentley & Eagert are capable of trying for any prizes that are offered," boasted the agent. "We may be competitors yet." "I don't believe so," replied Mr. Swift. "We may," repeated Mr. Berg. "And if we do, please remember that we will show no mercy. Our boats are the best." "And may the best boat win," interjected Mr. Sharp. "That's all we ask. A fair field and no favors." "Of course," spoke the agent coldly. "Is this another son of yours?" he asked. "No but a good friend," replied the aged inventor. "No, Mr. Berg, we won't compete this time. You may tell your firm so." "Very good," was the other's stiff reply. "Then I will bid you good night. We shall carry off the Government prize, but permit me to add that I am very much astonished, very much indeed, that you do not try for the prize. From what I have seen of your submarine you have a very good one, almost as good, in some respects, as ours. I bid you good night," and with a bow the man left the room and hurried away from the house. Chapter Four Tom is Imprisoned "Well, I must say he's a cool one," remarked Tom, as the echoes of Mr. Berg's steps died away. "The idea of thinking his boat better than ours! I don't like that man, dad. I'm suspicious of him. Do you think he came here to steal some of our ideas?" "No, I hardly believe so, my son. But how did you discover him?" "Just as you saw, dad. I heard a noise and went back there to investigate. I found him sneaking around, looking at the electric propeller plates. I went to grab him just as he stumbled over a board. At first I thought it was one of the old gang. I'm almost sure he was trying to discover something." "No, Tom. The firm he works for are good business men, and they would not countenance anything like that. They are heartless competitors, however, and if they saw a legitimate chance to get ahead of me and take advantage, they would do it. But they would not sneak in to steal my ideas. I feel sure of that. Besides, they have a certain type of submarine which they think is the best ever invented, and they would hardly change at this late day. They feel sure of winning the Government prize, and I'm just as glad we're not going to have a contest." "Do you think our boat is better than theirs?" "Much better, in many respects." "I don't like that man Berg, though," went on Tom. "Nor do I," added his father. "There is something strange about him. He was very anxious that I should compete. Probably he thought his firm's boat would go so far ahead of ours that they would get an extra bonus. But I'm glad he didn't see our new method of propulsion. That is the principal improvement in the Advance over other types of submarines. Well, another week and we will be ready for the test." "Have you known Mr. Berg long, dad?" "Not very. I met him in Washington when I was in the patent office. He was taking out papers on a submarine for his firm at the same time I got mine for the Advance. It is rather curious that he should come all the way here from Philadelphia, merely to see if I was going to compete. There is something strange about it, something that I can't understand." The time was to come when Mr. Swift and his son were to get at the bottom of Mr. Berg's reasons, and they learned to their sorrow that he had penetrated some of their secrets. Before going to bed that night Tom and Mr. Sharp paid a visit to the shed where the submarine was resting on the ways, ready for launching. They found Mr. Jackson on guard and the engineer said that no one had been around. Nor was anything found disturbed. "It certainly is a great machine," remarked the lad as he looked up at the cigar-shaped bulk towering over his head. "Dad has outdone himself this trip." "It looks all right," commented Mr. Sharp. "Whether it will work is another question." "Yes, we can't tell until it's in the water," conceded Tom. "But I hope it does. Dad has spent much time and money on it." The Advance was, as her name indicated, much in advance of previous submarines. There was not so much difference in outward construction as there was in the means of propulsion and in the manner in which the interior and the machinery were arranged. The submarine planned by Mr. Swift and Tom jointly, and constructed by them, with the aid of Mr. Sharp and Mr. Jackson, was shaped like a Cigar, over one hundred feet long and twenty feet in diameter at the thickest part. It was divided into many compartments, all water-tight, so that if one or even three were flooded the ship would still be useable. Buoyancy was provided for by having several tanks for the introduction of compressed air, and there was an emergency arrangement so that a collapsible aluminum container could be distended and filled with a powerful gas. This was to be used if, by any means, the ship was disabled on the bottom of the ocean. The container could be expanded and filled, and would send the Advance to the surface. Another peculiar feature was that the engine-room, dynamos and other apparatus were all contained amidships. This gave stability to the craft, and also enabled the same engine to operate both shafts and propellers, as well as both the negative forward electrical plates, and the positive rear ones. These plates were a new idea in submarine construction, and were the outcome of an idea of Mr. Swift, with some suggestions from his son. The aged inventor did not want to depend on the usual screw propellers for his craft, nor did he want to use a jet of compressed air, shooting out from a rear tube, nor yet a jet of water, by means of which the creature called the squid shoots himself along. Mr. Swift planned to send the Advance along under water by means of electricity. Certain peculiar plates were built at the forward and aft blunt noses of the submarine. Into the forward plate a negative charge of electricity was sent, and into the one at the rear a positive charge, just as one end of a horseshoe magnet is positive and will repel the north end of a compass needle, while the other pole of a magnet is negative and will attract it. In electricity like repels like, while negative and positive have a mutual attraction for each other. Mr. Swift figured out that if he could send a powerful current of negative electricity into the forward plate it would pull the boat along, for water is a good conductor of electricity, while if a positive charge was sent into the rear plate it would serve to push the submarine along, and he would thus get a pulling and pushing motion, just as a forward and aft propeller works on some ferry boats. But the inventor did not depend on these plates alone. There were auxiliary forward and aft propellers of the regular type, so that if the electrical plates did not work, or got out of order, the screws would serve to send the Advance along. There was much machinery in the submarine. There were gasolene motors, since space was too cramped to allow the carrying of coal for boilers. There were dynamos, motors and powerful pumps. Some of these were for air, and some for water. To sink the submarine below the surface large tanks were filled with water. To insure a more sudden descent, deflecting rudders were also used, similar to those on an airship. There were also special air pumps, and one for the powerful gas, which was manufactured on board. Forward from the engine-room was a cabin, where meals could be served, and where the travelers could remain in the daytime. There was also a small cooking galley, or kitchen, there. Back of the engine-room were the sleeping quarters and the storerooms. The submarine was steered from the forward compartment, and here were also levers, wheels and valves that controlled all the machinery, while a number of dials showed in which direction they were going, how deep they were, and at what speed they were moving, as well as what the ocean pressure was. On top, forward, was a small conning, or observation tower, with auxiliary and steering and controlling apparatus there. This was to be used when the ship was moving along on the surface of the ocean, or merely with the deck awash. There was a small flat deck surrounding the conning tower and this was available when the craft was on the surface. There was provision made for leaving the ship when it was on the bed of the ocean. When it was desired to do this the occupants put on diving suits, which were provided with portable oxygen tanks. Then they entered a chamber into which water was admitted until it was equal in pressure to that outside. Then a steel door was opened, and they could step out. To re-enter the ship the operation was reversed. This was not a new feature. In fact, many submarines to-day use it. At certain places there were thick bull's-eye windows, by means of which the under-water travelers could look out into the ocean through which they were moving. As a defense against the attacks of submarine monsters there was a steel, pointed ram, like a big harpoon. There were also a bow and a stern electrical gun, of which more will be told later. In addition to ample sleeping accommodations, there were many conveniences aboard the Advance. Plenty of fresh water could be carried, and there was an apparatus for distilling more from the sea water that surrounded the travelers. Compressed air was carried in large tanks, and oxygen could be made as needed. In short, nothing that could add to the comfort or safety of the travelers had been omitted. There was a powerful crane and windlass, which had been installed when Mr. Swift thought his boat might be bought by the Government. This was to be used for raising wrecks or recovering objects from the bottom of the ocean. Ample stores and provisions were to be carried and, once the travelers were shut up in the Advance, they could exist for a month below the surface, providing no accident occurred. All these things Tom and Mr. Sharp thought of as they looked over the ship before turning in for the night. The craft was made immensely strong to withstand powerful pressure at the bottom of the ocean. The submarine could penetrate to a depth of about three miles. Below that it was dangerous to go, as the awful force would crush the plates, powerful as they were. "Well, we'll rush things to-morrow and the next day," observed Tom as he prepared to leave the building. "Then we'll soon see if it works." For the next week there were busy times in the shop near the ocean. Great secrecy was maintained, and though curiosity seekers did stroll along now and then, they received little satisfaction. At first Mr. Swift thought that the visit of Mr. Berg would have unpleasant results, for he feared that the agent would talk about the craft, of which he had so unexpectedly gotten a sight. But nothing seemed to follow from his chance inspection, and it was forgotten. It was one evening, about a week later, that Tom was alone in the shop. The two mechanics that had been hired to help out in the rush had been let go, and the ship needed but a few adjustments to make it ready for the sea. "I think I'll just take another look at the water tank valves," said Tom to himself as he prepared to enter the big compartments which received the water ballast. "I want to be sure they work properly and quickly. We've got to depend on them to make us sink when we want to, and, what's more important, to rise to the surface in a hurry. I've got time enough to look them over before dad and Mr. Sharp get back." Tom entered the starboard tank by means of an emergency sliding door between the big compartments and the main part of the ship. This was closed by a worm and screw gear, and once the ship was in the water would seldom be used. The young inventor proceeded with his task, carefully inspecting the valves by the light of a lantern he carried. The apparatus seemed to be all right, and Tom was about to leave when a peculiar noise attracted his attention. It was the sound of metal scraping on metal, and the lad's quick and well-trained ear told him it was somewhere about the ship. He turned to leave the tank, but as he wheeled around his light flashed on a solid wall of steel back of him. The emergency outlet had been closed! He was a prisoner in the water compartment, and he knew, from past experience, that shout as he would, his voice could not be heard ten feet away. His father and Mr. Sharp, as he was aware, had gone to a nearby city for some tools, and Mr. Jackson, the engineer, was temporarily away. Mrs. Baggert, in the house, could not hear his cries. "I'm locked in!" cried Tom aloud. "The worm gear must have shut of itself. But I don't see how that could be. I've got to get out mighty soon, though, or I'll smother. This tank is airtight, and it won't take me long to breath up all the oxygen there is here. I must get that slide open." He sought to grasp the steel plate that closed the emergency opening. His fingers slipped over the smooth, polished surface. He was hermetically sealed up--a captive! Blankly he set his lantern down and leaned hopelessly against the wall of the tank. "I've got to get out," he murmured. As if in answer to him he heard a voice on the outside, crying: "There, Tom Swift! I guess I've gotten even with you now! Maybe next time you won't take a reward away from me, and lick me into the bargain. I've got you shut up good and tight, and you'll stay there until I get ready to let you out." "Andy Foger!" gasped Tom. "Andy Foger sneaked in here and turned the gear. But how did he get to this part of the coast? Andy Foger, you let me out!" shouted the young inventor; and as Andy's mocking laugh came to him faintly through the steel sides of the submarine, the imprisoned lad beat desperately with his hands on the smooth sides of the tank, vainly wondering how his enemy had discovered him. Chapter Five Mr. Berg is Suspicious Not for long did the young inventor endeavor to break his way out of the water-ballast tank by striking the heavy sides of it. Tom realized that this was worse than useless. He listened intently, but could hear nothing. Even the retreating footsteps of Andy Foger were inaudible. "This certainly is a pickle!" exclaimed Tom aloud. "I can't understand how he ever got here. He must have traced us after we went to Shopton in the airship the last time. Then he sneaked in here. Probably he saw me enter, but how could he know enough to work the worm gear and close the door? Andy has had some experience with machinery, though, and one of the vaults in the bank where his father is a director closed just like this tank. That's very likely how he learned about it. But I've got to do something else besides thinking of that sneak, Andy. I've got to get out of here. Let's see if I can work the gear from inside." Before he started, almost, Tom knew that it would be impossible. The tank was made to close from the interior of the submarine, and the heavy door, built to withstand the pressure of tons of water, could not be forced except by the proper means. "No use trying that," concluded the lad, after a tiring attempt to force back the sliding door with his hands. "I've got to call for help." He shouted until the vibrations in the confined space made his ears ring, and the mere exertion of raising his voice to the highest pitch made his heart beat quickly. Yet there came no response. He hardly expected that there would be any, for with his father and Mr. Sharp away, the engineer absent on an errand, and Mrs. Baggert in the house some distance off, there was no one to hear his calls for help, even if they had been capable of penetrating farther than the extent of the shed, where the under-water craft had been constructed. "I've got to wait until some of them come out here," thought Tom. "They'll be sure to release me and make a search. Then it will be easy enough to call to them and tell them where I am, once they are inside the shed. But--" He paused, for a horrible fear came over him. "Suppose they should come--too late?" The tank was airtight. There was enough air in it to last for some time, but, sooner or later, it would no longer support life. Already, Tom thought, it seemed oppressive, though probably that was his imagination. "I must get out!" he repeated frantically. "I'll die in here soon." Again he tried to shove back the steel door. Then he repeated his cries until he was weary. No one answered him. He fancied once he could hear footsteps in the shed, and thought, perhaps, it was Andy, come back to gloat over him. Then Tom knew the red-haired coward would not dare venture back. We must do Andy the justice to say that he never realized that he was endangering Tom's life. The bully had no idea the tank was airtight when he closed it. He had seen Tom enter and a sudden whim came to him to revenge himself. But that did not help the young inventor any. There was no doubt about it now--the air was becoming close. Tom had been imprisoned nearly two hours, and as he was a healthy, strong lad, he required plenty of oxygen. There was certainly less than there had been in the tank. His head began to buzz, and there was a ringing in his ears. Once more he fell upon his knees, and his fingers sought the small projections of the gear on the inside of the door. He could no more budge the mechanism than a child could open a burglar-proof vault. "It's no use," he moaned, and he sprawled at full length on the floor of the tank, for there the air was purer. As he did so his fingers touched something. He started as they closed around the handle of a big monkey wrench. It was one he had brought into the place with him. Imbued with new hope he struck a match and lighted his lantern, which he had allowed to go out as it burned up too much of the oxygen. By the gleam of it he looked to see if there were any bolts or nuts he could loosen with the wrench, in order to slide the door back. It needed but a glance to show him the futility of this. "It's no go," he murmured, and he let the wrench fall to the floor. There was a ringing, clanging sound, and as it smote his ears Tom sprang up with an exclamation. "That's the thing!" he cried. "I wonder I didn't think of it before. I can signal for help by pounding on the sides of the tank with the wrench. The blows will carry a good deal farther than my voice would." Every one knows how far the noise of a boiler shop, with hammers falling on steel plates, can be heard; much farther than can a human voice. Tom began a lusty tattoo on the metal sides of the tank. At first he merely rattled out blow after blow, and then, as another thought came to him, he adopted a certain plan. Some time previous, when he and Mr. Sharp had planned their trip in the air, the two had adopted a code of signals. As it was difficult in a high wind to shout from one end of the airship to the other, the young inventor would sometimes pound on the pipe which ran from the pilot house of the Red Cloud to the engine-room. By a combination of numbers, simple messages could be conveyed. The code included a call for help. Forty-seven was the number, but there had never been any occasion to use it. Tom remembered this now. At once he ceased his indiscriminate hammering, and began to beat out regularly--one, two, three, four--then a pause, and seven blows would be given. Over and over again he rang out this number--forty seven--the call for help. "If Mr. Sharp only comes back he will hear that, even in the house," thought poor Tom "Maybe Garret or Mrs. Baggert will hear it, too, but they won't know what it means. They'll think I'm just working on the submarine." It seemed several hours to Tom that he pounded out that cry for aid, but, as he afterward learned, it was only a little over an hour. Signal after signal he sent vibrating from the steel sides of the tank. When one arm tired he would use the other. He grew weary, his head was aching, and there was a ringing in his ears; a ringing that seemed as if ten thousand bells were jangling out their peals, and he could barely distinguish his own pounding. Signal after signal he sounded. It was becoming like a dream to him, when suddenly, as he paused for a rest, he heard his name called faintly, as if far away. "Tom! Tom! Where are you?" It was the voice of Mr. Sharp. Then followed the tones of the aged inventor. "My poor boy! Tom, are you still alive?" "Yes, dad! In the starboard tank!" the lad gasped out, and then he lost his senses. When he revived he was lying on a pile of bagging in the submarine shop, and his father and the aeronaut were bending over him. "Are you all right, Tom?" asked Mr. Swift. "Yes--I--I guess so," was the hesitating answer. "Yes," the lad added, as the fresh air cleared his head. "I'll be all right pretty soon. Have you seen Andy Foger?" "Did he shut you in there?" demanded Mr. Swift. Tom nodded. "I'll have him arrested!" declared Mr. Swift. "I'll go to town as soon as you're in good shape again and notify the police." "No, don't," pleaded Tom. "I'll take care of Andy myself. I don't really believe he knew how serious it was. I'll settle with him later, though." "Well, it came mighty near being serious," remarked Mr. Sharp grimly. "Your father and I came back a little sooner than we expected, and as soon as I got near the house I heard your signal. I knew what it was in a moment. There were Mrs. Baggert and Garret talking away, and when I asked them why they didn't answer your call they said they thought you were merely tinkering with the machinery. But I knew better. It's the first time we ever had a use for 'forty-seven,' Tom." "And I hope it will be the last," replied the young inventor with a faint smile. "But I'd like to know what Andy Foger is doing in this neighborhood." Tom was soon himself again and able to go to the house, where he found Mrs. Baggert brewing a big basin of catnip tea, under the impression that it would in some way be good for him. She could not forgive herself for not having answered his signal, and as for Mr. Jackson, he had started for a doctor as soon as he learned that Tom was shut up in the tank. The services of the medical man were canceled by telephone, as there was no need for him, and the engineer came back to the house. Tom was fully himself the next day, and aided his father and Mr. Sharp in putting the finishing touches to the Advance. It was found that some alteration was required in the auxiliary propellers, and this, much to the regret of the young inventor, would necessitate postponing the trial a few days. "But we'll have her in the water next Friday," promised Mr. Swift. "Aren't you superstitious about Friday?" asked the balloonist. "Not a bit of it," replied the aged inventor. "Tom," he added, "I wish you would go in the house and get me the roll of blueprints you'll find on my desk." As the lad neared the cottage he saw, standing in front of the place, a small automobile. A man had just descended from it, and it needed but a glance to show that he was Mr. Addison Berg. "Ah, good morning, Mr. Swift," greeted Mr. Berg. "I wish to see your father, but as I don't wish to lay myself open to suspicions by entering the shop, perhaps you will ask him to step here." "Certainly," answered the lad, wondering why the agent had returned. Getting the blueprints, and asking Mr. Berg to sit down on the porch, Tom delivered the message. "You come back with me, Tom," said his father. "I want you to be a witness to what he says. I'm not going to get into trouble with these people." Mr. Berg came to the point at once. "Mr. Swift," he said, "I wish you would reconsider your determination not to enter the Government trials. I'd like to see you compete. So would my firm." "There is no use going over that again," replied the aged inventor. "I have another object in view now than trying for the Government prize. What it is I can't say, but it may develop in time--if we are successful," and he looked at his son, smiling the while. Mr. Berg tried to argue, but it was of no avail. Then he changed his manner, and said: "Well, since you won't, you won't, I suppose. I'll go back and report to my firm. Have you anything special to do this morning?" he went on to Tom. "Well, I can always find something to keep me busy," replied the lad, "but as for anything special--" "I thought perhaps you'd like to go for a trip in my auto," interrupted Mr. Berg. "I had asked a young man who is stopping at the same hotel where I am to accompany me, but he has unexpectedly left, and I don't like to go alone. His name was--let me see. I have a wretched memory for names, but it was something like Roger or Moger." "Foger!" cried Tom. "Was it Andy Foger?" "Yes, that was it. Why, do you know him?" asked Mr. Berg in some surprise. "I should say so," replied Tom. "He was the cause of what might have resulted in something serious for me," and the lad explained about being imprisoned in the tank. "You don't tell me!" cried Mr. Berg. "I had no idea he was that kind of a lad. You see, his father is one of the directors of the firm by whom I am employed. Andy came from home to spend a few weeks at the seaside, and stopped at the same hotel that I did. He went off yesterday afternoon, and I haven't seen him since, though he promised to go for a ride with me. He must have come over here and entered your shop unobserved. I remember now he asked me where the submarine was being built that was going to compete with our firm's, and I told him. I didn't think he was that kind of a lad. Well, since he's probably gone back home, perhaps you will come for a ride with me, Tom." "I'm afraid I can't go, thank you," answered the lad. "We are very busy getting our submarine in shape for a trial. But I can imagine why Andy left so hurriedly. He probably learned that a doctor had been summoned for me, though, as it happened, I didn't need one. But Andy probably got frightened at what he had done, and left. I'll make him more sorry, when I meet him." "Don't blame you a bit," commented Mr. Berg. "Well, I must be getting back." He hastened out to his auto, while Tom and his father watched the agent. "Tom, never trust that man," advised the aged inventor solemnly. "Just what I was about to remark," said his son. "Well, let's get back to work. Queer that he should come here again, and it's queer about Andy Foger." Father and son returned to the machine shop, while Mr. Berg puffed away in his auto. A little later, Tom having occasion to go to a building near the boundary line of the cottage property which his father had hired for the season, saw, through the hedge that bordered it, an automobile standing in the road. A second glance showed him that it was Mr. Berg's machine. Something had gone wrong with it, and the agent had alighted to make an adjustment. The young inventor was close to the man, though the latter was unaware of his presence. "Hang it all!" Tom heard Mr. Berg exclaim to himself. "I wonder what they can be up to? They won't enter the Government contests, and they won't say why. I believe they're up to some game, and I've got to find out what it is. I wonder if I couldn't use this Foger chap?" "He seems to have it in for this Tom Swift," Mr. Berg went on, still talking to himself, though not so low but that Tom could hear him. "I think I'll try it. I'll get Andy Foger to sneak around and find out what the game is. He'll do it, I know." By this time the auto was in working order again, and the agent took his seat and started off. "So that's how matters lie, eh?" thought Tom. "Well, Mr. Berg, we'll be doubly on the lookout for you after this. As for Andy Foger, I think I'll make him wish he'd never locked me in that tank. So you expect to find out our 'game,' eh, Mr. Berg? Well, when you do know it, I think it will astonish you. I only hope you don't learn what it is until we get at that sunken treasure, though." But alas for Tom's hopes. Mr. Berg did learn of the object of the treasure-seekers, and sought to defeat them, as we shall learn as our story proceeds. Chapter Six Turning the Tables When the young inventor informed his father what he had overheard Mr. Berg saying, the aged inventor was not as much worried as his son anticipated. "All we'll have to do, Tom," he said, "is to keep quiet about where we are going. Once we have the Advance afloat, and try her out, we can start on our voyage for the South American Coast and search for the sunken treasure. When we begin our voyage under water I defy any one to tell where we are going, or what our plans are. No, I don't believe we need worry about Mr. Berg, though he probably means mischief." "Well, I'm going to keep my eyes open for him and Andy Foger," declared Tom. The days that followed were filled with work. Not only were there many unexpected things to do about the submarine, but Mr. Sharp was kept busy making inquiries about the sunken treasure ship. These inquiries had to be made carefully, as the adventurers did not want their plans talked of, and nothing circulates more quickly than rumors of an expedition after treasure of any kind. "What about the old sea captain you were going to get to go with us?" asked Mr. Swift of the balloonist one afternoon. "Have you succeeded in finding one yet?" "Yes; I am in communication with a man I think will be just the person for us. His name is Captain Alden Weston, and he has sailed all over the world. He has also taken part in more than one revolution, and, in fact, is a soldier of fortune. I do not know him personally, but a friend of mine knows him, and says he will serve us faithfully. I have written to him, and he will be here in a few days." "That's good. Now about the location of the wreck itself. Have you been able to learn any more details?" "Well, not many. You see, the Boldero was abandoned in a storm, and the captain did not take very careful observations. As nearly as it can be figured out the treasure ship went to the bottom in latitude forty-five degrees south, and longitude twenty-seven east from Washington. That's a pretty indefinite location, but I hope, once we get off the Uruguay coast, we can better it. We can anchor or lay outside the harbor, and in the small boat we carry go ashore and possibly gain more details. For it was at Montevideo that the shipwrecked passengers and sailors landed." "Does Captain Weston know our object?" inquired Tom. "No, and I don't propose to tell him until we are ready to start," replied Mr. Sharp. "I don't know just how he'll consider a submarine trip after treasure, but if I spring it on him suddenly he's less likely to back out. Oh, I think he'll go." Somewhat unexpectedly the next day it was discovered that certain tools and appliances were needed for the submarine, and they had been left in the house at Shopton, where Eradicate Sampson was in charge as caretaker during the absence of Mr. Swift and his son and the housekeeper. "Well, I suppose we'll have to go back after them," remarked Tom. "We'll take the airship, dad, and make a two-days' trip of it. Is there anything else you want?" "Well, you might bring a bundle of papers you'll find in the lower right hand drawer of my desk. They contain some memoranda I need." Tom and Mr. Sharp had become so used to traveling in the airship that it seemed no novelty to them, though they attracted much attention wherever they went. They soon had the Red Cloud in readiness for a flight, and rising in the air above the shop that contained the powerful submarine, a craft utterly different in type from the aeroplane, the nose of the airship was pointed toward Shopton. They made a good flight and landed near the big shed where the bird of the air was kept. It was early evening when they got to the Swift homestead, and Eradicate Sampson was glad to see them. Eradicate was a good cook, and soon had a meal ready for the travelers. Then, while Mr. Sharp selected the tools and other things needed, and put them in the airship ready for the start back the next morning, Tom concluded he would take a stroll into Shopton, to see if he could see his friend, Ned Newton. It was early evening, and the close of a beautiful day, a sharp shower in the morning having cooled the air. Tom was greeted by a number of acquaintances as he strolled along, for, since the episode of the bank robbery, when he had so unexpectedly returned with the thieves and the cash, the lad was better known than ever. "I guess Ned must be home," thought our hero as he looked in vain for his chum among the throng on the streets. "I've got time to take a stroll down to his house." Tom was about to cross the street when he was startled by the sound of an automobile horn loudly blown just at his side. Then a voice called: "Hey, there! Git out of the way if you don't want to be run over!" He looked up, and saw a car careening along. At the wheel was the red-haired bully, Andy Foger, and in the tonneau were Sam Snedecker and Pete Bailey. "Git out of the way," added Sam, and he grinned maliciously at Tom. The latter stepped back, well out of the path of the car, which was not moving very fast. Just in front of Tom was a puddle of muddy water. There was no necessity for Andy steering into it, but he saw his opportunity, and a moment later one of the big pneumatic tires had plunged into the dirty fluid, spattering it all over Tom, some even going as high as his face. "Ha! ha!" laughed Andy. "Maybe you'll get out of my way next time, Tom Swift." The young inventor was almost speechless from righteous anger. He wiped the mud from his face, glanced down at his clothes, which were all but ruined, and called out: "Hold on there, Andy Foger! I want to see you!" for he thought of the time when Andy had shut him in the tank. "Ta! ta!" shouted Pete Bailey. "See you later," added Sam. "Better go home and take a bath, and then sail away in your submarine," went on Andy. "I'll bet it will sink." Before Tom could reply the auto had turned a corner. Disgusted and angry, he tried to sop up some of the muddy water with his handkerchief. While thus engaged he heard his name called, and looked up to see Ned Newton. "What's the matter? Fall down?" asked his chum. "Andy Foger," replied Tom. "That's enough," retorted Ned. "I can guess the rest. We'll have to tar and feather him some day, and ride him out of town on a rail. I'd kick him myself, only his father is a director in the bank where I work, and I'd be fired if I did. Can't afford any such pleasure. But some day I'll give Andy a good trouncing, and then resign before they can discharge me. But I'll be looking for another job before I do that. Come on to my house, Tom, and I'll help you clean up." Tom was a little more presentable when he left his chum's residence, after spending the evening there, but he was still burning for revenge against Andy and his cronies. He had half a notion to go to Andy's house and tell Mr. Foger how nearly serious the bully's prank at the submarine had been, but he concluded that Mr. Foger could only uphold his son. "No, I'll settle with him myself," decided Tom. Bidding Eradicate keep a watchful eye about the house, and leaving word for Mr. Damon to be sure to come to the coast if he again called at the Shopton house, Tom and Mr. Sharp prepared to make their return trip early the next morning. The gas tank was filled and the Red Cloud arose in the air. Then, with the propellers moving at moderate speed, the nose of the craft was pointed toward the New Jersey coast. A few miles out from Shopton, finding there was a contrary wind in the upper regions where they were traveling, Mr. Sharp descended several hundred feet. They were moving over a sparsely settled part of the country, and looking down, Tom saw, speeding along a highway, an automobile. "I wonder who's in it?" he remarked, taking down a telescope and peering over the window ledge of the cabin. The next moment he uttered a startled exclamation. "Andy Foger, Sam Snedecker and Pete Bailey!" he cried. "Oh, I wish I had a bucket of water to empty on them." "I know a better way to get even with them than that," said Mr. Sharp. "How?" asked Tom eagerly. "I'll show you," replied the balloonist. "It's a trick I once played on a fellow who did me an injury. Here, you steer for a minute until I get the thing fixed, then I'll take charge." Mr. Sharp went to the storeroom and came back with a long, stout rope and a small anchor of four prongs. It was carried to be used in emergencies, but so far had never been called into requisition. Fastening the grapple to the cable, the balloonist said: "Now, Tom, they haven't seen you. You stand in the stern and pay out the rope. I'll steer the airship, and what I want you to do is to catch the anchor in the rear of their car. Then I'll show you some fun." Tom followed instructions. Slowly he lowered the rope with the dangling grapple. The airship was also sent down, as the cable was not quite long enough to reach the earth from the height at which they were. The engine was run at slow speed, so that the noise would not attract the attention of the three cronies who were speeding along, all unconscious of the craft in the air over their heads. The Red Cloud was moving in the same direction as was the automobile. The anchor was now close to the rear of Andy's car. Suddenly it caught on the tonneau and Tom called that fact to Mr. Sharp. "Fasten the rope at the cleat," directed the balloonist. Tom did so, and a moment later the aeronaut sent the airship up by turning more gas into the container. At the same time he reversed the engine and the Red Cloud began pulling the touring car backward, also lifting the rear wheels clear from the earth. A startled cry from the occupants of the machine told Tom and his friend that Andy and his cronies were aware something was wrong. A moment later Andy, looking up, saw the airship hovering in the air above him. Then he saw the rope fast to his auto. The airship was not rising now, or the auto would have been turned over, but it was slowly pulling it backward, in spite of the fact that the motor of the car was still going. "Here! You let go of me!" cried Andy. "I'll have you arrested if you damage my car." "Come up here and cut the rope," called Tom leaning over and looking down. He could enjoy the bully's discomfiture. As for Sam and Pete, they were much frightened, and cowered down on the floor of the tonneau. "Maybe you'll shut me in the tank again and splash mud on me!" shouted Tom. The rear wheels of the auto were lifted still higher from the ground, as Mr. Sharp turned on a little more gas. Andy was not proof against this. "Oh! oh!" he cried. "Please let me down, Tom. I'm awful sorry for what I did! I'll never do it again! Please, please let me down! Don't! You'll tip me over!" He had shut off his motor now, and was frantically clinging to the steering wheel. "Do you admit that you're a sneak and a coward?" asked Tom, "rubbing it in." "Yes, yes! Oh, please let me down!" "Shall we?" asked Tom of Mr. Sharp. "Yes," replied the balloonist. "We can afford to lose the rope and anchor for the sake of turning the tables. Cut the cable." Tom saw what was intended. Using a little hatchet, he severed the rope with a single blow. With a crash that could be heard up in the air where the Red Cloud hovered, the rear wheels of the auto dropped to the ground. Then came two loud reports. "Both tires busted!" commented Mr. Sharp dryly, and Tom, looking down, saw the trio of lads ruefully contemplating the collapsed rubber of the rear wheels. The tables had been effectually turned on Andy Foger. His auto was disabled, and the airship, with a graceful sweep, mounted higher and higher, continuing on its way to the coast. Chapter Seven Mr. Damon Will Go "Well, I guess they've had their lesson," remarked Tom, as he took an observation through the telescope and saw Andy and his cronies hard at work trying to repair the ruptured tires. "That certainly was a corking good trick." "Yes," admitted Mr. Sharp modestly. "I once did something similar, only it was a horse and wagon instead of an auto. But let's try for another speed record. The conditions are just right." They arrived at the coast much sooner than they had dared to hope, the Red Cloud proving herself a veritable wonder. The remainder of that day, and part of the next, was spent in working on the submarine. "We'll launch her day after to-morrow," declared Mr. Swift enthusiastically. "Then to see whether my calculations are right or wrong." "It won't be your fault if it doesn't work," said his son. "You certainly have done your best." "And so have you and Mr. Sharp and the others, for that matter. Well, I have no doubt but that everything will be all right, Tom." "There!" exclaimed Mr. Sharp the next morning, as he was adjusting a certain gage. "I knew I'd forget something. That special brand of lubricating oil. I meant to bring it from Shopton, and I didn't." "Maybe I can get it in Atlantis," suggested Tom, naming the coast city nearest to them. "I'll take a walk over. It isn't far." "Will you? I'll be glad to have you," resumed the balloonist. "A gallon will be all we'll need." Tom was soon on his way. He had to walk, as the roads were too poor to permit him to use the motor-cycle, and the airship attracted too much attention to use on a short trip. He was strolling along, when from the other side of a row of sand dunes, that lined the uncertain road to Atlantis, he heard some one speaking. At first the tones were not distinct, but as the lad drew nearer to the voice he heard an exclamation. "Bless my gold-headed cane! I believe I'm lost. He said it was out this way somewhere, but I don't see anything of it. If I had that Eradicate Sampson here now I'd--bless my shoelaces I don't know what I would do to him." "Mr. Damon! Mr. Damon!" cried Tom. "Is that you?" "Me? Of course it's me! Who else would it be?" answered the voice. "But who are you. Why, bless my liver! If it isn't Tom Swift!" he cried. "Oh, but I'm glad to see you! I was afraid I was shipwrecked! Bless my gaiters, how are you, anyhow? How is your father? How is Mr. Sharp, and all the rest of them?" "Pretty well. And you?" "Me? Oh, I'm all right; only a trifle nervous. I called at your house in Shopton yesterday, and Eradicate told me, as well as he could, where you were located. I had nothing to do, so I thought I'd take a run down here. But what's this I hear about you? Are you going on a voyage?" "Yes." "In the air? May I go along again? I certainly enjoyed my other trip in the Red Cloud. That is, all but the fire and being shot at. May I go?" "We're going on a different sort of trip this time," said the youth. "Where?" "Under water." "Under water? Bless my sponge bath! You don't mean it!" "Yes. Dad has completed the submarine he was working on when we were off in the airship, and it will be launched the day after to-morrow." "Oh, that's so. I'd forgotten about it. He's going to try for the Government prize, isn't he? But tell me more about it. Bless my scarf-pin, but I'm glad I met you! Going into town, I take it. Well, I just came from there, but I'll walk back with you. Do you think--is there any possibility--that I could go with you? Of course, I don't want to crowd you, but--" "Oh, there'll be plenty of room," replied the young inventor. "In fact, more room than we had in the airship. We were talking only the other day about the possibility of you going with us, but we didn't think you'd risk it." "Risk it? Bless my liver! Of course I'll risk it! It can't be as bad as sailing in the air. You can't fall, that's certain." "No; but maybe you can't rise," remarked Tom grimly. "Oh, we won't think of that. Of course, I'd like to go. I fully expected to be killed in the Red Cloud, but as I wasn't. I'm ready to take a chance in the water. On the whole, I think I prefer to be buried at sea, anyhow. Now, then, will you take me?" "I think I can safely promise," answered Tom with a smile at his friend's enthusiasm. The two were approaching the city, having walked along as they talked. There were still some sand dunes near the road, and they kept on the side of these, nearest the beach, where they could watch the breakers. "But you haven't told me where you are going," went on Mr. Damon, after blessing a few dozen objects. "Where do the Government trials take place?" "Well," replied the lad, "to be frank with you, we have abandoned our intention of trying for the Government prize." "Not going to try for it? Bless my slippers! Why not? Isn't fifty thousand dollars worth striving for? And, with the kind of a submarine you say you have, you ought to be able to win." "Yes, probably we could win," admitted the young inventor, "but we are going to try for a better prize." "A better one? I don't understand." "Sunken treasure," explained Tom. "There's a ship sunk off the coast of Uruguay, with three hundred thousand dollars in gold bullion aboard. Dad and I are going to try to recover that in our submarine. We're going to start day after to-morrow, and, if you like, you may go along." "Go along! Of course I'll go along!" cried the eccentric man. "But I never heard of such a thing. Sunken treasure! Three hundred thousand dollars in gold! My, what a lot of money! And to go after it in a submarine! It's as good as a story!" "Yes, we hope to recover all the treasure," said the lad. "We ought to be able to claim at least half of it." "Bless my pocketbook!" cried Mr. Damon, but Tom did not hear him. At that instant his attention was attracted by seeing two men emerge from behind the sand dune near which he and Mr. Damon had halted momentarily, when the youth explained about the treasure. The man looked sharply at Tom. A moment later the first man was joined by another, and at the sight of him our hero could not repress an exclamation of alarm. For the second man was none other than Addison Berg. The latter glanced quickly at Tom, and then, with a hasty word to his companion, the two swung around and made off in the opposite direction to that in which they had been walking. "What's the matter?" asked Mr. Damon, seeing the young inventor was strangely affected. "That--that man," stammered the lad. "You don't mean to tell me that was one the Happy Harry gang, do you?" "No. But one, or both of those men, may prove to be worse. That second man was Addison Berg, and he's agent for a firm of submarine boat builders who are rivals of dad's. Berg has been trying to find out why we abandoned our intention of competing for the Government prize." "I hope you didn't tell him." "I didn't intend to," replied Tom, smiling grimly, "but I'm afraid I have, however. He certainly overheard what I said. I spoke too loud. Yes, he must have heard me. That's why he hurried off so." "Possibly no harm is done. You didn't give the location of the sunken ship." "No; but I guess from what I said it will be easy enough to find. Well, if we're going to have a fight for the possession of that sunken gold, I'm ready for it. The Advance is well equipped for a battle. I must tell dad of this. It's my fault." "And partly mine, for asking you such leading questions in a public place," declared Mr. Damon. "Bless my coat-tails, but I'm sorry! Maybe, after all, those men were so interested in what they themselves were saying that they didn't understand what you said." But if there had been any doubts on this score they would have been dissolved had Tom and his friend been able to see the actions of Mr. Berg and his companion a little later. The plans of the treasure-hunters had been revealed to their ears. Chapter Eight Another Treasure Expedition While Tom and Mr. Damon continued on to Atlantis after the oil, the young inventor lamenting from time to time that his remarks about the real destination of the Advance had been overheard by Mr. Berg, the latter and his companion were hastening back along the path that ran on one side of the sand dunes. "What's your hurry?" asked Mr. Maxwell, who was with the submarine agent. "You turned around as if you were shot when you saw that man and the lad. There didn't appear to be any cause for such a hurry. From what I could hear they were talking about a submarine. You're in the same business. You might be friends." "Yes, we might," admitted Mr. Berg with a peculiar smile; "but, unless I'm very much mistaken, we're going to be rivals." "Rivals? What do you mean?" "I can't tell you now. Perhaps I may later. But if you don't mind, walk a little faster, please. I want to get to a long-distance telephone." "What for?" "I have just overheard something that I wish to communicate to my employers, Bentley & Eagert." "Overheard something? I don't see what it could be, unless that lad--" "You'll learn in good time," went on the submarine agent. "But I must telephone at once." A little later the two men had reached a trolley line that ran into Atlantis, and they arrived at the city before Mr. Damon and Tom got there, as the latter had to go by a circuitous route. Mr. Berg lost no time in calling up his firm by telephone. "I have had another talk with Mr. Swift," he reported to Mr. Bentley, who came to the instrument in Philadelphia. "Well, what does he say?" was the impatient question. "I can't understand his not wanting to try for the Government prize. It is astonishing. You said you were going to discover the reason, Mr Berg, but you haven't done so." "I have." "What is it?" "Well, the reason Mr. Swift and his son don't care to try for the fifty thousand dollar prize is that they are after one of three hundred thousand dollars." "Three hundred thousand dollars!" cried Mr. Bentley. "What government is going to offer such a prize as that for submarines, when they are getting almost as common as airships? We ought to have a try for that ourselves. What government is it?" "No government at all. But I think we ought to have a try for it, Mr. Bentley." "Explain." "Well, I have just learned, most accidentally, that the Swifts are going after sunken treasure--three hundred thousand dollars in gold bullion." "Sunken treasure? Where? "I don't know exactly, but off the coast of Uruguay," and Mr. Berg rapidly related what he had overheard Tom tell Mr. Damon. Mr. Bentley was much excited and impatient for more details, but his agent could not give them to him. "Well," concluded the senior member of the firm of submarine boat builders, "if the Swifts are going after treasure, so can we. Come to Philadelphia at once, Mr. Berg, and we'll talk this matter over. There is no time to lose. We can afford to forego the Government prize for the chance of getting a much larger one. We have as much right to search for the sunken gold as the Swifts have. Come here at once, and we will make our plans." "All right," agreed the agent with a smile as he hung up the receiver. "I guess," he murmured to himself, "that you won't be so high and mighty with me after this, Tom Swift. We'll see who has the best boat, after all. We'll have a contest and a competition, but not for a government prize. It will be for the sunken gold." It was easy to see that Mr. Berg was much pleased with himself. Meanwhile, Tom and Mr. Damon had reached Atlantis, and had purchased the oil. They started back, but Tom took a street leading toward the center of the place, instead of striking for the beach path, along which they had come. "Where are you going?" asked Mr. Damon. "I want to see if that Andy Foger has come back here," replied the lad, and he told of having been shut in the tank by the bully. "I've never properly punished him for that trick," he went on, "though we did manage to burst his auto tires. I'm curious to know how he knew enough to turn that gear and shut the tank door. He must have been loitering near the shop, seen me go in the submarine alone, watched his chance and sneaked in after me. But I'd like to get a complete explanation, and if I once got hold of Andy I could make him talk," and Tom clenched his fist in a manner that augured no good for the squint-eyed lad. "He was stopping at the same hotel with Mr. Berg, and he hurried away after the trick he played on me. I next saw him in Shopton, but I thought perhaps he might have come back here. I'm going to inquire at the hotel," he added. Andy's name was not on the register since his hasty flight, however, and Tom, after inquiring from the clerk and learning that Mr. Berg was still a guest at the hostelry, rejoined Mr. Damon. "Bless my hat!" exclaimed that eccentric individual as they started back to the lonely beach where the submarine was awaiting her advent into the water. "The more I think of the trip I'm going to take, the more I like it." "I hope you will," remarked Tom. "It will be a new experience for all of us. There's only one thing worrying me, and that is about Mr. Berg having overheard what I said." "Oh, don't worry about that. Can't we slip away and leave no trace in the water?" "I hope so, but I must tell dad and Mr. Sharp about what happened." The aged inventor was not a little alarmed at what his son related, but he agreed with Mr. Damon, whom he heartily welcomed, that little was to be apprehended from Berg and his employers. "They know we're after a sunken wreck, but that's all they do know," said Tom's father. "We are only waiting for the arrival of Captain Alden Weston, and then we will go. Even if Bentley & Eagert make a try for the treasure we'll have the start of them, and this will be a case of first come, first served. Don't worry, Tom. I'm glad you're going, Mr Damon. Come, I will show you our submarine." As father and son, with their guest, were going to the machine shop, Mr. Sharp met them. He had a letter in his hand. "Good news!" the balloonist cried. "Captain Weston will be with us to-morrow. He will arrive at the Beach Hotel in Atlantis, and wants one of us to meet him there. He has considerable information about the wreck." "The Beach Hotel," murmured Tom. "That is where Mr. Berg is stopping. I hope he doesn't worm any of our secret from Captain Weston," and it was with a feeling of uneasiness that the young inventor continued after his father and Mr. Damon to where the submarine was. Chapter Nine Captain Weston's Advent "Bless my water ballast, but that certainly is a fine boat!" cried Mr. Damon, when he had been shown over the new craft. "I think I shall feel even safer in that than in the Red Cloud." "Oh, don't go back on the airship!" exclaimed Mr Sharp. "I was counting on taking you on another trip." "Well, maybe after we get back from under the ocean," agreed Mr. Damon. "I particularly like the cabin arrangements of the Advance. I think I shall enjoy myself." He would be hard to please who could not take pleasure from a trip in the submarine. The cabin was particularly fine, and the sleeping arrangements were good. More supplies could be carried than was possible on the airship, and there was more room in which to cook and serve food. Mr. Damon was fond of good living, and the kitchen pleased him as much as anything else. Early the next morning Tom set out for Atlantis, to meet Captain Weston at the hotel. The young inventor inquired of the clerk whether the seafaring man had arrived, and was told that he had come the previous evening. "Is he in his room?" asked Tom. "No," answered the clerk with a peculiar grin. "He's an odd character. Wouldn't go to bed last night until we had every window in his room open, though it was blowing quite hard, and likely to storm. The captain said he was used to plenty of fresh air. Well, I guess he got it, all right." "Where is he now?" asked the youth, wondering what sort of an individual he was to meet. "Oh, he was up before sunrise, so some of the scrubwomen told me. They met him coming from his room, and he went right down to the beach with a big telescope he always carries with him. He hasn't come back yet. Probably he's down on the sand." "Hasn't he had breakfast?" "No. He left word he didn't want to eat until about four bells, whatever time that is." "It's ten o'clock," replied Tom, who had been studying up on sea terms lately. "Eight bells is eight o'clock in the morning, or four in the afternoon or eight at night, according to the time of day. Then there's one bell for every half hour, so four bells this morning would be ten o'clock in this watch, I suppose." "Oh, that's the way it goes, eh?" asked the clerk. "I never could get it through my head. What is twelve o'clock noon?" "That's eight bells, too; so is twelve o'clock midnight. Eight bells is as high as they go on a ship. But I guess I'll go down and see if I can meet the captain. It will soon be ten o'clock, or four bells, and he must be hungry for breakfast. By the way, is that Mr. Berg still here?" "No; he went away early this morning. He and Captain Weston seemed to strike up quite an acquaintance, the night clerk told me. They sat and smoked together until long after midnight, or eight bells," and the clerk smiled as he glanced down at the big diamond ring on his little finger. "They did?" fairly exploded Tom, for he had visions of what the wily Mr. Berg might worm out of the simple captain. "Yes. Why, isn't the captain a proper man to make friends with?" and the clerk looked at Tom curiously. "Oh, yes, of course," was the hasty answer. "I guess I'll go and see if I can find him--the captain, I mean." Tom hardly knew what to think. He wished his father, or Mr. Sharp, had thought to warn Captain Weston against talking of the wreck. It might be too late now. The young inventor hurried to the beach, which was not far from the hotel. He saw a solitary figure pacing up and down, and from the fact that the man stopped, every now and then, and gazed seaward through a large telescope, the lad concluded it was the captain for whom he was in search. He approached, his footsteps making no sound on the sand. The man was still gazing through the glass. "Captain Weston?" spoke Tom. Without a show of haste, though the voice must have startled him, the captain turned. Slowly he lowered the telescope, and then he replied softly: "That's my name. Who are you, if I may ask?" Tom was struck, more than by anything else, by the gentle voice of the seaman. He had prepared himself, from the description of Mr. Sharp, to meet a gruff, bewhiskered individual, with a voice like a crosscut saw, and a rolling gait. Instead he saw a man of medium size, with a smooth face, merry blue eyes, and the softest voice and gentlest manner imaginable. Tom was very much disappointed. He had looked for a regular sea-dog, and he met a landsman, as he said afterward. But it was not long before our hero changed his mind regarding Captain Weston. "I'm Tom Swift," the owner of that name said, "and I have been sent to show you the way to where our ship is ready to launch." The young inventor refrained from mentioning submarine, as it was the wish of Mr Sharp to disclose this feature of the voyage to the sailor himself. "Ha, I thought as much," resumed the captain quietly. "It's a fine day, if I may be permitted to say so," and he seemed to hesitate, as if there was some doubt whether or not he might make that observation. "It certainly is," agreed the lad. Then, with a smile he added: "It is nearly four bells." "Ha!" exclaimed the captain, also smiling, but even his manner of saying "Ha!" was less demonstrative than that of most persons. "I believe I am getting hungry, if I may be allowed the remark," and again he seemed asking Tom's pardon for mentioning the fact. "Perhaps you will come back to the cabin and have a little breakfast with me," he went on. "I don't know what sort of a galley or cook they have aboard the Beach Hotel, but it can't be much worse than some I've tackled." "No, thank you," answered the youth. "I've had my breakfast. But I'll wait for you, and then I'd like to get back. Dad and Mr. Sharp are anxious to meet you." "And I am anxious to meet them, if you don't mind me mentioning it," was the reply, as the captain once more put the spyglass to his eye and took an observation. "Not many sails in sight this morning," he added. "But the weather is fine, and we ought to get off in good shape to hunt for the treasure about which Mr. Sharp wrote me. I believe we are going after treasure," he said; "that is, if you don't mind talking about it." "Not in the least," replied Tom quickly, thinking this a good opportunity for broaching a subject that was worrying him. "Did you meet a Mr. Berg here last night, Captain Weston?" he went on. "Yes. Mr. Berg and I had quite a talk. He is a well-informed man." "Did he mention the sunken treasure?" asked the lad, eager to find out if his suspicions were true. "Yes, he did, if you'll excuse me putting it so plainly," answered the seaman, as if Tom might be offended at so direct a reply. But the young inventor was soon to learn that this was only an odd habit with the seaman. "Did he want to know where the wreck of the Boldero was located?" continued the lad. "That is, did he try to discover if you knew anything about it?" "Yes," said Mr. Weston, "he did. He pumped me, if you are acquainted with that term, and are not offended by it. You see, when I arrived here I made inquiries as to where your father's place was located. Mr. Berg overheard me, and introduced himself as agent for a shipbuilding concern. He was very friendly, and when he said he knew you and your parent, I thought he was all right." Tom's heart sank. His worst fears were to be realized, he thought. "Yes, he and I talked considerable, if I may be permitted to say so," went on the captain. "He seemed to know about the wreck of the Boldero, and that she had three hundred thousand dollars in gold aboard. The only thing he didn't know was where the wreck was located. He knew it was off Uruguay somewhere, but just where he couldn't say. So he asked me if I knew, since he must have concluded that I was going with you on the gold-hunting expedition." "And you do know, don't you?" asked Tom eagerly. "Well, I have it pretty accurately charted out, if you will allow me that expression," was the calm answer. "I took pains to look it up at the request of Mr. Sharp." "And he wanted to worm that information out of you?" inquired the youth excitedly. "Yes, I'm afraid he did." "Did you give him the location?" "Well," remarked the captain, as he took another observation before closing up the telescope, "you see, while we were talking, I happened to drop a copy of a map I'd made, showing the location of the wreck. Mr. Berg picked it up to hand to me, and he looked at it." "Oh!" cried Tom. "Then he knows just where the treasure is, and he may get to it ahead of us. It's too bad." "Yes," continued the seaman calmly, "Mr. Berg picked up that map, and he looked very closely at the latitude and longitude I had marked as the location of the wreck." "Then he won't have any trouble finding it," murmured our hero. "Eh? What's that?" asked the captain, "if I may be permitted to request you to repeat what you said." "I say he won't have any trouble locating the sunken Boldero," repeated Tom. "Oh, but I think he will, if he depends on that map," was the unexpected reply. "You see," explained Mr. Weston, "I'm not so simple as I look. I sensed what Mr. Berg was after, the minute he began to talk to me. So I fixed up a little game on him. The map which I dropped on purpose, not accidentally, where he would see it, did have the location of the wreck marked. Only it didn't happen to be the right location. It was about five hundred miles out of the way, and I rather guess if Mr. Berg and his friends go there for treasure they'll find considerable depth of water and quite a lonesome spot. Oh, no, I'm not as easy as I look, if you don't mind me mentioning that fact; and when a scoundrel sets out to get the best of me, I generally try to turn the tables on him. I've seen such men as Mr. Berg before. I'm afraid, I'm very much afraid, the sight he had of the fake map I made won't do him much good. Well, I declare, it's past four bells. Let's go to breakfast, if you don't mind me asking you," and with that the captain started off up the beach, Tom following, his ideas all a whirl at the unlooked-for outcome of the interview. Chapter Ten Trial of the Submarine Tom felt such a relief at hearing of Captain Weston's ruse that his appetite, sharpened by an early breakfast and the sea air, came to him with a rush, and he had a second morning meal with the odd sea captain, who chuckled heartily when he thought of how Mr Berg had been deceived. "Yes," resumed Captain Weston, over his bacon and eggs, "I sized him up for a slick article as soon as I laid eyes on him. But he evidently misjudged me, if I may be permitted that term. Oh, well, we may meet again, after we secure the treasure, and then I can show him the real map of the location of the wreck." "Then you have it?" inquired the lad eagerly. Captain Weston nodded, before hiding his face behind a large cup of coffee; his third, by the way. "Let me see it?" asked Tom quickly. The captain set down his cup. He looked carefully about the hotel dining-room. There were several guests, who, like himself, were having a late breakfast. "It's a good plan," the sailor said slowly, "when you're going into unknown waters, and don't want to leave a wake for the other fellow to follow, to keep your charts locked up. If it's all the same to you," he added diffidently, "I'd rather wait until we get to where your father and Mr. Sharp are before displaying the real map. I've no objection to showing you the one Mr. Berg saw," and again he chuckled. The young inventor blushed at his indiscretion. He felt that the news of the search for the treasure had leaked out through him, though he was the one to get on the trail of it by seeing the article in the paper. Now he had nearly been guilty of another break. He realized that he must be more cautious. The captain saw his confusion, and said: "I know how it is. You're eager to get under way. I don't blame you. I was the same myself when I was your age. But we'll soon be at your place, and then I'll tell you all I know. Sufficient now, to say that I believe I have located the wreck within a few miles. I got on the track of a sailor who had met one of the shipwrecked crew of the Boldero, and he gave me valuable information. Now tell me about the craft we are going in. A good deal depends on that." Tom hardly knew what to answer. He recalled what Mr. Sharp had said about not wanting to tell Captain Weston, until the last moment, that they were going in a submarine, for fear the old seaman (for he was old in point of service though not in years) might not care to risk an under-water trip. Therefore Tom hesitated. Seeing it, Captain Weston remarked quietly: "I mean, what type is your submarine? Does it go by compressed air, or water power?" "How do you know it's a submarine?" asked the young inventor quickly, and in some confusion. "Easy enough. When Mr. Berg thought he was pumping me, I was getting a lot of information from him. He told me about the submarine his firm was building, and, naturally, he mentioned yours. One thing led to another until I got a pretty good idea of your craft. What do you call it?" "The Advance." "Good name. I like it, if you don't mind speaking of it." "We were afraid you wouldn't like it," commented Tom. "What, the name?" "No, the idea of going in a submarine." "Oh," and Captain Weston laughed. "Well, it takes more than that to frighten me, if you'll excuse the expression. I've always had a hankering to go under the surface, after so many years spent on top. Once or twice I came near going under, whether I wanted to or not, in wrecks, but I think I prefer your way. Now, if you're all done, and don't mind me speaking of it, I think we'll start for your place. We must hustle, for Berg may yet get on our trail, even if he has got the wrong route," and he laughed again. It was no small relief to Mr Swift and Mr. Sharp to learn that Captain Weston had no objections to a submarine, as they feared he might have. The captain, in his diffident manner, made friends at once with the treasure-hunters, and he and Mr. Damon struck up quite an acquaintance. Tom told of his meeting with the seaman, and the latter related, with much gusto, the story of how he had fooled Mr. Berg. "Well, perhaps you'd like to come and take a look at the craft that is to be our home while we're beneath the water," suggested Mr. Swift and the sailor assenting, the aged inventor, with much pride, assisted by Tom, pointed out on the Advance the features of interest. Captain Weston gave hearty approval, making one or two minor suggestions, which were carried out. "And so you launch her to-morrow," he concluded, when he had completed the inspection "Well, I hope it's a success, if I may be permitted to say so." There were busy times around the machine shop next day. So much secrecy had been maintained that none of the residents, or visitors to the coast resort, were aware that in their midst was such a wonderful craft as the submarine. The last touches were put on the under-water ship; the ways, leading from the shop to the creek, were well greased, and all was in readiness for the launching. The tide would soon be at flood, and then the boat would slide down the timbers (at least, that was the hope of all), and would float in the element meant to receive her. It was decided that no one should be aboard when the launching took place, as there was an element of risk attached, since it was not known just how buoyant the craft was. It was expected she would float, until the filled tanks took her to the bottom, but there was no telling. "It will be flood tide now in ten minutes," remarked Captain Weston quietly, looking at his watch. Then he took an observation through the telescope. "No hostile ships hanging in the offing," he reported. "All is favorable, if you don't mind me saying so," and he seemed afraid lest his remark might give offense. "Get ready," ordered Mr. Swift. "Tom, see that the ropes are all clear," for it had been decided to ease the Advance down into the water by means of strong cables and windlasses, as the creek was so narrow that the submarine, if launched in the usual way, would poke her nose into the opposite mud bank and stick there. "All clear," reported the young inventor. "High tide!" exclaimed the captain a moment later, snapping shut his watch. "Let go!" ordered Mr. Swift, and the various windlasses manned by the inventor, Tom and the others began to unwind their ropes. Slowly the ship slid along the greased ways. Slowly she approached the water. How anxiously they all watched her! Nearer and nearer her blunt nose, with the electric propulsion plate and the auxiliary propeller, came to the creek, the waters of which were quiet now, awaiting the turn of the tide. Now little waves lapped the steel sides. It was the first contact of the Advance with her native element. "Pay out the rope faster!" cried Mr. Swift. The windlasses were turned more quickly. Foot by foot the craft slid along until, with a final rush, the stern left the ways and the submarine was afloat. Now would come the test. Would she ride on an even keel, or sink out of sight, or turn turtle? They all ran to the water's edge, Tom in the lead. "Hurrah!" suddenly yelled the lad, trying to stand on his head. "She floats! She's a success! Come on! Let's get aboard!" For, true enough, the Advance was riding like a duck on the water. She had been proportioned just right, and her lines were perfect. She rode as majestically as did any ship destined to sail on the surface, and not intended to do double duty. "Come on, we must moor her to the pier," directed Mr. Sharp. "The tide will turn in a few minutes and take her out to sea." He and Tom entered a small boat, and soon the submarine was tied to a small dock that had been built for the purpose. "Now to try the engine," suggested Mr. Swift, who was almost trembling with eagerness; for the completion of the ship meant much to him. "One moment," begged Captain Weston. "If you don't mind, I'll take an observation," he went on, and he swept the horizon with his telescope. "All clear," he reported. "I think we may go aboard and make a trial trip." Little time was lost in entering the cabin and engine-room, Garret Jackson accompanying the party to aid with the machinery. It did not take long to start the motors, dynamos and the big gasolene engine that was the vital part of the craft. A little water was admitted to the tanks for ballast, since the food and other supplies were not yet on board. The Advance now floated with the deck aft of the conning tower showing about two feet above the surface of the creek. Mr. Swift and Tom entered the pilot house. "Start the engines," ordered the aged inventor, "and we'll try my new system of positive and negative electrical propulsion." There was a hum and whir in the body of the ship beneath the feet of Tom and his father. Captain Weston stood on the little deck near the conning tower. "All ready?" asked the youth through the speaking tube to Mr. Sharp and Mr. Jackson in the engine-room. "All ready," came the answer. Tom threw over the connecting lever, while his father grasped the steering wheel. The Advance shot forward, moving swiftly along, about half submerged. "She goes! She goes!" cried Tom. "She certainly does, if I may be permitted to say so," was the calm contribution of Captain Weston. "I congratulate you." Faster and faster went the new craft. Mr. Swift headed her toward the open sea, but stopped just before passing out of the creek, as he was not yet ready to venture into deep water. "I want to test the auxiliary propellers," he said. After a little longer trial of the electric propulsion plates, which were found to work satisfactorily, sending the submarine up and down the creek at a fast rate, the screws, such as are used on most submarines, were put into gear. They did well, but were not equal to the plates, nor was so much expected of them. "I am perfectly satisfied," announced Mr. Swift as he once more headed the boat to sea. "I think, Captain Weston, you had better go below now." "Why so?" "Because I am going to completely submerge the craft. Tom, close the conning tower door. Perhaps you will come in here with us, Captain Weston, though it will be rather a tight fit." "Thank you, I will. I want to see how it feels to be in a pilot house under water." Tom closed the water-tight door of the conning tower. Word was sent through the tube to the engine-room that a more severe test of the ship was about to be made. The craft was now outside the line of breakers and in the open sea. "Is everything ready, Tom?" asked his father in a quiet voice. "Everything," replied the lad nervously, for the anticipation of being about to sink below the surface was telling on them all, even on the calm, old sea captain. "Then open the tanks and admit the water," ordered Mr. Swift. His son turned a valve and adjusted some levers. There was a hissing sound, and the Advance began sinking. She was about to dive beneath the surface of the ocean, and those aboard her were destined to go through a terrible experience before she rose again. Chapter Eleven On the Ocean Bed Lower and lower sank the submarine. There was a swirling and foaming of the water as she went down, caused by the air bubbles which the craft carried with her in her descent. Only the top of the conning tower was out of water now, the ocean having closed over the deck and the rounded back of the boat. Had any one been watching they would have imagined that an accident was taking place. In the pilot house, with its thick glass windows, Tom, his father and Captain Weston looked over the surface of the ocean, which every minute was coming nearer and nearer to them. "We'll be all under in a few seconds," spoke Tom in a solemn voice, as he listened to the water hissing into the tanks. "Yes, and then we can see what sort of progress we will make," added Mr. Swift. "Everything is going fine, though," he went on cheerfully. "I believe I have a good boat." "There is no doubt of it in my mind," remarked Captain Weston, and Tom felt a little disappointed that the sailor did not shout out some such expression as "Shiver my timbers!" or "Keel-haul the main braces, there, you lubber!" But Captain Weston was not that kind of a sailor, though his usually quiet demeanor could be quickly dropped on necessity, as Tom learned later. A few minutes more and the waters closed over the top of the conning tower. The Advance was completely submerged. Through the thick glass windows of the pilot house the occupants looked out into the greenish water that swirled about them; but it could not enter. Then, as the boat went lower, the light from above gradually died out, and the semi-darkness gave place to gloom. "Turn on the electrics and the searchlight, Tom," directed his father. There was the click of a switch, and the conning tower was flooded with light. But as this had the effect of preventing the three from peering out into the water, just as one in a lighted room cannot look out into the night, Tom shut them off and switched on the great searchlight. This projected its powerful beams straight ahead and there, under the ocean, was a pathway of illumination for the treasure-seekers. "Fine!" cried Captain Weston, with more enthusiasm than he had yet manifested. "That's great, if you don't mind me mentioning it. How deep are we?" Tom glanced at a gage on the side of the pilot tower. "Only about sixty feet," he answered. "Then don't go any deeper!" cried the captain hastily. "I know these waters around here, and that's about all the depth you've got. You'll be on the bottom in a minute." "I intend to get on the bottom after a while," said Mr. Swift, "but not here. I want to try for a greater distance under water before I come to rest on the ocean's bed. But I think we are deep enough for a test. Tom, close the tank intake pipes and we'll see how the Advance will progress when fully submerged." The hissing stopped, and then, wishing to see how the motors and other machinery would work, the aged inventor and his son, accompanied by Captain Weston, descended from the conning tower, by means of an inner stairway, to the interior of the ship. The submarine could be steered and managed from below or above. She was now floating about sixty-five feet below the surface of the bay. "Well, how do you like it?" asked Tom of Mr. Damon, as he saw his friend in an easy chair in the living-room or main cabin of the craft, looking out of one of the plate-glass windows on the side. "Bless my spectacles, it's the most wonderful thing I ever dreamed of!" cried the queer character, as he peered at the mass of water before him. "To think that I'm away down under the surface, and yet as dry as a bone. Bless my necktie, but it's great! What are we going to do now?" "Go forward," replied the young inventor. "Perhaps I had better make an observation," suggested Captain Weston, taking his telescope from under his arm, where he had carried it since entering the craft, and opening it. "We may run afoul of something, if you don't mind me mentioning such a disagreeable subject." Then, as he thought of the impossibility of using his glass under water, he closed it. "I shall have little use for this here, I'm afraid," he remarked with a smile. "Well, there's some consolation. We're not likely to meet many ships in this part of the ocean. Other vessels are fond enough of remaining on the surface. I fancy we shall have the depths to ourselves, unless we meet a Government submarine, and they are hardly able to go as deep as we can. No, I guess we won't run into anything and I can put this glass away." "Unless we run into Berg and his crowd," suggested Tom in a low voice. "Ha! ha!" laughed Captain Weston, for he did not want Mr. Swift to worry over the unscrupulous agent. "No, I don't believe we'll meet them, Tom. I guess Berg is trying to work out the longitude and latitude I gave him. I wish I could see his face when he realizes that he's been deceived by that fake map." "Well, I hope he doesn't discover it too soon and trail us," went on the lad. "But they're going to start the machinery now. I suppose you and I had better take charge of the steering of the craft. Dad will want to be in the engine-room." "All right," replied the captain, and he moved forward with the lad to a small compartment, shut off from the living-room, that served as a pilot house when the conning tower was not used. The same levers, wheels and valves were there as up above, and the submarine could be managed as well from there as from the other place. "Is everything all right?" asked Mr Swift as he went into the engine-room, where Garret Jackson and Mr. Sharp were busy with oil cans. "Everything," replied the balloonist. "Are you going to start now?" "Yes, we're deep enough for a speed trial. We'll go out to sea, however, and try for a lower depth record, as soon as there's enough water. Start the engine." A moment later the powerful electric currents were flowing into the forward and aft plates, and the Advance began to gather way, forging through the water. "Straight ahead, out to sea, Tom," called his father to him. "Aye, aye, sir," responded the youth. "Ha! Quite seaman-like, if you don't mind a reference to it," commented Captain Weston with a smile. "Mind your helm, boy, for you don't want to poke her nose into a mud bank, or run up on a shoal." "Suppose you steer?" suggested the lad. "I'd rather take lessons for a while." "All right. Perhaps it will be safer. I know these waters from the top, though I can't say as much for the bottom. However, I know where the shoals are." The powerful searchlight was turned, so as to send its beams along the path which the submarine was to follow, and then, as she gathered speed, she shot ahead, gliding through the waters like a fish. Mr. Damon divided his time between the forward pilot-room, the living-apartment, and the place where Mr. Swift, Garret Jackson and Mr. Sharp were working over the engines. Every few minutes he would bless some part of himself, his clothing, or the ship. Finally the old man settled down to look through the plate-glass windows in the main apartment. On and on went the submarine. She behaved perfectly, and was under excellent control. Some times Tom, at the request of his father, would send her toward the surface by means of the deflecting rudder. Then she would dive to the bottom again. Once, as a test, she was sent obliquely to the surface, her tower just emerging, and then she darted downward again, like a porpoise that had come up to roll over, and suddenly concluded to seek the depths. In fact, had any one seen the maneuver they would have imagined the craft was a big fish disporting itself. Captain Weston remained at Tom's side, giving him instructions, and watching the compass in order to direct the steering so as to avoid collisions. For an hour or more the craft was sent almost straight ahead at medium speed. Then Mr. Swift, joining his son and the captain, remarked: "How about depth of water here, Captain Weston?" "You've got more than a mile." "Good! Then I'm going down to the bottom of the sea! Tom, fill the tanks still more. "Aye, aye, sir," answered the lad gaily. "Now for a new experience!" "And use the deflecting rudder, also," advised his father. "That will hasten matters." Five minutes later there was a slight jar noticeable. "Bless my soul! What's that?" cried Mr. Damon. "Have we hit something?" "Yes," answered Tom with a smile. "What, for gracious sake?" "The bottom of the sea. We're on the bed of the ocean." Chapter Twelve For a Breath of Air They could hardly realize it, yet the depth-gage told the story. It registered a distance below the surface of the ocean of five thousand seven hundred feet--a little over a mile. The Advance had actually come to rest on the bottom of the Atlantic. "Hurrah!" cried Tom. "Let's get on the diving suits, dad, and walk about on land under water for a change." "No," said Mr. Swift soberly. "We will hardly have time for that now. Besides, the suits are not yet fitted with the automatic air-tanks, and we can't use them. There are still some things to do before we start on our treasure cruise. But I want to see how the plates are standing this pressure." The Advance was made with a triple hull, the spaces between the layers of plates being filled with a secret material, capable of withstanding enormous pressure, as were also the plates themselves. Mr. Swift, aided by Mr. Jackson and Captain Weston, made a thorough examination, and found that not a drop of water had leaked in, nor was there the least sign that any of the plates had given way under the terrific strain. "She's as tight as a drum, if you will allow me to make that comparison," remarked Captain Weston modestly. "I couldn't ask for a dryer ship." "Well, let's take a look around by means the searchlight and the observation windows, and then we'll go back," suggested Mr. Swift. "It will take about two days to get the stores and provisions aboard and rig up the diving suits; then we will start for the sunken treasure." There were several powerful searchlights on the Advance, so arranged that the bow, stern or either side could be illuminated independently. There were also observation windows near each light. In turn the powerful rays were cast first at the bow and then aft. In the gleams could be seen the sandy bed of the ocean, covered with shells of various kinds. Great crabs walked around on their long, jointed legs, and Tom saw some lobsters that would have brought joy to the heart of a fisherman. "Look at the big fish!" cried Mr. Damon suddenly, and he pointed to some dark, shadowy forms that swam up to the glass windows, evidently puzzled by the light. "Porpoises," declared Captain Weston briefly, "a whole school of them." The fish seemed suddenly to multiply, and soon those in the submarine felt curious tremors running through the whole craft. "The fish are rubbing up against it," cried Tom. "They must think we came down here to allow them to scratch their backs on the steel plates." For some time they remained on the bottom, watching the wonderful sight of the fishes that swam all about them. "Well, I think we may as well rise," announced Mr. Swift, after they had been on the bottom about an hour, moving here and there. "We didn't bring any provisions, and I'm getting hungry, though I don't know how the others of you feel about it." "Bless my dinner-plate, I could eat, too!" cried Mr. Damon. "Go up, by all means. We'll get enough of under-water travel once we start for the treasure." "Send her up, Tom," called his father. "I want to make a few notes on some needed changes and improvements." Tom entered the lower pilot house, and turned the valve that opened the tanks. He also pulled the lever that started the pumps, so that the water ballast would be more quickly emptied, as that would render the submarine buoyant, and she would quickly shoot to the surface. To the surprise of the lad, however, there followed no outrushing of the water. The Advance remained stationary on the ocean bed. Mr. Swift looked up from his notes. "Didn't you hear me ask you to send her up, Tom?" he inquired mildly. "I did, dad, but something seems to be the matter," was the reply. "Matter? What do you mean?" and the aged inventor hastened to where his son and Captain Weston were at the wheels, valves and levers. "Why, the tanks won't empty, and the pumps don't seem to work." "Let me try," suggested Mr. Swift, and he pulled the various handles. There was no corresponding action of the machinery. "That's odd," he remarked in a curious voice "Perhaps something has gone wrong with the connections. Go look in the engine-room, and ask Mr. Sharp if everything is all right there." Tom made a quick trip, returning to report that the dynamos, motors and gas engine were running perfectly. "Try to work the tank levers and pumps from the conning tower," suggested Captain Weston. "Sometimes I've known the steam steering gear to play tricks like that." Tom hurried up the circular stairway into the tower. He pulled the levers and shifted the valves and wheels there. But there was no emptying of the water tanks. The weight and pressure of water in them still held the submarine on the bottom of the sea, more than a mile from the surface. The pumps in the engine-room were working at top speed, but there was evidently something wrong in the connections. Mr. Swift quickly came to this conclusion. "We must repair it at once," he said. "Tom, come to the engine-room. You and I, with Mr. Jackson and Mr. Sharp, will soon have it in shape again." "Is there any danger?" asked Mr. Damon in a perturbed voice. "Bless my soul, it's unlucky to have an accident on our trial trip." "Oh, we must expect accidents," declared Mr. Swift with a smile. "This is nothing." But it proved to be more difficult than he had imagined to re-establish the connection between the pumps and the tanks. The valves, too, had clogged or jammed, and as the pressure outside the ship was so great, the water would not run out of itself. It must be forced. For an hour or more the inventor, his son and the others, worked away. They could accomplish nothing. Tom looked anxiously at his parent when the latter paused in his efforts. "Don't worry," advised the aged inventor. "It's got to come right sooner or later." Just then Mr. Damon, who had been wandering about the ship, entered the engine-room. "Do you know," he said, "you ought to open a window, or something." "Why, what's the matter?" asked Tom quickly, looking to see if the odd man was joking. "Well, of course I don't exactly mean a window," explained Mr. Damon, "but we need fresh air." "Fresh air!" There was a startled note in Mr. Swift's voice as he repeated the words. "Yes, I can hardly breathe in the living-room, and it's not much better here." "Why, there ought to be plenty of fresh air," went on the inventor. "It is renewed automatically." Tom jumped up and looked at an indicator. He uttered a startled cry. "The air hasn't been changed in the last hour!" he exclaimed. "It is bad. There's not enough oxygen in it. I notice it, now that I've stopped working. The gage indicates it, too. The automatic air-changer must have stopped working. I'll fix it." He hurried to the machine which was depended on to supply fresh air to the submarine. "Why, the air tanks are empty!" the young inventor cried. "We haven't any more air except what is in the ship now!" "And we're rapidly breathing that up," added Captain Weston solemnly. "Can't you make more?" cried Mr. Damon. "I thought you said you could make oxygen aboard the ship." "We can," answered Mr. Swift, "but I did not bring along a supply of the necessary chemicals. I did not think we would be submerged long enough for that. But there should have been enough in the reserve tank to last several days. How about it, Tom?" "It's all leaked out, or else it wasn't filled," was the despairing answer. "All the air we have is what's in the ship, and we can't make more." The treasure-seekers looked at each other. It was an awful situation. "Then the only thing to do is to fix the machinery and rise to the surface," said Mr. Sharp simply. "We can have all the air we want, then." "Yes, but the machinery doesn't seem possible of being fixed," spoke Tom in a low voice. "We must do it!" cried his father. They set to work again with fierce energy, laboring for their very lives. They all knew that they could not long remain in the ship without oxygen. Nor could they desert it to go to the surface, for the moment they left the protection of the thick steel sides the terrible pressure of the water would kill them. Nor were the diving suits available. They must stay in the craft and die a miserable death--unless the machinery could be repaired and the Advance sent to the surface. The emergency expanding lifting tank was not yet in working order. More frantically they toiled, trying every device that was suggested to the mechanical minds of Tom, his father, Mr. Sharp or Mr. Jackson, to make the pumps work. But something was wrong. More and more foul grew the air. They were fairly gasping now. It was difficult to breathe, to say nothing of working, in that atmosphere. The thought of their terrible position was in the minds of all. "Oh, for one breath of fresh air!" cried Mr. Damon, who seemed to suffer more than any of the others. Grim death was hovering around them, imprisoned as they were on the ocean's bed, over a mile from the surface. Chapter Thirteen Off for the Treasure Suddenly Tom, after a moment's pause, seized a wrench and began loosening some nuts. "What are you doing?" asked his father faintly, for he was being weakened by the vitiated atmosphere. "I'm going to take this valve apart," replied his son. "We haven't looked there for the trouble. Maybe it's out of order." He attacked the valve with energy, but his hands soon lagged. The lack of oxygen was telling on him. He could no longer work quickly. "I'll help," murmured Mr. Sharp thickly. He took a wrench, but no sooner had he loosened one nut than he toppled over. "I'm all in," he murmured feebly. "Is he dead?" cried Mr. Damon, himself gasping. "No, only fainted. But he soon will be dead, and so will all of us, if we don't get fresh air," remarked Captain Weston. "Lie down on the floor, every one. There is a little fairly good air there. It's heavier than the air we've breathed, and we can exist on it for a little longer. Poor Sharp was so used to breathing the rarified air of high altitudes that he can't stand this heavy atmosphere." Mr. Damon was gasping worse than ever, and so was Mr. Swift. The balloonist lay an inert heap on the floor, with Captain Weston trying to force a few drops of stimulant down his throat. With a fierce determination in his heart, but with fingers that almost refused to do his bidding, Tom once more sought to open the big valve. He felt sure the trouble was located there, as they had tried to locate it in every other place without avail. "I'll help," said Mr. Jackson in a whisper. He, too, was hardly able to move. More and more devoid of oxygen grew the air. It gave Tom a sense as if his head was filled, and ready to burst with every breath he drew. Still he struggled to loosen the nuts. There were but four more now, and he took off three while Mr. Jackson removed one. The young inventor lifted off the valve cover, though it felt like a ton weight to him. He gave a glance inside. "Here's the trouble!" he murmured. "The valve's clogged. No wonder it wouldn't work. The pumps couldn't force the water out." It was the work of only a minute to adjust the valve. Then Tom and the engineer managed to get the cover back on. How they inserted the bolts and screwed the nuts in place they never could remember clearly afterward, but they managed it somehow, with shaking, trembling hands and eyes that grew more and more dim. "Now start the pumps!" cried Tom faintly. "The tanks will be emptied, and we can get to the surface." Mr. Sharp was still unconscious, nor was Mr. Swift able to help. He lay with his eyes closed. Garret Jackson, however, managed to crawl to the engine-room, and soon the clank of machinery told Tom that the pumps were in motion. The lad staggered to the pilot house and threw the levers over. An instant later there was the hissing of water as it rushed from the ballast tanks. The submarine shivered, as though disliking to leave the bottom of the sea, and then slowly rose. As the pumps worked more rapidly, and the sea was sent from the tank in great volumes, the boat fairly shot to the surface. Tom was ready to open the conning tower and let in fresh air as soon as the top was above the surface. With a bound the Advance reached the top. Tom frantically worked the worm gear that opened the tower. In rushed the fresh, life-giving air, and the treasure-hunters filled their lungs with it. And it was only just in time, for Mr. Sharp was almost gone. He quickly revived, as did the others, when they could breathe as much as they wished of the glorious oxygen. "That was a close call," commented Mr. Swift. "We'll not go below again until I have provided for all emergencies. I should have seen to the air tanks and the expanding one before going below. We'll sail home on the surface now." The submarine was put about and headed for her dock. On the way she passed a small steamer, and the passengers looked down in wonder at the strange craft. When the Advance reached the secluded creek where she had been launched, her passengers had fully recovered from their terrible experience, though the nerves of Mr. Swift and Mr. Damon were not at ease for some days thereafter. "I should never have made a submerged test without making sure that we had a reserve supply of air," remarked the aged inventor. "I will not be caught that way again. But I can't understand how the pump valve got out of order." "Maybe some one tampered with it," suggested Mr. Damon. "Could Andy Foger, any of the Happy Harry gang, or the rival gold-seekers have done it?" "I hardly think so," answered Tom. "The place has been too carefully guarded since Berg and Andy once sneaked in. I think it was just an accident, but I have thought of a plan whereby such accidents can be avoided in the future. It needs a simple device." "Better patent it," suggested Mr. Sharp with a smile. "Maybe I will," replied the young inventor. "But not now. We haven't time, if we intend to get fitted out for our trip." "No; I should say the sooner we started the better," remarked Captain Weston. "That is, if you don't mind me speaking about it," he added gently, and the others smiled, for his diffident comments were only a matter of habit. The first act of the adventurers, after tying the submarine at the dock, was to proceed with the loading of the food and supplies. Tom and Mr. Damon looked to this, while Mr. Swift and Mr. Sharp made some necessary changes to the machinery. The next day the young inventor attached his device to the pump valve, and the loading of the craft was continued. All was in readiness for the gold-seeking expedition a week later. Captain Weston had carefully charted the route they were to follow, and it was decided to move along on the surface for the first day, so as to get well out to sea before submerging the craft. Then it would sink below the surface, and run along under the water until the wreck was reached, rising at times, as needed, to renew the air supply. With sufficient stores and provisions aboard to last several months, if necessary, though they did not expect to be gone more than sixty days at most, the adventurers arose early one morning and went down to the dock. Mr. Jackson was not to accompany them. He did not care about a submarine trip, he said, and Mr. Swift desired him to remain at the seaside cottage and guard the shops, which contained much valuable machinery. The airship was also left there. "Well, are we all ready?" asked Mr. Swift of the little party of gold-seekers, as they were about to enter the conning tower hatchway of the submarine. "All ready, dad," responded his son. "Then let's get aboard," proposed Captain Weston. "But first let me take an observation." He swept the horizon with his telescope, and Tom noticed that the sailor kept it fixed on one particular spot for some time. "Did you see anything?" asked the lad. "Well, there is a boat lying off there," was the answer. "And some one is observing us through a glass. But I don't believe it matters. Probably they're only trying to see what sort of an odd fish we are." "All aboard, then," ordered Mr. Swift, and they went into the submarine. Tom and his father, with Captain Weston, remained in the conning tower. The signal was given, the electricity flowed into the forward and aft plates, and the Advance shot ahead on the surface. The sailor raised his telescope once more and peered through a window in the tower. He uttered an exclamation. "What's the matter?" asked Tom. "That other ship--a small steamer--is weighing anchor and seems to be heading this way," was the reply. "Maybe it's some one hired by Berg to follow us and trace our movements," suggested Tom. "If it is we'll fool them," added his father. "Just keep an eye on them, captain, and I think we can show them a trick or two in a few minutes." Faster shot the Advance through the water. She had started on her way to get the gold from the sunken wreck, but already enemies were on the trail of the adventurers, for the ship the sailor had noticed was steaming after them. Chapter Fourteen In the Diving Suits There was no doubt that the steamer was coming after the submarine. Several observations Captain Weston made confirmed this, and he reported the fact to Mr. Swift. "Well, we'll change our plans, then," said the inventor. "Instead of sailing on the surface we'll go below. But first let them get near so they may have the benefit of seeing what we do. Tom, go below, please, and tell Mr. Sharp to get every thing in readiness for a quick descent. We'll slow up a bit now, and let them get nearer to us." The speed of the submarine was reduced, and in a short time the strange steamer had overhauled her, coming to within hailing distance. Mr. Swift signaled for the machinery to stop and the submarine came to a halt on the surface, bobbing about like a half-submerged bottle. The inventor opened a bull's-eye in the tower, and called to a man on the bridge of the steamer: "What are you following us for?" "Following you?" repeated the man, for the strange vessel had also come to a stop. "We're not following you." "It looks like it," replied Mr. Swift. "You'd better give it up." "I guess the waters are free," was the quick retort. "We'll follow you if we like." "Will you? Then come on!" cried the inventor as he quickly closed the heavy glass window and pulled a lever. An instant later the submarine began to sink, and Mr. Swift could not help laughing as, just before the tower went under water, he had a glimpse of the astonished face of the man on the bridge. The latter had evidently not expected such a move as that. Lower and lower in the water went the craft, until it was about two hundred feet below the surface. Then Mr. Swift left the conning tower, descended to the main part of the ship, and asked Tom and Captain Weston to take charge of the pilot house. "Send her ahead, Tom," his father said. "That fellow up above is rubbing his eyes yet, wondering where we are, I suppose." Forward shot the Advance under water, the powerful electrical plates pulling and pushing her on the way to secure the sunken gold. All that morning a fairly moderate rate of speed was maintained, as it was thought best not to run the new machinery too fast. Dinner was eaten about a quarter of a mile below the surface, but no one inside the submarine would ever have known it. Electric lights made the place as brilliant as could be desired, and the food, which Tom and Mr. Damon prepared, was equal to any that could have been served on land. After the meal they opened the shutters over the windows in the sides of the craft, and looked at the myriads of fishes swimming past, as the creatures were disclosed in the glare of the searchlight. That night they were several hundred miles on their journey, for the craft was speedy, and leaving Tom and Captain Weston to take the first watch, the others went to bed. "Bless my soul, but it does seem odd, though, to go to bed under water, like a fish," remarked Mr. Damon. "If my wife knew this she would worry to death. She thinks I'm off automobiling. But this isn't half as dangerous as riding in a car that's always getting out of order. A submarine for mine, every time." "Wait until we get to the end of this trip," advised Tom. "I guess you'll find almost as many things can happen in a submarine as can in an auto," and future events were to prove the young inventor to be right. Everything worked well that night, and the ship made good progress. They rose to the surface the next morning to make sure of their position, and to get fresh air, though they did not really need the latter, as the reserve supply had not been drawn on, and was sufficient for several days, now that the oxygen machine had been put in running order. On the second day the ship was sent to the bottom and halted there, as Mr. Swift wished to try the new diving suits. These were made of a new, light, but very strong metal to withstand the pressure of a great depth. Tom, Mr. Sharp and Captain Weston donned the suits, the others agreeing to wait until they saw how the first trial resulted. Then, too, it was necessary for some one acquainted with the machinery to remain in the ship to operate the door and water chamber through which the divers had to pass to get out. The usual plan, with some changes, was followed in letting the three out of the boat, and on to the bottom of the sea. They entered a chamber in the side of the submarine, water was gradually admitted until it equaled in pressure that outside, then an outer door was opened by means of levers, and they could step out. It was a curious sensation to Tom and the others to feel that they were actually walking along the bed of the ocean. All around them was the water, and as they turned on the small electric lights in their helmets, which lights were fed by storage batteries fastened to the diving suits, they saw the fish, big and little, swarm up to them, doubtless astonished at the odd creatures which had entered their domain. On the sand of the bottom, and in and out among the shells and rocks, crawled great spider crabs, big eels and other odd creatures seldom seen on the surface of the water. The three divers found no difficulty in breathing, as there were air tanks fastened to their shoulders, and a constant supply of oxygen was fed through pipes into the helmets. The pressure of water did not bother them, and after the first sensation Tom began to enjoy the novelty of it. At first the inability to speak to his companions seemed odd, but he soon got so he could make signs and motions, and be understood. They walked about for some time, and once the lad came upon a part of a wrecked vessel buried deep in the sand. There was no telling what ship it was, nor how long it had been there, and after silently viewing it, they continued on. "It was great!" were the first words Tom uttered when he and the others were once more inside the submarine and had removed the suits. "If we can only walk around the wreck of the Boldero that way, we'll have all the gold out of her in no time. There are no life-lines nor air-hose to bother with in these diving suits." "They certainly are a success," conceded Mr. Sharp. "Bless my topknot!" cried Mr. Damon. "I'll try it next time. I've always wanted to be a diver, and now I have the chance." The trip was resumed after the diving chamber had been closed, and on the third day Captain Weston announced, after a look at his chart, that they were nearing the Bahama Islands. "We'll have to be careful not to run into any of the small keys," he said, that being the name for the many little points of land, hardly large enough to be dignified by the name of island. "We must keep a constant lookout." Fortune favored them, though once, when Tom was steering, he narrowly avoided ramming a coral reef with the submarine. The searchlight showed it to him just in time, and he sheered off with a thumping in his heart. The course was changed from south to east, so as to get ready to swing out of the way of the big shoulder of South America where Brazil takes up so much room, and as they went farther and farther toward the equator, they noticed that the waters teemed more and more with fish, some beautiful, some ugly and fear-inspiring, and some such monsters that it made one shudder to look at them, even through the thick glass of the bulls-eye windows. Chapter Fifteen At the Tropical Island It was on the evening of the fourth day later that Captain Weston, who was steering the craft, suddenly called out: "Land ho!" "Where away?" inquired Tom quickly, for he had read that this was the proper response to make. "Dead ahead," answered the sailor with a smile. "Shall we make for it, if I may be allowed the question?" "What land is it likely to be?" Mr. Swift wanted to know. "Oh, some small tropical island," replied the seafaring man. "It isn't down on the charts. Probably it's too small to note. I should say it was a coral island, but we may be able to find a spring of fresh water there, and some fruit." "Then we'll land there," decided the inventor. "We can use some fresh water, though our distilling and ice apparatus does very well." They made the island just at dusk, and anchored in a little lagoon, where there was a good depth of water. "Now for shore!" cried Tom, as the submarine swung around on the chain. "It looks like a fine place. I hope there are cocoanuts and oranges here. Shall I get out the electric launch, dad?" "Yes, you may, and we'll all go ashore. It will do us good to stretch our legs a bit." Carried in a sort of pocket on the deck of the submarine was a small electric boat, capable of holding six. It could be slid from the pocket, or depression, into the water without the use of davits, and, with Mr. Sharp to aid him, Tom soon had the little craft afloat. The batteries were already charged, and just as the sun was going down the gold-seekers entered the launch and were soon on shore. They found a good spring of water close at hand, and Tom's wish regarding the cocoanuts was realized, though there were no oranges. The lad took several of the delicious nuts, and breaking them open poured the milk into a collapsible cup he carried, drinking it eagerly. The others followed his example, and pronounced it the best beverage they had tasted in a long time. The island was a typical tropical one, not very large, and it did not appear to have been often visited by man. There were no animals to be seen, but myriads of birds flew here and there amid the trees, the trailing vines and streamers of moss. "Let's spend a day here to-morrow and explore it," proposed Tom, and his father nodded an assent. They went back to the submarine as night was beginning to gather, and in the cabin, after supper, talked over the happenings of their trip so far. "Do you think we'll have any trouble getting the gold out of the wrecked vessel?" asked Tom of Captain Weston, after a pause. "Well, it's hard to say. I couldn't learn just how the wreck lays, whether it's on a sandy or a rocky bottom. If the latter, it won't be so hard, but if the sand has worked in and partly covered it, we'll have some difficulties, if I may be permitted to say so. However, don't borrow trouble. We're not there yet, though at the rate we're traveling it won't be long before we arrive." No watch was set that night, as it was not considered necessary. Tom was the first to arise in the morning, and he went out on the deck for a breath of fresh air before breakfast. He looked off at the beautiful little island, and as his eye took in all of the little lagoon where the submarine was anchored he uttered a startled cry. And well he might, for, not a hundred yards away, and nearer to the island than was the Advance, floated another craft--another craft, almost similar in shape and size to the one built by the Swifts. Tom rubbed his eyes to make sure he was not seeing double. No, there could be no mistake about it. There was another submarine at the tropical island. As he looked, some one emerged from the conning tower of the second craft. The figure seemed strangely familiar. Tom knew in a moment who it was--Addison Berg. The agent saw the lad, too, and taking off his cap and making a mocking bow, he called out: "Good morning! Have you got the gold yet?" Tom did not know what to answer. Seeing the other submarine, at an island where he had supposed they would not be disturbed, was disconcerting enough, but to be greeted by Berg was altogether too much, Tom thought. His fears that the rival boat builders would follow had not been without foundation. "Rather surprised to see us, aren't you?" went on Mr. Berg, smiling. "Rather," admitted Tom, choking over the word. "Thought you'd be," continued Berg. "We didn't expect to meet you so soon, but we're glad we did. I don't altogether like hunting for sunken treasure, with such indefinite directions as I have." "You--are going to--" stammered Tom, and then he concluded it would be best not to say anything. But his talk had been heard inside the submarine. His father came to the foot of the conning tower stairway. "To whom are you speaking, Tom?" he asked. "They're here, dad," was the youth's answer. "Here? Who are here?" "Berg and his employers. They've followed us, dad." Chapter Sixteen "We'll Race You For It" Mr. Swift hurried up on deck. He was accompanied by Captain Weston. At the sight of Tom's father, Mr. Berg, who had been joined by two other men, called out: "You see we also concluded to give up the trial for the Government prize, Mr. Swift. We decided there was more money in something else. But we still will have a good chance to try the merits of our respective boats. We hurried and got ours fitted up almost as soon as you did yours, and I think we have the better craft." "I don't care to enter into any competition with you," said Mr. Swift coldly. "Ah, but I'm afraid you'll have to, whether you want to or not," was the insolent reply. "What's that? Do you mean to force this matter upon me?" "I'm afraid I'll have to--my employers and I, that is. You see, we managed to pick up your trail after you left the Jersey coast, having an idea where you were bound, and we don't intend to lose you now." "Do you mean to follow us?" asked Captain Weston softly. "Well, you can put it that way if you like," answered one of the two men with Mr. Berg. "I forbid it!" cried Mr. Swift hotly. "You have no right to sneak after us." "I guess the ocean is free," continued the rascally agent. "Why do you persist in keeping after us?" inquired the aged inventor, thinking it well to ascertain, if possible, just how much the men knew. "Because we're after that treasure as well as you," was the bold reply. "You have no exclusive right to it. The sunken ship is awaiting the first comer, and whoever gets there first can take the gold from the wreck. We intend to be there first, but we'll be fair with you." "Fair? What do you mean?" demanded Tom. "This: We'll race you for it. The first one to arrive will have the right to search the wreck for the gold bullion. Is that fair? Do you agree to it?" "We agree to nothing with you," interrupted Captain Weston, his usual diffident manner all gone. "I happen to be in partial command of this craft, and I warn you that if I find you interfering with us it won't be healthy for you. I'm not fond of fighting, but when I begin I don't like to stop," and he smiled grimly. "You'd better not follow us." "We'll do as we please," shouted the third member of the trio on the deck of the other boat, which, as Tom could see, was named the Wonder. "We intend to get that gold if we can." "All right. I've warned you," went on the sailor, and then, motioning to Tom and his father to follow, he went below. "Well, what's to be done?" asked Mr. Swift when they were seated in the living-room, and had informed the others of the presence of the rival submarine. "The only thing I see to do is to sneak away unobserved, go as deep as possible, and make all haste for the wreck," advised the captain. "They will depend on us, for they have evidently no chart of the wreck, though of course the general location of it may be known to them from reading the papers. I hoped I had thrown them off the track by the false chart I dropped, but it seems they were too smart for us." "Have they a right to follow us?" asked Tom. "Legally, but not morally. We can't prevent them, I'm afraid. The only thing to do is to get there ahead of them. It will be a race for the sunken treasure, and we must get there first." "What do you propose doing, captain?" asked Mr. Damon. "Bless my shirt-studs, but can't we pull their ship up on the island and leave it there?" "I'm afraid such high-handed proceedings would hardly answer," replied Mr. Swift. "No, as Captain Weston says, we must get there ahead of them. What do you think will be the best scheme, captain?" "Well, there's no need for us to forego our plan to get fresh water. Suppose we go to the island, that is, some of us, leaving a guard on board here. We'll fill our tanks with fresh water, and at night we'll quietly sink below the surface and speed away." They all voted that an excellent idea, and little time was lost putting it into operation. All the remainder of that day not a sign of life was visible about the Wonder. She lay inert on the surface of the lagoon, not far away from the Advance; but, though no one showed himself on the deck, Tom and his friends had no doubt but that their enemies were closely watching them. As dusk settled down over the tropical sea, and as the shadows of the trees on the little island lengthened, those on board the Advance closed the Conning tower. No lights were turned on, as they did not want their movements to be seen, but Tom, his father and Mr. Sharp took their positions near the various machines and apparatus, ready to open the tanks and let the submarine sink to the bottom, as soon as it was possible to do this unobserved. "Luckily there's no moon," remarked Captain Weston, as he took his place beside Tom. "Once below the surface and we can defy them to find us. It is odd how they traced us, but I suppose that steamer gave them the clue." It rapidly grew dark, as it always does in the tropics, and when a cautious observation from the conning tower did not disclose the outlines of the other boat, those aboard the Advance rightly concluded that their rivals were unable to see them. "Send her down, Tom," called his father, and with a hiss the water entered the tanks. The submarine quickly sank below the surface, aided by the deflecting rudder. But alas for the hopes of the gold-seekers. No sooner was she completely submerged, with the engine started so as to send her out of the lagoon and to the open sea, than the waters all about were made brilliant by the phosphorescent phenomenon. In southern waters this frequently occurs. Millions of tiny creatures, which, it is said, swarm in the warm currents, give an appearance of fire to the ocean, and any object moving through it can plainly be seen. It was so with the Advance. The motion she made in shooting forward, and the undulations caused by her submersion, seemed to start into activity the dormant phosphorus, and the submarine was afloat in a sea of fire. "Quick!" cried Tom. "Speed her up! Maybe we can get out of this patch of water before they see us." But it was too late. Above them they could hear the electric siren of the Wonder as it was blown to let them know that their escape had been noticed. A moment later the water, which acted as a sort of sounding-board, or telephone, brought to the ears of Tom Swift and his friends the noise of the engines of the other craft in operation. She was coming after them. The race for the possession of three hundred thousand dollars in gold was already under way. Fate seemed against those on board the Advance. Chapter Seventeen The Race Directed by Captain Weston, who glanced at the compass and told him which way to steer to clear the outer coral reef, Tom sent the submarine ahead, signaling for full speed to the engine-room, where his father and Mr. Sharp were. The big dynamos purred like great cats, as they sent the electrical energy into the forward and aft plates, pulling and pushing the Advance forward. On and on she rushed under water, but ever as she shot ahead the disturbance in the phosphorescent water showed her position plainly. She would be easy to follow. "Can't you get any more speed out of her?" asked the captain of the lad. "Yes," was the quick reply; "by using the auxiliary screws I think we can. I'll try it." He signaled for the propellers, forward and aft, to be put in operation, and the motor moving the twin screws was turned on. At once there was a perceptible increase to the speed of the Advance. "Are we leaving them behind?" asked Tom anxiously, as he glanced at the speed gage, and noted that the submarine was now about five hundred feet below the surface. "Hard to tell," replied the Captain. "You'd have to take an observation to make sure." "I'll do it," cried the youth. "You steer, please, and I'll go in the conning tower. I can look forward and aft there, as well as straight up. Maybe I can see the Wonder." Springing up the circular ladder leading into the tower, Tom glanced through the windows all about the small pilot house. He saw a curious sight. It was as if the submarine was in a sea of yellowish liquid fire. She was immersed in water which glowed with the flames that contained no heat. So light was it, in fact, that there was no need of the incandescents in the tower. The young inventor could have seen to read a paper by the illumination of the phosphorus. But he had something else to do than observe this phenomenon. He wanted to see if he could catch sight of the rival submarine. At first he could make out nothing save the swirl and boiling of the sea, caused by the progress of the Advance through it. But suddenly, as he looked up, he was aware of some great, black body a little to the rear and about ten feet above his craft. "A shark!" he exclaimed aloud. "An immense one, too." But the closer he looked the less it seemed like a shark. The position of the black object changed. It appeared to settle down, to be approaching the top of the conning tower. Then, with a suddenness that unnerved him for the time being, Tom recognized what it was; it was the underside of a ship. He could see the plates riveted together, and then, as he noted the rounded, cylindrical shape, he knew that it was a submarine. It was the Wonder. She was close at hand and was creeping up on the Advance. But, what was more dangerous, she seemed to be slowly settling in the water. Another moment and her great screws might crash into the Conning tower of the Swifts' boat and shave it off. Then the water would rush in, drowning the treasure-seekers like rats in a trap. With a quick motion Tom yanked over the lever that allowed more water to flow into the ballast tanks. The effect was at once apparent. The Advance shot down toward the bottom of the sea. At the same time the young inventor signaled to Captain Weston to notify those in the engine-room to put on a little more speed. The Advance fairly leaped ahead, and the lad, looking up through the bull's-eye in the roof of the conning tower, had the satisfaction of seeing the rival submarine left behind. The youth hurried down into the interior of the ship to tell what he had seen, and explain the reason for opening the ballast tanks. He found his father and Mr. Sharp somewhat excited over the unexpected maneuver of the craft. "So they're still following us," murmured Mr. Swift. "I don't see why we can't shake them off." "It's on account of this luminous water," explained Captain Weston. "Once we are clear of that it will be easy, I think, to give them the slip. That is, if we can get out of their sight long enough. Of course, if they keep close after us, they can pick us up with their searchlight, for I suppose they carry one." "Yes," admitted the aged inventor, "they have as strong a one as we have. In fact, their ship is second only to this one in speed and power. I know, for Bentley & Eagert showed me some of the plans before they started it, and asked my opinion. This was before I had the notion of building a submarine. Yes, I am afraid we'll have trouble getting away from them." "I can't understand this phosphorescent glow keeping up so long," remarked Captain Weston. "I've seen it in this locality several times, but it never covered such an extent of the ocean in my time. There must be changed conditions here now." For an hour or more the race was kept up, and the two submarines forged ahead through the glowing sea. The Wonder remained slightly above and to the rear of the other, the better to keep sight of her, and though the Advance was run to her limit of speed, her rival could not be shaken off. Clearly the Wonder was a speedy craft. "It's too bad that we've got to fight them, as well as run the risk of lots of other troubles which are always present when sailing under water," observed Mr Damon, who wandered about the submarine like the nervous person he was. "Bless my shirt-studs! Can't we blow them up, or cripple them in some way? They have no right to go after our treasure." "Well, I guess they've got as much right as we have," declared Tom. "It goes to whoever reaches the wreck first. But what I don't like is their mean, sneaking way of doing it. If they went off on their own hook and looked for it I wouldn't say a word. But they expect us to lead them to the wreck, and then they'll rob us if they can. That's not fair." "Indeed, it isn't," agreed Captain Weston, "if I may be allowed the expression. We ought to find some way of stopping them. But, if I'm not mistaken," he added quickly, looking from one of the port bull's-eyes, "the phosphorescent glow is lessening. I believe we are running beyond that part of the ocean." There was no doubt of it, the glow was growing less and less, and ten minutes later the Advance was speeding along through a sea as black as night. Then, to avoid running into some wreck, it was necessary to turn on the searchlight. "Are they still after us?" asked Mr. Swift of his son, as he emerged from the engine-room, where he had gone to make some adjustments to the machinery, with the hope of increasing the speed. "I'll go look," volunteered the lad. He climbed up into the conning tower again, and for a moment, as he gazed back into the black waters swirling all about, he hoped that they had lost the Wonder. But a moment later his heart sank as he caught sight, through the liquid element, of the flickering gleams of another searchlight, the rays undulating through the sea. "Still following," murmured the young inventor. "They're not going to give up. But we must make 'em--that's all." He went down to report what he had seen, and a consultation was held. Captain Weston carefully studied the charts of that part of the ocean, and finding that there was a great depth of water at hand, proposed a series of evolutions. "We can go up and down, shoot first to one side and then to the other," he explained. "We can even drop down to the bottom and rest there for a while. Perhaps, in that way, we can shake them off." They tried it. The Advance was sent up until her conning tower was out of the water, and then she was suddenly forced down until she was but a few feet from the bottom. She darted to the left, to the right, and even doubled and went back over the course she had taken. But all to no purpose. The Wonder proved fully as speedy, and those in her seemed to know just how to handle the submarine, so that every evolution of the Advance was duplicated. Her rival could not be shaken off. All night this was kept up, and when morning came, though only the clocks told it, for eternal night was below the surface, the rival gold-seekers were still on the trail. "They won't give up," declared Mr. Swift hopelessly. "No, we've got to race them for it, just as Berg proposed," admitted Tom. "But if they want a straightaway race we'll give it to 'em. Let's run her to the limit, dad." "That's what we've been doing, Tom." "No, not exactly, for we've been submerged a little too much to get the best speed out of our craft. Let's go a little nearer the surface, and give them the best race they'll ever have." Then the race began; and such a contest of speed as it was! With her propellers working to the limit, and every volt of electricity that was available forced into the forward and aft plates, the Advance surged through the water, about ten feet below the surface. But the Wonder kept after her, giving her knot for knot. The course of the leading submarine was easy to trace now, in the morning light which penetrated ten feet down. "No use," remarked Tom again, when, after two hours, the Wonder was still close behind them. "Our only chance is that they may have a breakdown." "Or run out of air, or something like that," added Captain Weston. "They are crowding us pretty close. I had no idea they could keep up this speed. If they don't look out," he went on as he looked from one of the aft observation windows, "they'll foul us, and--" His remarks were interrupted by a jar to the Advance. She seemed to shiver and careened to one side. Then came another bump. "Slow down!" cried the captain, rushing toward the pilot house. "What's the matter?" asked Tom, as he threw the engines and electrical machines out of gear. "Have we hit anything?" "No. Something has hit us," cried the captain. "Their submarine has rammed us." "Rammed us!" repeated Mr. Swift. "Tom, run out the electric cannon! They're trying to sink us! We'll have to fight them. Run out the stern electric gun and we'll make them wish they'd not followed us." Chapter Eighteen The Electric Gun There was much excitement aboard the Advance. The submarine came to a stop in the water, while the treasure-seekers waited anxiously for what was to follow. Would they be rammed again? This time, stationary as they were, and with the other boat coming swiftly on, a hole might be stove through the Advance, in spite of her powerful sides. They had not long to wait. Again there came a jar, and once more the Swifts' boat careened. But the blow was a glancing one and, fortunately, did little damage. "They certainly must be trying to sink us," agreed Captain Weston. "Come, Tom, we'll take a look from the stern and see what they're up to." "And get the stern electric gun ready to fire," repeated Mr. Swift. "We must protect ourselves. Mr. Sharp and I will go to the bow. There is no telling what they may do. They're desperate, and may ram us from in front." Tom and the captain hurried aft. Through the thick plate-glass windows they could see the blunt nose of the Wonder not far away, the rival submarine having come to a halt. There she lay, black and silent, like some monster fish waiting to devour its victim. "There doesn't appear to be much damage done back here," observed Tom. "No leaks. Guess they didn't puncture us." "Perhaps it was due to an accident that they rammed us," suggested the captain. "Well, they wouldn't have done it if they hadn't followed us so close," was the opinion of the young inventor. "They're taking too many chances. We've got to stop 'em." "What is this electric gun your father speaks of?" "Why, it's a regular electric cannon. It fires a solid ball, weighing about twenty-five pounds, but instead of powder, which would hardly do under water, and instead of compressed air, which is used in the torpedo tubes of the Government submarines, we use a current of electricity. It forces the cannon ball out with great energy." "I wonder what they will do next?" observed the captain, peering through a bull's eye. "We can soon tell," replied the youth. "We'll go ahead, and if they try to follow I'm going to fire on them." "Suppose you sink them?" "I won't fire to do that; only to disable them. They brought it on themselves. We can't risk having them damage us. Help me with the cannon, will you please, captain?" The electric cannon was a long, steel tube in the after part of the submarine. It projected a slight distance from the sides of the ship, and by an ingenious arrangement could be swung around in a ball and socket joint, thus enabling it to shoot in almost any direction. It was the work of but a few minutes to get it ready and, with the muzzle pointing toward the Wonder, Tom adjusted the electric wires and inserted the solid shot. "Now we're prepared for them!" he cried. "I think a good plan will be to start ahead, and if they try to follow to fire on them. They've brought it on themselves." "Correct," spoke Captain Weston. Tom hurried forward to tell his father of this plan. "We'll do it!" cried Mr. Swift. "Go ahead, Mr. Sharp, and we'll see if those scoundrels will follow." The young inventor returned on the run to the electric cannon. There was a whir of machinery, and the Advance moved forward. She increased her speed, and the two watchers in the stern looked anxiously out of the windows to see what their rivals would do. For a moment no movement was noticeable on the part of the Wonder. Then, as those aboard her appeared to realize that the craft on which they depended to pilot them to the sunken treasure was slipping away, word was given to follow. The ship of Berg and his employers shot after the Advance. "Here they come!" cried Captain Weston. "They're going to ram us again!" "Then I'm going to fire on them!" declared Tom savagely. On came the Wonder, nearer and nearer. Her speed was rapidly increasing. Suddenly she bumped the Advance, and then, as if it was an unavoidable accident, the rear submarine sheered off to one side. "They're certainly at it again!" cried Tom, and peering from the bull's-eye he saw the Wonder shoot past the mouth of the electric cannon. "Here it goes!" he added. He shoved over the lever, making the proper connection. There was no corresponding report, for the cannon was noiseless, but there was a slight jar as the projectile left the muzzle. The Wonder could be seen to heel over. "You hit her! You hit her!" cried Captain Weston. "A good shot!" "I was afraid she was past me when I pulled the lever," explained Tom. "She went like a flash." "No, you caught her on the rudder," declared the captain. "I think you've put her out of business. Yes, they're rising to the surface." The lad rapidly inserted another ball, and recharged the cannon. Then he peered out into the water, illuminated by the light of day overhead, as they were not far down. He could see the Wonder rising to the surface. Clearly something had happened. "Maybe they're going to drop down on us from above, and try to sink us," suggested the youth, while he stood ready to fire again. "If they do--" His words were interrupted by a slight jar throughout the submarine. "What was that?" cried the captain. "Dad fired the bow gun at them, but I don't believe he hit them," answered the young inventor. "I wonder what damage I did? Guess we'll go to the surface to find out." Clearly the Wonder had given up the fight for the time being. In fact, she had no weapon with which to respond to a fusillade from her rival. Tom hastened forward and informed his father of what had happened. "If her steering gear is out of order, we may have a chance to slip away," said Mr. Swift "We'll go up and see what we can learn." A few minutes later Tom, his father and Captain Weston stepped from the conning tower, which was out of water, on to the little flat deck a short distance away lay the Wonder, and on her deck was Berg and a number of men, evidently members of the crew. "Why did you fire on us?" shouted the agent angrily. "Why did you follow us?" retorted Tom. "Well, you've broken our rudder and disabled us," went on Berg, not answering the question. "You'll suffer for this! I'll have you arrested." "You only got what you deserved," added Mr. Swift. "You were acting illegally, following us, and you tried to sink us by ramming my craft before we retaliated by firing on you." "It was an accident, ramming you," said Berg. "We couldn't help it. I now demand that you help us make repairs." "Well, you've got nerve!" cried Captain Weston, his eyes flashing. "I'd like to have a personal interview with you for about ten minutes. Maybe something besides your ship would need repairs then." Berg turned away, scowling, but did not reply. He began directing the crew what to do about the broken rudder. "Come on," proposed Tom in a low voice, for sounds carry very easily over water. "Let's go below and skip out while we have a chance. They can't follow now, and we can get to the sunken treasure ahead of them." "Good advice," commented his father. "Come, Captain Weston, we'll go below and close the conning tower." Five minutes later the Advance sank from sight, the last glimpse Tom had of Berg and his men being a sight of them standing on the deck of their floating boat, gazing in the direction of their successful rival. The Wonder was left behind, while Tom and his friends were soon once more speeding toward the treasure wreck. Chapter Nineteen Captured "Down deep," advised Captain Weston, as he stood beside Tom and Mr. Swift in the pilot house. "As far as you can manage her, and then forward. We'll take no more chances with these fellows." "The only trouble is," replied the young inventor, "that the deeper we go the slower we have to travel. The water is so dense that it holds us back." "Well, there is no special need of hurrying now," went on the sailor. "No one is following you, and two or three days difference in reaching the wreck will not amount to anything." "Unless they repair their rudder, and take after us again," suggested Mr. Swift. "They're not very likely to do that," was the captain's opinion. "It was more by luck than good management that they picked us up before. Now, having to delay, as they will, to repair their steering gear, while we can go as deep as we please and speed ahead, it is practically impossible for them to catch up to us. No, I think we have nothing to fear from them." But though danger from Berg and his crowd was somewhat remote, perils of another sort were hovering around the treasure-seekers, and they were soon to experience them. It was much different from sailing along in the airship, Tom thought, for there was no blue sky and fleecy clouds to see, and they could not look down and observe, far below them, cities and villages. Nor could they breathe the bracing atmosphere of the upper regions. But if there was lack of the rarefied air of the clouds, there was no lack of fresh atmosphere. The big tanks carried a large supply, and whenever more was needed the oxygen machine would supply it. As there was no need, however, of remaining under water for any great stretch of time, it was their practice to rise every day and renew the air supply, also to float along on the surface for a while, or speed along, with only the conning tower out, in order to afford a view, and to enable Captain Weston to take observations. But care was always exercised to make sure no ships were in sight when emerging on the surface, for the gold-seekers did not want to be hailed and questioned by inquisitive persons. It was about four days after the disabling of the rival submarine, and the Advance was speeding along about a mile and a half under water. Tom was in the pilot house with Captain Weston, Mr. Damon was at his favorite pastime of looking out of the glass side windows into the ocean and its wonders, and Mr. Swift and the balloonist were, as usual, in the engine-room. "How near do you calculate we are to the sunken wreck?" asked Tom of his companion. "Well, at the calculation we made yesterday, we are within about a thousand miles of it now. We ought to reach it in about four more days, if we don't have any accidents." "And how deep do you think it is?" went on the lad. "Well, I'm afraid it's pretty close to two miles, if not more. It's quite a depth, and of course impossible for ordinary divers to reach. But it will be possible in this submarine and in the strong diving suits your father has invented for us to get to it. Yes, I don't anticipate much trouble in getting out the gold, once we reach the wreck of course--" The captain's remark was not finished. From the engine-room there came a startled shout: "Tom! Tom! Your father is hurt! Come here, quick!" "Take the wheel!" cried the lad to the captain. "I must go to my father." It was Mr. Sharp's voice he had heard. Racing to the engine-room, Tom saw his parent doubled up over a dynamo, while to one side, his hand on a copper switch, stood Mr. Sharp. "What's the matter?" shouted the lad. "He's held there by a current of electricity," replied the balloonist. "The wires are crossed." "Why don't you shut off the current?" demanded the youth, as he prepared to pull his parent from the whirring machine. Then he hesitated, for he feared he, too, would be glued fast by the terrible current, and so be unable to help Mr. Swift. "I'm held fast here, too," replied the balloonist. "I started to cut out the current at this switch, but there's a short circuit somewhere, and I can't let go, either. Quick, shut off all power at the main switchboard forward." Tom realized that this was the only thing to do. He ran forward and with a yank cut out all the electric wires. With a sigh of relief Mr. Sharp pulled his hands from the copper where he had been held fast as if by some powerful magnet, his muscles cramped by the current. Fortunately the electricity was of low voltage, and he was not burned. The body of Mr. Swift toppled backward from the dynamo, as Tom sprang to reach his father. "He's dead!" he cried, as he saw the pale face and the closed eyes. "No, only badly shocked, I hope," spoke Mr. Sharp. "But we must get him to the fresh air at once. Start the tank pumps. We'll rise to the surface." The youth needed no second bidding. Once more turning on the electric current, he set the powerful pumps in motion and the submarine began to rise. Then, aided by Captain Weston and Mr. Damon, the young inventor carried his father to a couch in the main cabin. Mr. Sharp took charge of the machinery. Restoratives were applied, and there was a flutter of the eyelids of the aged inventor. "I think he'll come around all right," said the sailor kindly, as he saw Tom's grief. "Fresh air will be the thing for him. We'll be on the surface in a minute." Up shot the Advance, while Mr. Sharp stood ready to open the conning tower as soon as it should be out of water. Mr. Swift seemed to be rapidly reviving. With a bound the submarine, forced upward from the great depth, fairly shot out of the water. There was a clanking sound as the aeronaut opened the airtight door of the tower, and a breath of fresh air came in. "Can you walk, dad, or shall we carry you?" asked Tom solicitously. "Oh, I--I'm feeling better now," was the inventor's reply. "I'll soon be all right when I get out on deck. My foot slipped as I was adjusting a wire that had gotten out of order, and I fell so that I received a large part of the current. I'm glad I was not burned. Was Mr. Sharp hurt? I saw him run to the switch, just before I lost consciousness." "No, I'm all right," answered the balloonist. "But allow us to get you out to the fresh air. You'll feel much better then." Mr. Swift managed to walk slowly to the ladder leading to the conning tower, and thence to the deck. The others followed him. As all emerged from the submarine they uttered a cry of astonishment. There, not one hundred yards away, was a great warship, flying a flag which, in a moment, Tom recognized as that of Brazil. The cruiser was lying off a small island, and all about were small boats, filled with natives, who seemed to be bringing supplies from land to the ship. At the unexpected sight of the submarine, bobbing up from the bottom of the ocean, the natives uttered cries of fright. The attention of those on the warship was attracted, and the bridge and rails were lined with curious officers and men. "It's a good thing we didn't come up under that ship," observed Tom. "They would have thought we were trying to torpedo her. Do you feel better, dad?" he asked, his wonder over the sight of the big vessel temporarily eclipsed in his anxiety for his parent. "Oh, yes, much better. I'm all right now. But I wish we hadn't disclosed ourselves to these people. They may demand to know where we are going, and Brazil is too near Uruguay to make it safe to tell our errand. They may guess it, however, from having read of the wreck, and our departure." "Oh, I guess it will be all right," replied Captain Weston. "We can tell them we are on a pleasure trip. That's true enough. It would give us great pleasure to find that gold." "There's a boat, with some officers in it, to judge by the amount of gold lace on them, putting off from the ship," remarked Mr. Sharp. "Ha! Yes! Evidently they intend to pay us a formal visit," observed Mr. Damon. "Bless my gaiters, though. I'm not dressed to receive company. I think I'll put on my dress suit." "It's too late," advised Tom. "They'll be here in a minute." Urged on by the lusty arms of the Brazilian sailors, the boat, containing several officers, neared the floating submarine rapidly. "Ahoy there!" called an officer in the bow, his accent betraying his unfamiliarity with the English language. "What craft are you?" "Submarine, Advance, from New Jersey," replied Tom. "Who are you?" "Brazilian cruiser San Paulo," was the reply. "Where are you bound?" went on the officer. "On pleasure," answered Captain Weston quickly. "But why do you ask? We are an American ship, sailing under American colors. Is this Brazilian territory?" "This island is--yes," came back the answer, and by this time the small boat was at the side of the submarine. Before the adventurers could have protested, had they a desire to do so, there were a number of officers and the crew of the San Paulo on the small deck. With a flourish, the officer who had done the questioning drew his sword. Waving it in the air with a dramatic gesture, he exclaimed: "You're our prisoners! Resist and my men shall cut you down like dogs! Seize them, men!" The sailors sprang forward, each one stationing himself at the side of one of our friends, and grasping an arm. "What does this mean?" cried Captain Weston indignantly. "If this is a joke, you're carrying it too far. If you're in earnest, let me warn you against interfering with Americans!" "We know what we are doing," was the answer from the officer. The sailor who had hold of Captain Weston endeavored to secure a tighter grip. The captain turned suddenly, and seizing the man about the waist, with an exercise of tremendous strength hurled him over his head and into the sea, the man making a great splash. "That's the way I'll treat any one else who dares lay a hand on me!" shouted the captain, who was transformed from a mild-mannered individual into an angry, modern giant. There was a gasp of astonishment at his feat, as the ducked sailor crawled back into the small boat. And he did not again venture on the deck of the submarine. "Seize them, men!" cried the gold-laced officer again, and this time he and his fellows, including the crew, crowded so closely around Tom and his friends that they could do nothing. Even Captain Weston found it impossible to offer any resistance, for three men grabbed hold of him but his spirit was still a fighting one, and he struggled desperately but uselessly. "How dare you do this?" he cried. "Yes," added Tom, "what right have you to interfere with us?" "Every right," declared the gold-laced officer. "You are in Brazilian territory, and I arrest you." "What for?" demanded Mr. Sharp. "Because your ship is an American submarine, and we have received word that you intend to damage our shipping, and may try to torpedo our warships. I believe you tried to disable us a little while ago, but failed. We consider that an act of war and you will be treated accordingly. Take them on board the San Paulo," the officer went on, turning to his aides. "We'll try them by court-marital here. Some of you remain and guard this submarine. We will teach these filibustering Americans a lesson." Chapter Twenty Doomed to Death There was no room on the small deck of the submarine to make a stand against the officers and crew of the Brazilian warship. In fact, the capture of the gold-seekers had been effected so suddenly that their astonishment almost deprived them of the power to think clearly. At another command from the officer, who was addressed as Admiral Fanchetti, several of the sailors began to lead Tom and his friends toward the small boat. "Do you feel all right, father?" inquired the lad anxiously, as he looked at his parent. "These scoundrels have no right to treat us so." "Yes, Tom, I'm all right as far as the electric shock is concerned, but I don't like to be handled in this fashion." "We ought not to submit!" burst out Mr. Damon. "Bless the stars and stripes! We ought to fight." "There's no chance," said Mr. Sharp. "We are right under the guns of the ship. They could sink us with one shot. I guess we'll have to give in for the time being." "It is most unpleasant, if I may be allowed the expression," commented Captain Weston mildly. He seemed to have lost his sudden anger, but there was a steely glint in his eyes, and a grim, set look around his month that showed his temper was kept under control only by an effort. It boded no good to the sailors who had hold of the doughty captain if he should once get loose, and it was noticed that they were on their guard. As for Tom, he submitted quietly to the two Brazilians who had hold of either arm, and Mr. Swift was held by only one, for it was seen that he was feeble. "Into the boat with them!" cried Admiral Fanchetti. "And guard them well, Lieutenant Drascalo, for I heard them plotting to escape," and the admiral signaled to a younger officer, who was in charge of the men guarding the prisoners. "Lieutenant Drascalo, eh?" murmured Mr. Damon. "I think they made a mistake naming him. It ought to be Rascalo. He looks like a rascal." "Silenceo!" exclaimed the lieutenant, scowling at the odd character. "Bless my spark plug! He's a regular fire-eater!" went on Mr. Damon, who appeared to have fully recovered his spirits. "Silenceo!" cried the lieutenant, scowling again, but Mr. Damon did not appear to mind. Admiral Fanchetti and several others of the gold-laced officers remained aboard the submarine, while Tom and his friends were hustled into the small boat and rowed toward the warship. "I hope they don't damage our craft," murmured the young inventor, as he saw the admiral enter the conning tower. "If they do, we'll complain to the United States consul and demand damages," said Mr. Swift. "I'm afraid we won't have a chance to communicate with the consul," remarked Captain Weston. "What do you mean?" asked Mr. Damon. "Bless my shoelaces, but will these scoundrels--" "Silenceo!" cried Lieutenant Drascalo quickly. "Dogs of Americans, do you wish to insult us?" "Impossible; you wouldn't appreciate a good, genuine United States insult," murmured Tom under his breath. "What I mean," went on the captain, "is that these people may carry the proceedings off with a high hand. You heard the admiral speak of a court-martial." "Would they dare do that?" inquired Mr. Sharp. "They would dare anything in this part of the world, I'm afraid," resumed Captain Weston. "I think I see their plan, though. This admiral is newly in command; his uniform shows that. He wants to make a name for himself, and he seizes on our submarine as an excuse. He can send word to his government that he destroyed a torpedo craft that sought to wreck his ship. Thus he will acquire a reputation." "But would his government support him in such a hostile act against the United States, a friendly nation?" asked Tom. "Oh, he would not claim to have acted against the United States as a power. He would say that it was a private submarine, and, as a matter of fact, it is. While we are under the protection of the stars and stripes, our vessel is not a Government one," and Captain Weston spoke the last in a low voice, so the scowling lieutenant could not hear. "What will they do with us?" inquired Mr. Swift. "Have some sort of a court-martial, perhaps," went on the captain, "and confiscate our craft. Then they will send us back home, I expect for they would not dare harm us." "But take our submarine!" cried Tom. "The villains--" "Silenceo!" shouted Lieutenant Drascalo and he drew his sword. By this time the small boat was under the big guns of the San Paulo, and the prisoners were ordered, in broken English, to mount a companion ladder that hung over the side. In a short time they were on deck, amid a crowd of sailors, and they could see the boat going back to bring off the admiral, who signaled from the submarine. Tom and his friends were taken below to a room that looked like a prison, and there, a little later, they were visited by Admiral Fanchetti and several officers. "You will be tried at once," said the admiral. "I have examined your submarine and I find she carries two torpedo tubes. It is a wonder you did not sink me at once." "Those are not torpedo tubes!" cried Tom, unable to keep silent, though Captain Weston motioned him to do so. "I know torpedo tubes when I see them," declared the admiral. "I consider I had a very narrow escape. Your country is fortunate that mine does not declare war against it for this act. But I take it you are acting privately, for you fly no flag, though you claim to be from the United States." "There's no place for a flag on the submarine," went on Tom. "What good would it be under water?" "Silenceo!" cried Lieutenant Drascalo, the admonition to silence seeming to be the only command of which he was capable. "I shall confiscate your craft for my government," went on the admiral, "and shall punish you as the court-martial may direct. You will be tried at once." It was in vain for the prisoners to protest. Matters were carried with a high hand. They were allowed a spokesman, and Captain Weston, who understood Spanish, was selected, that language being used. But the defense was a farce, for he was scarcely listened to. Several officers testified before the admiral, who was judge, that they had seen the submarine rise out of the water, almost under the prow of the San Paulo. It was assumed that the Advance had tried to wreck the warship, but had failed. It was in vain that Captain Weston and the others told of the reason for their rapid ascent from the ocean depths--that Mr. Swift had been shocked, and needed fresh air. Their story was not believed. "We have heard enough!" suddenly exclaimed the admiral. "The evidence against you is over-whelming--er--what you Americans call conclusive," and he was speaking then in broken English. "I find you guilty, and the sentence of this court-martial is that you be shot at sunrise, three days hence!" "Shot!" cried Captain Weston, staggering back at this unexpected sentence. His companions turned white, and Mr. Swift leaned against his son for support. "Bless my stars! Of all the scoundrelly!" began Mr. Damon. "Silenceo!" shouted the lieutenant, waving his sword. "You will be shot," proceeded the admiral. "Is not that the verdict of the honorable court?" he asked, looking at his fellow officers. They all nodded gravely. "But look here!" objected Captain Weston. "You don't dare do that! We are citizens of the United States, and--" "I consider you no better than pirates," interrupted the admiral. "You have an armed submarine--a submarine with torpedo tubes. You invade our harbor with it, and come up almost under my ship. You have forfeited your right to the protection of your country, and I have no fear on that score. You will be shot within three days. That is all. Remove the prisoners." Protests were in vain, and it was equally useless to struggle. The prisoners were taken out on deck, for which they were thankful, for the interior of the ship was close and hot, the weather being intensely disagreeable. They were told to keep within a certain space on deck, and a guard of sailors, all armed, was placed near them. From where they were they could see their submarine floating on the surface of the little bay, with several Brazilians on the small deck. The Advance had been anchored, and was surrounded by a flotilla of the native boats, the brown-skinned paddlers gazing curiously at the odd craft. "Well, this is tough luck!" murmured Tom. "How do you feel, dad?" "As well as can be expected under the circumstances," was the reply. "What do you think about this, Captain Weston?" "Not very much, if I may be allowed the expression," was the answer. "Do you think they will dare carry out that threat?" asked Mr. Sharp. The captain shrugged his shoulders. "I hope it is only a bluff," he replied, "made to scare us so we will consent to giving up the submarine, which they have no right to confiscate. But these fellows look ugly enough for anything," he went on. "Then if there's any chance of them attempting to carry it out," spoke Tom, "we've got to do something." "Bless my gizzard, of course!" exclaimed Mr. Damon. "But what? That's the question. To be shot! Why, that's a terrible threat! The villains--" "Silenceo!" shouted Lieutenant Drascalo, coming up at that moment. Chapter Twenty-One The Escape Events had happened so quickly that day that the gold-hunters could scarcely comprehend them. It seemed only a short time since Mr. Swift had been discovered lying disabled on the dynamo, and what had transpired since seemed to have taken place in a few minutes, though it was, in reality, several hours. This was made manifest by the feeling of hunger on the part of Tom and his friends. "I wonder if they're going to starve us, the scoundrels?" asked Mr. Sharp, when the irate lieutenant was beyond hearing. "It's not fair to make us go hungry and shoot us in the bargain." "That's so, they ought to feed us," put in Tom. As yet neither he nor the others fully realized the meaning of the sentence passed on them. From where they were on deck they could look off to the little island. From it boats manned by natives were constantly putting off, bringing supplies to the ship. The place appeared to be a sort of calling station for Brazilian warships, where they could get fresh water and fruit and other food. From the island the gaze of the adventurers wandered to the submarine, which lay not far away. They were chagrined to see several of the bolder natives clambering over the deck. "I hope they keep out of the interior," commented Tom. "If they get to pulling or hauling on the levers and wheels they may open the tanks and sink her, with the Conning tower open." "Better that, perhaps, than to have her fall into the hands of a foreign power," commented Captain Weston. "Besides, I don't see that it's going to matter much to us what becomes of her after we're--" He did not finish, but every one knew what he meant, and a grim silence fell upon the little group. There came a welcome diversion, however, in the shape of three sailors, bearing trays of food, which were placed on the deck in front of the prisoners, who were sitting or lying in the shade of an awning, for the sun was very hot. "Ha! Bless my napkin-ring!" cried Mr. Damon with something of his former gaiety. "Here's a meal, at all events. They don't intend to starve us. Eat hearty, every one." "Yes, we need to keep up our strength," observed Captain Weston. "Why?" inquired Mr. Sharp. "Because we're going to try to escape!" exclaimed Tom in a low voice, when the sailors who had brought the food had gone. "Isn't that what you mean, captain?" "Exactly. We'll try to give these villains the slip, and we'll need all our strength and wits to do it. We'll wait until night, and see what we can do." "But where will we escape to?" asked Mr. Swift. "The island will afford no shelter, and--" "No, but our submarine will," went on the sailor. "It's in the possession of the Brazilians," objected Tom. "Once I get aboard the Advance twenty of those brown-skinned villains won't keep me prisoner," declared Captain Weston fiercely. "If we can only slip away from here, get into the small boat, or even swim to the submarine, I'll make those chaps on board her think a hurricane has broken loose." "Yes, and I'll help," said Mr. Damon. "And I," added Tom and the balloonist. "That's the way to talk," commented the captain. "Now let's eat, for I see that rascally lieutenant coming this way, and we mustn't appear to be plotting, or he'll be suspicious." The day passed slowly, and though the prisoners seemed to be allowed considerable liberty, they soon found that it was only apparent. Once Tom walked some distance from that portion of the deck where he and the others had been told to remain. A sailor with a gun at once ordered him back. Nor could they approach the rails without being directed, harshly enough at times, to move back amidships. As night approached the gold-seekers were on the alert for any chance that might offer to slip away, or even attack their guard, but the number of Brazilians around them was doubled in the evening, and after supper, which was served to them on deck by the light of swinging lanterns, they were taken below and locked in a stuffy cabin. They looked helplessly at each other. "Don't give up," advised Captain Weston. "It's a long night. We may be able to get out of here." But this hope was in vain. Several times he and Tom, thinking the guards outside the cabin were asleep, tried to force the lock of the door with their pocket-knives, which had not been taken from them. But one of the sailors was aroused each time by the noise, and looked in through a barred window, so they had to give it up. Slowly the night passed, and morning found the prisoners pale, tired and discouraged. They were brought up on deck again, for which they were thankful, as in that tropical climate it was stifling below. During the day they saw Admiral Fanchetti and several of his officers pay a visit to the submarine. They went below through the opened conning tower, and were gone some time. "I hope they don't disturb any of the machinery," remarked Mr. Swift. "That could easily do great damage." Admiral Fanchetti seemed much pleased with himself when he returned from his visit to the submarine. "You have a fine craft," he said to the prisoners. "Or, rather, you had one. My government now owns it. It seems a pity to shoot such good boat builders, but you are too dangerous to be allowed to go." If there had been any doubt in the minds of Tom and his friends that the sentence of the court-martial was only for effect, it was dispelled that day. A firing squad was told off in plain view of them, and the men were put through their evolutions by Lieutenant Drascalo, who had them load, aim and fire blank cartridges at an imaginary line of prisoners. Tom could not repress a shudder as he noted the leveled rifles, and saw the fire and smoke spurt from the muzzles. "Thus we shall do to you at sunrise to-morrow," said the lieutenant, grinning, as he once more had his men practice their grim work. It seemed hotter than ever that day. The sun was fairly broiling, and there was a curious haziness and stillness to the air. It was noticed that the sailors on the San Paulo were busy making fast all loose articles on deck with extra lashings, and hatch coverings were doubly secured. "What do you suppose they are up to?" asked Tom of Captain Weston. "I think it is coming on to blow," he replied, "and they don't want to be caught napping. They have fearful storms down in this region at this season of the year, and I think one is about due." "I hope it doesn't wreck the submarine," spoke Mr. Swift. "They ought to close the hatch of the conning tower, for it won't take much of a sea to make her ship considerable water." Admiral Fanchetti had thought of this, however, and as the afternoon wore away and the storm signs multiplied, he sent word to close the submarine. He left a few sailors aboard inside on guard. "It's too hot to eat," observed Tom, when their supper had been brought to them, and the others felt the same way about it. They managed to drink some cocoanut milk, prepared in a palatable fashion by the natives of the island, and then, much to their disgust, they were taken below again and locked in the cabin. "Whew! But it certainly is hot!" exclaimed Mr. Damon as he sat down on a couch and fanned himself. "This is awful!" "Yes, something is going to happen pretty soon," observed Captain Weston. "The storm will break shortly, I think." They sat languidly about the cabin. It was so oppressive that even the thought of the doom that awaited them in the morning could hardly seem worse than the terrible heat. They could hear movements going on about the ship, movements which indicated that preparations were being made for something unusual. There was a rattling of a chain through a hawse hole, and Captain Weston remarked: "They're putting down another anchor. Admiral Fanchetti had better get away from the island, though, unless he wants to be wrecked. He'll be blown ashore in less than no time. No cable or chain will hold in such storms as they have here." There came a period of silence, which was suddenly broken by a howl as of some wild beast. "What's that?" cried Tom, springing up from where he was stretched out on the cabin floor. "Only the wind," replied the captain. "The storm has arrived." The howling kept up, and soon the ship began to rock. The wind increased, and a little later there could be heard, through an opened port in the prisoners' cabin, the dash of rain. "It's a regular hurricane!" exclaimed the captain. "I wonder if the cables will hold?" "What about the submarine?" asked Mr. Swift anxiously. "I haven't much fear for her. She lies so low in the water that the wind can't get much hold on her. I don't believe she'll drag her anchor." Once more came a fierce burst of wind, and a dash of rain, and then, suddenly above the outburst of the elements, there sounded a crash on deck. It was followed by excited cries. "Something's happened!" yelled Tom. The prisoners gathered in a frightened group in the middle of the cabin. The cries were repeated, and then came a rush of feet just outside the cabin door. "Our guards! They're leaving!" shouted Tom. "Right!" exclaimed Captain Weston. "Now's our chance! Come on! If we're going to escape we must do it while the storm is at its height, and all is in confusion. Come on!" Tom tried the door. It was locked. "One side!" shouted the captain, and this time he did not pause to say "by your leave." He came at the portal on the run, and his shoulder struck it squarely. There was a splintering and crashing of wood, and the door was burst open. "Follow me!" cried the valiant sailor, and Tom and the others rushed after him. They could hear the wind howling more loudly than ever, and as they reached the deck the rain dashed into their faces with such violence that they could hardly see. But they were aware that something had occurred. By the light of several lanterns swaying in the terrific blast they saw that one of the auxiliary masts had broken off near the deck. It had fallen against the chart house, smashing it, and a number of sailors were laboring to clear away the wreckage. "Fortune favors us!" cried Captain Weston. "Come on! Make for the small boat. It's near the side ladder. We'll lower the boat and pull to the submarine." There came a flash of lightning, and in its glare Tom saw something that caused him to cry out. "Look!" he shouted. "The submarine. She's dragged her anchors!" The Advance was much closer to the warship than she had been that afternoon. Captain Weston looked over the side. "It's the San Paulo that's dragging her anchors, not the submarine!" he shouted. "We're bearing down on her! We must act quickly. Come on, we'll lower the boat!" In the rush of wind and the dash of rain the prisoners crowded to the accommodation companion ladder, which was still over the side of the big ship. No one seemed to be noticing them, for Admiral Fanchetti was on the bridge, yelling orders for the clearing away of the wreckage. But Lieutenant Drascalo, coming up from below at that moment, caught sight of the fleeing ones. Drawing his sword, he rushed at them, shouting: "The prisoners! The prisoners! They are escaping!" Captain Weston leaped toward the lieutenant. "Look out for his sword!" cried Tom. But the doughty sailor did not fear the weapon. Catching up a coil of rope, he cast it at the lieutenant. It struck him in the chest, and he staggered back, lowering his sword. Captain Weston leaped forward, and with a terrific blow sent Lieutenant Drascalo to the deck. "There!" cried the sailor. "I guess you won't yell 'Silenceo!' for a while now." There was a rush of Brazilians toward the group of prisoners. Tom caught one with a blow on the chin, and felled him, while Captain Weston disposed of two more, and Mr. Sharp and Mr. Damon one each. The savage fighting of the Americans was too much for the foreigners, and they drew back. "Come on!" cried Captain Weston again. "The storm is getting worse. The warship will crash into the submarine in a few minutes. Her anchors aren't holding. I didn't think they would." He made a dash for the ladder, and a glance showed him that the small boat was in the water at the foot of it. The craft had not been hoisted on the davits. "Luck's with us at last!" cried Tom, seeing it also. "Shall I help you, dad?" "No; I think I'm all right. Go ahead." There came such a gust of wind that the San Paulo was heeled over, and the wreck of the mast, rolling about, crashed into the side of a deck house, splintering it. A crowd of sailors, led by Admiral Fanchetti, who were again rushing on the escaping prisoners, had to leap back out of the way of the rolling mast. "Catch them! Don't let them get away!" begged the commander, but the sailors evidently had no desire to close in with the Americans. Through the rush of wind and rain Tom and his friends staggered down the ladder. It was hard work to maintain one's footing, but they managed it. On account of the high side of the ship the water was comparatively calm under her lee, and, though the small boat was bobbing about, they got aboard. The oars were in place, and in another moment they had shoved off from the landing stage which formed the foot of the accommodation ladder. "Now for the Advance!" murmured Captain Weston. "Come back! Come back, dogs of Americans!" cried a voice at the rail over their heads, and looking up, Tom saw Lieutenant Drascalo. He had snatched a carbine from a marine, and was pointing it at the recent prisoners. He fired, the flash of the gun and a dazzling chain of lightning coming together. The thunder swallowed up the report of the carbine, but the bullet whistled uncomfortable close to Tom's head. The blackness that followed the lightning shut out the view of everything for a few seconds, and when the next flash came the adventurers saw that they were close to their submarine. A fusillade of shots sounded from the deck of the warship, but as the marines were poor marksmen at best, and as the swaying of the ship disconcerted them, our friends were in little danger. There was quite a sea once they were beyond the protection of the side of the warship, but Captain Weston, who was rowing, knew how to manage a boat skillfully, and he soon had the craft alongside the bobbing submarine. "Get aboard, now, quick!" he cried. They leaped to the small deck, casting the rowboat adrift. It was the work of but a moment to open the conning tower. As they started to descend they were met by several Brazilians coming up. "Overboard with 'em!" yelled the captain. "Let them swim ashore or to their ship!" With almost superhuman strength he tossed one big sailor from the small deck. Another showed fight, but he went to join his companion in the swirling water. A man rushed at Tom, seeking the while to draw his sword, but the young inventor, with a neat left-hander, sent him to join the other two, and the remainder did not wait to try conclusions. They leaped for their lives, and soon all could be seen, in the frequent lightning flashes, swimming toward the warship which was now closer than ever to the submarine. "Get inside and we'll sink below the surface!" called Tom. "Then we don't care what happens." They closed the steel door of the conning tower. As they did so they heard the patter of bullets from carbines fired from the San Paulo. Then came a violent tossing of the Advance; the waves were becoming higher as they caught the full force of the hurricane. It took but an instant to sever, from within, the cable attached to the anchor, which was one belonging to the warship. The Advance began drifting. "Open the tanks, Mr. Sharp!" cried Tom. "Captain Weston and I will steer. Once below we'll start the engines." Amid a crash of thunder and dazzling flashes of lightning, the submarine began to sink. Tom, in the conning tower had a sight of the San Paulo as it drifted nearer and nearer under the influence of the mighty wind. As one bright flash came he saw Admiral Fanchetti and Lieutenant Drascalo leaning over the rail and gazing at the Advance. A moment later the view faded from sight as the submarine sank below the surface of the troubled sea. She was tossed about for some time until deep enough to escape the surface motion. Waiting until she was far enough down so that her lights would not offer a mark for the guns of the warship, the electrics were switched on. "We're safe now!" cried Tom, helping his father to his cabin. "They've got too much to attend to themselves to follow us now, even if they could. Shall we go ahead, Captain Weston?" "I think so, yes, if I may be allowed to express my opinion," was the mild reply, in strange contrast to the strenuous work in which the captain had just been engaged. Tom signaled to Mr. Sharp in the engine-room, and in a few seconds the Advance was speeding away from the island and the hostile vessel. Nor, deep as she was now, was there any sign of the hurricane. In the peaceful depths she was once more speeding toward the sunken treasure. Chapter Twenty-Two At the Wreck "Well," remarked Mr. Damon, as the submarine hurled herself forward through the ocean, "I guess that firing party will have something else to do to-morrow morning besides aiming those rifles at us." "Yes, indeed," agreed Tom. "They'll be lucky if they save their ship. My, how that wind did blow!" "You're right," put in Captain Weston. "When they get a hurricane down in this region it's no cat's paw. But they were a mighty careless lot of sailors. The idea of leaving the ladder over the side, and the boat in the water." "It was a good thing for us, though," was Tom's opinion. "Indeed it was," came from the captain. "But as long as we are safe now I think we'd better take a look about the craft to see if those chaps did any damage. They can't have done much, though, or she wouldn't be running so smoothly. Suppose you go take a look, Tom, and ask your father and Mr. Sharp what they think. I'll steer for a while, until we get well away from the island." The young inventor found his father and the balloonist busy in the engine-room. Mr. Swift had already begun an inspection of the machinery, and so far found that it had not been injured. A further inspection showed that no damage had been done by the foreign guard that had been in temporary possession of the Advance, though the sailors had made free in the cabins, and had broken into the food lockers, helping themselves plentifully. But there was still enough for the gold-seekers. "You'd never know there was a storm raging up above," observed Tom as he rejoined Captain Weston in the lower pilot house, where he was managing the craft. "It's as still and peaceful here as one could wish." "Yes, the extreme depths are seldom disturbed by a surface storm. But we are over a mile deep now. I sent her down a little while you were gone, as I think she rides a little more steadily." All that night they speeded forward, and the next day, rising to the surface to take an observation, they found no traces of the storm, which had blown itself out. They were several hundred miles away from the hostile warship, and there was not a vessel in sight on the broad expanse of blue ocean. The air tanks were refilled, and after sailing along on the surface for an hour or two, the submarine was again sent below, as Captain Weston sighted through his telescope the smoke of a distant steamer. "As long as it isn't the Wonder, we're all right," said Tom. "Still, we don't want to answer a lot of questions about ourselves and our object." "No. I fancy the Wonder will give up the search," remarked the captain, as the Advance was sinking to the depths. "We must be getting pretty near to the end of our search ourselves," ventured the young inventor. "We are within five hundred miles of the intersection of the forty-fifth parallel and the twenty-seventh meridian, east from Washington," said the captain. "That's as near as I could locate the wreck. Once we reach that point we will have to search about under water, for I don't fancy the other divers left any buoys to mark the spot." It was two days later, after uneventful sailing, partly on the surface, and partly submerged, that Captain Weston, taking a noon observation, announced: "Well, we're here!" "Do you mean at the wreck?" asked Mr. Swift eagerly. "We're at the place where she is supposed to lie, in about two miles of water," replied the captain. "We are quite a distance off the coast of Uruguay, about opposite the harbor of Rio de La Plata. From now on we shall have to nose about under water, and trust to luck." With her air tanks filled to their capacity, and Tom having seen that the oxygen machine and other apparatus was in perfect working order, the submarine was sent below on her search. Though they were in the neighborhood of the wreck, the adventurers might still have to do considerable searching before locating it. Lower and lower they sank into the depths of the sea, down and down, until they were deeper than they had ever gone before. The pressure was tremendous, but the steel sides of the Advance withstood it. Then began a search that lasted nearly a week. Back and forth they cruised, around in great circles, with the powerful searchlight focused to disclose the sunken treasure ship. Once Tom, who was observing the path of light in the depths from the conning tower, thought he had seen the remains of the Boldero, for a misty shape loomed up in front of the submarine, and he signaled for a quick stop. It was a wreck, but it had been on the ocean bed for a score of years, and only a few timbers remained of what had been a great ship. Much disappointed, Tom rang for full speed ahead again, and the current was sent into the great electric plates that pulled and pushed the submarine forward. For two days more nothing happened. They searched around under the green waters, on the alert for the first sign, but they saw nothing. Great fish swam about them, sometimes racing with the Advance. The adventurers beheld great ocean caverns, and skirted immense rocks, where dwelt monsters of the deep. Once a great octopus tried to do battle with the submarine and crush it in its snaky arms, but Tom saw the great white body, with saucer-shaped eyes, in the path of light and rammed him with the steel point. The creature died after a struggle. They were beginning to despair when a full week had passed and they were seemingly as far from the wreck as ever. They went to the surface to enable Captain Weston to take another observation. It only confirmed the other, and showed that they were in the right vicinity. But it was like looking for a needle in a haystack, almost, to find the sunken ship in that depth of water. "Well, we'll try again," said Mr. Swift, as they sank once more beneath the surface. It was toward evening, on the second day after this, that Tom, who was on duty in the conning tower, saw a black shape looming up in front of the submarine, the searchlight revealing it to him far enough away so that he could steer to avoid it. He thought at first that it was a great rock, for they were moving along near the bottom, but the peculiar shape of it soon convinced him that this could not be. It came more plainly into view as the submarine approached it more slowly, then suddenly, out of the depths in the illumination from the searchlight, the young inventor saw the steel sides of a steamer. His heart gave a great thump, but he would not call out yet, fearing that it might be some other vessel than the one containing the treasure. He steered the Advance so as to circle it. As he swept past the bows he saw in big letters near the sharp prow the word, Boldero. "The wreck! The wreck!" he cried, his voice ringing through the craft from end to end. "We've found the wreck at last!" "Are you sure?" cried his father, hurrying to his son, Captain Weston following. "Positive," answered the lad. The submarine was slowing up now, and Tom sent her around on the other side. They had a good view of the sunken ship. It seemed to be intact, no gaping holes in her sides, for only her plates had started, allowing her to sink gradually. "At last," murmured Mr. Swift. "Can it be possible we are about to get the treasure?" "That's the Boldero, all right," affirmed Captain Weston. "I recognize her, even if the name wasn't on her bow. Go right down on the bottom, Tom, and we'll get out the diving suits and make an examination." The submarine settled to the ocean bed. Tom glanced at the depth gage. It showed over two miles and a half. Would they be able to venture out into water of such enormous pressure in the comparatively frail diving suits, and wrest the gold from the wreck? It was a serious question. The Advance came to a stop. In front of her loomed the great bulk of the Boldero, vague and shadowy in the flickering gleam of the searchlight. As the gold-seekers looked at her through the bull's-eyes of the conning tower, several great forms emerged from beneath the wreck's bows. "Deep-water sharks!" exclaimed Captain Weston, "and monsters, too. But they can't bother us. Now to get out the gold!" Chapter Twenty-Three Attacked by Sharks For a few minutes after reaching the wreck, which had so occupied their thoughts for the past weeks, the adventurers did nothing but gaze at it from the ports of the submarine. The appearance of the deep-water sharks gave them no concern, for they did not imagine the ugly creatures would attack them. The treasure-seekers were more engrossed with the problem of getting out the gold. "How are we going to get at it?" asked Tom, as he looked at the high sides of the sunken ship, which towered well above the comparatively small Advance. "Why, just go in and get it," suggested Mr. Damon. "Where is gold in a cargo usually kept, Captain Weston? You ought to know, I should think. Bless my pocketbook!" "Well, I should say that in this case the bullion would be kept in a safe in the captain's cabin," replied the sailor. "Or, if not there, in some after part of the vessel, away from where the crew is quartered. But it is going to be quite a problem to get at it. We can't climb the sides of the wreck, and it will be impossible to lower her ladder over the side. However, I think we had better get into the diving suits and take a closer look. We can walk around her." "That's my idea," put in Mr. Sharp. "But who will go, and who will stay with the ship?" "I think Tom and Captain Weston had better go," suggested Mr. Swift. "Then, in case anything happens, Mr. Sharp, you and I will be on board to manage matters." "You don't think anything will happen, do you, dad?" asked his son with a laugh, but it was not an easy one, for the lad was thinking of the shadowy forms of the ugly sharks. "Oh, no, but it's best to be prepared," answered his father. The captain and the young inventor lost no time in donning the diving suits. They each took a heavy metal bar, pointed at one end, to use in assisting them to walk on the bed of the ocean, and as a protection in case the sharks might attack them. Entering the diving chamber, they were shut in, and then water was admitted until the pressure was seen, by gauges, to be the same as that outside the submarine. Then the sliding steel door was opened. At first Tom and the captain could barely move, so great was the pressure of water on their bodies. They would have been crushed but for the protection afforded by the strong diving suits. In a few minutes they became used to it, and stepped out on the floor of the ocean. They could not, of course, speak to each other, but Tom looked through the glass eyes of his helmet at the captain, and the latter motioned for the lad to follow. The two divers could breathe perfectly, and by means of small, but powerful lights on the helmets, the way was lighted for them as they advanced. Slowly they approached the wreck, and began a circuit of her. They could see several places where the pressure of the water, and the strain of the storm in which she had foundered, had opened the plates of the ship, but in no case were the openings large enough to admit a person. Captain Weston put his steel bar in one crack, and tried to pry it farther open, but his strength was not equal to the task. He made some peculiar motions, but Tom could not understand them. They looked for some means by which they could mount to the decks of the Boldero, but none was visible. It was like trying to scale a fifty-foot smooth steel wall. There was no place for a foothold. Again the sailor made some peculiar motions, and the lad puzzled over them. They had gone nearly around the wreck now, and as yet had seen no way in which to get at the gold. As they passed around the bow, which was in a deep shadow from a great rock, they caught sight of the submarine lying a short distance away. Light streamed from many bull's-eyes, and Tom felt a sense of security as he looked at her, for it was lonesome enough in that great depth of water, unable to speak to his companion, who was a few feet in advance. Suddenly there was a swirling of the water, and Tom was nearly thrown off his feet by the rush of some great body. A long, black shadow passed over his head, and an instant later he saw the form of a great shark launched at Captain Weston. The lad involuntarily cried in alarm, but the result was surprising. He was nearly deafened by his own voice, confined as the sound was in the helmet he wore. But the sailor, too, had felt the movement of the water, and turned just in time. He thrust upward with his pointed bar. But he missed the stroke, and Tom, a moment later, saw the great fish turn over so that its mouth, which is far underneath its snout, could take in the queer shape which the shark evidently thought was a choice morsel. The big fish did actually get the helmet of Captain Weston inside its jaws, but probably it would have found it impossible to crush the strong steel. Still it might have sprung the joints, and water would have entered, which would have been as fatal as though the sailor had been swallowed by the shark. Tom realized this and, moving as fast as he could through the water, he came up behind the monster and drove his steel bar deep into it. The sea was crimsoned with blood, and the savage creature, opening its mouth, let go of the captain. It turned on Tom, who again harpooned it. Then the fish darted off and began a wild flurry, for it was dying. The rush of water nearly threw Tom off his feet, but he managed to make his way over to his friend, and assist him to rise. A confident look from the sailor showed the lad that Captain Weston was uninjured, though he must have been frightened. As the two turned to make their way back to the submarine, the waters about them seemed alive with the horrible monsters. It needed but a glance to show what they were, Sharks! Scores of them, long, black ones, with their ugly, undershot mouths. They had been attracted by the blood of the one Tom had killed, but there was not a meal for all of them off the dying creature, and the great fish might turn on the young inventor and his companion. The two shrank closer toward the wreck. They might get under the prow of that and be safe. But even as they started to move, several of the sea wolves darted quickly at them. Tom glanced at the captain. What could they do? Strong as were the diving suits, a combined attack by the sharks, with their powerful jaws, would do untold damage. At that moment there seemed some movement on board the submarine. Tom could see his father looking from the conning tower, and the aged inventor seemed to be making some motions. Then Tom understood. Mr. Swift was directing his son and Captain Weston to crouch down. The lad did so, pulling the sailor after him. Then Tom saw the bow electric gun run out, and aimed at the mass of sharks, most of whom were congregated about the dead one. Into the midst of the monsters was fired a number of small projectiles, which could be used in the electric cannon in place of the solid shot. Once more the waters were red with blood, and those sharks which were not killed swirled off. Tom and Captain Weston were saved. They were soon inside the submarine again, telling their thrilling story. "It's lucky you saw us, dad," remarked the lad, blushing at the praise Mr. Damon bestowed on him for killing the monster which had attacked the captain. "Oh, I was on the lookout," said the inventor. "But what about getting into the wreck?" "I think the only way we can do it will be to ram a hole in her side," said Captain Weston. "That was what I tried to tell Tom by motions, but he didn't seem to understand me." "No," replied the lad, who was still a little nervous from his recent experience. "I thought you meant for us to turn it over, bottom side up," and he laughed. "Bless my gizzard! Just like a shark," commented Mr. Damon. "Please don't mention them," begged Tom. "I hope we don't see any more of them." "Oh, I fancy they have been driven far enough away from this neighborhood now," commented the captain. "But now about the wreck. We may be able to approach it from above. Suppose we try to lower the submarine on it? That will save ripping it open." This was tried a little later, but would not work. There were strong currents sweeping over the top of the Boldero, caused by a submerged reef near which she had settled. It was a delicate task to sink the submarine on her decks, and with the deep waters swirling about was found to be impossible, even with the use of the electric plates and the auxiliary screws. Once more the Advance settled to the ocean bed, near the wreck. "Well, what's to be done?" asked Tom, as he looked at the high steel sides. "Ram her, tear a hole, and then use dynamite," decided Captain Weston promptly. "You have some explosive, haven't you, Mr. Swift?" "Oh, yes. I came prepared for emergencies." "Then we'll blow up the wreck and get at the gold." Chapter Twenty-Four Ramming the Wreck Fitted with a long, sharp steel ram in front, the Advance was peculiarly adapted for this sort of work. In designing the ship this ram was calculated to be used against hostile vessels in war time, for the submarine was at first, as we know, destined for a Government boat. Now the ram was to serve a good turn. To make sure that the attempt would be a success, the machinery of the craft was carefully gone over. It was found to be in perfect order, save for a few adjustments which were needed. Then, as it was night, though there was no difference in the appearance of things below the surface, it was decided to turn in, and begin work in the morning. Nor did the gold-seekers go to the surface, for they feared they might encounter a storm. "We had trouble enough locating the wreck," said Captain Weston, "and if we go up we may be blown off our course. We have air enough to stay below, haven't we, Tom?" "Plenty," answered the lad, looking at the gages. After a hearty breakfast the next morning, the submarine crew got ready for their hard task. The craft was backed away as far as was practical, and then, running at full speed, she rammed the wreck. The shock was terrific, and at first it was feared some damage had been done to the Advance, but she stood the strain. "Did we open up much of a hole?" anxiously asked Mr. Swift. "Pretty good," replied Tom, observing it through the conning tower bull's-eyes, when the submarine had backed off again. "Let's give her another." Once more the great steel ram hit into the side of the Boldero, and again the submarine shivered from the shock. But there was a bigger hole in the wreck now, and after Captain Weston had viewed it he decided it was large enough to allow a person to enter and place a charge of dynamite so that the treasure ship would be broken up. Tom and the captain placed the explosive. Then the Advance was withdrawn to a safe distance. There was a dull rumble, a great swirling of the water, which was made murky; but when it cleared, and the submarine went back, it was seen that the wreck was effectively broken up. It was in two parts, each one easy of access. "That's the stuff!" cried Tom. "Now to get at the gold!" "Yes, get out the diving suits," added Mr. Damon. "Bless my watch-charm, I think I'll chance it in one myself! Do you think the sharks are all gone, Captain Weston?" "I think so." In a short time Tom, the captain, Mr. Sharp and Mr. Damon were attired in the diving suits, Mr. Swift not caring to venture into such a great depth of water. Besides, it was necessary for at least one person to remain in the submarine to operate the diving chamber. Walking slowly along the bottom of the sea the four gold-seekers approached the wreck. They looked on all sides for a sight of the sharks, but the monster fish seemed to have deserted that part of the ocean. Tom was the first to reach the now disrupted steamer. He found he could easily climb up, for boxes and barrels from the cargo holds were scattered all about by the explosion. Captain Weston soon joined the lad. The sailor motioned Tom to follow him, and being more familiar with ocean craft the captain was permitted to take the lead. He headed aft, seeking to locate the captain's cabin. Nor was he long in finding it. He motioned for the others to enter, that the combined illumination of the lamps in their helmets would make the place bright enough so a search could be made for the gold. Tom suddenly seized the arm of the captain, and pointed to one corner of the cabin. There stood a small safe, and at the sight of it Captain Weston moved toward it. The door was not locked, probably having been left open when the ship was deserted. Swinging it back the interior was revealed. It was empty. There was no gold bullion in it. There was no mistaking the dejected air of Captain Weston. The others shared his feelings, but though they all felt like voicing their disappointment, not a word could be spoken. Mr. Sharp, by vigorous motions, indicated to his companions to seek further. They did so, spending all the rest of the day in the wreck, save for a short interval for dinner. But no gold rewarded their search. Tom, late that afternoon, wandered away from the others, and found himself in the captain's cabin again, with the empty safe showing dimly in the water that was all about. "Hang it all!" thought the lad, "we've had all our trouble for nothing! They must have taken the gold with them." Idly he raised his steel bar, and struck it against the partition back of the safe. To his astonishment the partition seemed to fall inward, revealing a secret compartment. The lad leaned forward to bring the light for his helmet to play on the recess. He saw a number of boxes, piled one upon the other. He had accidentally touched a hidden spring and opened a secret receptacle. But what did it contain? Tom reached in and tried to lift one of the boxes. He found it beyond his strength. Trembling from excitement, he went in search of the others. He found them delving in the after part of the wreck, but by motions our hero caused them to follow him. Captain Weston showed the excitement he felt as soon as he caught sight of the boxes. He and Mr. Sharp lifted one out, and placed it on the cabin floor. They pried off the top with their bars. There, packed in layers, were small yellow bars; dull, gleaming, yellow bars! It needed but a glance to show that they were gold bullion. Tom had found the treasure. The lad tried to dance around there in the cabin of the wreck, nearly three miles below the surface of the ocean, but the pressure of water was too much for him. Their trip had been successful. Chapter Twenty-Five Home With the Gold There was no time to be lost. They were in a treacherous part of the ocean, and strong currents might at any time further break up the wreck, so that they could not come at the gold. It was decided, by means of motions, to at once transfer the treasure to the submarine. As the boxes were too heavy to carry easily, especially as two men, who were required to lift one, could not walk together in the uncertain footing afforded by the wreck, another plan was adopted. The boxes were opened and the bars, a few at a time, were dropped on a firm, sandy place at the side of the wreck. Tom and Captain Weston did this work, while Mr. Sharp and Mr. Damon carried the bullion to the diving chamber of the Advance. They put the yellow bars inside, and when quite a number had been thus shifted, Mr. Swift, closing the chamber, pumped the water out and removed the gold. Then he opened the chamber to the divers again, and the process was repeated, until all the bullion had been secured. Tom would have been glad to make a further examination of the wreck, for he thought he could get some of the rifles the ship carried, but Captain Weston signed to him not to attempt this. The lad went to the pilot house, while his father and Mr. Sharp took their places in the engine-room. The gold had been safely stowed in Mr. Swift's cabin. Tom took a last look at the wreck before he gave the starting signal. As he gazed at the bent and twisted mass of steel that had once been a great ship, he saw something long, black and shadowy moving around from the other side, coming across the bows. "There's another big shark," he observed to Captain Weston. "They're coming back after us." The captain did not speak. He was staring at the dark form. Suddenly, from what seemed the pointed nose of it, there gleamed a light, as from some great eye. "Look at that!" cried Tom. "That's no shark!" "If you want my opinion," remarked the sailor, "I should say it was the other submarine--that of Berg and his friends--the Wonder. They've managed to fix up their craft and are after the gold." "But they're too late!" cried Tom excitedly. "Let's tell them so." "No," advised the captain. "We don't want any trouble with them." Mr. Swift came forward to see why his son had not given the signal to start. He was shown the other submarine, for now that the Wonder had turned on several searchlights, there was no doubt as to the identity of the craft. "Let's get away unobserved if we can," he suggested. "We have had trouble enough." It was easy to do this, as the Advance was hidden behind the wreck, and her lights were glowing but dimly. Then, too, those in the other submarine were so excited over the finding of what they supposed was the wreck containing the treasure, that they paid little attention to anything else. "I wonder how they'll feel when they find the gold gone?" asked Tom as he pulled the lever starting the pumps. "Well, we may have a chance to learn, when we get back to civilization," remarked the captain. The surface was soon reached, and then, under fair skies, and on a calm sea, the voyage home was begun. Part of the time the Advance sailed on the top, and part of the time submerged. They met with but a single accident, and that was when the forward electrical plate broke. But with the aft one still in commission, and the auxiliary screws, they made good time. Just before reaching home they settled down to the bottom and donned the diving suits again, even Mr. Swift taking his turn. Mr. Damon caught some large lobsters, of which he was very fond, or, rather, to be more correct, the lobsters caught him. When he entered the diving chamber there were four fine ones clinging to different parts of his diving suit. Some of them were served for dinner. The adventurers safely reached the New Jersey coast, and the submarine was docked. Mr. Swift at once communicated with the proper authorities concerning the recovery of the gold. He offered to divide with the actual owners, after he and his friends had been paid for their services, but as the revolutionary party to whom the bullion was intended had gone out of existence, there was no one to officially claim the treasure, so it all went to Tom and his friends, who made an equitable distribution of it. The young inventor did not forget to buy Mrs. Baggert a fine diamond ring, as he had promised. As for Berg and his employers, they were, it was learned later, greatly chagrined at finding the wreck valueless. They tried to make trouble for Tom and his father, but were not successful. A few days after arriving at the seacoast cottage, Tom, his father and Mr. Damon went to Shopton in the airship. Captain Weston, Garret Jackson and Mr Sharp remained behind in charge of the submarine. It was decided that the Swifts would keep the craft and not sell it to the Government, as Tom said they might want to go after more treasure some day. "I must first deposit this gold," said Mr. Swift as the airship landed in front of the shed at his home. "It won't do to keep it in the house over night, even if the Happy Harry gang is in jail." Tom helped him take it to the bank. As they were making perhaps the largest single deposit ever put in the institution, Ned Newton came out. "Well, Tom," he cried to his chum, "it seems that you are never going to stop doing things. You've conquered the air, the earth and the water." "What have you been doing while I've been under water, Ned?" asked the young inventor. "Oh, the same old thing. Running errands and doing all sorts of work in the bank." Tom had a sudden idea. He whispered to his father and Mr. Swift nodded. A little later he was closeted with Mr. Prendergast, the bank president. It was not long before Ned and Tom were called in. "I have some good news for you, Ned," said Mr. Prendergast, while Tom smiled. "Mr. Swift er--ahem--one of our largest depositors, has spoken to me about you, Ned. I find that you have been very faithful. You are hereby appointed assistant cashier, and of course you will get a much larger salary." Ned could hardly believe it, but he knew then what Tom had whispered to Mr. Swift. The wishes of a depositor who brings much gold bullion to a bank can hardly be ignored. "Come on out and have some soda," invited Tom, and when Ned looked inquiringly at the president, the latter nodded an assent. As the two lads were crossing the street to a drug store, something whizzed past them, nearly running them down. "What sort of an auto was that?" cried Tom. "That? Oh, that was Andy Foger's new car," answered Ned. "He's been breaking the speed laws every day lately, but no one seems to bother him. It's because his father is rich, I suppose. Andy says he has the fastest car ever built." "He has, eh?" remarked Tom, while a curious look came into his eyes. "Well, maybe I can build one that will beat his." And whether the young inventor did or not you can learn by reading the fifth volume of this series, to be called "Tom Swift and His Electric Runabout; Or, The Speediest Car on the Road." "Well, Tom, I certainly appreciate what you did for me in getting me a better position," remarked Ned as they left the drug store. "I was beginning to think I'd never get promoted. Say, have you anything to do this evening? If you haven't, I wish you'd come over to my house. I've got a lot of pictures I took while you were away." "Sorry, but I can't," replied Tom. "Why, are you going to build another airship or submarine?" "No, but I'm going to see-- Oh, what do you want to know for, anyhow?" demanded the young inventor with a blush. "Can't a fellow go see a girl without being cross-questioned?" "Oh, of course," replied Ned with a laugh. "Give Miss Nestor my regards," and at this Tom blushed still more. But, as he said, that was his own affair. 
950	----	TOM SWIFT AND HIS ELECTRIC RUNABOUT or The Speediest Car on the Road by VICTOR APPLETON Tom Swift and His Electric Runabout CONTENTS CHAPTER I TOM HOPES FOR A PRIZE II MR. DAMON'S STEERING III THE MOTOR-CYCLE WINS IV TALE OF A NEW BANK V A MIDNIGHT ENCOUNTER VI BUILDING THE CAR VII TOM IS CAPTURED VIII A BLINDING FLASH IX TOM IS RESCUED X TOM HAS A FALL XI CROSSED WIRES XII THE TRYOUT XIII TOWED BY A MULE XIV A GREAT RUN XV ANDY FOGER'S BLACK EYE XVI TROUBLE AT THE BANK XVII A RUN ON THE BANK XVIII AFTER THE CASH XIX STOPPED ON THE ROAD XX ON TIME XXI OFF TO THE BIG RACE XXII IN A DITCH XIII THE POWER GONE XIV ON THE TRACK XXV WINNING THE PRIZE TOM SWIFT AND HIS ELECTRIC RUNABOUT CHAPTER I TOM HOPES FOR A PRIZE "Father," exclaimed Tom Swift, looking up from a paper he was reading, "I think I can win that prize!" "What prize is that?" inquired the aged inventor, gazing away from a drawing of a complicated machine, and pausing in his task of making some intricate calculations. "You don't mean to say, Tom, that you're going to have a try for a government prize for a submarine, after all." "No, not a submarine prize, dad," and the youth laughed. "Though our Advance would take the prize away from almost any other under-water boat, I imagine. No, it's another prize I'm thinking about." "What do you mean?" "Well, I see by this paper that the Touring Club of America has offered three thousand dollars for the speediest electric car. The tests are to come off this fall, on a new and specially built track on Long Island, and it's to be an endurance contest for twenty-four hours, or a race for distance, they haven't yet decided. But I'm going to have a try for it, dad, and, besides winning the prize, I think I'll take Andy Foger down a peg. "What's Andy been doing now?" "Oh, nothing more than usual. He's always mean, and looking for a chance to make trouble for me, but I didn't refer to anything special. He has a new auto, you know, and he boasts that it's the fastest one in this country. I'll show him that it isn't, for I'm going to win this prize with the speediest car on the road." "But, Tom, you haven't any automobile, you know," and Mr. Swift looked anxiously at his son, who was smiling confidently. "You can't be going to make your motor-cycle into an auto; are you?" "No, dad." "Then how are you going to take part in the prize contest? Besides, electric cars, as far as I know, aren't specially speedy." "I know it, and one reason why this club has arranged the contest is to improve the quality of electric automobiles. I'm going to build an electric runabout, dad." "An electric runabout? But it will have to be operated with a storage battery, Tom, and you haven't--" "I guess you're going to say I haven't any storage battery, dad," interrupted Mr. Swift's son. "Well, I haven't yet, but I'm going to have one. I've been working on--" "Oh, ho!" exclaimed the aged inventor with a laugh. "So that's what you've been tinkering over these last few weeks, eh, Tom? I suspected it was some new invention, but I didn't suppose it was that. Well, how are you coming on with it?" "Pretty good, I think. I've got a new idea for a battery, and I made an experimental one. I gave it some pretty severe tests, and it worked fine." "But you haven't tried it out in a car yet, over rough roads, and under severe conditions have you?" "No, I haven't had a chance. In fact, when I invented the battery I had no idea of using it on a car I thought it might answer for commercial purposes, or for storing a current generated by windmills. But when I read that account in the papers of the Touring Club, offering a prize for the best electric car, it occurred to me that I might put my battery into an auto, and win." "Hum," remarked Mr. Swift musingly. "I don't take much stock in electric autos, Tom. Gasolene seems to be the best, or perhaps steam, generated by gasolene. I'm afraid you'll be disappointed. All the electric runabouts I ever saw, while they were very nice cars, didn't seem able to go so very fast, or very far." "That's true, but it's because they didn't have the right kind of a battery. You know an electric locomotive can make pretty good speed, Dad. Over a hundred miles an hour in tests." "Yes, but they don't run by storage batteries. They have a third rail, and powerful motors," and Mr. Swift looked quizzically at his son. He loved to argue with him, for he said it made Tom think, and often the two would thus thresh out some knotty point of an invention, to the interests of both. "Of course, Dad, there is a good deal of theory in what I'm thinking of," the lad admitted. "But it does seem to me that if you put the right kind of a battery into an automobile, it could scoot along pretty lively. Look what speed a trolley car can make." "Yes, Tom, but there again they get their power from an overhead wire." "Some of them don't. There's a new storage battery been invented by a New Jersey man, which does as well as the third rail or the overhead wire. It was after reading about his battery that I thought of a plan for mine. It isn't anything like his; perhaps not as good in some ways, but, for what I want, it is better in some respects, I think. For one thing it can be recharged very quickly." "Now Tom, look here," said Mr. Swift earnestly, laying aside his papers, and coming over to where his son sat. "You know I never interfere with your inventions. In fact, the more you think of the better I like it. The airship you helped build certainly did all that could be desired, and--" "That reminds me. Mr. Sharp and Mr. Damon are out in it now," interrupted Tom. "They ought to be back soon. Yes, Dad, the airship Red Cloud certainly scooted along." "And the submarine, too," continued the aged inventor. "Your ideas regarding that were of service to me, and helped in our task of recovering the treasure, but I'm afraid you're going to be disappointed in the storage battery. You may get it to work, but I don't believe you can make it powerful enough to attain any great speed. Why don't you confine yourself to making a battery for stationary work?" "Because, Dad, I believe I can build a speedy car, and I'm going to try it. Besides I want to race Andy Foger, and beat him, even if I don't win the prize. I'm going to build that car, and it will make fast time." "Well, go ahead, Tom," responded his father, after a pause. "Of course you can use the shops here as much as you want, and Mr. Sharp, Mr. Jackson, and I will help you all we can. Only don't be disappointed, that's all." "I won't, Dad. Suppose you come out to my shop and I'll show you a sample battery I've been testing for the last week. I have it geared to a small motor, and it's been running steadily for some time. I want to see what sort of a record it's made." Father and son crossed the yard, and entered a shop which the lad considered exclusively his own. There he had made many machines, and pieces of apparatus, and had invented a number of articles which had been patented, and yielded him considerable of an income. "There's the battery, Dad," he said, pointing to a complicated mechanism in one corner. "What's that buzzing noise?" asked Mr. Swift. "That's the little motor I run from the new cells. Look here," and Tom switched on an electric light above the experimental battery, from which he hoped so much. It consisted of a steel can, about the size of the square gallon tin in which maple syrup comes, and from it ran two wires which were attached to a small motor that was industriously whirring away. Tom looked at a registering gauge connected with it. "That's pretty good," remarked the young inventor. "What is it, Tom?" and his father peered about the shop. "Why this motor has run an equivalent of two hundred miles on one charging of the battery! That's much better than I expected. I thought if I got a hundred out of it I'd be doing well. Dad, I believe, after I improve my battery a bit, that I'll have the very thing I want! I'll install a set of them in a car, and it will go like the wind. I'll--" Tom's enthusiastic remarks were suddenly interrupted by a low, rumbling sound. "Thunder!" exclaimed Mr. Swift. "The storm is coming, and Mr. Sharp and Mr. Damon in the airship--" Hardly had he spoken than there sounded a crash on the roof of the Swift house, not far away. At the same time there came cries of distress, and the crash was repeated. "Come on, Dad! Something has happened!" yelled Tom, dashing from the shop, followed by his parent. They found themselves in the midst of a rain storm, as they raced toward the house, on the roof of which the smashing noise was again heard. CHAPTER II MR. DAMON'S STEERING Tom Swift was a lad of action, and his quickness in hurrying out to investigate what had happened when he was explaining about his new battery, was characteristic of him. Those of my readers who know him, through having read the previous books of this series, need not be told this, but you who, perhaps, are just making his acquaintance, may care to know a little more about him. As told in my first book, "Tom Swift and His Motor-Cycle" the young inventor lived with his father, Barton Swift, a widower, in the town of Shopton, New York. Mr. Swift was also an inventor of note. In my initial volume of this series, Tom became possessed of a motor-cycle in a peculiar way. It was sold to him by a Mr. Wakefield Damon, a wealthy gentleman who was unfortunate in riding it. On his speedy machine, which Tom improved by several inventions, he had a number of adventures. The principal one was being attacked by a number of bad men, known as the "Happy Harry Gang," who wished to obtain possession of a valuable turbine patent model belonging to Mr. Swift. Tom was taking it to a lawyer, when he was waylaid, and chloroformed. Later he traced the gang, and, with the assistance of Mr. Damon and Eradicate Sampson, an aged colored man who made a living for himself and his mule, Boomerang, by doing odd jobs, the lad found the thieves and recovered a motor-boat which had been stolen. But the men got away. In the second volume, called "Tom Swift and His Motor-Boat," Tom bought at auction the boat stolen by, and recovered from, the thieves, and proceeded to improve it. While he was taking his father out on a cruise for Mr. Swift's health, the Happy Harry Gang made a successful attempt to steal some valuable inventions from the Swift house. Tom started to trace them, and incidentally he raced and beat Andy Foger, a rich bully. On their way down the lake, after the robbery, Tom, his father and Ned Newton, Tom's chum, saw a man hanging from the trapeze of a blazing balloon over Lake Carlopa. The balloonist was Mr. John Sharp and he was rescued by Tom in a thrilling fashion. In his motor-boat, Tom had much pleasure, not the least of which was taking out a young lady named Miss Mary Nestor, whose acquaintance he had made after stopping her runaway horse, which his bicycle had frightened. Tom's association with Miss Nestor soon ripened into something deeper than mere friendship. It developed that Mr. Sharp, whom Tom had saved from the burning balloon, was an aeronaut of note, and had once planned to build an airship. After his recovery from his thrilling experience, he mentioned the matter to Mr. Swift and his son, with whom he took up his residence. This fitted right in with Tom's ideas, and soon father, son and the balloonist were constructing the Red Cloud, as they named their airship. It was finally completed, as related in "Tom Swift and His Airship," made a successful trial trip, and won a prize. It was planned to make a longer journey, and Tom, Mr. Sharp and Mr. Damon agreed to go together. Mr. Damon was an odd individual, who was continuously blessing some part of his anatomy, his clothing or some inanimate object but, for all that, he was a fine man. The night before Tom and his friends started off in their airship, the Shopton Bank vault was blown open and seventy-five thousand dollars was taken. Tom and his friends did not know of this, but, no sooner had the young inventor, Mr. Sharp and Mr. Damon sailed away, than the police arrived at Mr. Swift's house to arrest them. They were charged with the robbery, and with having sailed away with the booty. It appeared that Andy Foger said he had seen Tom hanging around the bank the night of the robbery, with a bag of burglar tools in his possession. Search was immediately begun for the airship, the occupants of which were, meanwhile, speeding on. Tom and his two friends had trouble. They were nearly burned up in a forest fire, and were fired upon by a crowd of people with rifles, who, reading of the bank robbery and the reward offered for the capture of the thieves, hoped to bring down the airship. The fact that they were fired upon caused Tom and the two aeronauts to descend to make an investigation, and for the first time they learned of the bank theft. How they got track of the real robbers, took the sheriff with them in the airship, and raided the gang will be found set down at length in the book. Also how Tom administered well-deserved thrashing to Andy Foger. Mr. Swift did not accompany his son in the airship, and when asked why he did not care to make the trip, said he was working on a new type of submarine boat, which he hoped to enter in the government trials, to win a prize. In the fourth volume of the series, called "Tom Swift and his Submarine," you may read how successful Mr. Swift was. When the submarine, called the Advance, was finished, the party made a trip to recover three hundred thousand dollars in gold from a sunken treasure ship, off the coast of Uruguay, South America. They sailed beneath the seas for many miles, and were in great peril at times. One reason for this was that a rival firm of submarine builders got wind of the treasure, and tried to get ahead of the Swifts in recovering it. How Tom and his friends succeeded in their quest, how they nearly perished at the bottom of the sea, how they were captured by a foreign war vessel, and sentenced to death, how they fought with a school of giant sharks and how they blew up the wreck to recover the money is all told of in the book. On their return to civilization with the gold, Mr. Swift, Tom, and their friends deposited the money in the Shopton Bank, where Ned Newton worked. Ned was a bright lad, but had not been advanced as rapidly as he deserved, and Tom knew this. He asked his father to speak to the president, Mr. Pendergast, in Ned's behalf, and, as a result the lad was made assistant cashier, for the request of a man who controlled a three hundred thousand dollar deposit was not to be despised. In building the submarine Tom and his father rented a large cottage on the New Jersey seacoast, but, on returning from their treasure-quest they went back to Shopton, leaving the submarine at the boathouse of the shore cottage, which was near the city of Atlantis. That was in the fall of the year, and all that winter the young inventor had been busy on many things, not the least of which was his storage battery. It was now spring, and seeing the item in the paper, about the touring club prize for an electric auto, had given him a new idea. But all thoughts of electric cars, and everything else, were driven from the mind of the young man, when, with his father, he rushed out to see the cause of the crash on the roof of the Swift homestead. "There's something up there, Tom," called his father, as he splashed on through the rain. "That's right," added his son. "And somebody, too, to judge by the fuss they're making." "Maybe the house has been struck by lightning!" suggested the aged inventor. "No, the storm isn't severe enough for that; and, besides, if the house had been struck you'd hear Mrs. Baggert yelling, Dad. She--" At that moment a woman's voice cried out: "Mr. Swift! Tom! Where are you? Something dreadful has happened!" "There she goes!" remarked Mr. Swift, as he splashed into a mud puddle. "Bless my deflection rudder!" suddenly cried a voice from the flat roof of the Swift house. "Hello! I say, is anyone down there?" "Yes, we are," answered Tom. "Is that you, Mr. Damon?" "Bless my collar button! It certainly is." "Where's Mr. Sharp? I don't hear him." "Oh, I'm here all right," answered the balloonist. "I'm trying to get the airship clear of the chimney. Mr. Damon--" "Yes, I steered wrong!" interrupted the odd man. "Bless my liver pin, but it was so dark I couldn't see, and when that clap of thunder came I shifted the deflection rudder instead of the lateral one, and tried to knock over your chimney." "Are either of you hurt?" asked Mr. Swift anxiously. "No, not at all," replied Mr. Sharp. "We were moving slowly, ready for a landing." "Is the airship damaged?" inquired Tom. "I don't know. Not much, I guess," was the answer of the aeronaut. "I've stopped the engine, and I don't like to start it again until I can see what shape we're in." "I'll come up, with Mr. Jackson," called Tom, and he hastily summoned Garret Jackson, an engineer, who had been in the service of Mr. Swift for many years. Together they proceeded to the roof by a stairway that led to a scuttle. "Is anyone killed?" asked Mrs. Baggert, as Tom hurried up the stairs. "Don't tell me there is, Tom!" "Well, I don't have to tell you, for no one is," replied the young inventor with a laugh. "It's all right. The airship tried to collide with the chimney, that's all." He was soon on the large, flat roof of the dwelling, and, with the aid of lanterns he, the engineer, and Mr. Sharp made a hasty examination. "Anything wrong?" inquired Mr. Damon, looking out from the cabin of the Red Cloud where he had taken refuge after the crash, and to get out of the wet. "Not much," answered Tom. "One of the forward planes is smashed, but we can rise by means of the gas, and float down. Is all clear, Mr. Sharp?" "All clear," replied the balloonist, for the airship had now been wheeled back from the entanglement with the chimney. "Then here we go!" cried Tom, as he and the aeronaut entered the craft, while Mr. Jackson descended through the scuttle. There came a fiercer burst to the storm, and, amid a series of dazzling lightning flashes and the muttering of thunder, the airship rose from the roof. Tom switched on the search-light, and, starting the big propellers, guided the craft skillfully toward the big shed where it was housed when not in use. With the grace of a bird it turned about in the air, and settled to the ground. It was the work of but a few minutes to run it into the shed. Then they all started for the house. "Bless my umbrella! How it rains!" cried Mr. Damon, as he splashed on through numerous puddles. "We got back just in time, Mr. Sharp." "Where did you go?" asked the lad. "Why we took a flight of about fifty miles and stopped at my house in Waterfield for supper. Were you anxious about us?" "A little when it began to storm," replied Tom. "Anything new since we left?" asked Mr. Sharp, for it was the custom of himself, or some of his friends, to take little trips in the airship. They thought no more of it than many do of going for a short spin in an automobile. "Yes, there is something new," said Mr. Swift, as the party, all drenched now, reached the broad veranda. "Bless my gaiters!" cried Mr. Damon. "What is it? I hope the Happy Harry gang hasn't robbed you again; nor Berg and his men tried to take that treasure away from us, after we worked so hard to get it from the wreck." "No, it isn't that," replied Mr. Swift. "The truth is that Tom thinks he has invented a storage battery that will revolutionize matters. He's going to build an electric automobile, he says." "I am," declared the lad, as the others looked at him, "and it will be the speediest one you ever saw, too!" CHAPTER III THE MOTORCYCLE WINS "Well, Tom," remarked Mr. Sharp, after a pause following the lad's announcement. "I didn't know you had any ambitions in that line. Tell us more about the battery. What system do you use; lead plates and sulphuric acid?" "Oh, that's out of date long ago," declared the lad. "Well, I don't know much about electricity," admitted the aeronaut. "I'll take my chances in an airship or a balloon, but when it comes to electricity I'm down and out." "So am I," admitted Mr. Damon. "Bless my gizzard, it's all I can do to put a new spark plug in my automobile. Where is your new battery, Tom?" "Out in my shop, running yet if it hasn't been frightened by the airship smash," replied the lad, somewhat proudly. "It's an oxide of nickel battery, with steel and oxide of iron negative electrodes." "What solution do you use, Tom?" asked Mr. Swift. "I didn't get that far in questioning you before the crash came," he added. "Well I have, in the experimental battery, a solution of potassium hydrate," replied the lad, "but I think I'm going to change it, and add some lithium hydrate to it. I think that will make it stronger." "Bless my watch chain!" exclaimed Mr. Damon. "It's all Greek to me. Suppose you let us see it, Tom? I like to see wheels go 'round, but I'm not much of a hand for chemical terms." "If you're sure you're not hurt by the airship smash, I will," declared the lad. "Oh, we're not hurt a bit," insisted Mr. Sharp. "As I said we were moving slow, for I knew it was about time to land. Mr. Damon was steering--" "Yes I thought I'd try my hand at it, as it seemed so easy," interrupted the eccentric man. "But never again--not for mine! I couldn't see the house, and, before I knew it we were right over the roof. Then the chimney seemed to stick itself up suddenly in front of us, and--well, you know the rest. I'm willing to pay for any damage I caused." "Oh, not at all!" replied Tom. "It's easy enough to put on a new plane, or, for that matter, we can operate the Red Cloud without it. But come on, I'll show you my sample battery." "Here, take umbrellas!" Mrs. Baggert called after them as they started toward the shop, for it was still raining. "We don't mind getting wet," replied the young inventor. "It's in the interests of science." "Maybe it is. You don't mind a wetting, but I mind you coming in and dripping water all over the carpets!" retorted the housekeeper. "Bless my overshoes, I'm afraid we have wet the carpets a trifle now," admitted Mr. Damon ruefully, as he looked down at a puddle, which had formed where he had been standing. "That's the reason I want you to take umbrellas this trip," insisted Mrs. Baggert. They complied, and were soon in the shop, where Tom explained his battery. The small motor was still running and had, as the lad had said, gone the equivalent of over two hundred miles. "If a small battery does as well as that, what will a larger one do?" asked Mr. Damon. "Much better, I hope," replied the youth. "But Dad doesn't seem to have much faith in them." "Well," admitted Mr. Swift, "I must say I am skeptical. Still, I acknowledge Tom has done some pretty good work along electrical lines. He helped me with the positive and negative plates on the submarine, and, maybe--well, we'll wait and see," he concluded. "If you build a car I hope you give me a ride in it," said Mr. Damon. "I've ridden fast in the air, and swiftly on top of, and under, the water. Now I'd like to ride rapidly on top of the earth. The gasolene auto doesn't go very fast." "I'll give you a ride that will make your hair stand up!" prophesied Tom, and the time was to come when he would make good that prediction. The little party in the machine shop talked at some length about Tom's battery. He showed them how it was constructed, and gave them some of his ideas regarding the new type of auto he planned to build. "Well," remarked Mr. Swift at length, "if you want to keep your brain fresh, Tom, you must get to bed earlier than this. It's nearly twelve o'clock." "And I want to get up early!" exclaimed the lad. "I'm going to start to build a larger battery to-morrow." "And I'm going to repair the airship," added Mr. Sharp. "Bless my night cap, I promised my wife I'd be home early to-night, too!" suddenly exclaimed Mr. Damon. "I don't fancy making the trip back to Waterfield in my auto, though. Something will be sure to happen. I'll blow out a tire, or a spark plug will get sooty on me and--" "It's raining harder than ever," interrupted Tom. "Better stay here to-night. You can telephone home." Which Mr. Damon did. Tom was up early the next morning, in spite of the fact that he did not go to bed in good season, and before breakfast he was working at his new storage battery. After the meal he hurried back to the shop, but it was not long before he came out, wheeling his motor-cycle. "Where are you going, Tom?" asked Mrs. Baggert. "Oh, I've got to go to Mansburg to get some steel tubes for my new battery," he replied. "I thought I had some large enough, but I haven't." Mansburg was a good-sized town, near Shopton. "Then I wish you'd bring me a bottle of stove polish," requested the housekeeper. "The liquid kind. I'm out of it, and the stove is as red as a cow." "All right," agreed the lad, as he leaped into the saddle and pedaled off down the road. A moment later he had turned on the power, and was speeding along the highway, which was in good condition on account of the shower of the night before. Tom was thinking so deeply of his new invention, and planning what he would do when he had his electric runabout built, that, almost before he knew it, he had reached Mansburg, purchased the steel tubes, and the stove polish, and was on his way back again. As he was speeding along on a level road, he heard, coming behind him, an automobile. The lad turned to one side, but, in spite of this the party in the car began a serenade of the electric siren, and kept it up, making a wild discord. "What's the matter with those fellows!" inquired Tom of himself. "Haven't I given them enough of the road, or has their steering gear broken?" He looked back over his shoulder, and it needed but a glance to show that the car was all right, as regarded the steering apparatus. And it needed only another glance to disclose the reason for the shrill sound of the siren. "Andy Foger!" exclaimed Tom. "I might have known. And Sam and Pete are with him. Well, if he wants to make me get off the road, he'll find that I've got as much right as he has!" He kept on a straight course, wondering if the red-haired, and squint-eyed bully would dare try to damage the motor-cycle. A little later Andy's car was beside Tom. "Why don't you get out of the way," demanded Sam, who could usually be depended on to aid Andy in all his mean tricks. "Because I'm entitled to half the road," retorted our hero. "Humph! A slow-moving machine like yours hasn't any right on the road," sneered Andy, who had slowed down his car somewhat. "I haven't, eh?" demanded Tom. "Well, if you'll get down out of that car for a few minutes I'll soon show you what my rights are!" Now Andy, more than once, had come to personal encounters with Tom, much to the anguish of the bully. He did not relish another chastisement, but his mean spirit could not brook interference. "Don't you want a race?" he inquired of Tom, in a sneering tone. "I'll give you a mile start, and beat you! I've got the fastest car built!" "You have, eh?" asked Tom, while a grim look came over his face. "Maybe you'll think differently some day." "Aw, he's afraid to race; come on," suggested Pete. "Don't bother with him, Andy." "No, I guess it wouldn't be worth my while," was the reply of the bully, and he threw the second gear into place, and began to move away from the young inventor. Tom was just as much pleased to be left alone, but he did not want Andy Foger to think that he could have matters all his own way. Tom's motor-cycle, since he had made some adjustments to it, was very swift. In fact there were few autos that could beat it. He had never tried it against Andy's new car, and he was anxious to do so. "I wonder if I would stand any chance, racing him?" thought the young inventor, as he saw the car slowly pulling away from him. "I think I'll wait until he gets some distance ahead, and then I'll see how near I can come to him. If I get anywhere near him I'm pretty sure I can pass him. I'll try it." When Andy and his cronies looked back, Tom did not appear to be doing anything save moving along at moderate speed on his machine. "You don't dare race!" Pete Bailey shouted to him. "Wait," was what Tom whispered to himself. Andy's car was now some distance ahead. The young inventor waited a little longer, and then turned more power into his machine. It leaped forward and began to "eat up the road," as Tom expressed it. He had seen Andy throw in the third gear, but knew that there was a fourth speed on the bully's car. "I don't know whether I can beat him on that or not," thought the lad dubiously. "If I try, and fail, they'll laugh at me. But I don't think I'm going to fail." Faster and faster he rode. He was rapidly overhauling Andy's car now, and, as they heard him approach, the three cronies turned around. "He's going to race you, after all, Andy!" cried Sam. "You mean he's going to try," sneered Andy. "I'll give him all the racing he wants!" In another few seconds Tom was beside the auto, and would have passed it, only Andy opened his throttle a little more. For a moment the auto jumped ahead, and then, as our hero turned on still more power, he easily held his own. "Aw, you can never beat us!" yelled Pete. "Of course not!" added Sam. "I'll leave him behind in a second," prophesied Andy. "Wait until I throw in the other gear," he added to his cronies in a low voice. "He thinks he's going to beat me. I'll let him think so, and then I'll spurt ahead." The two machines were now racing along side by side. Andy's car was going the limit on third gear, but he still had the fourth gear in reserve. Tom, too, still had a little margin of speed. Suddenly Andy reached forward and yanked on a lever. There was a grinding of cogs as the fourth gear slipped into place, for Andy did not handle his car skillfully. The effect, however, was at once apparent. The automobile shot forward. "Now where are you, Tom Swift?" cried Sam. Tom said nothing. He merely shifted a lever, and got a better spark. He also turned on a little more gasolene and opened the muffler. The quickness with which his motor-cycle shot forward almost threw him from the saddle, but he had a tight grip on the handle bars. He whizzed past the auto, but, as the latter gathered speed, it crept up to him, and, once more was on even terms. Much chagrined at seeing Tom hold pace with him, even for an instant, Andy shouted: "Get over on your own side there! You're crowding me!" "I am not!" yelled back Tom, above the explosions of his machine. The two were now racing furiously, and Andy, with a savage look, tried to get more speed out of his car. In spite of all the bully did, Tom was gradually forging ahead. A little hill was now in view. "Here's where I make him take my dust!" cried Andy, but, to his surprise Tom still kept ahead. The auto began to lose ground, for it was not made to take hills on high gear. "Change to third gear quick!" cried Sam. Andy tried to do it. There was a hesitancy on the part of his car. It seemed to balk. Tom, looking back, slowed up a trifle. He could afford to, as Andy was being beaten. "Go on! Go on!" begged Pete. "You'll have to keep on fourth gear to beat him, Andy." "That's what!" murmured the bully. Once more he shifted the gears. There was a grinding, smashing sound, and the car lost speed. Then it slowed up still more, and finally stopped. Then it began to back down hill. "I've stripped those blamed gears!" exclaimed Andy ruefully. "Can't you beat him?" asked Pete. "I could have, easily, if my gears hadn't broken," declared the bully, but, as a matter of fact, he could not have done so. "I oughtn't to have changed, going up hill," he added, as he jammed on the brakes, to stop the car from sliding down the slope. Tom saw and heard. "I thought you were so anxious to race," he said, exultantly, as well he might. "I don't want to try a contest down hill, though, Andy," and he laughed at the red-haired lad, who was furious. "Aw, go on!" was all the retort the squint-eyed one could think of to make. "I am going on," replied our hero. "Just to show you that I can go down hill, watch me." He turned his motor-cycle, and approached Andy's stalled car, for Tom was some distance in advance of it, up the slope by this time. As he approached the auto, containing the three disconcerted cronies, something bounded out of Tom's pocket. It was the bottle of stove blacking he had purchased for Mrs. Baggert. The bottle fell in the soft dirt in front of his forward wheel, and a curious thing happened. Perhaps you have seen a bicycle or auto tire strike a stone at an angle, and throw it into the air with great force. That was what happened to the bottle. Tom's front wheel struck the cork, which fitted tightly, and, just as when you hit one end of the wooden "catty" and it bounds up, the bottle described a curve through the air, and flew straight toward Andy's car. It struck the brass frame of the wind shield with a crash. The bottle broke, and in an instant the black liquid was spattered all over Andy, Sam and Pete. It could not have been done more effectively if Tom had thrown it by hand. All over their clothes, their hands and faces, and the front of the car went the dreary black. Tom looked on, hardly able to believe what he saw. "Wow! Wup! Ug! Blug! Mug!" spluttered Sam, who had some of the stuff in his mouth. "Oh! Oh!" yelled Pete. "You did that on purpose, Tom Swift!" shouted Andy, wiping some of the blacking from his left eye. "I'll have you arrested for that! You've ruined my car, and look at my suit!" "Mine's worse!" murmured Sam, glancing down at his light trousers, which were of the polka-dot pattern now. "No, mine is," insisted Pete, whose white shirt was of the hue of a stove pipe. Andy wiped some of the black stuff from his nose, whence it was dropping on the steering wheel. "You just wait!" the bully called to Tom. "I'll get even with you for this!" "It was an accident! I didn't mean to do that," explained Tom, trying not to laugh, as he dismounted from his motor-cycle, ready to render what assistance he could. CHAPTER IV TALK OF A NEW BANK The three cronies were in a sorrowful plight. The black fluid dripped from them, and formed little puddles in the car. Andy had used his handkerchief to wipe some of the stuff from his face, but the linen was soon useless, for it quickly absorbed the blacking. "There's a little brook over here," volunteered Tom. "You might wash in that. The stuff comes off easily. It isn't like ink," and he had to laugh, as he thought of the happening. "Here! You quit that!" ordered Andy. "You've gone too far, Tom Swift!" "Didn't I tell you it was an accident?" inquired the young inventor. "It wasn't!" cried Sam. "You threw the bottle at us! I saw you!" "It slipped from my pocket," declared the youth, and he described how the accident occurred. "I'll help you clean your car, Andy," he added. "I don't want your help! If you come near me I'll--I'll punch your nose!" cried Andy, now almost beside himself with rage. "All right, if you don't want my help I don't care," answered Tom, glad enough not to have to soil his hands and clothes. He felt that it was partly his fault, and he would have done all he could to remedy matters, but his good offers being declined, he felt that it was useless to insist further. He remounted his motor-cycle, and rode off, the last view he had of the trio being one where they were at the edge of the brook, trying to remove the worst traces of the black fluid. As Tom turned around for a final glimpse, Andy shook his fist at him, and called out something. "I guess Andy'll have it in for me," mused Tom. "Well, I can't help it. I owed him something on account, but I didn't figure on paying it in just this way," and he thought of the time the bully had locked him in the ballast tanks of the submarine, thereby nearly smothering him to death. That night Andy Foger told his father what had happened, for Mr. Foger inquired the reason for the black stains on his son's face and hands. But Andy did not give the true version. He said Tom had purposely thrown the bottle of blacking at him. "So that's the kind of a lad Tom Swift is, eh?" remarked Andy's father. "Well, Andy, I think you will soon have a chance to get even with him." "How, pop?" "I can't tell you now, but I have a plan for making Tom sorry he ever did anything to you, and I will also pay back some old scores to Mr. Swift and Mr. Damon. I'll ruin their bank for them, that's what I'll do." "Ruin their bank, pop? How?" "You wait and see. The Swift crowd will get off their high horse soon, or I'm mistaken. My plans are nearly completed, but I can't tell you about them. I'll ruin Mr. Swift, though, that's what I'll do," and Mr. Foger shook his head determinedly. Tom was soon at his home, and Mrs. Baggert, hearing the noise of his machine, as it entered the front yard, came to the side door. "Where's my blacking?" she asked, as our hero dismounted and untied the bundle of steel tubes he had purchased. "I--I used it," he answered, laughing. "Tom Swift! You don't mean to say you took my stove polish to use in your battery, do you?" "No, I used it to polish off Andy Foger and some of his cronies," and the young inventor told, with much gusto, what had happened. Mrs. Baggert could not help joining in the laugh, and when Tom offered to ride back and purchase some more of the polish for her, she said it did not matter, as she could wait until the next day. The lad was soon busy in his machine shop, making several larger cells for the new storage battery. He wanted to give it a more severe test. He worked for several days on this, and when he had one unit of cells complete, he attached the motor for an efficiency trial. "We'll see how many miles that will make," he remarked to his father. "Have you thought anything of the type of car you are going to build?" asked the aged inventor of his son. "Yes, somewhat. It will be almost of the regulation style, but with two removable seats at the rear, with curtains for protection, and a place in front for two persons. This can also be protected with curtains when desired." "But what about the motors and the battery?" "They will be located under the middle of the car. There will be one set of batteries there, together with the motor, and another set of batteries will be placed under the removable seats in what I call the tonneau, though, of course, it isn't really that. A smaller set will also be placed forward, and there will be ample room for carrying tools and such things." "About how far do you expect your car will go with one charging of the battery?" "Well, if I can make it do three hundred miles I'll be satisfied, but I'm going to try for four hundred." "What will you do when your battery runs out?" "Recharge it." "Suppose you're not near a charging station?" "Well, Dad, of course those are some of the details I've got to work out. I'm planning a register gauge now, that will give warning about fifty miles before the battery is run down. That will leave me a margin to work on. And I'm going to have it fixed so I can take current from any trolley line, as well as from a regular charging station. My battery will be capable of being recharged very quickly, or, in case of need, I can take out the old cells and put in new ones. "That's a very good idea. Well, I hope you succeed." A few evenings after this, when Tom was busy in his machine shop, he heard some one enter. He looked up from the gauge of the motor, which he was studying, and, for a moment, he could make out nothing in the dark interior of the shop, for he was working in a brilliant light. "Who's there?" he called sharply, for, more than once unscrupulous men had endeavored to sneak into the Swift shops to steal ideas of inventions; if not the actual apparatus itself. "It's me--Ned Newton," was the cheerful reply. "Oh, hello, Ned! I was wondering what had become of you," responded Tom. "Where have you been lately?" "Oh, working overtime." "What's the occasion?" "We're trying out a new system to increase the bank business." "What's the matter? Aren't you folks getting business enough, after the big deposits we made of the bullion from the wreck?" "Oh, it's not that. But haven't you heard the news? There is talk of starting a rival bank in Shopton, and that may make us hustle to hold what business we have, to say nothing of getting new customers." "A new bank, eh? Who's going to start it?" "Andy Foger's father, I hear. You know he was a director in our bank, but he got out last week." "What for?" "Well, he had some difficulty with Mr. Pendergast, the president. I fancy you had something to do with it, too." "I?" Tom was plainly surprised. "Yes, you know you and Mr. Damon and Mr. Sharp captured the bank robbers, and got back most of the money." "I guess I do remember it! I wish you could have seen the gang when we raided them from the clouds, in our airship!" "Well, you know Andy Foger hoped to collect the five thousand dollars reward for telling the police that you were the thief, and of course he got fooled, for you got the reward. Mr. Foger expected his son would collect the money, and when Andy got left, it made him sore. He's had a grudge against Mr. Pendergast, and all the other bank officials ever since, and now he's going to start a rival bank. So that's why I said it was partly due to you." "Oh, I see. I thought at first you meant that it was on account of something that happened the other day." "What was that?" "Andy, Sam and Pete got the contents of a bottle of stove blacking," and Tom related the occurrence, at which Ned laughed heartily. "I wouldn't be surprised though," added Ned, "to learn that Mr. Foger started the new bank more for revenge than anything else." "So that's the reason you've been working late, eh?" went on Tom. "Getting ready for competition. Do you think a new bank will hurt the one you're with?" "Well, it might," admitted Ned. "It's bound to make a change, anyhow, and now that I have a good position I don't want to lose it. I take more of an interest in the institution now that I'm assistant cashier, than I did when I was a clerk. So, naturally, I'm a little worried." "Say, don't let it worry you," begged Tom, earnestly. "Why not?" "Because I know my father and Mr. Damon will stick to the old bank. They won't have anything to do with the one Andy Foger's father starts. Don't you worry." "Well, that will help some," declared Ned. "They are both heavy depositors, and if they stick to the old bank we can stand it even if some of our smaller customers desert us." "That's the way to talk," went on the young inventor. "Let Foger start his bank. It won't hurt yours." "What are you making now?" asked Ned, a little later, looking with interest at the machinery over which Tom was bending, and to which he was making adjustments. "New electric automobile. I want to beat Andy Foger's car worse than I did on my motor-cycle, and I also want to win a prize," and the lad proceeded to relate the incidents leading up to his construction of the storage battery. Tom and Ned were in the shop until long past midnight, and then the bank employee, with a look at his watch, exclaimed: "Great Scott! I ought to be home." "I'll run you over in Mr. Damon's car," proposed Tom. "He left it here the other day, while he and his wife went off on a trip, and he said I could use it whenever I wanted to." "Good!" cried Ned. The two lads came from Tom's particular workshop. As the young inventor closed the door he started suddenly, as he snapped shut the lock. "What's the matter?" asked Ned quickly. "I thought I heard a noise," replied Tom. They both listened. There was a slight rustling in some bushes near the shop. "It's a dog or a cat," declared Ned. Tom took several cautious steps forward. Then he gave a spring, and made a grab for some one or something. "Here! You let me be!" yelled a protesting voice. "I will when I find out what you mean by sneaking around here," retorted Tom, as he came back toward Ned, dragging with him a lad. "It wasn't a dog or a cat, Ned," spoke the young inventor. "It's Sam Snedecker," and so it proved. "You let me alone!" demanded Andy Foger's crony. "I ain't done nothin' to you," he whined. "Here, Ned, you hold him a minute, while I make an investigation," called Tom, handing his prisoner over to his chum. "Maybe Pete or Andy are around." "No, they ain't. I came alone," said Sam quickly, but Tom, not heeding, opened the shop, and, after turning on the electric lights, procured a lantern. He began a search of the shrubbery around the shop, while Ned held to the struggling Sam. CHAPTER V A MIDNIGHT ENCOUNTER The moment Tom disappeared behind his machine shop, Sam Snedecker began a desperate struggle to escape from Ned Newton. Now Ned was a muscular lad, but his work in the bank was confining, and he did not have the chance to get out doors and exercise, as Sam had. Consequently Ned had his hands full in holding to the squirming crony of Andy Foger. "You let me go!" demanded Sam, as he tried to twist loose. "Not if I know it!" panted Ned. Sam gave a sudden twist. Ned's foot slipped in the grass, and in a moment he went down, with Sam on top of him. Still he did not let go, and, finding he was still a prisoner Sam adopted new tactics. Using his fists Sam began to pound Ned, but the bank employee, though suffering, would not call for help, to summon back Tom, who was, by this time, at the rear of the shop, looking about. Silently in the dark the two fought, and Ned found that Sam was getting away. Then Ned's hand came in contact with Sam's ear. It was the misfortune of the bully to have rather a large hearing apparatus, and once Ned got his fingers on an ear there was room enough to afford a good grip. He closed his hold tightly, and began to twist. This was too much for Sam. He set up a lusty howl. "Wow! Ouch! Let go!" he pleaded, and he ceased to pound Ned, and no longer tried to escape. Tom came back on the run. "What's the matter?" he cried. Then his light flashed on the two prostrate lads, and he understood without asking any further questions. "Get up!" he cried, seizing Sam by the back of his neck, and yanking him to his feet. Ned arose, and secured a better grip on the sneaking lad. "What's up?" demanded Tom, and Ned explained, following it by the question: "See any more of 'em?" "No, I guess he was here all alone," replied the young inventor. "What do you mean by sneaking around here this time of night?" he demanded of the captive. "Don't you wish you knew?" was Sam's answer, with a leer. He realized that he had a certain advantage. "You'd better tell before I turn you over to the police!" said Tom, sternly. "You--you wouldn't do that; would you?" and Sam's voice that had been bold, became shaky. "You were trespassing on our property, and that's against the law," declared Tom. "We have signs posted, warning people to keep off." "I didn't mean any harm," whined Sam. "Then what were you doing here, at this hour?" "I was just taking a short cut home. I was out riding with Andy in his auto, and it broke down. I had to walk home, and I came this way. I didn't know you didn't allow people to cross your back lot. I wasn't doin' anything." Tom hesitated. Sam might be telling the truth, but it was doubtful. "What happened to Andy's auto?" the young inventor asked. "He broke a wheel, going over a big stone on Berk's hill. He went to tell some one in the repair shop to go after the car, and I came on home. You've got no right to arrest me." "I ought to, on general principles," commented Tom. "Well, skip out, and don't you come around here again. I'm going to get a savage bull dog, and the first one who comes sneaking around here after dark will be sorry. Move along now!" Tom and Ned released their holds of Sam, and the latter lost no time in obeying the injunction to make himself scarce. He was soon lost to sight in the darkness. "Think he was up to some mischief?" asked Ned. "I'm almost sure of it," replied Tom, "but I can't see anything wrong. I guess we were too quick for him. I believe he, Andy and Pete Bailey tried to put up some job on me." "Maybe they wanted to damage your new battery or car," suggested Ned. "Hardly that. The car hasn't been started yet, and as for the battery, no one knows of it outside of you and my friends here. I'm keeping it secret. Well, if I'm going to take you home I'd better get a move on. Wait here and I'll run out Mr. Damon's car." In a short time Tom was guiding the machine over the road to Shopton, Ned on the seat beside him. The young assistant cashier lived about a mile the other side of the village, and the two chums were soon at his house. Asking his friend to come and see him when he had a chance. Ned bid his chum good night, and the young inventor started back home. He was driving slowly along, thinking more of his new invention than anything else, even more than of the mysterious visit of Sam Snedecker, when the lights on Mr. Damon's car flashed upon something big, black and bulky on the road just ahead of him. Tom, brought suddenly out of his fit of musing, jammed on the brakes, and steered to one side. Then he saw that the object was a stalled auto. He had only time to note this when a voice hailed him: "Have you a tire pump you could lend us? Ours doesn't work, and we have had a blowout." There was something about the voice that was strangely familiar, and Tom was wondering where he had heard it before, when into the glare of the lamps on his machine stepped Mr. Foger--Andy's father! "Why, Mr. Foger!" exclaimed Tom. "I didn't know it was you." "Oh, it's Tom Swift," remarked the man, and he did not seem especially pleased. "Hey! What's that?" cried another voice, which Tom had no difficulty in recognizing as belonging to Andy. "What's the matter, Dad?" "Why it happens to be your--ahem! It's Tom Swift in this other auto," went on Mr. Foger. "I didn't know you had a car," he added. "I haven't," answered the lad. "This belongs to Mr. Damon. But can you see to fix your tire in the dark?" for Mr. Foger and his son had no lamps lighted. "Oh, we have it all fixed," declared the man, "and, just as we were going to pump it up out lamps went out. Then we found that our pump wouldn't work. If you have one I would be obliged for the use of it," and he spoke somewhat stiffly. "Certainly," agreed Tom, cheerfully, for he had no special grudge against Mr. Foger, though had he known Andy's father's plans, perhaps our hero would not have so readily aided him. The young inventor got down, removed one of his oil lamps in order that there might be some light on the operation, and then brought over his pump. "I heard you had an accident," said Tom, a chain of thoughts being rapidly forged in his mind, as he thought of what Sam had told him. "You heard of it?" repeated Mr. Foger, while Andy was busy pumping up the tire. "Yes, a friend who was out riding with you said you had broken a wheel on Berk's hill. But I see he was slightly wrong. You're a good way from Berk's hill, and it's a tire that is broken, not a wheel." "But I don't understand," said Mr. Foger. "No friend has been out riding with us. My son and I were out on a business trip, and--" "Come on, pop. I've got it all pumped up. Jump in. There's your pump, Tom Swift. Much obliged," muttered Andy hastily. It was very evident that he wanted to prevent any further conversation between his parent and Tom. "But I don't understand," went on the banker, clearly puzzled. "What friend gave you such information, Mr.--er--Tom Swift?" "Sam Snedecker," replied the lad quickly. "I caught him sneaking around my machine shop about an hour ago, and when I asked him what he was doing he said he'd been out riding with Andy, and that they broke a wheel. I'm glad it was only a blown-out tire," and Tom's voice had a curious note in it. "But there must be some mistake," insisted Mr. Foger. "Sam Snedecker was not riding with us this evening. We have been over to Waterfield--my son and I, and--" "Come on, pop!" cried Andy desperately. "We must hurry home. Mom will be worried." "Yes, I think she will. But I can't understand why Sam should say such a thing. However, we are much obliged for the use of your pump, Swift, and--" But Andy prevented any further talk by starting the car with the muffler open, making a great racket, and he hurriedly drove off, almost before his father was seated, leaving Tom standing there in the road, beside his pump and lantern. "So," mused the young inventor, "there's some game on. Sam wasn't with Andy, yet Andy evidently knew where Sam was, or he wouldn't have been so anxious to choke off talk. Mr. Foger knew nothing of Sam, naturally. But why have Andy and his father been on a midnight trip to Waterfield?" That last question caused Tom to adopt a new line of thought. "Waterfield," he mused. "That's where Mr. Damon lives. Mr. Damon is a heavy depositor in the old bank. Mr. Foger is going to start a new bank. I wonder if there's any connection there? This is getting mysterious. I must keep my eyes open. I never expected to meet Andy and his father to-night, any more than I expected to find Sam Snedecker sneaking around my shop, but it's a good thing I discovered both parties. I guess Andy must have had nervous prostration when I was talking to his father," and Tom grinned at the thought. Then, picking up the pump, and fastening the lantern in place, he drove Mr. Damon's auto slowly back home. Tom said nothing to his father or Mr. Sharp, the next morning, about the incidents of the previous night. In the first place he could not exactly understand them, and he wanted to devote more time to thinking of them, before he mentioned the matter to his parent. Another reason was that Mr. Swift was a very nervous person, and the least thing out of the ordinary worried him. So the young inventor concluded to keep quiet. His first act, after going to look at the small motor, which was being run with the larger, experimental storage battery, was to get out pencil and paper. "I've got to plan the electric auto now that my battery is in a fair way to success," he said, for he noted that the one cell he had constructed had done over twice as much mileage in proportion, as had the small battery. "I'll soon start building the car," mused Tom, "and then I'll enter it in the race. I must write to that touring club and find how much time I have." All that morning the young inventor drew plan after plan for an electric runabout, and rejected them. Finally he threw aside paper and pencil and exclaimed: "It's no use. I can't think to-day. I'm dwelling too much on what happened last night. I must clear my brain. "I know what I'll do. I'll get in my motor-boat and take a run over to Waterfield to see Mr. Damon. Maybe he's home by this time. Then I can ask him what Mr. Foger wanted to see him about, if he did call." It was a fine May morning, and Tom was soon in his boat, the Arrow, gliding over Lake Carlopa, the waters of which sparkled in the sun. As he speeded up his craft, the lad looked about, thinking he might catch sight of Andy Foger, for the bully also owned a boat, called the Red Streak and, more than once, in spite of the fact that Andy's craft was the more powerful, Tom had beaten him in impromptu races. But there was no sign of his rival this morning, and Tom kept on to Waterfield. He found that Mr. Damon had not yet returned home. "So far I've had my run for nothing," mused the youth. "Well, I might as well spend the rest of the morning in the boat." He swung his craft out into the lake, and headed back toward Mansburg, intending to run up to the head of the body of water, which offered so many attractions that beautiful morning. As Tom passed a small dock he saw a girl just putting out in a rowboat. The figure looked familiar and, having nothing special to do, the lad steered over closer. His first view was confirmed, and he called out cheerfully: "Good morning, Miss Nestor. Going for a row?" "Oh! Mr. Swift!" exclaimed the girl with a blush. "I didn't hear you coming. You startled me." "Yes, the engine runs quite silently since I fixed it," resumed Tom. "But where are you going?" "I was going for a row," answered the girl, "but I have just discovered that one of the oar locks is broken, so I am not going for a row," and she laughed, showing her white, even teeth. "That's too bad!" remarked the lad. "I don't suppose," he added doubtfully, "that I could induce you to accept a motor-boat as a substitute for a rowing craft, could I?" and he looked quizzically at her. "Are you asking me that as a hypothetical question?" she inquired. "Yes," said Tom, trying not to smile. "Well, if you are asking for information, merely, I will say that I could be induced to make such a change," and her face was nearly as grave as that of the young inventor's. "What inducement would have to be used?" he asked. "Suppose you just ask me in plain English to come and have a ride?" she suggested. "All right, I will!" exclaimed the youth. "All right, then I'll come!" she retorted with a laugh, and a few minutes later the two were in the Arrow, making a pretty picture as they speeded up the lake. CHAPTER VI BUILDING THE CAR "Well," remarked Tom to himself, about two hours later, when he had left Mary Nestor at her dock, and was on his way home, "I feel better than I did, and now I must do some hard thinking about my runabout. I want to get it the right shape to make the least resistance." He began to make some sketches when he got home, and at dinner he showed them to his father and Mr. Sharp. He said he had gotten an idea from looking at the airship. "I'm going to make the front part, or what corresponds to the engine-hood in a gasolene car, pointed," he explained. "It will be just like the front of the aluminum gas container of the airship, only built of steel. In it will be a compartment for a set of batteries, and there will be a searchlight there. From the top of some supporters in front of the two rear seats, a slanting sheet of steel will come right down to meet the sloping nose of the car. First I was going to have curtains close over the top of the driver's seat, but I think a steel covering, with a celluloid opening will be better and make less wind resistance. I'll use leather side curtains when it rains. Under the front seats will be a compartment for more batteries, and there will be a third place under the rear seats, where I will also carry spare wheels and a repair kit. The motors will be slung under the body of the car, amidships, and there will also be room for some batteries there." "How are you going to drive the car?" asked Mr. Sharp. "By a shaft?" "Chain drive," explained Tom. "I can get more power that way, and it will be more flexible under heavy loads. Of course it will be steered in the usual way, and near the wheel will be the starting and reversing levers, and the gear handle." "Gears!" exclaimed the aged inventor. "Are you going to gear an electric auto? I never heard of that. Usually the motor directly connected is all they use." "I'm going to have two gears on mine," decided Tom. "That's a new idea," commented the aeronaut. "It is," admitted the lad, "and that's why my car is going to be so speedy. I'll make her go a hundred miles an hour, if necessary!" "Nonsense!" exclaimed his father. "I will!" cried the young inventor, enthusiastically. "You just wait and see. I couldn't do it but for the gears, but by using them I'll secure more speed, especially with the big reserve battery power I'll have. I know I've got the right idea, and I'm going to get right to work." His father and Mr. Sharp were much interested, and closely examined his sketches. In a few days Tom had made detailed drawings, and the aged inventor looked at them critically. He had to admit that his son's theory was right, though how it would work out in practice was yet to be demonstrated. Mr. Swift offered some suggestions for minor changes, as did Mr. Sharp, and the lad adopted some of them. Then, with Mr. Jackson to help him, work was started on constructing the car. Certain parts of it could be better purchased in the open market instead of being manufactured in Mr. Swift's shop, and thus Tom was able to get his new invention into some sort of shape sooner than would otherwise have been the case. He also started making the batteries, many of which would be needed. Gradually the car began to take form on the floor of Tom's shop. It was rather a curious looking affair, the sharp forward part making it appear like some engine of war, or a projectile for some monster gun. But Tom cared little for looks. Speed, strength and ease of control were the chief features the lad aimed at, and he incorporated many new ideas into his electric car. He was busy in the shop, one morning, when, above the noise caused by filing a piece of steel he heard some one exclaim: "Bless my gizzard! If you aren't as busy as ever!" "Mr. Damon!" cried Tom in delight. "When did you get back?" "Last night," replied the eccentric man. "My wife and I stayed longer than we meant to. And whom do you think we met when we were off on our little trip?" "Some of the Happy Harry gang?" "Oh no. You'd never guess, so I'll tell you. It was Captain Weston." "Indeed! And how has he been since he went in the submarine with us, and helped recover the gold from the wreck?" "Very well. The first thing he said to me was: 'How is Tom Swift and his father, if I may be permitted to ask?'" "Ha! Ha!" laughed the lad, at the recollection of the odd sea captain, who generally tagged on an apologetic expression to most of his remarks. "He was getting ready to take part in some South American revolution," went on Mr. Damon. "He used most of his money that he got from the wreck to help finance their cause." "I must tell Mr. Sharp," went on the lad. "He'll be interested." "Anything new since I've been away?" asked the odd man. "Bless my shoe laces, but I'm glad to get back!" Tom told of the prospect of a new bank being started, and of Sam's midnight visit, as well as the encounter with Mr. Foger and Andy. "I went over to see what Mr. Foger wanted of you," went on the young inventor, "but you weren't home. Did he call?" "The servant said he had been there, not once, but several times," remarked Mr. Damon. "That reminds me. He left a note for me, and I haven't read it yet. I'll do so now." He tore open the letter, and hastily perused the contents. "Ha!" he exclaimed. "So that's what he wanted to see me about!" "What?" inquired Tom, with the privilege of an old friend. "Mr. Foger says he's going to start a new bank, and he wants me to withdraw my deposit from the old one, and put it in his institution. Says he'll pay me bigger interest. And he adds that some of the old employees have gone with him." "I hope you're not going to change," spoke Tom, thinking of his chum, Ned. "Indeed I'm not. The old bank is good enough for me. By the way, doesn't a friend of yours work there?" "Yes, Ned Newton. I'm wondering how he'll be affected?" "Don't you worry!" exclaimed Mr. Damon. "Bless my check book! I'll speak to Pendergast about your friend. Maybe there'll be a chance to advance him further. I've got some mortgages falling due pretty soon, and I'll deposit the money from them in the old bank. Then we'll see what we can do about Ned." "They'll make you a bank director, if you keep on putting in money," remarked our hero, with a smile. "Not much they won't!" was the quick answer. "Bless my stocks and bonds! I've got trouble enough without becoming a bank director. My doctor says my liver is out of order again, and I've got to eat a lemon every morning before breakfast." "Eat a lemon?" "Well, drink the juice! It's the same thing. But how is the electric runabout coming on?" "Pretty good." "Have you entered it in the races yet?" "No, but I've written for information. I have until September to finish it. The races take place then." "Let's see; they're on Long Island; aren't they? How do you calculate to do; run from here to there?" "No, Dad still has the cottage he rented when we built the submarine and I think I'll make that my headquarters during the race. It's easy to run from there over to the Long Island track. They're building a new one, especially for the occasion. "Well, I hope you win the prize. I must go to town now, as I have to attend to some business. I don't s'pose you want to come in my auto. I'm pretty sure something will break before I get there, and I'd like to have you along to fix it." "Sorry, but I'm afraid I can't go," replied the lad. "I must get this car done, and then I've got to start on the batteries." Mr. Damon rather reluctantly went off alone, looking anxiously at his car, for the machine got out of order on every trip he took. It was a few days after this that Tom received a call from Ned one evening. The bank employee's face wore a happy smile. "What's the matter; some one left you a fortune?" asked Tom. "Pretty nearly as good. I've got a better position." "What? Have you left the old bank, and gone to the new one?" "No, I'm still in the same bank, but I'm one of the two cashiers now. Mr. Foger took several of the old employees when he opened his new bank, and that left vacancies. I was promoted, and so were one or two others. Mr. Damon spoke a good word for me." "That's fine! He's a friend worth having." "That's right. Your father also recommended me. But how are things with you? Has Andy made any more trouble?" "No, and I don't believe he will. I guess he'll steer clear of me." But Tom was soon to learn he was mistaken. CHAPTER VII TOM IS CAPTURED Meanwhile the young inventor, aided by his father, Mr. Sharp and Garret Jackson, the engineer, worked hard over his new car, and the powerful batteries. A month passed, and such was the progress made that Tom felt justified in making formal entry of his vehicle for the races to be held by the Touring Club of America. He paid a contingent fee and was listed as one of the competitors. As is usual in an affair of this kind, the promoters of it desired publicity, and they sought it through the papers. Consequently each new entrant's name was published. In addition something was said about his previous achievements in the speed line. No sooner was the name of Tom Swift received by the officials of the club, than it was at once recalled that young Swift had had a prominent part in the airship Red Cloud, and the submarine Advance. This gave an enterprising reporter a chance for a "special" for the Sunday supplement of a New York newspaper. Tom, it was stated, was building a car which would practically annihilate distance and time, and there were many weird pictures, showing him flying along without touching the ground, in a car, the pictorial construction of which was at once fearful and wonderful. Tom and his friends laughed at the yarn, at first, but it soon had undesirable results. The young inventor had desired to keep secret the fact that he was building a new electric vehicle, and a novel storage battery, but the article in the paper aroused considerable interest. Many persons came a long distance, hoping for a sight of the wonderful car, as pictured in the Sunday supplement, but they had to be denied. The news, thus leaking out, kept the Swift shops almost constantly besieged by many curious ones, who sought, by various means, to gain admission. Finally Tom and his father, after posting large signs, warning persons to keep away, added others to the effect that undesirable visitors might find themselves unexpectedly shocked by electricity, if they ventured too close. This had the desired effect, though the wires which were strung about carried such a mild charge that it would not have harmed a child. Then the only bothersome characters were the boys of the town, and, fearless and careless lads, they persisted in hanging around the Swift homestead, in the hope of seeing Tom dash away at the rate of five hundred miles an hour, which one enthusiastic writer predicted he would do. "I've got a plan!" exclaimed Tom one day when the boys had been particularly troublesome. "What is it?" asked his father. "We'll hire Eradicate Sampson to stand guard with a bucket of whitewash. He'll keep the boys away." The plan was put into operation, and Eradicate and his mule, Boomerang, were installed on the premises. "Deed an' Ah'll keep dem lads away," promised the colored man. "Ah'll splash white stuff all ober 'em, if dey comes traipsin' around me." He was as good as his word, and, when one or two lads had received a dose of the stuff, which punishment was followed by more severe from home, for having gotten their clothes soiled, the nuisance ceased, to a certain extent. Sam Snedecker and Pete Bailey were two who received a liberal sprinkling of the lime, and they vowed vengeance on Tom. "And Andy Foger will help us, too," added Sam, as he withdrew, after an encounter with Eradicate. "Doan't let dat worry yo', Mistah Swift!" exclaimed the darkey. "Jest let dat low-down-good-fo-nuffin' Andy Foger come 'round me, an' Ah'll make him t'ink he's de inside ob a chicken coop, dat's what Ah will." Perhaps Andy heard of this, and kept away. In the meanwhile Tom kept on perfecting his car and battery. From the club secretary he learned that a number of inventors were working on electric cars, and there promised to be many of the speedy vehicles in the race. After considerable labor Tom had succeeded in getting together one set of the batteries. He had them completed one afternoon, and wanted to give them a test that night. But, when he went to his father's chemical laboratory for a certain powder, which he needed to use in the battery solution, he found there was none. "I'll have to ride in to Mansburg for some," he decided. "I'll go after supper, on my motor-cycle, and test the battery to-night." The young inventor left his house immediately after the evening meal. Along the road toward Mansburg he speeded, and, as he came to the foot of a hill, where once Andy Foger had put a big tree, hoping Tom would run into it and be injured, the youth recalled that circumstance. "Andy has been keeping out of my way lately," mused Tom. "I wonder if he's up to any mischief? I don't like the way Sam Snedecker is hanging around the shop, either. It looks as if they were plotting something. But I guess Eradicate and his pail of whitewash will scare them off." Tom got the powdered chemical he wanted in the drug store, and, after refreshing himself with some ice cream soda, he started back. As he rode along through the streets of the town he kept a lookout, and those of you who know how fond the lad was of a certain young lady, do not need to be told for whom he was looking. But he did not see her, and soon turned into the main highway leading to Shopton. It was dark when he reached the hill, where once he had been so near an accident, and he slowed up as he coasted down it, using the brake at intervals. Tom got safely to the bottom of the declivity, and was about to turn on the power of his machine, when, from the bushes that lined either side of the roadway, several figures sprang suddenly. They ranged themselves across the road, and one cried: "Halt!" in tones that were meant to be stern, but which seemed to Tom, to tremble somewhat. The young inventor was so surprised that he did not open the gasolene throttle, nor switch on his spark. As a consequence his motor-cycle lost momentum, and he had to take one foot from the pedal and touch the ground, to prevent himself from toppling over. "Hold on there!" cried another voice. "We've got you where we want you, now! Hold on! Don't go!" "I wasn't going to go," responded Tom calmly, trying to recognize the voice, which seemed to be unnatural. "What do you want, and who are you?" "Never mind who we are. We want you and we've got you! Get off that wheel!" "I don't see why I should!" exclaimed Tom, and he suddenly shifted his handle bars, so as to flash the bright headlight he carried, upon the circle of dark figures that opposed his progress. As the light flashed on them he was surprised to see that all the figures wore masks over their faces. Tom started. Was this the Happy Harry gang after him again? He hoped not, yet the fact that the persons had on masks made the hold-up have an ugly look. Once more Tom flashed the light on the throng. There were exclamations of dismay. "Douse that glim, somebody!" called a sharp voice, which Tom could not recognize. A stone came whizzing through the air, from some one in the crowd. There was a smashing of glass as it hit the lantern, and the road was plunged in darkness. Tom tried to throw one leg over the saddle, and let down the supporting stand from the rear wheel, so the motor-cycle would remain upright without him holding it. He determined to have revenge for that act of vandalism in breaking his lamp. But, just as he was free of the seat, he was surrounded by a dozen persons, and several hands were laid on him. "We've got you now!" some one fairly hissed in his ear. "Come along, and get what's coming to you!" Tom tried to fight, but he was overpowered by numbers and, a little later, was dragged off into the woods in the darkness by the masked figures. His arms were securely bound with ropes, and a handkerchief was tied over his eyes. Tom Swift was a prisoner. CHAPTER VIII A BLINDING FLASH Stumbling on through the dark woods, led by his captors, Tom tried to pierce the gloom and identify the persons who had firm grips on either side of him. But it was useless. A little light sifted down from the starlit sky above, but it was not sufficient. The young inventor was beginning to think, after all, that he had fallen into the hands of the Happy Harry gang, and he knew that if this was so he need expect no mercy. But two things were against this belief. One was that the principal members of the gang were still in jail, or at least they were supposed to be, and another was that there were too many of the captors. Happy Harry's crowd never numbered so many. "Maybe they're highwaymen," thought our hero, as he was dragged along "But that can't be," he reasoned further. "If they wanted to rob me they'd have done it back there in the road, and not brought me off here in the woods. Besides, I haven't anything for them to steal." Suddenly Tom stumbled over a projecting root, and nearly fell, dragging along with him the person who had hold of his left arm. "Look out there! What's the matter with you?" exclaimed one of the throng quickly, and at the sound of the voice Tom started. "Andy Foger!" cried the young inventor, as he recovered himself, for he had recognized the voice of the red-haired bully. "What do you mean by holding me up in this way?" he demanded. "Quiet!" urged a voice in his ear, and the tones were unfamiliar. "Mention no names!" "I'm on to your game!" retorted Tom. "I know you're here, Andy, and Sam and Pete; and Jack Reynolds and Sid Holton," and he named two rather loose-charactered lads, who were often in the company of Andy and his cronies. "You'd better quit this nonsense," Tom went on. "I'll cause the arrest of all of you if you make trouble for me. I know who you are now!" "You think you do," answered the voice in his ear, and the young inventor concluded that it must be some lad whom he did not know. "Nor is this nonsense," the other went on. "You are about to receive the punishment due you." Our hero did not answer, but he was doing some hard thinking. He wondered why Andy and his crowd had captured him. Suddenly the blackness of the woods was illuminated by the fitful gleam of a distant fire. Tom could see more plainly now, and he managed to count about ten dusky figures hurrying along, four being close to him, to prevent his escape, and the others running on ahead. The light became stronger, and, a moment later the prisoner and his captors emerged into a little clearing, where a fire was burning. Two figures, masked with black cloth, as were all in the crowd, stood about the blaze, putting on sticks of wood. "Did you get him?" asked one of these figures eagerly. "Yes, they got me, Sam Snedecker," answered Tom quickly, recognizing Sam's tones. "And they'll wish they hadn't before I'm done with them." "Quiet!" ordered an unknown voice. "Members of the Deep Forest Throng, the prisoner is here!" the lad went on. "'Tis well, bind the captive to the sacrificial tree," was the response from some one in the crowd. Tom laughed. He was at ease now, for he recognized that those who had taken him prisoner were all lads of Andy's character. Most of them were Shopton youths, but some, evidently, were strangers in town. Tom felt he had little to fear. "Bring him over here," ordered one, and Tom cried out: "You wouldn't be giving those orders, Andy Foger, if my arms weren't tied. And if you'll untie me, I'll fight any two of you at once," offered the young inventor fiercely, for he hated the humiliation to which he was being subjected. "Don't do it! Don't untie him!" begged some one. "No danger, they won't. They're afraid to, Pete Bailey," replied Tom quickly, for he had recognized the voice of the other one of Andy's particular cronies. "Aw, he knows who we are," whispered Sam, but not so low but that our hero heard him. "No matter," was Andy's retort. "Let's go ahead with it. Tie him to that tree." It was useless for Tom to struggle. He was bound too tightly by the rope, and the crowd was too many for him. In a few minutes he was securely fastened to a tree, not far from the camp-fire, which was replenished from time to time. "Now for the judgment!" called one of the masked lads, in what he meant to be a sepulchral tone. "What is the charge against the prisoner? Brother Number One of the Deep Forest Throng, what is your accusation?" "He's a regular snob, that's what's the trouble," answered Andy Foger, though whether he was "Brother Number One," did not appear. "He's too fresh and--and--" "I'll make you wish you felt fresh when I get hold of you, Andy," murmured Tom. "Quiet!" cried a tall lad. "What's the next charge?" "He keeps an old colored man on guard at his place," was the answer, and Tom had no difficulty in recognizing the voice of Sid Holton. "The coon throws whitewash all over us. I got some of it." "You wouldn't have, if you'd minded your own business," retorted Tom. "It served you right!" "What is the verdict on the prisoner?" asked one who seemed to be the leader. "I say let's tar and feather him!" cried Andy suddenly. "There's a barrel of tar back in the woods here, and we can get some feathers from a chicken coop. That would make him so he wouldn't be so uppish, I guess!" "That's right! Tar and feathers!" exclaimed several. Our hero's heart sank. He was not afraid, but he did not relish the indignity that was proposed. He resolved to fight to the last ounce of his strength against the masked lads. "Can we get a kettle to heat the tar in?" asked some one. "We'll find one," answered Sam Snedecker. "Come on, let's do it. You'll look pretty, Tom Swift, when we're through with you," he exulted. Tom did not answer, but there was fierce anger in his heart. The tar and feather proposal seemed to meet with general favor. "Members of the Deep Forest Throng, we will hold a consultation," proposed the leader, in his assumed deep voice. "Come over here, to one side. Brother Number Six, guard the prisoner well." "There ain't no need to," answered a lad who had been instructed to mount guard over Tom. "He's tied so tight he can't move. I want to hear what you say." "Very well then," assented the leader, "But look to his bonds." The lad made a hasty examination of the ropes binding the young inventor to the tree, and Tom was glad that the examination was a hasty one. For he feared the guard might discover that one hand had been worked nearly free. The young inventor had done this while he leered at his captors. Tom was not going to submit tamely to the nonsense, and from the moment he had been tied, he had been trying to get loose. He had nearly succeeded in freeing one hand when the crowd of masked boys moved off to one side, where they presently began to talk in excited whispers. "I wonder how they came to catch me," thought the prisoner, as he worked feverishly to further loosen the ropes. "This looks as if it was a put-up job, with the masks, and everything." Later he learned that the idea was the outcome of a proposal of one of the new arrivals in town. He had organized the "Deep Forest Throng," as a sort of secret society, and Andy and his cronies had been induced to join. It was Andy's proposal to capture Tom, though, and, having seen him depart for Mansburg on his motor-cycle, and knowing that he would return along a road that ran near the woods where the Throng met, suggested that they take Tom captive. The idea was enthusiastically received, and Andy and his cronies thought they saw a chance to be revenged. Tom, while he picked at the ropes, listened to what the boys were saying. He heard frequent mention of tar and feathers, and began to believe, that unless he could get free, while they were off there consulting, he might be forced to submit to the humiliating ordeal. He managed to get one hand comparatively free, so that he could move it about, but then he struck several hard knots, and could make no further progress. The conference seemed on the point of breaking up. "One of you go for a big kettle to boil the tar in," ordered the leader, "and the rest of you dig up some feathers." "I must get loose!" thought Tom desperately. "If they try to tar and feather me it will be a risky business. I've got to get loose! They may burn me severely!" But, though he tried with all his strength, the ropes would not loosen another bit. He had one hand free, and that was all. The crowd was moving back toward him. "My knife!" thought the captive quickly. "If I can reach that in my pocket I can cut the ropes! Once I get loose I'll fight the whole crowd!" He managed to get his free hand into his pocket. His fingers touched something. It was not his knife, and, for a moment he felt a pang of disappointment. Then, as he realized what it was that he had grasped, a new idea came to him. "This will be better than the knife!" he thought exultantly. The crowd of lads was now surrounding him, some distance from the fire, which burned in front of the captive. "Sentence has been passed upon you," remarked the leader. "Prepare to meet thy doom! Get the materials, brothers!" "One moment!" called Tom, for he wanted the crowd all present to witness what he was about to do. "I'll give you one chance to let me go peaceably. If you don't--" "Well, what will you do?" demanded Andy sneeringly, as he pulled his mask further over his face. "I guess you won't do anything, Tom Swift." "I'll give you one chance to let me go, and I'll agree to say nothing about this joke," went on Tom. "If you don't I'll blow this place up!" For a moment there was a silence. "Ha! Ha! Ho! Ho!" laughed Sam Snedecker. "Listen to him! He'll blow the place up! I'd like to see you do it! You can't get loose in the first place, and you haven't anything to blow it up with in the second. I'd like to see you do it; hey, fellers?" "Sure," came the answering chorus. "Would you?" asked Tom quickly. "Then watch. Stand back if you don't want to get hurt, and remember that I gave you a chance to let me go!" Tom made a rapid motion with the hand he had gotten loose. He threw something toward the blazing fire, which was now burning well. Something white sailed through the air, and fell amid the hot embers. There was a moment's pause, and then a blinding flash of blue fire lighted up the woods, and a dull rumble, as when gun-powder is lighted in the open followed. A great cloud of white smoke arose, as the vivid blue glare died away, and it seemed as if a great wind swept over the place. Several of the masked lads were knocked down by the explosion, and when the rumble died away, and deep blackness succeeded the intense blue light, there came cries of pain and terror. The fire had been scattered, and extinguished by the explosion which Tom, though still bound to the tree had caused to happen in the midst of the Deep Forest Throng. Then, as the smoke rolled away, Andy Foger cried: "Come on, fellows! Something's happened. I guess a volcano blew up!" CHAPTER IX TOM IS RESCUED The Deep Forest Throng needed no urging to flee from the place of the mysterious explosion. Their prisoner, helpless as he had seemed, had proved too much for them. Slipping and stumbling along in the darkness, the masked lads had but one thought--to get away before they saw more of that blue fire, and the force of the concussion. "Gee! My eyebrows are all singed off!" cried Sam Snedecker, as he tore loose his mask which had been rent in the explosion, and felt of his face. "And my hands are burned," added Pete Bailey. "I stood closer to the fire than any of you." "You did not! I got the worst of it!" cried Andy. "I was knocked down by the explosion, and I'll bet I'm hurt somewhere. I guess--Oh! Help! I'm falling in a mud hole!" There was a splash, and the bully disappeared from the sight of his companions who, now that the moon had risen, could better see to flee from their prisoner. "Help me out, somebody!" pleaded Andy. "I'm in a mud hole!" They pulled him out, a sorry looking sight, and the red-haired lad, whose locks were now black with muck, began to lament his lot. "Dry up!" commanded Sid Holton. "It's all your fault, for proposing such a fool trick as capturing Tom Swift. We might have known he would get the best of us." "What was that stuff he used, anyhow?" asked Cecil Hedden, the lad responsible for the organization of the Deep Forest Throng. "He must be a wonder. Does he do sleight-of-hand tricks?" "He does all sorts of tricks," replied Pete Bailey, feeling of a big lump on his head, caused by falling on a stone in the mad rush. "I guess we were chumps to tackle him. He must have put some kind of chemical in the fire, to make it blow up." "Or else he summoned his airship by wireless, and had that balloonist, Mr. Sharp, drop a bomb in the blaze," suggested another lad. "But how could he do anything? Wasn't he tied fast to that tree?" asked Cecil, the leader. "You never know when you've got Tom Swift tied," declared Jack Reynolds. "You think you've got him, and you haven't. He's too slick for us. It's Andy's fault, for proposing to capture him." "That's right! Blame it all on me," whined the squint-eyed bully. "You was just as anxious as I was to tar and feather him." "Well, we didn't do it," commented Pete Bailey, dryly. "I s'pose he's loose now, laughin' at us. Gee, but that was an explosion though! It's a wonder some of us weren't killed! I guess I've had enough of this Deep Forest Throng business. No more for mine." "Aw, don't be afraid," urged Cecil. "The next time we get him we'll be on our guard." "You'll never catch Tom Swift again," predicted Pete. "I'll go back now to where he is, if you will," agreed Cecil, who was older than the others. "Not much!" cried Pete. "I've had enough." This seemed to be the sentiment of all. Away they stumbled through the woods, and, emerging on the road, scattered to their several homes, not one but who suffered from slight burns, contusions, torn and muddy clothes or injured feelings as the outcome of the "joke" on the young inventor. But our hero was not yet free from the bonds of his enemies. When they scattered and ran, after the vivid blue light, and the dull explosion, which, being unconfined, did no real damage, Tom was still fast to the tree. As his eyes became accustomed to the semi-darkness that followed the glare, he remarked: "Well, I don't know that I'm much better off. I gave those fellows a good scare, but I'm not loose. But I can work to better advantage now." Once more he resumed the effort to free himself, but in spite of the crude manner in which the knots had been made, the lad could not get loose. The more he pulled and tugged the tighter they seemed to become. "This is getting serious," Tom mused. "If I could only reach my knife I could cut them, but it's in my pocket on the other side, and that bond's fast. Guess I'll have to stay here all night. Maybe I'd better call for help, but--" His words, spoken half aloud, were suddenly interrupted by a crash in the underbrush. Somebody was approaching. At first Tom thought it was Andy and his cronies coming back, but a voice that called a moment later proved that this was not so. "Is any one here?" shouted a man. "Any one hurt? What was that fire and explosion?" "I'm here," replied Tom. "I'm not hurt exactly, but I'm tied to a tree. I'll be much obliged if you'll loosen me." "Who are you?" "Tom Swift. Is that you, Mr. Mason?" "Yes. By jinks! I never expected to find you here, Tom. Over this way, men," he added calling aloud. "I've found him; it's Tom Swift." There was the flicker of several lanterns amid the trees, and soon a number of men had joined Mr. Mason, and surrounded Tom. They were farmers living in the neighborhood. "What in the name o' Tunket happened?" asked one. "Did you get hit by a meteor or a comet? Who tied you up; highwaymen?" "Cut him loose first, and ask questions afterward," suggested Mr. Mason. "Yes," added Tom, with a laugh, "I wish you would. I'm beginning to feel cramped." With their knives, the farmers quickly cut the ropes, and some of them rubbed the arms of the lad to restore the circulation. "What was it--highwaymen?" asked a man, unable to longer restrain his curiosity. "Did they rob you?" "No, it wasn't highwaymen," replied the youth. "It was a trick of some boys I know," and to Tom's credit be it said that he did not mention their names. "They did it for a joke," he added. "Boys' trick? Joke?" queried Mr. Mason. "Pretty queer sort of a joke, I think. They ought to be arrested." "Oh, I fancy I gave them what was coming to them," went on the young inventor. "Did they try to blow ye up, too?" asked Mr. Hertford. "What in th' name of Tunket was that blue light, and that explosion? I heard it an' saw it way over to my house." "So did I," remarked Mr. Mason, and several others said the same thing. "We thought a meteor had fallen," he continued, "and we got together to make an investigation." "It's a good thing for me you did," admitted Tom, "or I might have had to stay here all night." "But was it a meteor?" insisted Mr. Hertford. "No," replied the lad, "I did it." "You?" "Yes. You see after they tied me I found I could get one hand free. I reached in my pocket for my knife, but instead of it I managed to get hold of a package of powder I had." "Gunpowder?" asked Mr. Mason. "No, a chemical powder I use in an electrical battery. The powder explodes in fire, and makes quite a blue flash, and a lot of smoke, but it isn't very dangerous, otherwise I wouldn't have used it. When the boys were some distance away from the fire, I threw the powder in the blaze. It went off in a moment, and--" "I guess they run some; didn't they?" asked Mr. Mason with a laugh. "They certainly did," agreed Tom. CHAPTER X TOM HAS A FALL The young inventor told more details of his adventure in the woods, but, though the farmers questioned him closely, he would not give a single name of his assailants. "But I should think you'd want to have them punished," remarked Mr. Mason. "I'll attend to that part later," answered Tom. "Besides, most of them didn't know what they were doing. They were led on by one or two. No, I'll fight my own battles. But I wish you'd lend me a lantern long enough to find my motor-cycle. The moon doesn't give much light in the woods, and those fellows may have hidden my machine." Mr. Mason and his companions readily agreed to accompany Tom on a search for his wheel. It was found just where he had dismounted from it in the road. Andy and his cronies had evidently had enough of their encounter with our hero, and did not dare to annoy him further. "Do you think you can ride home?" asked one of the farmers of the lad, when he had ascertained that his machine was in running order. "Well, it's risky without my lantern," answered Tom. "They smashed that for me. But I guess I can manage." "No, you can't!" insisted Mr. Mason. "You're stiff from being tied up; and you can't ride. Now you just wheel that contraption over to my place, and I'll hitch up and take you home. It isn't far." "Oh, I couldn't think of troubling you," declared Tom. At the same time he felt that he was in no condition to ride. "It's no trouble at all," insisted Mr. Mason. "I guess your father and I are good enough friends to allow me to have my way. You can come over and get your choo-choo bicycle in the morning." A little later Tom was being rapidly driven toward his home, where he found his father and Mrs. Baggert, to say nothing of Mr. Sharp, somewhat alarmed over his absence, as it was getting late. The youth told as much of his adventure as he thought would not alarm his father, making a sort of joke of it, and, later, related all the details to the balloonist. "We'll have to get after Andy again," declared the aeronaut. "He needs another toning down." "Yes, similar to the one he got when we nearly ran away with his automobile, by catching the airship anchor on it," added Tom with a laugh. "But I fancy Andy will steer clear of me for a while. I'm sorry I had to use up that chemical powder, though. Now I can't start my battery until to-morrow." But the next day Tom made up for lost time, by working from early until late. He went over to Mr. Mason's, got his motor-cycle, procured some more of the chemical, and soon had his storage battery in running order. Then he arranged for a more severe test, and while that was going on he worked at completing the body of the electric runabout. The vehicle was beginning to look like a car, though it was not of the regulation pattern. For the next week Tom was very busy, so occupied, in fact, that he scarcely took time for his meals, which caused Mrs. Baggert no little worriment, for she was a housekeeper who liked to see others enjoy her cooking. "Well, Tom, how are you coming on?" asked his father one night, as they sat on the porch, Mr. Sharp with them. "Pretty well, Dad," was the answer of the young inventor. "I'll put the wheels on to-morrow, and then set the batteries. I've got the motor all finished; and all I'll have to do will be to connect it up, and then I'll be ready for a trial on the road." "And you still think you'll beat all records?" "I'm pretty sure of it, Dad. You see the amperage will be exceptionally high, and my batteries will have a large amount of reserve, with little internal resistance. But do you know I'm so tired I can hardly think. It's more of a job than I thought it would be." Tom, a little later, strolled down the road. As he turned back toward the house and walked up the shrubbery lined path he heard a noise. "Some one's hiding in there!" thought the lad, and he darted to an opening in the hedge to reach the other side. As he did so he saw a figure running away. Whether it was a man or a boy he could not tell in the darkness. "Hold on there!" cried the young inventor, but, naturally, the fleeing one did not stop. Tom began to sprint, and as it was slightly down hill, he made good time. The figure ahead of him was running well, too, but Tom who could see better, now that he was out from under the trees, noticed that he was gaining. The fleeing one came to a little brook, and hesitated a moment before leaping across. This enabled Tom to catch up, and he made a grab for the figure, just as the man or boy sprang across the little stream. Tom missed his grip, but he was not going to give up. He scarcely slackened his speed, but, with the momentum he had acquired in racing down the hill, he, too, leaped across the brook. As he landed on the other side he made another grab for the figure, a man, as Tom could now see, but he could make out no features, as the person's hat was pulled down over his face. "I've got you now!" cried Tom exultantly, reaching out his hand. His fingers clutched something, but the next instant the young inventor went sprawling. The other had put out his foot, and tripped him neatly and, Tom throwing out his hands to save himself in the fall that was inevitable, went splashing into the brook at full length. The unknown, pausing a moment to view what he had done, turned quickly and raced off in the darkness. CHAPTER XI CROSSED WIRES More surprised than hurt, and with a feeling of chagrin and anger at the trick which had been played on him, Tom managed to scramble out of the brook. The water was not deep, but he had splashed in with such force that he was wet all over. And, as he got up, the water dripping from his clothes, the lad was conscious of a pain in his head. He put up his hand, and found that contact with a stone had raised a large lump on his forehead. It was as big as a hen's egg. "Humph! I'll be a pretty sight to-morrow," murmured Tom. "I wonder who that fellow was, anyhow, and what he wanted? He tripped me neatly enough, whoever he was. I've a good notion to keep on after him." Then, as he realized what a start the fleeing one had, the young inventor knew that it would be fruitless to renew the chase. Slowly he ascended the sloping bank, and started for home. As he did so he realized that he had, clasped in his fingers, something he had grabbed from the person he was pursuing just before his unlucky tumble. "It's part of his watch chain!" exclaimed Tom, as he felt of the article. "I must have ripped it loose when I fell. Wonder what it is? Evidently some sort of a charm. Maybe it will be a clue." He tried to discern of what style it was, but in the dark woods this was impossible. Then the lad tried to strike a match, but those in his pocket had become wet from his unexpected bath. "I'll have to wait until I get home," he went on, and he hastened his steps, for he was anxious to see what he had torn loose from the person who appeared to be spying on him. "Why Tom, what's the matter?" exclaimed Mrs. Baggert, when he entered the kitchen, dripping water at every step. "Is it raining outside? I didn't hear any storm." "It was raining where I was," replied Tom angrily. "I fell in the brook. It was so hot I thought I'd cool off." "With your best suit on!" ejaculated the housekeeper. "It isn't my best," retorted the lad. "But I went in before I thought. It was an accident; I fell," he added, lest Mrs. Baggert take his joking remarks seriously. He did not want to tell her of the chase. The chief concern of the lad now was to look at the charm and, as soon as Mrs. Baggert's attention was attracted elsewhere, Tom glanced at the object he still held tightly clenched in his hand. As the light from the kitchen fell upon it he could hardly repress an exclamation of astonishment. For the charm that he held in his hand was one he had seen before dangling from the watch chain of Addison Berg, the agent for Bentley & Eagert, submarine boat builders, which firm had, as told in "Tom Swift and His Submarine," tried unsuccessfully to secure the gold treasure from the sunken wreck. Berg and his associates had even gone so far as to try to disable the Advance, the boat of Tom and his father, by ramming her when deep down under the ocean, but Mr. Swift's use of an electric cannon had broken the steering gear of the Wonder, the rival craft, and from that time on Tom and his friends had a clear field to search for the bullion held fast in the hold of the Boldero. "Addison Berg," murmured Tom, as he looked at the watch charm. "What can he be doing in this neighborhood? Hiding, too, as if he wanted to overhear something. That's the way he did when we were building our submarine, and now he's up to the same trick when I'm constructing my electric car. I'm sure this charm is his. It is such a peculiar design that I'm positive I can't be mistaken. I thought, when I was chasing after him, that it would turn out to be Andy Foger, or some of the boys, but it was too big for them. Addison Berg, eh? What can he be doing around here? I must not tell Dad, or he'd worry himself sick. But I must be on my guard." Tom examined the charm closely. It was a compass, but made in an odd form, and was much ornamented. The young inventor had noticed it on several occasions when he had been in conversation with Mr. Berg previous to the attempt on the part of the owners of the rival submarine to wreck Tom's boat. He felt that he could not be mistaken in identifying the charm. "Berg was afraid I'd catch him, and ask for an explanation that would have been awkward to make," thought the lad, as he turned the charm over in his hand. "That's why he tripped me up. But I'll get at the bottom of this yet. Maybe he wants to steal my ideas for an electric car." Tom's musings were suddenly interrupted by Mrs. Baggert. "I hope you're not going to stand there all night," she said, with a laugh. "You're in the middle of a puddle now, but when you get over dreaming I'd like to mop it up." "All right," agreed the young inventor, coming to himself suddenly. "Guess I'd better go get some dry clothes on." "You'd better go to bed," advised Mrs. Baggert. "That's where your father and Mr. Sharp are. It's late." The more Tom thought over the strange occurrence the more it puzzled him. He mused over the presence of Berg as he went about his work the next day, for that it was the agent whom he had pursued he felt positive. "But I can't figure out why he was hanging around here," mused Tom. Then, as he found that his thoughts over the matter were interfering with his work, he resolutely put them from him, and threw himself energetically into the labor of completing his electric car. The new batteries, he found, were working well, and in the next two days he had constructed several more, joining them so as to get the combined effect. It was the afternoon of the third day from Tom's unexpected fall into the brook that the young inventor decided on the first important test of his new device. He was going to try the motor, running it with his storage battery. Some of the connections were already in place, the wires being fastened to the side of the shop, where they were attached to switches. Tom did not go over these, taking it for granted that they were all right. He soon had the motor, which he was to install in his car, wired to the battery, and then he attached a gauge, to ascertain, by comparison, how many miles he could hope to travel on one charging of the storage battery. "Guess I'll call Dad and Mr. Sharp in to see how it works, before I turn on the current," he said to himself. He was about to summon his parent and the aeronaut from an adjoining shop, where they were working over a new form of dynamo, when the lad caught sight of the watch charm he had left on his desk, in plain sight. "Better put that away," he remarked. "Dad or Mr. Sharp might see it, and ask questions. Then I'd have to explain, and I don't want to, not until I get further toward the bottom of this thing." He put the charm away, and then summoned his father and the balloonist. "You're going to see a fine experiment," declared Tom. "I'm going to turn on the full strength of my battery." "Are you sure it's all right, Tom?" asked his father. "You can't be too careful when you're dealing with electricity of high voltage, and great ampere strength. "Oh, it's all right, Dad," his son assured him "Now watch my motor hum." He walked over to a big copper switch, and grasped the black rubber handle to pull it over which would send the current from the storage battery into the combination of wheels and gears that he hoped, ultimately, would propel his electric automobile along the highways, or on a track, at the rate of a hundred miles an hour. "Here she goes!" cried Tom. For an instant he hesitated and then pulled the switch. At the same time his hand rested on another wire, stretched across a bench. No sooner had the switch closed than there was a blinding flash, a report as of a gun being fired, and Tom's body seemed to straighten out. Then a blue flame appeared to encircle him and he dropped to the floor of the shop, an inert mass. "He's killed!" cried Mr. Swift, springing forward. "Careful!" cautioned the balloonist. "He's been shocked! Don't touch him until I turn off the current!" As he pulled out the switch, the aeronaut gave a glance at the apparatus. "There's something wrong here!" he cried. "The wires have been crossed! That's what shocked Tom, but he never made the wrong connections! He's too good an electrician! There's been some one in this shop, changing the wires!" CHAPTER XII THE TRY OUT Once the current was cut off it was safe to approach the body of the young inventor. Mr. Sharp stooped over and lifted Tom's form from the floor, for Mr. Swift was too excited and trembled too much to be of any service. Our hero was as one dead. His body was limp, after that first rigid stretching out, as the current ran through him; his eyes were closed, and his face was very pale. "Is--is there any hope?" faltered Mr. Swift. "I think so," replied the balloonist. "He is still breathing--faintly. We must summon a doctor at once. Will you telephone for one, while I carry him in the house?" As Mr. Sharp emerged from the shop, bearing Tom's body, an automobile drew up in front of the place. "Bless my soul!" exclaimed a voice. "Tom's hurt! How did it happen? Bless my very existence!" "Oh, Mr. Damon, you're just in time!" exclaimed Mr. Sharp, "Tom's had a bad shock. Will you go for a doctor in your auto?" "Better than that! Let me take Tom in the car to Dr. Whiteside's office," proposed the eccentric man. "It will be better that way." "Yes, yes," agreed Mr. Swift eagerly. "Put Tom in the auto!" "If only it doesn't break down," added Mr. Damon fervently. "Bless my spark plug, but it would be just my luck!" But they started off all right, Mr. Swift riding in front with Mr. Damon, and Mr. Sharp supporting Tom in the tonneau. Only a little fluttering of the eyelids, and a slow, faint breathing told that Tom Swift still lived. Mr. Damon never guided a car better than he did his auto that day. Several speed laws were broken, but no one appeared to stop them, and, in record time they had the young inventor at the physician's house. Fortunately Dr. Whiteside was at home, and, under his skillful treatment Tom was soon out of danger. His heart action was properly started, and then it was only a question of time. As the doctor had plenty of room it was decided to let the lad remain that night, and Tom was soon installed in a spare bedroom, with the doctor's pretty daughter to wait on him occasionally. "Oh, I'm all right," the youth insisted, when Miss Whiteside told him it was time for his medicine. "I'm all right." "You're not!" she declared. "I ought to know, for I'm going to be a nurse, some day, and help papa. Now take this or I'll have to hold your nose, as they do the baby's," and she held out a spoonful of unpleasant looking mixture, extending her dainty forefinger and thumb of her other hand, as if to administer dire punishment to Tom, if he did not obey. "Well, I give in to superior strength," he said with a laugh, as he noted, with approval, the laughing face of his nurse. Then he fell into a deep sleep, and was so much better the next morning that he could be taken home in Mr. Damon's auto. "But mind, no hard work for three or four days," insisted the physician. "I want your heart to get in shape for that big race you were telling me about. The shock was a severe strain to it." Tom promised, reluctantly, and, though he did no work, his first act, on reaching home, was to go out to the shop, to inspect the battery and motor. To his surprise the motor was running for the lad had established the connection, in spite of his shock and his father and Mr. Sharp had decided to let the machinery run until he came back. "And look at the record it's made!" cried Tom delightedly as he glanced at the gauge. "Better than I figured on. That battery is a wonder. I'll have the fastest electric runabout you ever saw." "If the wires don't get crossed again," put in Mr. Sharp. "You'd better make an examination, Tom," and, for the first time, the young inventor learned how he had been shocked. "Crossed wires! I should say they were crossed!" he exclaimed as he looked at the switches and copper conductors. "Somebody has been tampering with them. No wonder I was shocked!" "Who did it?" asked Mr. Sharp. Tom considered for a moment, before answering. Then he said: "I believe it was Addison Berg. He must have wanted to do some damage, to get even with us for getting that treasure away from him." "Berg?" questioned the balloonist, and Tom told of the night he had been tripped into the brook, and exhibited the watch charm he had secured. Mr. Sharp recognized it at once. A further examination confirmed the belief that the submarine agent had sneaked into Tom's workshop, and had altered the wires. "They were all right when I came out of the shop that night," declared Tom. "I left the old connections just as I thought I had arranged them, and only added the new ones, when I went to try my battery. The old connections were crossed, but I didn't notice it. Then when I turned on the current I got the shock. I don't s'pose Berg thought I'd be so nearly killed. Probably he wanted to burn out my motor, and spoil it. If it was Andy Foger I could understand it, but a man like Berg--" "He's probably wild with anger because his submarine got the worst of it in the race for the gold," interrupted the balloonist. "Well, we'll have to be on our guard, that's all. What was the matter with Eradicate, that he didn't see him enter the shop?" "Rad went to a colored dance that night," said Tom. "I let him off. But after this I'll have the shop guarded night and day. My motor might have been ruined, if that first charge hadn't gone through my body instead of into the machinery." The improper connections were soon removed and others substituted. It was agreed between Tom and Mr. Sharp that they would say nothing regarding Mr. Berg to Mr. Swift. The aeronaut caused cautious inquiries to be made, and learned that the agent had been discharged by the submarine firm, because of some wrong-doing in connection with the craft Wonder, and it was surmised that the agent believed Tom to be at the bottom of his troubles. In a few days the young inventor was himself again, and as further trials of his battery showed it to be even better than its owner hoped, arrangements were made for testing it in the car on the road. The runabout was nearly finished, but it lacked a coat of varnish, and some minor details, when Tom, assisted by his father, Mr. Sharp and Mr. Jackson, one morning, about a week later, installed the motor and battery units. It did not take long to gear up the machinery, connect the battery and, though the car was rather a crude looking affair, Tom decided to give it a tryout. "Want to come along, Dad?" he asked, as he tightened up some binding posts, and looked to see that the steering wheel, starting and reverse levers worked properly, and that the side chains were well lubricated. "Not the first time," replied his father. "Let's see how it runs with you, first." "Oh, I want some sort of a load in it," went on the lad. "It won't be a good test unless I have a couple of others besides myself. How about you, Mr. Damon?" for the old gentleman was spending a few days at the Swift homestead. "Bless my shoe buttons! I'll come!" was the ready answer. "After the experience I've been through in the airship and submarine, nothing can scare me. Lead on, I'll follow!" "I don't suppose you'll hang back after that; will you, Mr. Sharp?" asked the lad, with a laugh. "I don't dare to, for the sake of my reputation," was the reply, for the balloonist who had made many ascensions, and dropped thousands of feet in parachutes, was naturally a brave man. So he and Mr. Damon climbed into the rear seats of the odd-looking electric car, while Tom took his place at the steering wheel. "Are you all ready?" he asked. "Let her go!" fired back Mr. Sharp. "Bless my galvanometer, don't go too fast on the start," cautioned Mr. Damon, nervously. "I'll not," agreed the young inventor. "I want to get it warmed up before I try any speeding." He turned on the current. There was a low, humming purr, which gradually increased to a whine, and the car moved slowly forward. It rolled along the gravel driveway to the road, Tom listening to every sound of the machinery, as a mother listens to the breathing of a child. "She's moving!" he cried. "But not much faster than a wheelbarrow," said his father, who sometimes teased his son. "Wait!" cried the youth. Tom turned more current into the motor. The purring and humming increased, and the car seemed to leap forward. It was in the road now, and, once assured that the steering apparatus was working well, Tom suddenly turned on much more speed. So quickly did the electric auto shoot forward that Mr. Damon and Mr. Sharp were jerked back against the cushions of the rear seats. "Here! What are you doing?" inquired Mr. Sharp. "I'm going to show you a little speed," answered Tom. The car was now moving rapidly, and there was a smoothness and lightness to its progress that was absent from a gasolene auto. There was no vibration from the motor. Faster and faster it ran, until it was moving at a speed scarcely less than that of Mr. Damon's car, when it was doing its best. Of course that was not saying much, for the car owned by the odd gentleman was not a very powerful one, but it could make fast time occasionally. "Is this the best you can do?" asked Mr. Damon. "Not that it isn't fast," he hastened to add, "and I was wondering if it was your limit." "Not half!" cried Tom, as he turned on a little more power. "I'm not trying for a record to-day. I just want to see how the battery and motor behaves." "Pretty well, I should say," commented Mr. Sharp. "I'm satisfied--so far," agreed the lad. They were now moving along the highway at a good speed--moving almost silently, too, for the motor, save for a low hum, made no noise. So quiet was the car, in fact, that it was nearly the cause of a disaster. Tom was so interested in the performance of his latest invention, that, before he knew it, he had come up behind a farmer, driving a team of skittish horses. As the big machine went past them, giving no warning of its approach, the steeds reared up, and would have bolted, but for the prompt action of the driver. "Hey!" he cried, angrily, as Tom speeded past, "don't you know you got to give warnin' when you're comin' with one of them ther gol-swizzled things! By Jehossephat I'll have th' law on ye ef ye do thet ag'in!" "I forgot to ring the bell," apologized Tom, as he sent out a peal from the gong, and then, he let out a few more amperes, and the speed increased. "Hold on! I guess this is fast enough!" cried Mr. Damon, as his hat blew off. "Fast?" answered Tom. "This is nothing to what I'll do when I use the full power. Then I'll--" He was interrupted by a sharp report, and a vivid flash of fire on a switch board near the steering wheel. The motor gave a sort of groan, and stopped, the car rolling on a little way, and then becoming stationary. "Bless my collar button!" ejaculated Mr. Damon. "What's the matter?" inquired Mr. Sharp. "Some sort of a blow-out," answered Tom ruefully, as he shoved the starting handle over, trying to move the car. But it would not budge. The new auto had "gone dead" on her first tryout. The young inventor was grievously disappointed. CHAPTER XIII TOWED BY A MULE "Bless my gizzard! Is it anything serious?" asked Mr. Damon. "Will it blow up, or anything like that?" "No," replied the lad, as he leaped out of the car, and began to make an examination. Mr. Sharp assisted him. "The motor seems to be all right," remarked the balloonist, as he inspected it. "Yes," agreed our hero, "and the batteries have plenty of power left in them yet. The gauge shows that. I can't understand what the trouble can be, unless--" He paused in his remark and uttered an exclamation. "I've found it!" he cried. "What?" demanded the aeronaut. "Some of the fuses blew out. I turned on too much current, and the fuses wouldn't carry it. I put them in to save the motor from being burned out, but I didn't use heavy enough ones. I see where my mistake was." "But what does it mean?" inquired Mr. Damon. "It means that we've got to walk back home," was Tom's sorrowful answer. "The car is stalled, for I haven't any extra fuses with me." "Can't you connect up the battery by using some extra wire?" asked Mr. Sharp. "I have some," and he drew a coil of it from his pocket. "I wouldn't dare to. It might be so heavy that it would carry more current than the motor could stand. I don't want to burn that out. No, I guess we'll have to walk home, or rather I will. You two can stay here until I come back with heavier fuses. I'm sorry." Tom had hardly ceased speaking, when, from around the turn in the road proceeded a voice, and, at the sound of it all three started, for the voice was saying: "Now it ain't no use fer yo' to act dat-a-way, Boomerang. Yo' all ain't got no call t' git contrary now, jest when I wants t' git home t' mah dinner. I should t'ink you'd want t' git t' de stable, too. But ef yo' all ain't mighty keerful I'll cut down yo' rations, dat's what I'se goin' to do. G'lang, now, dat's a good feller. Ho! Ho! I knowed dat'd fetch yo' all. When yo' all wiggles yo' ears dat-a-way, dat's a suah sign yo' all is gwine t' move." Then followed the sound of a rattletrap of a wagon approaching. "Eradicate! It's Eradicate!" exclaimed Tom. "And his mule, Boomerang!" added Mr. Sharp. "He's just in time!" commented Mr. Damon with a sigh of relief, as the ancient outfit, in charge of the aged colored man, came along. Eradicate had been sent to Shopton to get a load of wood for Mr. Swift, and was now returning. At the sight of the stalled auto the mule pricked up his long ears, and threw them forward. "Whoa dar, now, Boomerang!" cried Eradicate. "Doan't yo' all commence t' gittin' skittish. Dat machine ain't gwine t' hurt yo'. Why good land a' massy! Ef 'tain't Mistah Swift!" cried the colored man, as he caught sight of Tom. "What's de trouble?" he asked. "Broke down," answered the young inventor briefly. "You always seem to come along when I'm in trouble, Rad." "Dat's right," assented the darkey, with a grin. "Me an' trouble am ole acquaintances. Sometimes she hits me a clip on de haid, den, ag'in Boomerang, mah mule, gits it. He jest had his trouble. Got a stone under his shoe, an' didn't want t' move. Den when I did git him started he balked on me. But I'se all right now. But I suah am sorry fo' you. Can't I help yo' all, Mistah Swift?" "Yes, you can, Rad," answered Tom. "Drive home as fast as you can, and ask Dad to send back with you some of those fuses he'll find on my work bench. He knows what I want. Hurry there and hurry back." Eradicate shook his head doubtfully. "What's the matter? Don't you want to go?" asked Mr. Sharp, a trifle nettled. "We can't get the car started until we have some new fuses." "Oh, I wants t' go all right 'nuff, Mistah Sharp," was Eradicate's prompt answer. "Yo' all knows I'd do anyt'ing t' 'blige yo' or Mistah Swift. But hits dish yeah mule, Boomerang. I jest done promised him dat we were gwine home t' dinnah, an' he 'spects a manger full ob oats. Ef I got to Mistah Swift's house wid him, I couldn't no mo' git him t' come back widout his dinnah, dan yo' all kin git dat 'ar car t' move widout dem fusin' t'ings yo' all talked about." "Bless my necktie!" exclaimed Mr. Damon. "That's all nonsense! You don't suppose that mule understands what you say to him, do you? How does he know you promised him his dinner?" "I doan't know how he know, Mistah Damon," replied Eradicate, "but he do know, jest de same. I know hit would be laik pullin' teeth an' wuss too, t' git Boomerang t' start back wid dem foosd t'ings until after he's had his dinner. Wouldn't it, Boomerang?" The mule waved his long ears as if in answer. "Bless my soul, I believe he does understand!" cried Mr. Damon. "Of course he do," put in the colored man. "I'se awful sorry. Now if it were afternoon I could bring back dem what-d'ye-call-'ems in a jiffy, 'cause Boomerang allers feels good arter he has his dinnah, but befo' dat--" and Eradicate shook his head, as if there was no more to be said on the subject. "Well," remarked Tom, sadly, "I guess there's no help for it. We'll have to walk home, unless you two want to wait until I can ride back with Eradicate, and come back on my motor cycle. Then I'll have to leave the cycle here, for I can't get it in the car." "Bless my collar button!" cried Mr. Damon. "It's like the puzzle of the fox, the goose and the bag of corn on the banks of a stream. I guess we'd better all walk." "Hold on!" exclaimed Mr. Sharp. "Is your mule good and strong, Eradicate?" "Strong? Why dish yeah mule could pull a house ober--dat is when he's got a mind to. An' he'd do most anyt'ing now, 'ca'se he's anxious t' git home t' his dinnah; ain't yo' all, Boomerang?" Once more the mule waved his ears, like signal flags. "Then I have a proposition to make," went on the balloonist. "Unhitch the mule from the load of wood, and hitch him to the auto. We've got some rope along, I noticed. Then the mule can pull us and the runabout home." "Good idea!" cried Mr. Damon. "Dat's de racket!" ejaculated Eradicate. "I'll jest sequesterate dish year load ob wood side ob de road, an' hitch Boomerang to de auto." Tom said nothing for a few seconds. He gazed sadly at his auto, which he hoped would win the touring club's prize. It was a bitter pill for him to swallow. "Towed by a mule!" he exclaimed, shaking his head, and smiling ruefully. "The fastest car in this country towed by a mule! It's tough luck!" "'Tain't half so bad as goin' widout yo' dinnah, Mistah Swift!" remarked Eradicate, as he began to harness the mule to the electric runabout. Boomerang made no objection to the transfer. He looked around once or twice as he was being made fast to the auto and, when the word was given he stepped out as if pulling home stalled cars was his regular business. Tom sat beside Eradicate on the front seat, and steered, while the colored man drove the mule, and Mr. Sharp and Mr. Damon were in the "tonneau" seats as Tom called them. "I hope no one sees us," thought Tom, but he was doomed to disappointment. When nearly home he heard an auto approaching, and in it were Andy Foger, Sam Snedecker and Pete Bailey. The three cronies stared at the odd sight of Boomerang ambling along, with his great ears flapping, drawing Tom's speedy new car. "Ha! Ha!" laughed Andy. "So that's the motive power he's going to use! Look at him, fellows. I thought his new electric, that was going to beat my car, and win the prize, was to be two hundred horse power. Instead it's one mule power! That's rich!" and Andy's chums joined in the laugh at poor Tom. The young inventor said nothing, for there was nothing he could say. In dignified silence he passed the car containing his enemies, they, meanwhile, jeering at him. "Dat's all right," spoke Eradicate, sympathizing with his young employer. "Maybe dey'll 'want a tow derselves some day, an' when dey does, I'll make Boomerang pull 'em in a ditch." But this was small comfort to Tom. He made up his mind, though, that he would demonstrate that his car could do all that he had claimed for it, and that very soon. CHAPTER XIV A GREAT RUN Boomerang did not belie the reputation Eradicate had given him as a beast of strength. Though the electric runabout was heavy, the mule managed to move it along the road at a fair speed, with the four occupants. Perhaps the animal knew that at the end of his journey a good feed awaited him. At any rate they were soon within sight of the Swift home. Mr. Damon and Mr. Sharp refrained from making any comments that might hurt Tom's feelings, for they realized the chagrin felt by the young inventor in having his apparatus go back on him at the first trial. But our hero was not the kind of a lad who is disheartened by one failure, or even half a dozen. The humor of the situation appealed to him, and, as he turned the auto into the driveway, and noticed Boomerang's long ears waving to and fro, he laughed. The lad insisted on putting new fuses in the car before he ate his dinner, and then, satisfied that the motor was once more in running order, he partook of a hasty meal, and began making several changes which he had decided were desirable. He finished them in time to go for a little run in the car all alone on a secluded road late that afternoon. Tom returned, with eyes shining, and cheeks flushed with elation. "Well, how did it go? asked his father. "Fine! Better than I expected," responded his son enthusiastically. "When it gets to running smoothly I'll pass anything on the road." "Don't be too sure," cautioned Mr. Swift, but Tom only smiled. There was still much to do on the electric runabout, and Tom spent the next few days in adjusting the light steel wind-shield, that was to come down over the driver's seat. He also put in a powerful electric search-light, which was run by current from the battery, and installed a new speedometer and an instrument to tell how much current he was using, and how much longer the battery would run without being exhausted. This was to enable him to know when to begin recharging it. When the current was all consumed it was necessary to store more in the battery. This could be done by attaching wires from a dynamo, or, in an emergency by tapping an electric light wire in the street. But as the battery would enable the car to run many miles on one charging, Tom did not think he would ever have to resort to the emergency charging apparatus. He had a new system for this, one that enabled him to do the work in much less than the usual time. With his new car still unpainted, and rather rough and crude in appearance, the lad started out alone one morning, his father and Mr. Sharp having declined to accompany him, on the plea of business to attend to, and Mr. Damon not being at the Swift house. Tom rode about for several hours, giving his car several severe tests in the way of going up hills, and speeding on the level. He was proceeding along a quiet country road, in a small town about fifteen miles from Shopton, when, as he flashed past the small railroad station, he saw a familiar figure standing on the platform. "Why, Ned!" called Tom, "what are you doing over here?" "I might ask the same thing of you. Is that your new car? It doesn't look very new." "Yes, this is it. I haven't had a chance to paint and varnish it yet. But you ought to see it go. What are doing here, though?" "I came over on some bank business. A customer here had some bonds he wanted to dispose of and I came for them. You see we're enlarging our business since the new bank started." "Has it hurt your bank any?" "Not yet, but Foger and his associates are trying hard to make us lose money. Say, did you ever see such a place as this? I've got to wait two hours for a train back to Shopton." "No you haven't." "Why not? Have they changed the timetable since I came over this morning?" "No, but you can ride back with me. I'm going, and I'll show you what my new electric car can do." "Good!" cried the young bank cashier. "You're just in time. I was wondering how I could kill two hours, but now I'll get in your new car and--" "And maybe we'll kill a few chickens, or a dog or two when we get her speeded up," put in Tom, with a laugh in which Ned joined. The two lads, seated in the front part of the auto, were soon moving down the hard highway. Suddenly Tom pulled a lever and the steel wind-shield came sliding down from the top case, meeting the forward battery compartment, and forming a sort of slanting roof over the heads of the two occupants. "Here! What's this?" cried Ned. "We're going to hit it up in a few minutes," replied the young inventor, "and I want to reduce the wind resistance." "Oh, I thought maybe we were going through a bombardment. It's all right, go ahead, don't mind me. I'm game." There was a celluloid window in the steel wind-shield, and through this the lads could observe the road ahead of them. As they swung along it, the speed increasing, Ned saw an auto ahead of them. "Whose car is that?" he asked. "Don't know," replied Tom. "We'll be up to it in about half a minute, though." As the electric runabout, more dilapidated looking than ever from the layer of dust that covered it, passed the other auto, which was a powerful car, the solitary occupant of it, a middle-aged man, looked to one side, and, seeing the queer machine, remarked: "You fellows are going the wrong way to the junk heap. Turn around." "Is that so?" asked Tom, his eyes flashing at the cheap wit of the man. "Why we came out here to show you the way!" "Do you want to race?" asked the man eagerly, too eagerly, Ned thought. "I'll give you a brush, if you do, and a handicap into the bargain." "We don't need it," replied the young inventor quickly. "I'll wager fifty dollars I can beat you bad on this three-mile stretch," went on the autoist. "How about it?" "I'll race you, but I don't bet," answered Tom, a bit stiffly. "Oh, be a sport," urged the man. Tom shook his head. He had slowed down his machine, and was running even with the gasolene car now. He noticed that it was a new one, of six cylinders, and looked speedy. Perhaps he was foolish to pit his untried car against it. Yet he had confidence in his battery and motor. "Well, we'll race for the fun of it then," went on the man. "Do you want a handicap?" Tom shook his head again, and there came around his mouth a grim look. "All right," assented the other. "Only you're going to be beat badly. I never saw an electric car yet that could do anything except to crawl along." "You're going to see one now," was all the retort Tom permitted himself. "Here we go then!" cried the man, and he gave his gear handle a yank, and shoved over the sparking and gasolene levers. His car instantly shot ahead, and went "chug chugging" down the road in a cloud of dust. At the same moment Tom, in answer to a look from Ned, who feared his friend was going to be left behind, turned more power into the motor. The humming, purring sound increased and the electric car forged ahead. "Can you catch him?" asked Ned. "Watch," was all Tom said. The hum of the motor became a sort of whine, and the electric rapidly acquired speed. It crept up on the gasolene car, as an express train overtakes a freight, and the man, looking back, and expecting to see his rival far behind was surprised to note the queer looking vehicle lapping his rear wheels. "Well, you are coming on, aren't you?" he asked. "Maybe you'll keep up now!" He shifted the gears, using a little more gasolene. For a moment his car opened a wide gap between it and Tom's, but the young inventor had only begun to race. Still louder purred the motor, and in a few minutes Tom was running on even terms with his competitor. The man looked annoyed, and tried, by the skilful use of gasolene and sparking levers, to leave Tom behind. But the electric held her own. "I've got to go the limit I see," remarked the man at last, glancing sideways at the other car. "I'll tell 'em you're coming," he added, "though I must say your electric does better than any of its kind I ever came across." "I'm not done yet," was the comment of our hero. But the man did not hear him, for he was yanking into place the lever that enabled him to run on direct drive for fourth speed. Forward shot his car, and, for perhaps a quarter of a mile it led. The racers were almost at the end of the three-mile level stretch of road, and if Tom was going to win the impromptu contest it seemed high time he began. "Can you catch him?" asked Ned anxiously. "Watch," was his chum's reply. "I haven't used my high speed gear yet. I'm afraid the fuses won't stand it, but here goes for a try, anyhow." He threw over a switch, changed a lever and then, having pushed into place the last gear, he grasped the steering wheel more firmly. There was need of it, for, in an instant, the electric runabout, with the motors fairly roaring, swept up the road, after the gasolene car that was almost hidden from sight in a cloud of dust. Faster and faster went Tom's car. The young inventor was listening with critical ear to the song of the machinery. He wanted to learn if it was running sweet and true, for that is how a careful mechanic tests his apparatus. Foot by foot the distance between the two cars lessened. Now the electric was lapping the rear wheels of the gasolene machine, but the driver did not know it. His whole attention was on the road ahead of him. "Half a mile more!" cried Ned, naming the distance which yet remained of the straight stretch. "Can you do it, Tom?" His chum nodded. He shoved the controller handle over to the last notch, and then waited an anxious second. Would the fuse carry the extra load? It seemed so, for there was a slight increase of power. An instant later Tom gave a sudden twist to the steering wheel. It was well that he did, for he was passing the gasolene car dangerously close. Then he was ahead of it, and in a second he was three lengths in advance. Desperately the man opened his muffler, and sought to gain by this advantage, but though his car gave off explosions like a battery of guns in action, he could not gain on Tom. The electric shot around a curve in the road, winner of the impromptu race by an eighth of a mile. "Well," asked Tom of his chum, as he slowed down, for the road now was not so good, "did I do it?" "You certainly did. Whew! But we did scoot along?" "Eighty miles an hour there one spell," went on the young inventor, glancing at a gauge. "But I've got to do better than that to win the big race." CHAPTER XV ANDY FOGER'S BLACK EYE Around the bend came the six-cylinder touring car. The driver, with a surprised look on his face, was slacking up. He ran his machine up alongside of Tom's. "Say," he asked, in dazed tones, "did you take a short cut, or anything like that to get ahead of me?" "No," answered the youth. "And you didn't jump me in the air?" "No," was Tom's answer, smilingly given. "Well, all I've got to say is that you've got a wonderful car there, Mr.--er--er--" He paused suggestively. "Swift is my name," our hero answered. "Thomas Swift, of Shopton." "Ah, I've heard of you. My name is Layton--Paul Layton. I'm from Netherton. Let's see, you built an airship, didn't you?" "I helped," Tom admitted modestly. "Well, you beat me fair and square, and if I do say it myself I've got a fairly speedy car. Took two firsts at the Indianapolis meet last month. But you certainly scooted ahead of me. Where did you buy that electric, if I may ask?" "I made it." "I might have known," admitted the man. "But are you going to put them on the market? If you are I'd like to get one. I want the fastest car going, and you seem to have it." "I hadn't thought of manufacturing them for sale," said the young inventor. "If I do, I'll let you know." "I wish you would. My! I had no idea you could beat me, but you did--fair and square." There was some more talk, and then Mr. Layton started on, after exacting from Tom a further promise to let him know if any electrics were to be made for sale. "You certainly have a wonderful car," complimented Ned, as he and his chum took a short cut to Shopton. "Well, I'm not quite satisfied with it," declared Tom. "Why not?" "Well, I've set a hundred miles an hour as my limit. I didn't make but eighty to-day. I've got to have more speed if I go up against the crowd that will race for the touring club's prize." "Can you make a hundred miles?" "I think so. I've got to change my gears, though, and use heavier fuses. I was afraid every second that one of the fuses would melt, and leave me stranded. But they stood pretty well. Of course, when the car, geared as it is now, has been run a little longer it will go faster, but it won't come up to a hundred miles an hour. That's what I want, and that's what I'm going to get," and the lad looked very determined. Ned was taken to the bank, and, as Tom turned his machine around, to go home, he saw, standing on the steps of the new bank, which was almost across the street from the old one, Andy Foger, and the bully's father. The red-haired lad laughed at Tom's rough looking car, and said something to his parent, but Mr. Foger did not notice Tom. Not that this caused our hero any uneasiness, however. But, as he swung away from the bank, he saw, coming up the street a figure that instantly attracted his attention. It was that of Mr. Berg, and Tom at once recalled the night he had pursued the submarine agent, and torn loose his watch charm. Mr. Berg was evidently going to enter the new bank, for, at the sight of the former agent, Mr. Foger descended the steps, and went to meet him. Tom, however, had decided upon a plan of action. He steered his machine in toward the curb, ran up the steel wind-shield, and called: "Mr. Berg!" "Eh? What's that?" asked the agent, in some surprise. Then, as he caught sight of Tom, and recognized him, he added: "I'm very busy now, my young friend. You'll have to excuse me." "I won't detain you a moment," went on Tom, casually. "I have something of yours that I wish to return to you." "Something of mine?" Mr. Berg was evidently puzzled. He approached the electric car, in spite of the fact that Mr. Foger was calling him. "Something of mine? What is it?" "This!" exclaimed Tom suddenly, extending the compass watch charm, which he always carried with him of late. "That! Where did you get that. I lost it--" Mr. Berg paused in some confusion. "I grabbed it off your watch chain the night you were hiding in our shrubbery, and tripped me into the brook," answered the lad, looking the man squarely in the eye. "Hiding? Tripped you? Grabbed that off my chain--" stammered Mr. Berg. He had taken the charm up in his fingers, but now he quickly dropped it back into Tom's hand. "I guess you're mistaken," he added quickly. "That's not mine. I never had one--I--er--that's not mine--at least--Oh, you'll have to excuse me, young man, I'm in a hurry, and I have an important engagement!" and with that Mr. Berg wheeled off, and joined Mr. Foger, who stood on the sidewalk, waiting for him. "I thought sure it was yours," said Tom, easily. "Perhaps Mr. Foger will keep it in one of the safety-deposit boxes of his bank, until the owner claims it," and he looked at the banker. "What's that?" asked Andy's father. "This watch charm which I grabbed off Mr. Berg's chain the night he was sneaking around our house, and crossed the electric wires," went on the lad. "Don't listen to him. He doesn't know what he is saying!" exclaimed the former submarine boat agent. "It's not my charm. He's crazy!" "Oh, am I?" thought Tom, with a grim look on his face. "Well, we'll see about that, Mr. Berg," and, putting the charm back in his pocket, Tom swung his machine toward home, while the agent and the banker entered the new institution. "So they're getting chummy," mused Tom. "Andy and Berg were friends when Andy shut me up in the submarine tank, and now Berg comes here to do business, and Foger and his associates are trying to put the old bank out of business. I wonder if there's any connection there? I must keep my eyes open. Berg is an unscrupulous man, and so is Andy's father, to say nothing of the red-haired bully himself. He had nerve to deny that was his charm. Well, maybe I'll catch him some day." Tom spent a busy week making new adjustments to his electric car, changing the gear and providing for heavier fuses. He was planning for another trip on the road, as the time for the great race was drawing near, and he wanted the mechanism to be in perfect shape. One evening, as he was preparing for a short night trip to Mansburg, where he had promised to call for Miss Nestor, Tom left his machine standing in the road in front of the house, while he went back to get a robe, as it threatened to be chilly. As he came back to enter the car, he saw some one standing near it. "Is that you, Ned?" he called. "Come, take a spin." Hardly had he spoken than there sounded from the machine a whirr that told of the current being turned on. "Don't do that!" cried Tom, knowing at once that it could not be Ned, who never meddled with the machinery. A blinding flash and a loud report followed, and Tom saw some one leap from his car, and try to run away. But the figure stumbled, and, a moment later the young inventor was upon him, grappling with him. "Here! Let me go!" cried a voice, and Tom uttered an exclamation of surprise. "Andy Foger!" he cried. "I've caught you! You tried to damage my car!" "Yes, and I'm hurt, too!" whined Andy. "My father will sue you for damages if I die." "No danger of that; you're too mean," murmured Tom, as he maintained a tight grip on the bully. "You let me go!" demanded Andy, squirming to get away. "Wait until I see what damage you've done," retorted the young inventor. "The worst, though, would be the blowing out of a fuse, for I had the gear disconnected. You wait a minute now. Maybe it's you who'll have to pay damages." "You let me go!" fairly screamed Andy, and he aimed a blow at Tom. It caught our hero on the chest and Tom's fighting blood was up in an instant. He drew back his left hand, and delivered a blow that landed fairly on Andy's right eye. The bully staggered and went down in the dust. "There!" cried Tom, righteously angry. "That will teach you not to try to damage my car, and then hit me into the bargain! Now clear out, before I give you some more!" Whining and blubbering Andy arose to his feet. "You just wait. I'll get square with you for this," he threatened. "You can accept part of that as pay for what you did in the tar and feathering game," added Tom. Then, as Andy moved in front of one of the electric side lamps on the car, Tom uttered a whistle of surprise. For both of Andy's eyes were bruised and swollen, though Tom had only hit him once. "Look at me!" cried the bully, more squint-eyed than ever. "Look at me! You hit me in one eye, and that explosion hit me in the other! My father will sue you for this." As he hurried off down the road Tom understood. Andy coming along, had seen Tom's car standing there, and, thinking to do some mischief, had climbed in, and turned on the power. Perhaps he hoped it would run into the roadside ditch and be smashed. But as the gear was out, turning on the electric current had a different effect. As the bully pulled the handle over too quickly, throwing almost the entire force of the battery into the wires at once, the load was too heavy for them. A safety fuse blew out, causing the flare and the explosion, and a piece of the soft lead-like metal had hit the red-haired lad in the eye. Tom's fist had completed the work on the other optic, and for several days thereafter Andy Foger remained in seclusion. When he did go out there were many embarrassing questions put to him, as to when he had had the fight. Andy didn't care to answer. As for Tom, it did not take long to put a new fuse in his car, and he greatly enjoyed his ride with Miss Nestor that night. CHAPTER XVI TROUBLE AT THE BANK Coming in rather late from his trip to Mansburg, and thinking of some things he and Miss Nestor had talked about, Tom was rather surprised, on reaching the house, to see a light in his father's particular room, where the aged inventor did his reading and his planning of new devices. "Dad's up rather late," said Tom to himself. "I wonder if he's studying over some new machine." The lad ran his auto into the temporary garage he had built for it, and connected the wires of a burglar alarm he had arranged, to give warning in case any of his enemies should seek to damage the car. Tom encountered Garret Jackson, the aged inventor who was going his rounds, seeing that everything was all right about the various shops. "Anybody with my father, Garret?" asked the lad. "I see he's still up." "Yes," was the rather unexpected reply. "Mr. Damon is with him. They've been in your father's room all the evening--ever since you went away in the car." "Anything the matter?" inquired the young inventor, a bit anxious, as he thought of the Happy Harry gang. "Well, I don't know," and the engineer seemed puzzled. "They called me in once to know if everything was all right outside, and to inquire if you were back. I saw, then, that they were busy figuring over something, but I didn't take much notice. Only I heard Mr. Damon say: 'There's going to be trouble if we can't realize on those bonds,' and then I came away." "Is that all he said?" asked Tom. "No, he said 'Bless my buttons,' or something like that; but he blesses so many things I didn't pay much attention." "That's right," agreed the lad. "But I wonder what the trouble is about? I must go see." As he passed along the hall, out of which his father's combined study and library opened, the aged inventor came to the door. "Is that you, Tom?" he asked. "Yes, Dad." "Come in here, if you haven't anything else to do. Mr. Damon is here." Tom needed but a single glance at the faces of his father and Mr. Damon to see that something was troubling the two. The table in front of them was littered with papers covered with rows of figures. "What's the matter?" asked Tom. "Well, I suppose I ought not to let it bother me, but it does," replied his father. "Something wrong with your patents, Dad? Has the crowd of bad men been bothering you again?" "No, it isn't that. It's trouble at the bank, Tom." "Has it been robbed again?" asked the lad quickly. "If it has I can prove an alibi," and he smiled at the recollection of the time he and Mr. Damon had been accused of looting the vault, as told in "Tom Swift and His Airship." "No, it hasn't been robbed in just that way," put in Mr. Damon. "But, bless my shoe laces, it's almost as bad! You see, Tom, since Mr. Foger started the new bank he's done his best to cripple the one in which your father and I are interested. I may say we are very vitally interested in it, for, since the withdrawal of Foger and his associates, your father and I have been elected directors." "I didn't know that," remarked the lad. "No, I didn't tell you, because you were so busy on your electric car," rejoined Mr. Swift. "But Mr. Damon and I, being both large depositors, were asked to assume office, and, as I was not very busy on patent affairs, I consented." "But what is the trouble?" inquired Tom. "I'm coming to it," resumed Mr. Damon. "Bless my check book, I'm coming to it! You see we have lost several good customers, by reason of Foger opening the new bank. That wouldn't have mattered so much, as between your father and myself, and one or two others, we have enough capital to carry on the business of the bank. But there is a more serious matter. We hold a number of very good securities, but they are of a class hard to realize cash for, on short notice. In other words they are not active bonds, though they are issued by reliable concerns. Then, too, the bank has lost considerable money by not doing as much business as it formerly did. In short we don't know just what to do, Tom, and your father and I were discussing it, when you came in." "Do you need more money?" asked Tom. "I have some, that is my share from the submarine treasure, and some I have allowed to accumulate as royalties from my patents. It's about ten thousand dollars, and you're welcome to it." "Thank you, Tom," spoke his father. "We may use your cash, but we'll need a great deal more than that." "But why?" asked the lad. "I don't understand. If you have good bonds, can't you dispose of them, and get the money?" "We could, Tom, yes, if we had time," replied Mr. Damon. "But to throw the bonds on the market at short notice would mean that we would not get a good price for them. We would lose considerable." "But why do it in a hurry?" "Because there is need of hurry," responded Mr. Swift. "That's it," joined in Mr. Damon. "We have to have cash in a hurry, Tom, to meet pressing demands, and we don't just see our way clear to get it. I am trying to raise it on some private securities I own, but I can't get an answer within several days. Meanwhile the bank may fail, because of lack of funds. Of course no one would lose anything, ultimately, as we could go into the hands of a receiver, and, eventually pay dollar for dollar. Your father and I, and some of the other directors, might lose a little, but the depositors would not. But your father and I don't like the idea of failing. It's something I've never done, and I'm too old to start in now, bless my cash ledger if I'm not!" "And for the sake of my reputation in this community I don't want to see the bank close its doors," added Mr. Swift. "It would give Foger too good a chance to crow over us." "And you need cash in a hurry," went on Tom. "How much?" "Fifty thousand dollars at least," replied Mr. Damon. "And if you don't get it?" The eccentric man shrugged his shoulders. "Well," remarked Mr. Swift musingly, "I don't see that we need worry you about it, Tom. Perhaps--" Mr. Swift was interrupted by a ring at the front door. The three looked at each other. It was late for a caller, and Mrs. Baggert had gone to bed. "I'll answer it," volunteered Tom. He switched on the electric light in the hall, and opened the door. He was confronted by Mr. Pendergast, the president of the bank. "Is your father in?" asked Mr. Pendergast, and he seemed to be much agitated. "Yes, he is," replied the lad. "Come this way, please." "I want to see him on important business," went on the president, as he followed the young inventor. "I'm afraid I have bad news for him and Mr. Damon. Bad news, Tom, bad news," and the aged banker's voice trembled. Tom, with a chill of apprehension seeming to clutch his heart, threw open the library door. CHAPTER XVII A RUN ON THE BANK "Why, Mr. Pendergast!" exclaimed Mr. Damon, rising quickly as Tom ushered in the aged president. "Whatever is the matter? You here at this hour? Bless my trial balance! Is anything wrong? "I'm afraid there is," answered the bank head. "I have just received word which made it necessary for me to see you both at once. I'm glad you're here, Mr. Damon." He sank wearily into a chair which Tom placed for him, and Mr. Swift asked: "Have you been able to raise any cash, Mr. Pendergast?" "No, I am sorry to say I have not, but I did not come here to tell you that. I have bad news for you. As soon as we open our doors in the morning, there will be a run on the bank." "A run on the bank?" repeated Mr. Swift. "The moment we begin business in the morning," went on Mr. Pendergast. "Bless my soul, then don't begin business!" cried Mr. Damon. "We must," insisted Mr. Pendergast. "To keep the doors closed would be a confession at once that we have failed. No, it is better to open them, and stand the run as long as we can. When we have exhausted our cash--" he paused. "Well?" asked Mr. Damon. "Then we'll fail--that's all." "But we mustn't let the bank fail!" cried Mr. Swift. "I am willing to put some of my personal fortune into the bank capital in order to save it. So is my son here." "That's right," chimed in Tom heartily. "All I've got. I'm not going to let Andy Foger get ahead of us; nor his father either." "I'll help to the limit of my ability," added Mr. Damon. "I appreciate all that," continued the president. "But the unfortunate part of it is that we need cash. You gentlemen, like myself, probably, have your money tied up in stocks and bonds. It is hard to get cash quickly, and we must have cash as soon as we open in the morning, to pay the depositors who will come flocking to the doors. We must prepare for a run on the bank." "How do you know there will be a run?" asked the young inventor. "I received word this evening, just before I came here," replied Mr. Pendergast. "A poor widow, who has a small amount in the bank, called on me and said she had been advised to withdraw all her cash. She said she preferred to see me about it first, as she did not like to lose her interest. She said a number of her acquaintances, some of whom are quite heavy depositors, had also been warned that the bank was unsound, and that they ought to take out their savings and deposits at once." "Did she say who had thus warned her?" inquired Mr. Swift. "She did," was the reply, "and that shows me that there is a conspiracy on foot to ruin our bank. She stated that Mr. Foger had told her our institution was unsound." "Mr. Foger!" cried Mr. Damon. "So this is one of his tricks to bolster up his new bank! He hopes the people who withdraw their money from our bank will deposit with him. I see his game. He's a scoundrel, and if it's possible I'm going to sue him for damages after this thing is over." "Did he warn the others?" inquired the aged inventor. "Not all of them," answered the president. "Some received letters from a man signing himself Addison Berg, warning them that our bank, was likely to fail any day." "Addison Berg!" exclaimed Tom. "That must have been the important business he had with Mr. Foger, the day I showed him the watch charm! They were plotting the ruin of our bank then," and he told his father about his disastrous pursuit of the submarine agent. "Very likely Foger is working with Berg," admitted Mr. Damon. "We will attend to them later. The question is, what can we do to save the bank?" "Get cash, and plenty of it," advised Mr. Pendergast. "Suppose we go over the whole situation again?" and they fell to talking stocks: bonds, securities, mortgages and interest, until the youth, interested as he was in the situation, could follow it no longer. "Better go to bed, Tom," advised his father. "You can't help us any, and we have many details to go over." The lad reluctantly consented, and he was soon dreaming that he was in his electric auto, trying to pull up a thousand pound lump of gold from the bottom of the sea. He awoke to find the bedclothes in a lump on his chest, and, removing them, fell into a deep slumber. When the young inventor awoke the next morning, Mrs. Baggert told him that his father and Mr. Damon had risen nearly an hour before, had partaken of a hearty breakfast, and departed. "They told me to tell you they were at the bank," said the housekeeper. "Did Mr. Pendergast stay all night?" inquired Tom. "I heard some one go away about two o'clock this morning," replied the housekeeper. "I don't know who it was." "They must have had a long session," thought Tom, as he began on his bacon, eggs and coffee. "I'll take a run down to the bank in my electric in a little while." The car was still in rather crude shape, outwardly, but the mechanism was now almost perfect. Tom charged the batteries well before starting out. The youth had no sooner come in sight of the old Shopton bank, to distinguish it from the Second National, which Mr. Foger had started, than he was aware that something unusual had occurred. There was quite a crowd about it, and more persons were constantly arriving to swell the throng. "What's the matter?" asked Tom, of one of the few police officers of which Shopton boasted, though the lad did not need to be told. "Run on the bank," was the brief answer. "It's failed." Tom felt a pang of disappointment. Somehow, he had hoped that his father and his friends might have been able to stave off ruin. As he approached nearer Tom was made aware that the crowd was in an ugly mood. "Why don't they open the doors and give us our money?" cried one excited woman. "It's ours! I worked hard for mine, an' now they want to keep it from us. I wish I'd put it in the new bank." "Yes, that's the best place," added another. "That Mr. Foger has lots of money." "I can see the hand of Andy's father, and that of Mr. Berg, at work here," thought Tom, "They have spread rumors of the bank's trouble, and hope to profit by it. I wish I could find a way to beat them at their own game." As the minutes passed, and the bank was not opened, the ugly temper of the crowd increased. The few police could do nothing with the mob, and several, bolder than the rest, advocated battering down the doors. Some went up the steps and began to pound on the portals. Tom looked for a sight of his father or Mr. Damon, but could not see either. It was not the regular hour for opening the bank, but when the police reminded the people of this they only laughed. "I guess they ain't going to open anyhow!" shouted a man. "They've got our money, and they're going to keep it. What difference is an hour, anyway?" "Yes, if they have the money, why don't they open, and not wait until ten o'clock?" cried another. "I've got a hundred and five dollars in there, and I want it!" More excited persons were arriving every minute. The crowd surged this way, and that. Many looked anxiously at the clock in the tower of the town hall. The gilded hands pointed to a few minutes of ten. Would the bank open its doors when the hour boomed out? Many were anxiously asking this question. Tom sat in his electric car, near the front of the bank. The interest of the crowd, which under ordinary circumstances would have been centered in the queer vehicle, was not drawn toward it. The people were all thinking of their money. Suddenly one of the two doors of the bank slowly opened. There was a yell from the crowd, and a rush to get in. But the police managed to hold the leaders back, and then Tom saw that it was Ned Newton, who stood in the partly-opened portal. He held up his hand to indicate silence, and a hush fell over the mob. "The bank is open for business," Ned announced, "but there must be no rush. The building is not large enough to accommodate you all. If you form a line, you will be admitted in turn. The bank hopes to pay you all." "Hopes!" cried a woman scornfully. "We can't eat hopes, young man, nor yet pay the rent with it. Hopes indeed!" But Ned had said all he cared to, and, with rather a white face, he went back inside. The one door remained open and, with a policeman on either side, a line of anxious depositors was slowly formed. Tom watched them crowding and surging forward, all eager to be first to get their cash out, lest there be not enough for all. As he watched, the young inventor was aware that some was signaling to him from the big window of the bank. He looked more closely and saw Ned Newton beckoning to him, and the young cashier was motioning Tom to go around to the rear, where a door of the bank opened on a small alley. Wondering what was wanted, Tom slowly ran his machine down the side street, and up the alley. No one paid any attention to him. A porter admitted the lad, and he made his way to the private offices, where he knew his father and Mr. Damon would be. In the corridors he could hear the murmur of the throng and the chink of money, as the tellers paid it out. "Well, Tom, this is bad business," remarked Mr. Swift, as he saw his son. The lad noticed that Mr. Damon was in the telephone booth. "Yes, Dad," admitted Tom. "It's a run, all right. What are you going to do?" "The best we can. Pay out all the cash we have, and hope that before that time, the people will come to their senses. The bank is all right if they would only wait. But I'm afraid they won't and, after we pay out all the cash we have, we'll have to close the doors. Then there's sure to be an unpleasant scene, and maybe some of the more hot-headed ones will advocate violence. We have given orders to the tellers to pay out as slowly as possible, so as to enable us to gain some time." "And all you need is money; is that it, Dad?" "That's it, Tom, but we have exhausted every possibility. Mr. Damon is trying a forlorn hope now, but, even if he is successful--" Before Mr. Swift had ceased speaking, Mr. Damon fairly burst from the telephone booth. He was much excited. "I've got it! I've got it!" he cried. "What?" asked Mr. Swift and Tom in the same breath. "The cash, or, what's just as good, the promise of it. I called up Mr. Chase, of the Clayton National Bank, and he has agreed to take the railroad securities I offered him as collateral, and let me have sixty thousand dollars on them! That will give us cash enough to weather the storm. Hurrah! We're all right now. Bless my check book!" "The Clayton National Bank," remarked Mr. Swift, and his voice was hopeless. "It's forty miles away, Mr. Damon, and no railroad around here runs anywhere near it. No one could get there and back with the cash to-day, in time to save us from ruin. It's impossible! Our last chance is gone." "How far did you say it was, Dad?" asked Tom quickly. "Forty miles there, over forty, I guess, and not very good roads. We would need to have the cash here before three o'clock to be of any service to us. No, it's out of the question. The bank will have to fail!" "No!" cried the young inventor, and his voice rang out through the room. "I'll get the cash for you!" "How?" gasped Mr. Damon. "You can't get there and back in time?" "Yes, I can!" cried Tom. "In my electric runabout! I can make it go a hundred miles an hour, if necessary! Probably I'll have to run slow over the bad roads; but I can do it! I know I can. I'll get the sixty thousand dollars for you!" For a moment there was silence. Then Mr. Damon cried: "Good! And I'll go with you and deliver the securities to Mr. Chase. Come on, Tom Swift! Bless my collar button, but maybe we can yet save the old bank after all!" CHAPTER XVIII AFTER THE CASH Tom's proposal as a way out of the difficulty, and the prompt seconding of it by Mr. Damon, seemed to deprive the other bank officials, Mr. Swift included, of the power of speech for a few moments. Then, as there came to the room where the scene had taken place, the sound of the mob outside, clamoring for cash, Mr. Pendergast, the president, remarked in a low voice: "It seems to be the only way. Do you think you can do it, Tom Swift?" "I'm sure of it, as far as my electric car is concerned," replied the young inventor. "If we get the cash I'll have it back here on time. The runabout is all ready for a fast trip." "Then don't lose any time, Tom," advised his father. "Every minute counts." "Yes," added Mr. Damon. "Come on. I've got the securities in my valise, and we can bring the cash back in the same satchel. Come on, Tom." The eccentric character caught up his valise, and started from the room. Tom followed. "Now, my son, be careful," advised his father. "You know the need of haste, but don't take unnecessary risks. You'd better go out the back way, as the crowd is easily excited." Little more was said. Mr. Swift clasped his son's hand in a firm pressure, and the bank president nervously bade the lad good-by. Then, slipping out of the bank, by the rear entrance, the porter closing the door after them, Tom and Mr. Damon took their places in the electric machine. "Just imagine you're racing for that three-thousand-dollar prize, offered by the Touring Club of America, Tom," observed Mr. Damon, as he deposited the valise at his feet. "I don't have to do that," replied the youth. "I'm trying for a bigger prize than that. I want to save the bank, and defeat the schemes of the Fogers--father and son." Tom turned on the power, and the machine rolled out on the main street. As it turned the corner, leaving the impatient crowd of depositors, now larger than ever, behind, Mr. Damon glanced over at the new bank, and, as he did so, he called to Tom: "There are the Fogers now." The young inventor looked, and saw Andy and his father on the steps of the new institution. At the sight of the electric car, speeding along, Andy turned and spoke to his parent. What he said seemed to impress Mr. Foger, for he started, and looked more intently at Tom and Mr. Damon. Then, as Tom watched, he saw the two excitedly conversing, and a moment later Andy ran off in the direction in which Sam Snedecker and Pete Bailey lived. "I wonder if he's up to any tricks?" thought Tom, as he turned on more power. "Well, if he is, I'll soon be where he can't reach me." The young inventor did not dare send his car at full speed through the streets of the town, and it was not until several minutes had passed that they could go at more than the ordinary rate. But once the open country was reached Tom "opened her up full," and the song the motor sung was one of power. The vehicle quickly gathered headway and was soon fairly whizzing along. "If we keep this up we'll be there and back in good time," remarked Mr. Damon. "Yes, but we can't do it," replied his companion. "The road to Clayton is a poor one, and we'll soon be on it. Then we'll have to go slow. But I'll make all the time I can until then." So, for several miles more they crept along, at times having to reduce to almost a walking pace, because of bad roads. Mr. Damon looked at his watch almost every other minute. "Eleven o'clock," he remarked, as they passed a milestone, "and we're not half way there. Bless my gizzard, but I'm afraid we won't make it, Tom. We left about ten, and we ought to be back by two o'clock to do any good. That's four hours, and it will take some time to transfer the securities, and get the cash. Every minute counts." "I know it," answered Tom, "and I'm going to count every minute." With eager eyes he watched every inch of the road, to steer to the best advantage. His hands gripped the wheel until his knuckles showed white with the strain, and, every now and then his right hand adjusted the speed lever or the controller handle, while his foot was on the emergency brake, ready to stop the car at the first sign of danger. And there was danger, not infrequently, for the road was up and down hill, over frail bridges, and along steep cliffs. It was no pleasure tour they were on. When a little over half the distance had been made they came to a better road, and Tom was able to use full speed ahead. Then the electric went so fast that, had it not been for the steel wind-shield in front, Mr. Damon, at any rate, would have been short of breath. "This is going some!" he cried to Tom. The lad nodded grimly, and shoved the controller handle over to the last notch. Then came a bad stretch and they had to slow down again. As they were about out of it there came a little flash of fire and the motor stopped. "Bless my overshoes!" cried Mr. Damon. "What's that; a fuse blown out?" "No," replied Tom, with a puzzled air. "But something has gone wrong." Hastily he got out, and made an examination. He found it was only one of the unimportant wires which had short-circuited, and it was soon adjusted. But they had lost five precious minutes. Tom tried to make up for lost time, but came to a hill a little later, and this reduced their speed. "Do you think we can make it before twelve?" asked Mr. Damon anxiously. "We've got to, if we're to get back before three, Tom." "I'll try," was the calm answer, and Tom's jaw was shut still more tightly. Once again came more favorable roads and pushing the car to the limit the occupants were rejoiced, a little later, as they topped a hill, to come in sight of a fairly large city. "There's Clayton!" cried Mr. Damon. Ten minutes later they were rolling through the main street, and as they stopped in front of the bank, the noon whistles blew shrill and noisily. "You did it, Tom!" cried Mr. Damon, springing out with the valise of securities. "Now be ready for the return trip. I'll be with you as soon as possible." He went up the bank steps three at a time, like some boy instead of an elderly man. Tom looked after him for a second and then got down to oil up his car, and make some adjustments that had rattled loose from the rough road. Unmindful of the curious throng that gathered he crawled under the machine with his oil-can. He had finished his work, and was back in his seat, ready to start, but Mr. Damon had not reappeared. "It's taking him a good while to get that cash," thought Tom. "Maybe the securities were no good." But, a few minutes later, Mr. Damon came hurrying from the bank. The valise he carried seemed much heavier than when he went in. "It's all right, Tom," he said. "I've got it. Now for the trip home, and I hope we don't have any accidents. It took longer than I thought to check over the bonds and receipt for them. But I've got the cash. Now to save the bank!" He took his place beside the young inventor, holding the valise between his knees, while Tom turned on the power and sent his car dashing down the street, and toward the road that led to Shopton. CHAPTER XIX STOPPED ON THE ROAD "Did Mr. Chase make any objection to giving you the cash?" asked Tom, as he shoved the controller over another notch, and caused the motor to make a higher note in its song of speed. "Oh, no, he was very nice about it," replied Mr. Damon. "He said he hoped our bank would pull through. Said if we needed more cash we could have it." It was nearly one o'clock, and they had the worst part of the journey yet to go. Thirty miles of stiff roads lay between them and Shopton, the last five and the first five being fairly good, with, here and there, soft spots. Up hill and down went the electric auto. At every opportunity Tom let out all the speed he could draw from the motor, but there were many times when he had to slow down. He had just made the ascent of a steep hill, and was turning into a fairly good road, skirting the edge of a steep cliff, when there came a sharp report. "Bless my soul! That's a fuse, I'm sure of it!" cried Mr. Damon. "No," announced Tom, as he quickly shut off the power. "It's a puncture. One of the inner tubes of the tire has been pierced. I was afraid of that tube." "What have you got to do; put on a new tire?" asked Mr. Damon. "No, I'm going to put on a new wheel. I carry two spare ones with tires all ready inflated. It won't take long." But the process of changing wheels consumed more time than Tom anticipated for the nut was stuck, and he and Mr. Damon had to exert all their strength before they could loosen it. When the new wheel was in place ten minutes had been lost. "Hold on now, I'm going to speed her!" cried Tom, when they were once more in their seats, and speed the machine he did. The road was rough, but despite this the lad turned on almost full power. Over the bumps they went, around curves and into rain-washed ruts careening from side to side, and throwing Mr. Damon about, as he expressed it afterward, "like a bean inside of a football." As for the young inventor his grasp of the steering wheel, and the manner in which he could brace himself against the foot pedals, held him more firmly in place. On and on they rushed, covering mile after mile, and approaching Shopton where so much depended on their arrival. Good and bad stretches of the road alternated, but now that Tom had seen of what mettle his car was made, he did not spare it as much as he had on the first trip. He saw that his machine would stand hard knocks, and the way the battery and motor was behaving was a joy to him. He knew that if he could make that eighty-mile run in safety he stood a good chance of winning the prize, for no harder test could have been devised. But the race was still far from won. There was a particularly unsafe stretch of road yet to be covered, and then would come a smooth highway into Shopton. "Ten miles more," observed Mr. Damon, snapping shut his big gold watch. "Ten miles more, and it's a quarter of two now. We ought to be there at a quarter after, and that will be in good time, eh, Tom?" "I think so, but I don't know about this piece of road we're coming to. It seems worse than when we passed over it this morning." As he spoke the auto began to slow up, for the wheels had struck some heavy sand, and it was necessary to reduce the current. Tom turned back the controller handle, but watched with eager eyes for a sign that the roadbed was harder, so that he could increase speed. As the car turned around a curve, passing through a lonely stretch of country, with woods on either side of the highway, Tom glancing up, uttered a cry of astonishment. "What's the matter; something gone wrong?" asked his companion. For answer Tom pointed. There, just ahead of them, was a big load of hay, and it was evident that the driver, was in no particular hurry. "We can't pass that without getting in over our hubs!" cried Tom. "If we turn out the side ditches are so soft that we'll need help to pull out, and the road is so narrow for several miles that we'll have to trail along behind that fellow." "Bless my check book!" cried Mr. Damon. "Are we going to lose, after all, on account of a load of hay? No, I'll buy it from him first, at double the market price, tip it over, set fire to it, toss it in the ditch, and then we can go past!" "Maybe that will answer," retorted Tom, smiling grimly. He put on a little more speed, and was soon close up behind the load of hay, ringing his electric bell as a warning. "I say!" called Mr. Damon to the unseen driver, "can't you turn out and let us pass?" "Ha! Hum! Wa'al I guess not!" came the answer, in unmistakable farmer's accents. "You automobile fellers is too gol-hanged smart, racin' along th' roads. I've got just as good a right here as you fellers have, by heck!" The driver did not show himself. "We know that," responded Tom, as quickly as he could, for he did not want to anger the man. "But our machine is so heavy that if we turn into the ditch I'm afraid we'll be mired." "Huh! So'll I," was the retort from the unseen driver.. "Think I want t' spile my load of hay?" "But you have wide tires on, and you wouldn't sink in far," answered the young inventor. "Besides, it's very necessary that we get past. A great deal depends on our speed." "So it does on mine," was the reply. "Ef I git t' market late I'll have t' stay all night, an' spend money on a hotel bill." "I'll pay it! I'll pay your bill if you'll only pull out!" cried Mr. Damon. "I'll give you a hundred dollars!" He suddenly ceased speaking. From the bushes along the road sprang several ragged, masked figures. Each one, aiming his weapon at Tom, said in a low voice, that could not have been heard by the driver of the hay wagon: "Slow up your machine, young feller! We want to speak with you, and don't you make a loud noise, or it won't be healthy for you!" "Why of all the--!" began Mr. Damon, but another of the footpads leveling his weapon at the eccentric man growled: "Dry up, if you don't want to get shot!" Mr. Damon subsided. Discretion was very plainly the better part of valor. Tom had shut off the current. The load of hay continued on ahead. Tom thought perhaps the driver of it might have been in collusion with the thieves, to cause the auto to slow up. "What do you want with us?" asked the young inventor, trying to speak calmly, but finding it a hard task, with a revolver pointed at him. "You know what we want," exclaimed the leader, in a low voice. "We want that cash you got from the bank, and we're going to have it! Come, now, shell out!" and he advanced toward the automobile. CHAPTER XX ON TIME Close around the electric auto crowded the members of the hold-up gang. Their eyes seemed to glare through the holes in their black masks. Instantly Tom thought of the other occasion when he was halted by masked figures. Could these, by any possibility, be the same individuals? Was this a trick of Andy Foger and his cronies? Tom tried to pierce through the disguises. Clearly the persons were men--not boys--and they wore the ragged clothes of tramps. Also, there was an air of dogged determination about them. "Well, are you going to shell out?" asked the leader, taking a step nearer, "or will we have to take it?" "Bless my very existence! You don't mean to say that you're going to take the money--I mean how do you know we have any money?" and Mr. Damon hastily corrected himself. "What right have you to stop us in this way? Don't you know that every minute counts? We are in a hurry." "I know it," spoke the leading masked figure with a laugh. "I know you have considerable money in that shebang, and I know what you hope to do with it, prevent the run on the Shopton National Bank. But we need that money as much as some other people and, what's more, we're going to have it! Come on, shell out!" "Oh, why didn't we bring a gun!" lamented Mr. Damon in a low voice to Tom. "Isn't there anything we can do? Can't you give them an electric shock, Tom?" "I'm afraid not. If it wasn't for that hay wagon we could turn on the current and make a run for it. But we'd only go into the ditch if we tried to pass now." The load of hay was down the road, but as Tom looked he noticed a curious thing. It seemed to be nearer than it was when the attack of the masked men came. The wagon actually seemed to have backed up. Once more the thought came to the lad that possibly the load of fodder might be one of the factors on which the thieves counted. They might have used it to make the auto halt, and the man, or men, on it were probably in collusion with the footpads. There was no doubt about it, the load of hay was coming nearer, backing up instead of moving away. Tom couldn't understand it. He gave a swift glance at the robbers. They had not appeared to notice this, or, if they had, they gave no sign. "Then we can't do anything," murmured Mr. Damon. "I don't see that we can," replied the young inventor in a low voice. "And the money we worked so hard to get won't do the bank any good," and Mr. Damon sighed. "It's tough luck," agreed Tom. "Come now, fork over that cash!" called the leader, advancing still closer. "None of that talk between you there. If you think you can work some trick on us you're mistaken. We're desperate men, and we're well armed. The first show of resistance you make, and we shoot--get that, fellows?" he added to his followers, and they nodded grimly. "Well," remarked Mr. Damon with an air of submission, "I only want to warn you that you are acting illegally, and that you are perpetrating a desperate crime." "Oh, we know that all right," answered one of the men, and Tom gave a start. He was sure he had heard that voice before. He tried to remember it--tried to penetrate the disguise--but he could not. "I'll give you ten seconds more to hand over that bag of money," went on the leader. "If you don't, we'll take it and some of you may get hurt in the process." There seemed nothing else to do. With a white face, but with anger showing in his eyes Mr. Damon reached down to get the valise. Tom had retained his grip of the steering wheel, and the starting lever. He hoped, at the last minute, he might see a chance to dash away, and escape, but that load of hay was in the path. He noted that it was now quite near, but the thieves paid no attention to it. Tom might have reversed the power, and sent his machine backward, but he could not see to steer it if he went in that direction, and he would soon have gone into the ditch. There was nothing to do save to hand over the cash, it seemed. Mr. Damon had the bag raised from the car, and the leader of the thieves was reaching up for it, when there came a sudden interruption. From the load of hay there sounded a fusillade of pistol shots, cracking out with viciousness. This was instantly followed by the appearance of three men who came running from around the load of hay, down the road toward the thieves. Each man carried a pitchfork, and as they ran, one of the trio shouted: "Right at 'em, boys! Jab your hay forks clean through the scoundrels! By Heck, I guess we'll show 'em we know how t' tackle a hold-up gang as well as the next fellow! Right at 'em now! Charge 'em! Stick your forks right through 'em!" Again there sounded a fusillade of pistol shots. The thieves turned as one man, and glanced at the relief so unexpectedly approaching. They gave one look at the three determined looking farmers, with their sharp, glittering pitchforks, and then, without a word, they turned and fled, leaping into the bushes that lined the roadway. The underbrush closed after them and they were hidden from sight. On came the three farmers, waving their effective weapons, the pistol shots still ringing out from the load of hay. Tom could not understand it, and could see no one firing--could detect no smoke. "Are they gone? Did they rob ye?" asked the foremost of the trio, a burly, grizzled farmer. "Bust my buttons, but I guess we skeered 'em all right!" "Bless my shoe buttons, but you certainly have!" cried Mr. Damon, descending from the automobile, and wringing the hand of the farmer, while Tom, thrust the bag of money under his legs and waited further developments. The pistol shots rang out until one of the men called: "That'll do, Bub! We've skeered 'em like Mrs. Zenoby's pet cat! You needn't crack that whip any more." "Whip!" cried Tom. "Was that a whip?" "That's what it was," explained the leading farmer. "Bub Armstrong, my nephew, can crack it to beat th' band," and as if in proof of this there emerged from behind the load of hay a small lad, carrying a large whip, to which he gave a few trial cracks, like pistol shots, as if to show his ability. "It's all right, Bub," his uncle assured him. "We made 'em run." "But I don't exactly understand," spoke Mr. Damon. "I thought you were in league with those thieves, stopping us as you did with your big load." "So did I," admitted Tom. "Ha! Ha!" laughed the farmer. "That's a pretty good joke. Excuse me for laughin'. My name's Lyon, Jethro Lyon, of Salina Township, an' these is my two sons, Ade and Burt. You see we're on our way to Shopton, an' my nephew, Bub, he went along. We thought you was some of them sassy automobile fellers at first when you hollered to us you wanted to pass. Then when we looked back, we seen them burglars goin' t' rob you, at least that's what we suspicioned," and he paused suggestively. "That was it," Tom said. "Wa'al, when we seen that, we held a sort of consultation on thet load of hay, where they couldn't see us. It was so big you know," he needlessly explained. "Wa'al, we calcalated we could help you, so I jest quietly backed up, until we was near enough. I told Bub to take the long whip, an' crack it for all he was wuth, so's it would sound like reinforcements approachin' with guns, an' he done it." "He certainly done it," added Burt. "Wa'al," resumed Mr. Lyon, "then me an my sons we jest slipped down off the front seat, an' come a runnin' with our pitchforks. I reckoned them burglars would run when they see us an' heard us, an' they done so." "Yep, they done so," added Ade, like an echo. "I can't tell you how much obliged we are to you," said Mr. Damon. "We have sixty thousand dollars in this valise, and they would have had it in another minute, and the bank would have failed." "Sixty thousand dollars!" gasped Mr. Lyon, and his sons and nephew echoed the words. Mr. Damon briefly explained about the money, and he and the young inventor again thanked their rescuers, who had so unexpectedly, and in such a novel manner, put the thieves to flight. "An' you've got t' git t' Shopton before three o'clock with thet cash?" asked Mr. Lyon. "That's what we hoped to do," replied Tom "but I'm afraid we won't now. It's half past two, and--" "Don't say another word," interrupted Mr. Lyon. "I know what ye mean. My hay's in the road. But don't let that worry ye none. I'll pull out of your road in a jiffy, an' if we do go down in th' ditch, why we can throw off part of th' load, lighten th' wagon, an' pull out again. You've got t' hustle if ye git t' Shopton by three o'clock." "I can do it with a clear road," declared Tom, confidently. "Then ye'll have th' clear road," Mr. Lyon assured him. "Come boys, let's git th' hay t' one side." The farmers pulled into the ditch. As they had feared the wagon went in almost to the hubs, but they did not mind, and, even as Tom and Mr. Damon shot past them, they fell to work tossing off part of the fodder, to lighten the wagon. The young inventor and his companion waved a grateful farewell to them as they fairly tore past, for Tom had turned on almost the full current. "Do you suppose that was the Happy Harry gang, or some members of it who were not captured and sent to jail?" asked Mr. Damon. "I don't believe so," answered the lad, shaking his head. "Maybe they didn't really want to rob us. Perhaps they only wanted to delay us so we wouldn't get to the bank on time." "Bless my top knot, you may be right!" cried Mr. Damon. Further conversation became difficult, as they struck a rough part of the road, where the vehicle swayed and jolted to an alarming degree. But Tom never slackened pace. On and on they rushed, Mr. Damon frequently looking at his watch. "We've got twenty minutes left," he remarked as they came out on the smooth stretch of road, that led directly into Shopton. Then Tom turned all the reserve power into the motor. The machinery almost groaned as the current surged into the wires, but it took up the load, and the electric car, swaying more than ever, dashed ahead with its burden of wealth. Now they were in the town, now speeding down the street leading to the bank. One or two policemen shouted after them, for they were violating the speed laws, but it was no time to stop for that. On and on they dashed. They came in sight of the bank. A long line of persons was still in front. They seemed more excited than in the morning, for the hour of three was approaching, and they feared the bank would close its doors, never to open them again. "The run is still on," observed Mr. Damon. "But it will soon be over," predicted Tom. Some news of the errand of the automobile must have penetrated the crowd, for as Tom swung past the front entrance to the bank, to go up the rear alley, he was greeted with a cheer. "They've got the cash!" a man cried. "I'm satisfied now. I won't draw out my deposit." "I want to see the cash before I'll believe it," said another. Tom slowed up to make the turn into the alley. As he did so he glanced across the street to the new bank. In the window stood Andy Foger and his father. There was a look of surprise on their faces as they saw the arrival of the powerful car, and, Tom fancied, also a look of chagrin. Up the alley went the car, police keeping the crowd from following. The porter was at the door. So, also, was Mr. Pendergast and Mr. Swift, while some of the other officers were grouped behind them. "Did you get the money?" gasped the president. "We did," answered Tom. "Are we on time, Dad?" "Just on time, my boy! They're paying out the last of the cash now! You're on time, thank fortune!" CHAPTER XXI OFF TO THE BIG RACE From their task of handing out money to eager depositors, the wearied tellers looked up as Tom and Mr. Damon entered with the big valise crammed full of money. It was opened, and the bundles of bills turned out on a table. "Perhaps you'd better make an announcement to the crowd, Mr. Pendergast," suggested Mr. Swift. "Tell them we now have cash enough to meet all demands, and that the bank will be kept open until every one is paid." "I will," agreed the aged president. His announcement was received with cheers, and had exactly the effect the inventor hoped it would. Many, learning that the bank was safe, and that they could have their money whenever they wanted it, concluded not to withdraw it, thus saving the interest. Scores in the waiting crowd turned out of line and went home. Their example was contagious, and, though many still remained to get their deposits, the run was broken. Only part of the sixty thousand dollars Tom and Mr. Damon had brought through after a race with time, was needed. But had it not been for the moral effect of the cash arriving as it did, the bank would have failed. "You have a great car, Tom Swift," complimented Mr. Pendergast, when the excitement had somewhat cooled down, and the story of the hold-up had been told. "I think so myself," agreed the young inventor modestly. "I must get ready for the races now." "And as for those farmers, I think I'll send them a reward," went on the president. "They deserve something for the trouble they had with the load of hay. I certainly shall send them a reward," which he did, and a substantial one, too. Of course the hold-up was at once reported to the police after the run had quieted down, but Chief Simonson surprised Tom by saying that he had expected it. "The gang that held you up," said the police officer, "was one that escaped from a jail, about twenty miles away. I got a tip after you left, that they were going to rob you, for, in some way, they learned about the money you and Mr. Damon were to bring from the bank. The unfortunate part of it was that the tip I got was to the effect that the hold-up would take place just outside of Clayton. I telephoned to the police there, just after you left, and they said they'd send out a posse. But the gang changed their plans; and held you up near here, where I wasn't expecting it. But I'll get 'em yet." Chief Simonson did not arrest the gang, but some other police officers did, and they were taken back to jail. They were not prosecuted for the attempted robbery of Tom, as it was considered difficult to fix the guilt on them, but they received such a long additional sentence for breaking jail, that it will be many years before they are released. When Tom reached home that night he found some mail from the officials of the Touring Club of America. It was to the effect that arrangements for the big contest had been completed, and that contesting cars must be on the ground by September first. "That gives me two weeks yet," thought our hero. He read further of the regulations covering the race. Each car must proceed from the home town or city of the owner, and go to the track under its own power. This was a new regulation, it was stated, and was adopted to better develop the industry of building electric autos. Two passengers, or one in addition to the driver, must be carried, it was stated, and this one would also be expected to be in the car during the entire race. Regarding the race proper it was stated that at first it had been decided to make it a twenty-four hour endurance contest, but that for certain reasons this was changed, as it was found that few storage batteries could go this length of time without a number of rechargings. Therefore the race was to be one for distance--five hundred miles, on the new Long Island track, and the car first covering that distance would win. Cars were allowed to change their batteries as often as they needed to, but all time lost would count against them. There were other rules and regulations of minor importance. "Well," remarked Tom, as he read through the circulars, "I must get my car in shape. It will be quite a trip to Long Island, and I think my best plan will be to go direct to the cottage we had when we were building the submarine, and from there proceed to the track. That will comply with the rules, I think. But who will I get to go with me? I suppose Mr. Damon or Mr. Sharp will be willing. I'll ask them." He broached the matter to his two friends that night, and they both agreed to go to Long Island in the car, though only Mr. Sharp would accompany Tom in the race. The next two weeks were busy ones for Tom. He worked night and day over his car, getting it in shape for the big event. The young inventor made some changes in his battery, and also adopted a new gear, which would give greater speed. He also completed the exterior of the auto, giving it several coats of purple paint and varnish, so that when it was finished, though it was different in shape from most autos, it was as fine an appearing car as one could wish. He arranged to carry two extra wheels, with tires inflated, and, under the rear seats, or tonneau, as he called it, Tom fitted up a complete tire-repairing outfit. Mr. Sharp agreed to ride there, and in case there was need to use more than two spare wheels during the race, the rubber shoes or inner tubes could be mended while the car was swinging around the track. Mr. Damon would ride in front with Tom on the cross-country trip, and occasionally relieve him at steering, or would help to manage the electrical connections. Spare fuses, extra parts, wires and different things he thought he might need, the young inventor stored in his car. He also found means to install a small additional storage battery, to give added power in case of emergency. Tom learned from the racing officials that if he made a trip from Shopton to the cottage on the coast, near the city of Atlantis, and later traveled from there to the track, it would fulfill the conditions of the contest. Finally all was in readiness, and one morning, having spent the better part of the night going over his machine, to see that he had forgotten nothing, Tom invited Mr. Damon and Mr. Sharp to enter, and prepare for the trip to Long Island. "Well, Tom, I certainly hope you win that race," remarked Mrs. Baggert, as she stood in the doorway, waving a farewell. "If I do I'll buy you a pair of diamond earrings to match the diamond ring I gave you from the money I got from the wreck," promised the lad with a laugh. "An' ef yo' sees dat Andy Foger," added Eradicate Sampson, while he rubbed the long ears of Boomerang, his mule, "ef yo' sees him, jest run ober him once or twice fer mah sake, Mistah Swift." "I'll do it for my own, too," agreed Tom. The youth shook hands with his father, who wished him good luck, and then, after a final look at his car, he climbed to his seat, and turned on the power. There was a low hum from the motor and the electric started off. Would it return a winner or loser of the big race? CHAPTER XXII IN A DITCH Through the streets of Shopton went Tom Swift and his friends. News of the big contest the young inventor was about to take part in, had circulated around town, and there were not wanting many to wish him good luck. The lad responded smilingly to the farewells he received. As they passed the bank, Ned Newton came out on the steps. "Wish I was going along," he called. "So do I," replied Tom. "How's everything? Is the bank all right since the run?" for he had not had time to pay much attention to the institution since his memorable race against time, to get the money. "Stronger and better than ever," was Ned's answer, as he came to the curb, where Tom slowed up. "I hear," he added in a whisper, "that the other fellows are going out of business--Foger and his crowd you know. They loaned money on unsecured notes to make a good showing, and now they can't get it back. But we're all right. Hope you win the race." "So do I." "What will a certain person do while you're away?" went on Ned, with a wink. "I don't know what you mean," replied Tom, trying not to blush. "Do you mean my dad or Mrs. Baggert?" "Neither, you old hypocrite you! I meant Miss Mary Nestor." "Oh, hadn't you heard?" inquired Tom innocently. "She is going to Long Island to visit some friends, and she'll be at the race." "You lucky dog," murmured Ned with a laugh, as he went into the bank. Once more the electric auto started off, and was soon on the quiet country road, where Tom speeded it up moderately. He hoped to be able to make the entire distance to the shore cottage on the single charge of current he had put into the battery at home, and, as there was no special need for haste, he wanted to save his power. The machine was running smoothly, and seemed able to make a long race against time. The travelers ate lunch that day at Pendleton, a town some distance from Shopton. They had covered a substantial part of their trip. After a brief rest they started on again. Tom had planned to spend two days and one night on the road, hoping to be able to reach the shore cottage on the evening of the second day. There, after recharging the battery, he would spend a night, or two, and proceed to the track, ready for the race. They found the roads fairly good, with bad stretches here and there, which made it necessary for them to slow down. This delayed them, and they found the shadows lengthening, and darkness approaching, when they were still several miles from Burgfield, where they intended to sleep. "Will it be all right to travel at night?" asked Mr. Damon, a bit nervously. "Why, are you thinking of hold-up men?" inquired Mr. Sharp. "No, but I was wondering about the condition of the roads," replied the eccentric man. "We don't want to run into a rock, or collide with something." "I guess this will light up the road far enough in advance, so that we can see where we are going," suggested Tom, as he switched on the powerful electric search-light. Though it was not dark enough to illuminate the highway to the best advantage, the powerful gleam shone dazzlingly in front of the swiftly moving auto. "I guess that will show up every pebble in the road," commented the balloonist. "It's very powerful." Tom turned off the light, as, until it was darker, he could see to better advantage unaided by it. He slowed down the speed somewhat, but was still going at a good rate. "There's a bridge somewhere about here," remarked the lad, when they had gone on a mile further. "I remember seeing it on my road map. It's not very strong, and we'll have to run slow over it." "Bless my gizzard, I hope we don't go through it!" cried Mr. Damon. "Is your car very heavy, Tom?" "Not heavy enough to break the bridge. Ah, there it is. Guess I'll turn on the light so we can see what we're doing." Just ahead of them loomed up the super-structure of a bridge, and Tom turned the searchlight switch. At the instant he did so, whether he did not keep a steady hand on the steering wheel, or whether the auto went into a rut from which it could not be turned, did not immediately develop, but the car suddenly shot from the straight road, and swerved to one side. There was a lurch, and the front wheels sank down. "Look out! We're going into the river!" yelled Mr. Damon. Tom jammed on the brakes and shut off the current. The auto came to a sudden stop. The young inventor turned the searchlight downward, to illuminate the ground directly in front of the car. "Are we in the river?" asked Mr. Sharp. "No," replied Tom in great chagrin. "We're in a muddy ditch. One at the side of the road. Wheels in over the hubs! There should have been a guard rail here. We're stuck for fair!" CHAPTER XXIII THE POWER GONE "Bless my overshoes!" cried Mr. Damon. "Stuck in the mud, eh?" "Hard and fast," added Tom, in disgust. "What's to be done?" inquired Mr. Sharp. "I should say we'll have to stay here until daylight, and wait for some other auto to come along and pull us out," was Mr. Damon's opinion. "It's might unpleasant, too, for there doesn't seem to be any place around here where we can spend the night in any kind of comfort. If we had the submarine or the airship, now, it wouldn't so much matter." "No, and this won't matter a great deal," remarked the young inventor quickly. "We'll soon be out of this, but it will be hard work." "What do you mean?" asked Mr. Sharp. "I mean that we've got to pull ourselves out of this mud hole," explained the lad, as he prepared to descend. "I was afraid something like this would happen, so I came prepared for it. I've got ropes and pulleys with me, in the car. We'll fasten the rope to the machine, attach one pulley to the bridge, another to the car, and I guess we can get out of the mud. We'll try, anyhow." "Well, I must say you looked pretty far ahead," complimented Mr. Damon. From a box under the tonneau Tom took out a thin but strong rope and two compound pulleys, which would enable considerable force to be applied. Mr. Sharp detached one of the powerful oil lamps, and the three travelers took a look at the auto. It was indeed deep in the mud and it seemed like a hopeless task to try to get it out unaided. But Tom insisted that they could do it, and the rope was soon attached, the hook of one pulley being slipped around one of the braces of the bridge. "Now, all together!" cried the lad, as he and his friends grasped the long rope. They gave a great heave. At first it seemed like pulling on a stone wall. The rope strained and the pulleys creaked. "I--guess--we--will--pull--the--bridge--over!" gasped Mr. Sharp. "Something's got to give way!" puffed Tom. "Now, once more! All together!" Suddenly they felt the rope moving. The pulleys creaked still more and, by the light of the lamp, they could see that the auto was slowly being pulled backward, out of the mud, and onto the hard road. In a few minutes it was ready to proceed again. The rope and pulleys were put away, and, after Tom had made an examination of the car to see that it had sustained no damage, they were off again, making good time to the hotel in Burgfield, where they spent the night. They had an early breakfast, and, as Tom went out to the barn to look at his car, he saw it surrounded by a curious throng of men and boys. One of the boys was turning some of the handles and levers. "Here! Quit that!" yelled Tom, and the meddlesome lad leaped down in fright. "Do you want to start the car and have it smash into something?" demanded the young inventor. "Aw, nothin' happened," retorted the lad. "I pulled every handle on it, an' it didn't move." "Good reason," murmured Tom, for he had taken the precaution to remove a connecting plug, without which the machine could not be started. The three were soon under way again, and covered many miles over the fine country roads, the weather conditions being delightful. On inquiry they found that by taking an infrequently used highway, they could save several miles. It was over an unoccupied part of country, rather wild and desolate, but they did not mind that. They were whizzing along, talking of Tom's chances for winning the race when, after climbing a slight grade, the auto came to a sudden stop on the summit. "What's the matter?" asked Mr. Sharp. "Why are you stopping here, Tom?" "I didn't stop," was the surprising answer, and the lad shoved the starting lever back and forth. But there was no response. There was no hum from the motor. The machine was "dead." "That's queer," murmured the young inventor. "Maybe a fuse blew out," suggested Mr. Damon, that seeming to be his favorite form of trouble. "If it had you'd have known it," remarked Mr. Sharp. "There's plenty of current in the battery, according to the registering gauge," murmured the lad. "I can't understand it." He reversed the current, thinking the wires might have become crossed, but the machine would move neither backward nor forward, yet the dial indicated that there was enough power stored away to send it a hundred miles or more. "Perhaps the dial hand has become caught," suggested Mr. Sharp. "That sometimes happens on a steam gauge, and indicates a high pressure when there isn't any. Hit it slightly, and see if the hand swings back." Tom did so. At once the hand fell to zero, indicating that there was not an ampere of current left. The battery was exhausted, but this fact had not been indicated on the gauge. "I see now!" cried Tom. "It was those fellows at the hotel barn! They monkeyed with the mechanism, short circuited the battery, and jammed the gauge so I couldn't tell when my power was gone. If I had known there wasn't enough to carry us I could have recharged the battery at the hotel. But I figured that I had enough current for the entire trip, and so there would have been, if it hadn't leaked away. Now we're in a pretty pickle." "Bless my hat band!" cried Mr. Damon. "Does that mean we can't move?" "Guess that's about it," answered Mr. Sharp, and Tom nodded. "Well, why can't we go on to some place where they sell electricity, and get enough to take us where we want to go?" asked the odd character, whose ideas of machinery were somewhat hazy. "The only trouble is we can't carry the heavy car with us," replied Tom. "It's too big to pick up and take to a charging station." "Then we've got to wait until some one comes along with a team of horses, and tows us in," commented Mr. Sharp. "And that will be some time, on this lonely road." Tom shook his head despondently. He went all over the car again, but was forced to the first conclusion, that the reserve current had leaked away, in consequence of the meddling prank of the youth at the hotel. The situation was far from pleasant, and the delay would seriously interfere with their plans. Suddenly, as Tom was pacing up and down the road, he heard from afar, a peculiar humming sound. He paused to listen. "Trolley car," observed Mr. Sharp. "Maybe one of us could go somewhere on the trolley and get help. There it is," and he pointed to the electric vehicle, moving along about half a mile away, at the foot of a gentle slope. At the sight of the car Tom uttered a cry. "I have it!" he exclaimed. "None of us need go for help! It's right at hand!" His companions looked curiously, as the young inventor pointed triumphantly to the fast disappearing electric. CHAPTER XXIV ON THE TRACK "What do you mean?" asked Mr. Damon. "Will the electric trolley pull us to a charging station?" "No, we'll not need to go to a station," answered the youth. "If we can get my car to the trolley tracks I can charge my battery from there. And I think we can push the auto near enough. It's down hill, and I've got a long wire so we won't have to go too close." "Good!" cried Mr. Sharp. "But attach the rope to the front of the car, Tom. Mr. Damon and I will pull it. You'll have to ride in it to steer it." "We can take turns at riding," was Tom's answer, for he did not want his companions to do all the work. "Nonsense! You ride," said Mr. Damon. "You're lighter than we are, and can steer better. It won't be any trouble at all to pull this car down hill." It proved to be an easy task, and in a short time the "dead" auto was near enough to the electric line to permit Tom to run his charging wire over to it. "Why bless my soul!" exclaimed Mr. Damon, looking up. "There's no overhead trolley wire. The car must run on storage batteries." "Third rail, more likely," was the opinion of Mr. Sharp and so it proved. "I can charge from either the third rail or the trolley wire," declared Tom, who was insulating his hands in rubber gloves, and getting his wires ready. In a short time he had the proper connections made, and the much-needed current was soon flowing into the depleted battery, or batteries, for there were several sets, though the whole source of motive power was usually referred to as a "storage battery." "How long will it take?" asked Mr. Damon. "About two hours," answered the lad. "We'll probably have to disconnect our wires several times, whenever a trolley car comes past. By my system I can recharge the battery very quickly. "Do you suppose the owners of the road will make any objection?" asked the balloonist. "I'm going to pay for the current I use," explained the young inventor. "I have a meter which tells how much I take." The hum of an approaching car was heard, and Tom took the wires from the third rail. The car came to a stop opposite the automobile, the passengers, as well as the crew, looking curiously at the queer racing machine. Tom explained to the conductor what was going on, and asked the fare-collector to notify those in charge of the power station that all current used would be paid for. The conductor said this would be satisfactory, he was sure, and the car proceeded, Tom resuming the charging of his battery. Allowing plenty of reserve power to accumulate, and making sure that the gauge would not stick again, and deceive him, the owner of the speedy electric was soon ready to proceed again. They had been delayed a little over three hours, for they had to make several shifts, as the cars came past. They reached their shore cottage late that night, and, after seeing that the runabout was safely locked in the big shed where the submarine had been built, they all went to bed, for they were very tired. Tom sent word, the next day, to the managers of the race, that he would be on hand at the time stipulated, and announced that he had made part of the trip, as required, under the power of the auto itself. The next day was spent in overhauling the machinery, tightening up some loose bearings, oiling different parts, and further charging the battery. Tires were looked to, and the ones on the spare wheels were gone over to prepare for any emergency that might arise when the race was started. On the third day, Tom, Mr. Sharp and Mr. Damon, leaving the cottage completed the trip to Havenford, Long Island, where the new track had been constructed. They reached the place shortly before noon, and, if they had been unaware of the location they could not have missed it, for there were many autos speeding along the road toward the scene of the race, which would take place the following day. Several electric cars passed Tom and his friends, whizzing swiftly by, but the young inventor was not going to show off his speed until the time came. Besides, he did not want to run any risks of an accident. But some of the contestants seemed anxious for impromptu "brushes," and more than one called to our hero to "speed up and let's see what she can do." But Tom smiled, and shook his head. There were many gasolene and some steam autos going out to the new track, which was considered a remarkable piece of engineering. It was in the shape of an octagon, and the turns were considered very safe. It was a five mile track, and to complete the race it would be necessary to make a hundred circuits. Through scores of autos Tom and his friends threaded their way, the young inventor keeping a watchful eye on the various types of machine with which he would soon have to compete. There were many kinds. Some were larger and some smaller than his. Many obviously carried very large batteries, but whether they had the speed or not was another question. Some, in spurts, seemed to Tom, to be fully as fast as his own, and he began to have some doubts whether he would win the race. "But I'm not going to give up until the five hundredth mile is finished," he thought, grimly. They were now in sight of the track, and noted many machines speeding around it. "Go on in and try your car, Tom," urged Mr. Sharp. "Yes, do," added Mr. Damon. "Let's see how it travels." "I will, after I notify the proper officials that I have arrived," decided the lad. The formalities were soon complied with. Tom received his entry card, after paying the fee, made affidavit that he had completed the entire trip from home under his own power, save for the little stretch when the car was pulled, which did not count against him, and was soon ready to go on the track. Only electric cars were allowed there. As the young inventor guided his latest effort in the machine line onto the big track there were murmurs of surprise from the throngs. "That's a queer machine," said one. "Yes, but it looks speedy," was another's opinion. "There's the car for my money," added a third, pointing to a big red electric which was certainly whizzing around the track. Tom noted the red car. Behind it was a green one, also moving at a fast rate of speed. "Those will be my nearest rivals," thought the lad, as he guided his car onto the track. A moment later he was sending the auto ahead at moderate speed, while the other contestants looked at the new arrival, as if trying to discover whether in it they would have a dangerous competitor. CHAPTER XXV WINNING THE PRIZE After making two circuits of the track at moderate speed, Tom turned on more power, deciding to see how the machine would behave on the turns, going at a fast speed. As it happened he forged ahead just as the big red car was coming up behind him. The driver of it took this for a challenge and threw his controller handle forward. "Come on!" he cried to our hero, when even with him. Tom did not want to decline the invitation, and the impromptu race was under way. Soon the green car came rushing up, and for two miles the three kept almost in line. It was evident that neither the green nor the red car drivers wanted to "open out," until they saw Tom do so. He was willing to oblige them, and suddenly increased his speed. They did the same, and went ahead of him. Then Tom turned on a little more juice and got the lead, but the two men were right after him, and they see-sawed like this for two more miles. Then, with a cry the man in the red car, with a sudden burst of speed, left Tom and the green car behind. The green car was soon up to its rival, but Tom decided he would not spurt. The lad and his friends spent the early part of the night in making a final inspection of the machinery, finding it in good order. Then, with his head filled with visions of the race on the morrow Tom went to bed. He had made inquiries, by telephone, of the friends of Miss Nestor, and learned that she had not arrived. Tom felt a distinct sense of disappointment. The day of the race could not have been better. It was ideal weather, and conditions at the track were just right. Tom was up early, and went over every inch of his car with a nervous dread that he might find something the matter. The final details of the race were completed, and the entrants given their numbers and places. Tom drew a good position, not the best, but he had no reason to complain. Half an hour before the start he again telephoned to see if Miss Nestor had arrived, but she had not, and it was with rather gloomy thoughts that the lad entered his car, in which Mr. Sharp had already taken his place. Mr. Damon went to the grandstand to watch the race. "I wanted Mary to see me win," thought our hero, for he had grimly set his mind on coming in ahead. There was a great crowd in the grandstand and scattered about the big track, which took in a large extent of territory. In spite of its size--five miles around--it seemed solidly packed for the entire length with autos, containing gay parties who had come to see the electric contest. There was a band playing gay airs, as Tom guided his machine through the entrance gate, and onto the track. The judges made their final inspection. There were twenty cars entered, but it was obvious that some of them would not last long, as their battery capacity was not large enough. Their owners might have relied on recharging, but how they could do this under the usual slow system, and hope to win, Tom could not see. He hoped to run the entire distance on the single charge, but, if by some accident part of his current should leak away, his battery could be charged in a short time, by means of his new system, to run for a considerable distance, or he could install a new one already charged, for he had two sets on hand. Tom glanced over the cars of his competitors. They were to be sent away in batches, the affair being a handicap one, with time allowance for the smaller powered cars. Tom noted that his car and the red and the green ones were in the same bunch. Tom's car was purple. "Are you all ready?" asked the starter of the first group of races. "Ready," was the low-voiced response. "Crack!" went the pistol, and there followed the hum of the motors as the current set the mechanism to work. Forward went the cars, amid the crash of the band and the cheers of the crowd. The big race was under way. "Do you feel nervous, Tom?" asked Mr. Sharp. "Not a bit," replied the lad. Around and around the track flew the speedy electrics. It was evident that the holding of a meet solely for cars of this character had brought out many new ideas that would be to the benefit of the industry. Some cars were "freaks" and others, like Tom's, showed a distinct advance over previous styles of construction. A five-hundred mile race around a track is rather a monotonous affair, except for what happens, and things very soon began to happen at this race. As Tom had expected, several of the machines were forced to withdraw. Tire troubles beset some, and others found that they were hopelessly out of it because of low power, or lack of battery capacity. Tom determined not to let the red or the green car gain any advantage over him, and so he watched those two vehicles narrowly. On the other hand, the red and the green electrics were evidently afraid of one another and of Tom. They all three kept pretty much together for the first thirty miles. By this time the race had settled down into a steady grind. There was some excitement when the steering gear of one car broke, and it crashed into the fence, injuring the driver, but the race went on. The young inventor was holding his own with his two chief rivals, and was feeling rather proud of his car, when there came from it a report like a pistol shot. "Blow out!" yelled Tom desperately, steering to one of the several repair stations on the inner side of the track. "Be ready with the extra wheel, Mr. Sharp!" "Right you are!" cried the balloonist. The car was scarcely stopped when he had leaped out, and had the lifting jack under the left rear wheel, where the tire had gone to the bad. He and Tom labored like Trojans to take off the wheel, and put on the other. They lost five minutes, and when they got under way again the red and the green cars were three quarters of a lap ahead. "You've got to catch them!" declared Sharp firmly. But the red and the green car drivers saw their advantage, and were determined to hold it. Tom could not catch them without going his limit, and he did not want to do this just yet. However, he had his opportunity when about two hundred miles had been covered. Both the red and the green cars had tire troubles, but the red one was delayed scarcely two minutes as there was a corps of mechanics on hand to take off the defective wheel and put on another. Still Tom regained his lost ground, and once more the race between those three cars was even. In the rear of Tom's car Mr. Sharp was mending the blown-out tire, though there was still one spare wheel on reserve. Tom, in front, peered eagerly at the track. Nearly side by side raced the red and the green cars, the latter somewhat to the rear. It was at the three hundred and fiftieth mile that Tom had another blow-out. This time it took a little longer to change the wheel, and the red and green cars gained a full lap on him. The track was now so dusty that it was difficult to see the contesting cars. Many had dropped out, and more were on the verge of giving up. With the odds against him, Tom started in to regain the lost ground. Narrowly he watched his electric power. Slowly he saw it dropping. Would he have enough left to finish out the race? He feared not. The hours were passing. Still there was a hundred miles yet to go twenty circuits of the track. Some of the spectators were getting weary and leaving. The band played spasmodically. Suddenly Tom saw the red car shoot to one side of the track, toward a charging station; The green car followed. "That's our cue!" cried the young inventor "We need a little more 'juice' and now is the time to get it." The lad ran to the shed where his charging wires were, and they were connected in a trice. He allowed twenty-five minutes for the charging, as he knew with his improved battery he could get enough current in that time to finish the contest. Before the red and green car drivers had finished installing new batteries, for they could not recharge as quickly as could our hero, Tom was on the track again. But, in a little while, his two rivals were after him. It was now a spectacular race. Around and around swept the three big cars. All the others were practically out of it. The crowd became lively airs. Mile after mile was reeled off. The day was passing. Tired and covered with dust from the track, Tom still sat at the steering wheel. "Two laps more!" cried Mr. Sharp, as the starter's pistol gave this warning. "Can you get away from 'em, Tom?" The red and the green cars were following closely. The young inventor looked back and nodded. He turned on more power, almost to the limit--that he was saving for the final spurt. But after him still came the two big cars. Suddenly the red car shot ahead, just as the last lap was beginning. The green tried to follow, but there was a flash of fire, a loud report, and Tom knew a fuse had blown out. There was no time for his rival to put in a new one. The race was now between Tom and the red car. Could the lad catch and pass it? They were now only a mile from the finish. The red car was three lengths ahead. With a quick motion Tom turned on the last bit of power. There seemed to come a roar from his motor and his car shot ahead. It was on even terms with the red car when what Tom had been fearing for the last five minutes happened: his fuse blew out. "Too bad! It's all up with us!" cried Mr. Sharp. "No!" cried Tom in a ringing voice. "I've got an emergency fuse ready!" He snapped a switch in place, putting into commission another fuse. The motor that had lost speed began to pick it up again. Tom had pulled back the controller handle, but he now shoved it forward again, notch by notch, until it was at the limit. He had fallen back from the red car, and the occupants of that, with a yell of triumph, prepared to cross the line a winner. But, like a race horse that nerves himself for the last desperate spurt, Tom's machine fairly leaped ahead. With his hands gripping the rim of the steering wheel, until it seemed that the bones of his fingers would protrude, Tom sent his car straight for the finishing tape. There was a yell from the spectators. Men were standing up, waving their hats and shouting. Women were fairly screaming. Mr. Damon was blessing everything within sight. Mr. Sharp, in his excitement, was pushing on the back of the front seats as if to shove the car ahead. Then, as the pistol announced the close of the race, Tom's car, with what seemed a mighty leap, like a hunter clearing a ditch, forged ahead, and crossed the line a length in advance of the red car. Tom Swift had Won. Amid the cheers of the crowd the lad slowed up, and, at the direction of the judges, wheeled back to the stand, to receive the prize. A certified check for three thousand dollars was handed him, and he received the congratulations of the racing officials. The driver of the red car also generously praised him. "You won fair and square," he said, shaking hands with Tom. The young inventor and his friends drove their car to their shed. As Tom was descending, weary and begrimed with dust he heard a voice asking: "Mayn't I congratulate you also?" He wheeled around, to confront Mary Nestor, immaculate in a summer gown. "Why--why," he stammered. "I--I thought you didn't come." "Oh, yes I did," she answered, laughing. "I wouldn't have missed it for anything. I arrived late, but I saw the whole race. Wasn't it glorious. I'm so glad you won!" Tom was too, now, but he shrank back when Miss Nestor held out both daintily gloved hands to him. His hands were covered with oil and dirt. "As if I cared for my gloves!" she cried, and she took possession of his hands, a proceeding to which Tom was nothing loath. "Are you going to race any more?" she asked, as he walked along by her side, away from the gathering crowd. "I don't know," he replied. "My car is speedier than I thought it was. Perhaps I may enter it in other contests." But what Tom Swift did later on will be told in another volume, to be called, "Tom Swift and His Wireless Message; or, The Castaways of Earthquake Island"--a strange tale of ship-wreck and mystery. The run back home was made without incident, save for a broken chain, easily repaired, the day following the race, and Tom later received a number of invitations to give exhibitions of speed. Several automobile manufacturers wanted to secure the rights to his machine, but he said he desired to consider the matter before acting. He did not forget his promise to Mrs. Baggert, regarding the diamond earrings, and bought her the finest pair he could find. "Come on, Mr. Sharp," proposed Tom, a week or so after the big race, "let's go for a spin in the airship. I want to see how it feels to be among the clouds once more," and they were soon soaring aloft. The new bank, started by Mr. Foger, did not flourish long. It closed its doors in less than six months, but the old institution was stronger than ever. Mr. Berg disappeared, and Tom never learned whether the agent really was the man he had chased, and whose watch charm he tore loose, though he always had his suspicions. Nor did it ever develop who crossed the electric wires, so that Tom was so nearly fatally shocked. Andy Foger disliked our hero more than ever, and on several occasions caused him not a little trouble, but Tom was able to look after himself. THE END This Isn't All! Would you like to know what became of the good friends you have made in this book? Would you like to read other stories continuing their adventures and experiences, or other books quite as entertaining by the same author? On the reverse side of the wrapper which comes with this book, you will find a wonderful list of stories which you can buy at the same store where you got this book. Don't throw away the Wrapper Use it as a handy catalog of the books you want some day to have. But in case you do mislay it, write to the Publishers for a complete catalog. THE TOM SWIFT SERIES By VICTOR APPLETON Uniform Style of Binding. Individual Colored Wrappers, Every Volume Complete in Itself. Every boy possesses some form of inventive genius. Tom Swift is a bright, ingenious boy and his inventions and adventures make the most interesting kind of reading. TOM SWIFT AND HIS MOTOR CYCLE TOM SWIFT AND HIS MOTORBOAT TOM SWIFT AND HIS AIRSHIP TOM SWIFT AND HIS SUBMARINE BOAT TOM SWIFT AND HIS ELECTRIC RUNABOUT TOM SWIFT AND HIS WIRELESS MESSAGE TOM SWIFT AMONG THE DIAMOND MAKERS TOM SWIFT IN THE CAVES OF ICE TOM SWIFT AND HIS SKY RACER TOM SWIFT AND HIS ELECTRIC RIFLE TOM SWIFT IN THE CITY OF GOLD TOM SWIFT AND HIS AIR GLIDER TOM SWIFT IN CAPTIVITY TOM SWIFT AND HIS WIZARD CAMERA TOM SWIFT AND HIS GREAT SEARCHLIGHT TOM SWIFT AND HIS GIANT CANNON TOM SWIFT AND HIS PHOTO TELEPHONE TOM SWIFT AND HIS AERIAL WARSHIP TOM SWIFT AND HIS BIG TUNNEL TOM SWIFT IN THE LAND OF WONDER TOM SWIFT AND HIS WAR TANK TOM SWIFT AND HIS AIR SCOUT TOM SWIFT AND HIS UNDERSEA SEARCH TOM SWIFT AMONG THE FIRE FIGHTERS TOM SWIFT AND HIS ELECTRIC LOCOMOTIVE TOM SWIFT AND HIS FLYING BOAT TOM SWIFT AND HIS GREAT OIL GUSHER TOM SWIFT AND HIS CHEST OF SECRETS TOM SWIFT AND HIS AIRLINE EXPRESS THE DON STURDY SERIES By VICTOR APPLETON Individual Colored Wrappers and Text Illustrations by WALTER S. ROGERS Every Volume Complete in Itself. In the company with his uncles, one a mighty hunter and the other a noted scientist, Don Sturdy travels far and wide, gaining much useful knowledge and meeting many thrilling adventures. DON STURDY ON THE DESERT OF MYSTERY; An engrossing tale of the Sahara Desert, of encounters with wild animals and crafty Arabs. DON STURDY WITH THE BIG SNAKE HUNTERS; Don's uncle, the hunter, took an order for some of the biggest snakes to be found in South America--to be delivered alive! DON STURDY IN THE TOMBS OF GOLD; A fascinating tale of exploration and adventure in the Valley of Kings in Egypt. DON STURDY ACROSS THE NORTH POLE; A great polar blizzard nearly wrecks the airship of the explorers. DON STURDY IN THE LAND OF VOLCANOES; An absorbing tale of adventure among the volcanos of Alaska. DON STURDY IN THE PORT OF LOST SHIPS; This story is just full of exciting and fearful experiences on the sea. DON STURDY AMONG THE GORILLAS; A thrilling story of adventure in darkest Africa. Don is carried over a mighty waterfall into the heart of gorilla land. THE TOM SWIFT SERIES TOM SWIFT AND HIS MOTOR-CYCLE Or Fun and Adventure on the Road TOM SWIFT AND HIS MOTOR-BOAT Or the Rivals of Lake Carlopa TOM SWIFT AND HIS AIRSHIP Or the Stirring Cruise of the Red Cloud TOM SWIFT AND HIS SUBMARINE BOAT Or Under the Ocean for Sunken Treasure TOM SWIFT AND HIS ELECTRIC RUNABOUT Or the Speediest Car on the Road 
4711	----	Tom Swift In The City Of Gold or Marvelous Adventures Underground by Victor Appleton AUTHOR OF "TOM SWIFT AND HIS MOTOR-CYCLE," "TOM SWIFT AND HIS AIRSHIP," "TOM SWIFT AND HIS WIRELESS MESSAGE," "TOM SWIFT AND HIS ELECTRIC RIFLE," ETC. ILLUSTRATED CONTENTS CHAPTER I WONDERFUL NEWS II AN UNSUSPECTED LISTENER III ANDY IS WHITEWASHED IV A PERILOUS FLIGHT V NEWS FROM AFRICA VI "BEWARE THE HEAD-HUNTERS!" VII TOM MAKES A PROMISE VIII ERADICATE WILL GO IX "THAT LOOKED LIKE ANDY!" X MYSTERIOUS PASSENGERS XI THE MIDNIGHT ALARM XII INTO THE UNKNOWN XIII FOLLOWED XIV A WEARY SEARCH XV THE GOLDEN IMAGE XVI THE MAP ON THE GOLD XVII THE RUINED TEMPLE XVIII FINDING THE TUNNEL XIX THE UNDERGROUND RIVER XX THE CITY OF GOLD XXI THE BIG IMAGE XXII TRAPPED XXIII "IS IT A RESCUE?" XXIV THE FIGHT XXV THE ESCAPE--CONCLUSION TOM SWIFT IN THE CITY OF GOLD CHAPTER I WONDERFUL NEWS "Letter for you, Tom Swift." "Ah, thanks, Mr. Wilson. This is the first mail I've had this week. You've been neglecting me," and the young inventor took the missive which the Shopton postman handed to him over the gate, against which Tom was leaning one fine, warm Spring day. "Well, I get around as often as I can, Tom. You're not home a great deal, you know. When you're not off in your sky racer seeing how much you can beat the birds, you're either hunting elephants in Africa, or diving down under the ocean, or out in a diamond mine, or some such out-of-the-way place as that. No wonder you don't get many letters. But that one looks as if it had come quite a distance." "So it does," agreed Tom, looking closely at the stamp and postmark. "What do you make out of it, Mr. Wilson?" and then, just as many other persons do when getting a strange letter, instead of opening it to see from whom it has come, Tom tried to guess by looking at the handwriting, and trying to decipher the faint postmark. "What does that say?" and the young inventor pointed to the black stamp. "Hum, looks like Jube--no, that first letter's a 'K' I guess," and Mr. Wilson turned it upside down, thinking that would help. "I made it out a 'G'," said Tom. "So it is. A 'G'--you're right. Gumbo--Twamba--that's what it is--Gumba Twamba. I can make it out now all right." "Well, where, for the love of my old geography, is Gumba Twamba?" asked the lad with a laugh. "You've got me, Tom. Must be in Sweden, or Holland, or some of those foreign countries. I don't often handle letters from there, so I can't say. Why don't you open your letter and find out who its from?" "That's what I ought to have done at first." Quickly Tom ripped open the much worn and frayed envelope, through the cracks of which some parts of the letter already could be seen, showing that it had traveled many thousand miles before it got to the village of Shopton, in New York State. "Well, I've got to be traveling on," remarked the postman, as Tom started to read the mysterious letter. "I'm late as it is. You can tell me the news when I pass again, Tom." But the young inventor did not reply. He was too much engaged in reading the missive, for, no sooner had he perused the first few lines than his eyes began to open wide in wonder, and his manner plainly indicated his surprise. He read the letter once, and then over again, and when he had finished it a second time, he made a dash for the house. "I say dad!" cried Tom. "This is great! Great news here! Where are you, dad? Say, Mrs. Baggert," he called as he saw the motherly housekeeper, "where's father? I've got great news for him? Where is he?" "Out in the shop, I think. I believe Mr. Damon is with him." "And blessing everything as usual, from his hat to his shoe laces, I'll wager," murmured Tom as he made his way to the shop where his father, also an inventor like himself, spent much of his time. "Well, well, I'm glad Mr. Damon is here, for he'll be interested in this." Tom fairly rushed into the building, much of the space of which, was taken up by machinery, queer tools and odd devices, many of them having to do with the manufacture of aeroplanes, for Tom had as many of them as some people have of automobiles. "I say, dad!" cried Tom, waving the letter above his head, "what do you think of this? Listen to--" "Easy there now, Tom! Easy, my boy, or you'll oblige me to do all my work over again," and an aged man, beside whom a younger one was standing, held up a hand of caution, while with the other hand he was adjusting some delicate piece of machinery. "What are you doing?" demanded the son. "Bless my scarf pin!" exclaimed the other man--Mr. Wakefield Damon--"Bless my rubbers, Tom Swift! What SHOULD your father be doing but inventing something new, as he always is. I guess he's working on his new gyroscope, though it is only a guess, for he hasn't said ten words to me since I came out to talk to him. But that's like all inventors, they--" "I beg your pardon, Mr. Damon," spoke Mr. Swift with a smile, "I'm sure--" "Say, can't you listen to me for five minutes?" pleaded Tom. "I've got some great news--simply great, and your gyroscope can wait, dad. Listen to this letter," and he prepared to read it. "Who's it from?" asked Mr. Damon. "Mr. Jacob Illingway, the African missionary whom you and I rescued, together with his wife, from the red pygmies!" cried Tom. "Think of that! Of all persons to get a letter from, and SUCH a letter! SUCH news in it. Why, it's simply great! You remember Mr. and Mrs. Illingway; don't you Mr. Damon? How we went to Africa after elephant's tusks, with Mr. Durban the hunter, and how we got the missionaries away from those little savages in my airship--don't you remember?" "I should say I did!" exclaimed Mr. Damon. "Bless my watch chain--but they were regular imps--the red Pygmies I mean, not the missionaries. But what is Mr. Illingway writing to you about now, Tom? I know he sent you several letters since we came back from Africa. What's the latest news?" "I'll tell you," replied the young inventor, sitting down on a packing box. "It would take too long to read the letter so I'll sum it up, and you can go over it later." "To be brief, Mr. Illingway tells of a wonderful golden image that is worshiped by a tribe of Africans in a settlement not far from Gumba Twamba, where he is stationed. It's an image of solid gold--" "Solid gold!" interrupted Mr. Swift. "Yes, dad, and about three feet high," went on Tom, referring to the letter to make sure. "It's heavy, too, no hollows in it, and these Africans regard it as a god. But that's not the strangest part of it. Mr. Illingway goes on to say that there is no gold in that part of Africa, and for a time he was at a loss how to account for the golden image. He made some inquiries and learned that it was once the property of a white traveler who made his home with the tribe that now worships the image of gold. This traveler, whose name Mr. Illingway could not find out, was much liked by the Africans. He taught them many things, doctored them when they were sick, and they finally adopted him into the tribe." "It seems that he tried to make them better, and wanted them to become Christians, but they clung to their own beliefs until he died. Then, probably thinking to do his memory honor, they took the golden image, which was among his possessions, and set it up as a god." "Bless my hymn book!" exclaimed Mr. Damon. "What did they do that for?" "This white man thought a great deal of the image," said Tom, again referring to the letter, "and the Africans very likely imagined that, as he was so good to them, some of his virtues had passed into the gold. Then, too, they may have thought it was part of his religion, and as he had so often wanted them to adopt his beliefs, they reasoned out that they could now do so, by worshiping the golden god." "Anyhow, that's what they did, and the image is there to-day, in that far-off African village. But I haven't got to the real news yet. The image of solid gold is only a part of it." "Before this traveler died he told some of the more intelligent natives that the image had come from a far-off underground city--a regular city of gold--nearly everything in it that was capable of being made of metal, being constructed of the precious yellow gold. The golden image was only one of a lot more like it, some smaller and some larger--" "Not larger, Tom, not larger, surely!" interrupted Mr. Swift. "Why, my boy, think of it! An image of solid gold, bigger even than this one Mr. Illingway writes of, which he says is three feet high. Why, if there are any larger they must be nearly life size, and think of a solid gold statue as large as a man--it would weigh--well, I'm afraid, to say how much, and be worth--why, Tom, it's impossible. It would be worth millions--all the wealth of a world must be in the underground city. It's impossible Tom, my boy!" "Well, that may be," agreed Tom. "I'm not saying it's true. Mr. Illingway is telling only what he heard." "Go on! Tell some more," begged Mr. Damon. "Bless my shirt studs, this is getting exciting!" "He says that the traveler told of this underground city of gold," went on Tom, "though he had never been there himself. He had met a native who had located it, and who had brought out some of the gold, including several of the images, and one he gave to the white man in return for some favor. The white man took it to Africa with him." "But where is this underground city, Tom?" asked Mr. Swift. "Doesn't Mr. Illingway give you any idea of its location." "He says it is somewhere in Mexico," explained the lad. "The Africans haven't a very good idea of geography, but some of the tribesmen whom the white traveler taught, could draw rude maps, and Mr. Illingway had a native sketch one for him, showing as nearly as possible where the city of gold is located." "Tom Swift, have you got that map?" suddenly cried Mr. Damon. "Bless my pocketbook, but--" "I have it!" said Tom quietly, taking from the envelope a piece of paper covered with rough marks. "It isn't very good, but--" "Bless my very existence!" cried the excitable man. "But you're not going to let such a chance as this slip past; are you Tom? Are you going to hunt for that buried city of gold?" "I certainly am," answered the young inventor quietly. "Tom! You're not going off on another wild expedition?" asked Mr. Swift anxiously. "I'm afraid I'll have to," answered his son with a smile. "Go? Of course he'll go!" burst out Mr. Damon. "And I'm going with him; can't I, Tom?" "Surely. The reason Mr. Illingway sent me the letter was to tell me about the city of gold. He thought, after my travels in Africa, that to find a buried city in Mexico would be no trouble at all, I suppose. Anyhow he suggests that I make the attempt, and--" "Oh, but, Tom, just when I am perfecting my gyroscope!" exclaimed Mr. Swift. "I need your help." "I'll help you when I come back, dad. I want to get some of this gold." "But we are rich enough, Tom." "It isn't so much the money, dad. Listen. There is another part to the letter. Mr. Illingway says that in that underground city, according to the rumor among the African natives, there is not only gold in plenty, and a number of small gold statues, but one immense big one--of solid gold, as large as three men, and there is some queer mystery about it, so that white traveler said. A mystery he wanted to solve but could not." "So, dad, I'm going to search for that underground city, not only for the mere gold, but to see if I can solve the mystery of the big gold statue. And if I could bring it away," cried Tom in great excitement as he waved the missionary's letter above his head, "it would be one of the wonders of the world--dad, for, not only is it very valuable, but it is most beautifully carved." "Well, I might as well give up my gyroscope work until you come back from the city of gold, Tom, I can see that," said Mr. Swift, with a faint smile. "And if you go, I hope you come back. I don't want that mysterious image to be the undoing of you." "Oh, I'll come back all right!" cried Tom confidently. "Ho! for the city of gold and the images thereof! I'm going to get ready to start!" "And so am I!" cried Mr. Damon. "Bless my shoe strings, Tom, but I'm with you! I certainly am!" and the little man excitedly shook hands with Tom Swift, while the aged inventor looked on and nodded his head doubtfully. But Tom was full of hope. CHAPTER II AN UNSUSPECTED LISTENER For a few moments after Tom Swift had announced his decision to start for the city of gold, and Mr. Damon had said he would accompany the young inventor, there was a silence in the workshop. Then Mr. Swift laid aside the delicate mechanism of the new model gyroscope on which he had been working, came over to his son, and said: "Well, Tom, if you're going, that means you're going--I know enough to predict that. I rather wish you weren't, for I'm afraid no good will come of this." "Now, dad, don't be talking that way!" cried Tom gaily. "Pack up and come along with us." Lovingly he placed his arm around the bent shoulders of his father. "No, Tom, I'm too old. Home is the place for me." "Bless my arithmetic tables!" exclaimed Mr. Damon, "you're not so much older than I am, and I'm going with Tom. Come on, Mr. Swift." "No, I can't put up with dangers, hardship and excitement as I used to. I'd better stay home. Besides, I want to perfect my new gyroscope. I'll work on that while you and Tom are searching for the city of gold. But, Tom, if you're going you'd better have something more definite to look for than an unknown city, located on a map drawn by some African bushman." "I intend to, dad. I guess when Mr. Illingway wrote his letter he didn't really think I'd take him up, and make the search. I'm going to write and ask him if he can't get me a better map, and also learn more about the location of the city. Mexico isn't such a very large place, but it would be if you had to hunt all over it for a buried city, and this map isn't a lot of help," and Tom who had shown it to his father and Mr. Damon looked at it closely. "If we're going, we want all the information we can get," declared the odd man. "Bless my gizzard, Tom, but this may mean a lot to us!" "I think it will," agreed the young inventor. "I'm going to write to Mr. Illingway at once, and ask for all the information he can get." "And I'll help you with suggestions," spoke Mr. Damon. "Come on in the house, Tom. Bless my ink bottle, but we're going to have some adventures again!" "It seems to me that is about all Tom does--have adventures--that and invent flying machines," said Mr. Swift with a smile, as his son and their visitor left the shop. Then he once more bent over his gyroscope model, while Tom and Mr. Damon hurried in to write the letter to the African missionary. And while this is being done I am going to ask your patience for a little while--my old readers, I mean--while I tell my new friends, who have never yet met Tom Swift, something about him. Mr. Swift spoke truly when he said his son seemed to do nothing but seek adventures and invent flying machines. Of the latter the lad had a goodly number, some of which involved new and startling ideas. For Tom was a lad who "did things." In the first volume of this series, entitled "Tom Swift and His Motor Cycle," I told you how he became acquainted with Mr. Damon. That eccentric individual was riding a motor cycle, when it started to climb a tree. Mr. Damon was thrown off in front of Tom's house, somewhat hurt, and the young inventor took him in. Tom and his father lived in the village of Shopton, New York, and Mr. Swift was an inventor of note. His son followed in his footsteps. Mrs. Swift had been dead some years, and they had a good housekeeper, Mrs. Baggert. Another "member" of the family was Eradicate Sampson, a colored man of all work, who said he was named "Eradicate" because he "eradicated" the dirt. He used to do odd jobs of whitewashing before he was regularly employed by Mr. Swift as a sort of gardener and watchman. In the first book I told how Tom bought the motor cycle from Mr. Damon, fixed it up, and had many adventures on it, not the least of which was saving some valuable patent models of his father's which some thieves had taken. Then Tom Swift got a motor boat, as related in the second volume of the series, and he had many exciting trips in that craft. Following that he made his first airship with the help of a veteran balloonist and then, not satisfied with adventures in the air, he and his father perfected a wonderful submarine boat in which they went under the ocean for sunken treasure. The automobile industry was fast forging to the front when Tom came back from his trip under water, and naturally he turned his attention to that. But he made an electric car instead of one that was operated by gasolene, and it proved to be the speediest car on the road. The details of Tom Swift and his wireless message will be found in the book of that title. It tells how he saved the castaways of Earthquake Island, and among them was Mr. Nestor, the father of Mary, a girl whom Tom thought--but there, I'm not going to be mean, and tell on a good fellow. You can guess what I'm hinting at, I think. It was when Tom went to get Mary Nestor a diamond ring that he fell in with Mr. Barcoe Jenks, who eventually took Tom off on a search for the diamond makers, and he and Tom, with some friends, discovered the secret of Phantom Mountain. One would have thought that these adventures would have been enough for Tom Swift, but, like Alexander, he sighed for new worlds to conquer. How he went to the caves of ice in search of treasure, and how his airship was wrecked is told in the eighth volume of the series, and in the next is related the details of his swift sky-racer, in which he and Mr. Damon made a wonderfully fast trip, and brought a doctor to Mr. Swift in time to save the life of the aged inventor. It was when Tom invented a wonderful electric rifle, and went to Africa with a Mr. Durban, a great hunter, to get elephants' tusks, that he rescued Mr. and Mrs. Illingway, the missionaries, who were held captive by red pygmies. That was a startling trip, and full of surprises. Tom took with him to the dark continent a new airship, the Black Hawk, and but for this he and his friends never would have escaped from the savages and the wild beasts. As it was, they had a hazardous time getting the missionary and his wife away from the jungle. It was this same missionary who, as told in the first chapter of this book, sent Tom the letter about the city of gold. Mr. Illingway and his wife wanted to stay in Africa in an endeavor to christianize the natives, even after their terrible experience. So Tom landed them at a white settlement. It was from there that the letter came. But the missionaries were not the only ones whom Tom saved from the red pygmies. Andy Foger, a Shopton youth, was Tom's enemy, and he had interfered with our hero's plans in his trips. He even had an airship made, and followed Tom to Africa. There Andy Foger and his companion, a German were captured by the savages. But though Tom saved his life, Andy did not seem to give over annoying the young inventor. Andy was born mean, and, as Eradicate Sampson used to say, "dat meanness neber will done git whitewashed outer him--dat's a fack!" But if Andy Foger was mean to Tom, there was another Shopton lad who was just the reverse. This was Ned Newton, who was Tom's particular chum, Ned had gone with our hero on many trips, including the one to Africa after elephants. Mr. Damon also accompanied Tom many times, and occasionally Eradicate went along on the shorter voyages. But Eradicate was getting old, like Mr. Swift, who, of late years, had not traveled much with his son. When I add that Tom still continued to invent things, that he was always looking for new adventures, that he still cared very much for Mary Nestor, and thought his father the best in the world, and liked Mr. Damon and Ned Newton above all his other acquaintances, except perhaps Mrs. Baggert, the housekeeper, I think perhaps I have said enough about him; and now I will get back to the story. I might add, however, that Andy Foger, who had been away from Shopton for some time, had now returned to the village, and had lately been seen by Tom, riding around in a powerful auto. The sight of Andy did not make the young inventor feel any happier. "Well, Tom, I think that will do," remarked Mr. Damon when, after about an hour's work, they had jointly written a letter to the African missionary. "We've asked him enough questions, anyhow," agreed the lad. "If he answers all of them we'll know more about the city of gold, and where it is, than we do now." "Exactly," spoke the odd man. "Now to mail the letter, and wait for an answer. It will take several weeks, for they don't have good mail service to that part of Africa. I hope Mr. Illingway sends us a better map." "So do I," assented Tom. "But even with the one we have I'd take a chance and look for the underground city." "I'll mail the letter," went on Mr. Damon, who was as eager over the prospective adventure as was Tom. "I'm going back home to Waterfield I think. My wife says I stay here too much." "Don't be in a hurry," urged Tom. "Can't you stay to supper? I'll take you home to-night in the sky racer. I want to talk more about the city of gold, and plan what we ought to take with us to Mexico." "All right," agreed Mr. Damon. "I'll stay, but I suppose I shouldn't. But let's mail the letter." It was after supper, when, the letter having been posted, that Tom, his father and Mr. Damon were discussing the city of gold. "Will you go, even if Mr. Illingway can't send a better map?" asked Mr. Damon. "Sure," exclaimed Tom. "I want to get one of the golden images if I have to hunt all over the Aztec country for it." "Who's talking of golden images?" demanded a new voice, and Tom looked up quickly, to see Ned Newton, his chum, entering the room. Ned had come in unannounced, as he frequently did. "Hello, old stock!" cried Tom affectionately. "Sir, there's great news. It's you and me for the city of gold now!" "Get out! What are you talking about?" Then Tom had to go into details, and explain to Ned all about the great quantity of gold that might be found in the underground city. "You'll come along, won't you, Ned?" finished the young inventor. "We can't get along without you. Mr. Damon is going, and Eradicate too, I guess. We'll have a great time." "Well, maybe I can fix it so I can go," agreed Ned, slowly, "I'd like it, above all things. Where did you say that golden city was?" "Somewhere about the central part of Mexico, near the city of--" "Hark!" suddenly exclaimed Ned, holding up a hand to caution Tom to silence. "What is it?" asked the young inventor in a whisper. "Some one is coming along the hall," replied Ned in a low voice. They all listened intently. There was no doubt but that some one was approaching along the corridor leading to the library where the conference was being held. "Oh, it's only Mrs. Baggert," remarked Tom a moment later, relief showing in his voice. "I know her step." There was a tap on the door, and the housekeeper pushed it open, for it had been left ajar. She thrust her head in and remarked: "I guess you've forgotten, Mr. Swift, that Andy Foger is waiting for you in the next room. He has a letter for you." "Andy Foger!" gasped Tom. "Here." "That's so, I forgot all about him!" exclaimed Mr. Swift jumping up. "It slipped my mind. I let him in a while ago, before we came in the library, and he's probably been sitting in the parlor ever since. I thought he wanted to see you, Tom, so I told him to wait. And I forgot all about him. You'd better see what he wants." "Andy Foger there--in the next room," murmured Tom. "He's been there some time. I wonder how much he heard about the city of gold?" CHAPTER III ANDY IS WHITEWASHED The parlor where Mr. Swift had asked Andy to wait, adjoined the library, and there was a connecting door, over which heavy curtains were draped. Tom quickly pulled them aside and stepped into the parlor. The connecting door had been open slightly, and in a flash the young inventor realized that it was perfectly possible for any one in the next room to have heard most of the talk about the city of gold. A glance across the room showed Andy seated on the far side, apparently engaged in reading a book. "Did you want to see me?" asked Tom sharply. His father and the others in the library listened intently. Tom wondered what in the world Andy could want of him, since the two were never in good tame, and Andy cherished a resentment even since our hero had rescued him from the African jungle. "No, I didn't come to see you," answered Andy quickly, laying aside the book and rising to face Tom. "Then what--" "I came to see your father," interrupted the red-haired bully. "I have a letter for him from my father; but I guess Mr. Swift misunderstood me when he let me in." "Did you tell him you wanted to see me?" asked Tom suspiciously, thinking Andy had made a mistatement in order to have a longer time to wait. "No, I didn't, but I guess your father must have been thinking about something else, for he told me to come in here and sit down. I've been waiting ever since, and just now Mrs. Baggert passed and saw me. She--" "Yes, she said you were here," spoke Tom significantly. "Well, then it's my father you want to see. I'll tell him." Tom hurried back to the library. "Dad," he said, "it's you that Andy wants to see. He has a letter from Mr. Foger for you." "For me? What in the world can it be about? He never wrote to me before. I must have misunderstood Andy. But then it's no wonder for my head is so full of my new gyroscope plans. There is a certain spring I can't seem to get right--" "Perhaps you'd better see what Andy wants," suggested Mr. Damon gently. He looked at Tom. They were both thinking of the same thing. "I will," replied Mr. Swift quickly, and he passed into the library. "I wonder how much Andy heard?" asked Ned, in a low voice. "Oh, I don't believe it could have been very much," answered Tom. "No, I stopped you just in time," rejoined his chum, "or you might have blurted out the name of the city near where the buried gold is." "Yes, we must guard our secret well, Tom," put in Mr. Damon. "Well, Andy couldn't have known anything about the letter I got," declared Tom, "and if he only heard snatches of our talk it won't do him much good." "The only trouble is he's been there long enough to have heard most of it." suggested Ned. They could talk freely now, for in going into the parlor Mr. Swift had tightly closed the door after him. They could just hear the murmur of his voice speaking to Andy. "Well, even if he does guess about the city of gold, and its location, I don't believe he'll try to go there," remarked Tom, after a pause. A moment later they heard Mr. Swift letting Andy out of the front door, and then the inventor rejoined his son and the others. He held an open letter in his hand. "This is strange--very strange," he murmured. "What is it?" asked Tom quickly. "Why, Mr. Foger has written to me asking to be allowed to sell some of our patents and machines on commission." "Sell them on commission!" exclaimed his son. "Why does a millionaire like Mr. Foger want to be selling goods on commission? It's only a trick!" "No, it's not a trick," said Mr. Swift slowly. "He is in earnest. Tom, Mr. Foger has lost his millions. His fortune has been swept away by unfortunate investments, he tells me, and he would be glad of any work I could give him. That's why Andy brought the letter to-night. I just sent him back with an answer." "What did you say, dad?" "I said I'd think it over." "Mr. Foger's millions gone," mused Tom. "And Andy in there listening to what we said about the city of gold," added Ned. "No wonder he was glad the door was open. He'd be there in a minute, Tom, if he could, and so would Mr. Foger, if he thought he could get rich. He wouldn't have to sell goods on commission if he could pick up a few of the golden images." "That's right," agreed Tom, with an uneasy air. "I wish I knew just how much Andy had heard. But perhaps it wasn't much." The time was to come, however, when Tom was to learn to his sorrow that Andy Foger had overheard a great deal. "Bless my bankbook!" exclaimed Mr. Damon. "I never dreamed of such a thing! Andy had every reason in the world for not wanting us to know he was in there! No wonder he kept quiet. I'll wager all the while he was as close to the open door as he could get, hoping to overhear about the location of the place, so he could help his father get back his lost fortune. Bless my hatband! It's a good thing Mrs. Baggert told us he was there." They all agreed with this, and then, as there was no further danger of being overheard, they resumed their talk about the city of gold. It was decided that they would have to wait the arrival of another letter from Mr. Illingway before starting for Mexico. "Well, as long as that much is settled, I think I'd better be going home," suggested Mr. Damon. "I know my wife will be anxious about me." "I'll get out the sky racer and you'll be in Waterford in a jiffy," said Tom, and he kept his word, for the speedy aeroplane carried him and his guest rapidly through the night, bringing Tom safely back home. It was several days after this, during which time Tom and Ned had had many talks about the proposed trip. They had figured on what sort of a craft to use in the journey. Tom had about decided on a small, but very powerful, dirigible balloon, that could be packed in a small compass and taken along. "This city may be in some mountain valley, and a balloon will be the only way we can get to it," he told Ned. "That's right," agreed his chum. "By the way, you haven't heard any more about Andy; have you?" "Not a thing. Haven't even seen him. None of us have." "There goes Rad, I wonder if he's seen him." "No, or he'd have mentioned it to me. Hey, Rad," Tom called to the colored man, "what are you going to do?" "Whitewash de back fence, Massa Tom. It's in a mos' disrupted state ob disgrace. I'se jest natchally got t' whitewash it." "All right, Rad, and when you get through come back here. I've got another job for you." "A'right, Massa Tom, I shorely will," and Rad limped off with his pail of whitewash, and the long-handled brush. It may have been fate that sent Andy Foger along the rear road a little later, and past the place where Eradicate was making the fence less "disrupted." It may have been fate or Andy may have just been sneaking along to see if he could overhear anything of Tom's plans--a trick of which he was frequently guilty. At any rate, Andy walked past where Eradicate was whitewashing. The colored man saw the red-haired lad coming and murmured: "Dere's dat no 'count white trash! I jest wish Massa Tom was here now. He'd jest natchally wallop Andy," and Eradicate moved his longhandled brush up and down, as though he were coating the Foger lad with the white stuff. As it happened, Eradicate was putting some of the liquid on a particularly rough spot in the fence, a spot low down, and this naturally made the handle of his brush stick out over the sidewalk, and at this moment Andy Foger got there. "Here, you black rascal!" the lad angrily exclaimed. "What do you mean by blocking the sidewalk that way? It's against the law, and I could have you arrested for that." "No, could yo' really now?" asked Eradicate drawlingly for he was not afraid of Andy. "Yes, I could, and don't you give me any of your back-talk! Get that brush out of the way!" and Andy kicked the long handle. The natural result followed. The other end of the brush, wet with whitewash, described a curve through the air, coming toward the mean bully. And as the blow of Andy's foot jarred the brush loose, the next moment it fell right on Andy's head, the white liquid trickling down on his clothes, for Eradicate was not a miser when it came to putting on whitewash. For a moment Andy could not speak. Then he burst out with: "Hi! You did that on purpose! I'll have you in jail for that! Look at my hat, it's ruined! Look at my clothes! They're ruined! Oh, I'll make you pay for this!" "Deed, it shore was a accident," said Eradicate, trying not to laugh. "You done did it yo'se'f!" "I did not! You did it on purpose; Tom Swift put you in on this! I'll--I'll--" But Andy had to stop and splutter for some of the lime ran down off his hat into his mouth, and he yelled: "I'll--I'll--Ouch! Phew! Woof! Oof! Oh!" Then, in his rage, he made a blind rush for Eradicate. Now the colored man had no fear of Andy, but he did not want the pail of whitewash to upset, and the said pail was right in the path of the advancing youth. "Look out!" cried Eradicate. "I'll make you look out!" spluttered Andy. "I'll thrash you for this!" Eradicate caught up his pail. He did not want to have the trouble of mixing more of the liquid. Just as he lifted it Andy aimed a kick for him. But he mis-calculated, and his foot struck the bottom of the pail and sent it flying from the hands of the colored man. Sent it flying right toward Andy himself, for Eradicate jumped back out of the way. And the next moment a veritable deluge of whitewash was sprayed and splashed and splattered over Andy, covering him with the snowy liquid from head to foot! CHAPTER IV A PERILOUS FLIGHT There was silence for a moment--there had to be--for Eradicate was doubled over with mirth and could not even laugh aloud, and as for Andy the whitewash running down his face and over his mouth effectually prevented speech. But the silence did not last long. Just as Eradicate caught his breath, and let out a hearty laugh, Andy succeeded in wiping some of the liquid from his face so that it was safe to open his mouth. Then he fairly let out a roar of rage. "I'll have you put in jail for that, Eradicate Sampson!" he cried. "You've nearly killed me: You'll suffer for this! My father will sue you for damages, too! Look at me! Look at me!" "Dat's jest what I'se doin', honey! Jest what I'se doin'!" gasped Eradicate, hardly able to speak from laughter. "Yo' suah am a most contrary lookin' specimen! Yo' suah is! Ha! Ha!" "Stop it!" commanded Andy. "Don't you dare laugh at me, after throwing whitewash on me." "I didn't throw no whitewash on you!" protested the colored man. "Yo' done poured it over yo'se'f, dat's what yo' done did. An' I jest cain't help laughin', honey. I jest natchally cain't! Yo' look so mortally distressed, dat's what yo' does!" Andy's rage might have been dangerous, but the very excess of it rendered him incapable of doing anything. He was wild at Eradicate and would willingly have attacked him, but the whitewash was beginning to soak through his clothes, and he was so wet and miserable that soon all the fight oozed out of him. Then, too, though Eradicate was old, he was strong and he still held the long handle of the whitewash brush, no unformidable weapon. So Andy contented himself with verbal abuse. He called Eradicate all the mean names he could think of, ending up with: "You won't hear the last of this for a long time, either. I'll have you, and your old rack of bones, your mule Boomerang, run out of town, that's what I will." "What's dat? Yo' all gwine t'hab Boomerang run out ob town?" demanded Eradicate, a sudden change coming over him. His mule was his most beloved possession. "Lemme tell yo' one thing, Massa Andy. I'se an old colored man, an' I ain't much 'count mebby. But ef yo' dare lay one finger on mah mule Boomerang, only jest one finger, mind you', why I'll--I'll jest natchally drown yo'--all in whitewash, dat's what I'll do!" Eradicate drew himself up proudly, and boldly faced Andy. The bully shrank back. He knew better than to arouse the colored man further. "You'll suffer for this," predicted the bully. "I'm not going to forget it. Tom Swift put you up to this, and I'll take it out of him the next time I see him. He's to blame." "Now looky heah, honey!" said Eradicate quick. "Doan't yo' all git no sich notion laik dat in yo' head. Massa Tom didn't tell me to do noth'in an I ain't. He ain't eben 'round yeh. An' annudder thing. Yo'se t' blame to' this yo' own se'f. Ef yo' hadn't gone fo' is kick de bucket it nebber would 'a happened. It's yo' own fault, honey, an' doan't yo' forgit dat! No, yo' better go home an' git some dry clothes on." It was good advice, for Andy was soaking wet. He glared angrily at Eradicate, and then swung off down the road, the whitewash dripping from his garments at every step. "Land a massy! But he suah did use up all mah lime." complained Eradicate, as he picked up the overturned pail. "I's got t' make mo'. But I doan't mind," he added cheerfully, and then, as he saw the woe-begone figure of Andy shuffling along, he laughed heartily, fitted the brush on the handle and went to tell Tom and Ned what had happened, and make more whitewash. "Hum! Served him right," commented the young inventor. "I suppose he'll try to play some mean trick on you now," commented Ned. "He'll think you had some hand in what Rad did." "Let him," answered Tom. "If he tries any of his games I'll be ready for him." "Maybe we'll soon be able to start for the city of gold," suggested Ned. "I'm afraid not in some time," was his chum's reply. "It's going to take quite a while to get ready, and then we've got to wait to hear from Mr. Illingway. I wonder if it's true that Mr. Foger has lost his fortune; or was that only a trick?" "Oh, it's true enough," answered Ned. "I heard some of the bank officials talking about it the other day." Ned was employed in one of the Shopton banks, an institution in which Tom and his father owned considerable stock. "He hasn't hardly any money left, and he may leave town and go out west, I heard." "He can't go any too soon to suit me," spoke Tom, "and I hope he takes Andy with him." "Your father isn't going to have any business dealings with Mr. Foger then?" "I guess not. Dad doesn't trust him. But say, Ned, what do you say to a little trip in my sky racer? I want to go over to Waterford and see Mr. Damon. We can talk about our trip, and he was going to get some big maps of Central Mexico to study. Will you come?" "I will this afternoon. I've got to go to the bank now." "All right, I'll wait for you. In the meanwhile I'll be tuning up the motor. It didn't run just right the other night." The two chums separated, Ned to go downtown to the bank, while Tom hastened to the shed where he kept his speedy little air craft. Meanwhile Eradicate went on whitewashing the fence, pausing every now and then to chuckle at the memory of Andy Foger. Tom found that some minor adjustments had to be made to the motor, and they took him a couple of hours to complete. It was nearly noon when he finished, and leaving the sky racer in the open space in front of the shed, he went in the house to wash up, for his face and hands were begrimed with dirt and oil. "But the machine's in good shape," he said to the housekeeper when she objected to his appearance, "and Ned and I will have a speedy spin this afternoon." "Oh, you reckless boys! Risking your lives in those aeroplanes!" exclaimed Mrs. Baggert. "Why, they're safer than street cars!" declared Tom with a laugh. "Just think how often street cars collide, and you never heard of an aeroplane doing that." "No, but think what happens when they fall." "That's it!" cried Tom gaily, "when they fall you don't have time to think. But is dinner ready? I'm hungry." "Never saw you when you weren't." commented the housekeeper laughing. "Yes, you can sit right down. We won't wait for your father. He said he'd be late as he wants to find something about his gyroscope. I never did any such people as inventors for spoiling their meals," she added as she put dinner on the table. Mr. Swift came in before his son had finished. "Was Andy Foger here to see me again?" he asked. "No, why do you ask?" inquired Tom quickly. "I just saw him out by the aeroplane shed, and--" Tom jumped up without another word, and hurried to where his sky racer rested on its bicycle wheels. He breathed more easily when he saw that Andy was not in sight, and a hurried inspection of the aeroplane did not disclose that it had been tampered with. "Anything the matter?" asked Mr. Swift, as he followed his son. "No, but when you mentioned that Andy was out here I thought he might have been up to some of his tricks. He had a little trouble with Eradicate this morning, and he threatened to get even with me for it." And Tom told of the whitewashing incident. "I just happened to see him as I was coming to dinner," went on the aged inventor. "He hurried off--when he noticed me, but I thought he might have been here to leave another letter." "No," said Tom. "I must tell Eradicate to keep his weather eye open for him, though. No telling what Andy'll do. Well, I must finish eating, or Ned will be here before I'm through." After dinner, Ned arrived, and helped Tom start the motor. With a roar and a bang the swift little machine rapidly got up speed, the propellers whizing so fast that they looked like blurs of light. The sky racer was held back by a rope, as Tom wanted to note the "pull" of the propellers, the force they exerted against the air being registered on a spring balance. "What does it say, Ned?" cried the young inventor as he adjusted the carburettor. "A shade over nine hundred pounds." "Guess that'll do. Hop in, and I'll cast off from the seat." This Tom frequently did when there was no one available to hold the aeroplane for him while he mounted. He could pull a cord, loosen the retaining rope, and away the craft would go. The two chums were soon seated side by side and then Tom, grasping the steering wheel, turned on full power and jerked the releasing rope. Over the ground shot the sky racer, quickly attaining speed until, with a deft motion, the young inventor tilted the deflecting rudder and up into the air they shot. "Oh, this is glorious!" cried Ned, for, though he had often taken trips with Tom, every time he went up he seemed to enjoy it more. Higher and higher they rose, and then with the sharp nose of the craft turned in the proper direction they sailed off well above the trees and houses toward Waterford. "Guess I'll go up a bit higher," Tom yelled into his chums ear when they were near their destination. "Then I can make a spiral glide to earth. I haven't practiced that lately." Up and up went the sky racer, until it was well over the town of Waterford, where Mr. Damon lived. "There's his place!" yelled Ned, pointing downward. He had to yell to be heard above the noise of the motor. Tom nodded in reply. He, too, had picked out Mr. Damon's large estate. There were many good landing places on it, one near the house for which Tom headed. The aeroplane shot downward, like a bird darting from the sky. Tom grasped the rudder lever more firmly. He looked below him, and then, suddenly he uttered a cry of terror. "What is it?" yelled Ned. "The rudder! The deflecting rudder! It's jammed, and I can't throw her head up! We're going to smash into the ground, Ned! I can't control her! Something has gone wrong!" CHAPTER V NEWS FROM AFRICA Blankly, and with fear in his eyes, Ned gazed at Tom. The young inventor was frantically working at the levers, trying to loosen the jammed rudder--the rudder that enabled the sky racer to be tilted upward. "Can't you do it?" cried Ned. Tom shook his head helplessly, but he did not give up. Madly he worked on, and there was need of haste, for every moment the aeroplane was shooting nearer and nearer to the earth. Ned glanced down. They were headed for the centre of a large grass plot and the bank employee found himself grimly thinking that at least the turf would be softer to fall on than bare ground. "I--I can't imagine what's happened!" cried Tom. He was still yanking on the lever, but it would not move, and unless the head of the aeroplane was thrown up quickly, to catch the air, and check its downward flight, they would both be killed. "Shut off the engine and vol-plane!" cried Ned. "No use," answered Tom. "I can't vol-plane when I can't throw her head up to check her." But he did shut off the banging, throbbing motor, and then in silence they continued to fall. Ned had half a notion to jump, but he knew that would mean instant death, and there was just a bare chance that if he stayed in the machine it would take off some of the shock. They could see Mr. Damon now. The old man had run out of his house at the sight of the approaching aeroplane. He knew it well, for he had ridden with Tom many times. He looked up and waved his hand to the boys, but he had no idea of their danger, and he could not have helped them had he been aware of it. He must have soon guessed that something was wrong though, for a moment later, the lads could hear him shout in terror, and could see him motion to them. Later he said he saw that Tom was coming down at too great an inclination, and he feared that the machine could not be thrown up into the wind quickly enough! "Here goes something--the lever or the rudder!" cried Tom in desperation, as he gave it a mighty yank. Up to now he had not pulled with all his strength as he feared to break some connecting-rod, wire or lever. But now he must take every chance. "If I can get that rudder up even a little we're safe!" he went on. Once more he gave a terrific pull on the handle. There was a snapping sound and Tom gave a yell of delight. "That's the stuff!" he cried. "She's moving! We're all right now!" And the rudder had moved only just in time, for when the aeroplane was within a hundred feet of the earth the head was suddenly elevated and she glided along on a level "keel." "Look out!" yelled Ned, for a new danger presented. They were so near the earth that Tom had over-run his original stepping place, and now the sky racer was headed directly for Mr. Damon's house, and might crash into it. "All right! I've got her in hand!" said the young inventor reassuringly. Tom tilted the rudder at a sharp angle to have the air pressure act as a brake. At the same time he swerved the craft to one side so that there was no longer any danger of crashing into the house. "Bless my--" began Mr. Damon, but in the excitement he really didn't know what to bless, so he stopped short. A moment later, feeling that the momentum had been checked enough to make it safe to land, Tom directed the craft downward again and came gracefully to earth, a short distance away from his eccentric friend. "Whew!" gasped the young inventor, as he leaped from his seat. "That was a scary time while it lasted." "I should say so!" agreed Ned. "Bless my straw hat!" cried Mr. Damon. "What happened? Did you lose control of her, Tom?" "No, the deflecting rudder got jammed, and I couldn't move it. I must look and see what's the matter." "I thought it was all up with you," commented Mr. Damon, as he followed Tom and Ned to the front end of the craft, where the deflecting mechanism was located. Tom glanced quickly over it. His quick eye caught something, and he uttered an exclamation. "Look!" the young inventor cried. "No wonder it jammed!" and from a copper sleeve, through which ran the wire that worked the rudder, he pulled a small iron bolt. "That got between the sleeve and the wire, and I couldn't move it," he explained. "But when I pulled hard I loosened it." "How did it fall in there?" asked Ned. "It didn't FALL there." spoke Tom quietly. "It was PUT there." "Put there! Bless my insurance policy! Who did such a dastardly trick?" cried Mr. Damon. "I don't know," answered Tom still quietly, "but I suspect it was Andy Foger, and he was never any nearer to putting us out of business than a little while ago, Ned." "Do you mean to say that he deliberately tried to injure you?" asked Mr. Damon. "Well, he may not have intended to hurt us, but that's what would have happened if I hadn't been able to throw her up into the wind when I did," replied Tom. Then he told of Mr. Swift having seen the red-haired bully near the aeroplane. "Andy may have only intended to put my machine out of working order," went on the young inventor, "but it might have been worse than that," and he could not repress a shudder. "Are you going to say anything to him?" asked Ned. "I certainly am!" replied Torn quickly. "He doesn't realize that he might have crippled us both for life. I sure am going to say something to him when I get back." But Tom did not get the chance, for when he and Ned returned to Shopton,--the sky racer behaving beautifully on the homeward trip,--it was learned that Mr. Foger had suddenly left town, taking Andy with him. "Maybe he knew I'd be after him," said Tom grimly, and so that incident was closed for the time being, but it was a long time before Tom and Ned got over their fright. They had a nice visit with Mr. Damon, and talked of the city of gold to their heart's content, looking at several large maps of Mexico that the eccentric man had procured, and locating, as well as they could from the meager map and description they had, where the underground treasures might be. "I suppose you are getting ready to go, Mr. Damon?" remarked Ned. "Hush!" cautioned the odd man, looking quickly around the room. "I haven't said anything to my wife about it yet. You know she doesn't like me to go off on these 'wild goose chases' as she calls them, with you, Tom Swift. But bless my railroad ticket! It's half the fun of my life." "Then don't you think you can go?" asked the young inventor eagerly, for he had formed a strong like for Mr. Damon, and would very much regret to go without him. "Oh, bless my necktie! I think I'll be able to manage it," was the answer. "I'm not going to tell her anything about it until the last minute, and then I'll promise to bring her back one of the golden images. She won't object then." "Good!" exclaimed Tom. "I hope we can all bring back some of the images." "Yes, I know who you'll bring one for," said Ned with a laugh, and he took care to get beyond the reach of Tom's fist. "Her first name is Mary," he added. "You get out!" laughed Tom, blushing at the same time. "Ah! What a thing it is to be young!" exclaimed Mr. Damon with a mock sigh. The boys laughed, for the old man, though well along in years, was a boy at heart. They talked at some length, speculating when they might hear from Mr. Illingway, and discussing the sort of an outfit that would be best to take with them. Then, as the afternoon was drawing to a close, Tom and Ned went back in the aeroplane, hearing the news about the Fogers as I have previously mentioned. "Well, I'll have to wait until I do see Andy to take it out of his hide," remarked Tom grimly. "I'm glad he's out of the way, though. There won't be any more danger of his overhearing our plans, and I can work in peace on the dirigible balloon." Though Tom had many air crafts, the one he thought best suited to take with them on their search for the city of gold would have to be constructed from parts of several machines, and it would take some time. Tom began work on it the next day, his father helping him, as did Mr. Damon and Ned occasionally. Several weeks were spent in this way, meanwhile the mails being anxiously watched for news from Africa. "Here you are, Tom!" called the postman one morning, as he walked out to the shop where the young inventor was busy over the balloon. "Here's another letter from that Buggy-wuggy place." "Oh, you mean Gumba Twamba, in Africa!" laughed the lad. "Good! That's what I've been waiting for. Now to see what the missionary says." "I hope you're not going to go as a missionary to Africa, Tom," said the postman. "No danger. This is just a letter from a friend there. He sent me some facts so I can go off on another expedition." "Oh, you're always going off on wild adventures," commented Uncle Sam's messenger with a shake of his head as he hurried away, while Tom tore open the letter from Africa and eagerly read it. CHAPTER VI "BEWARE THE HEAD-HUNTERS!" "That's what I want!" exclaimed the young inventor, as he finished the perusal of the missionary's missive. "What is it?" asked Mr. Swift, entering the shop at that moment. "News from Africa, dad. Mr. Illingway went to a lot of trouble to get more information for us about the city of gold, and he sends a better map. It seems there was one among the effects of the white man who died near where Mr. Illingway has his mission. With this map, and what additional information I have, we ought to locate the underground city. Look, dad," and the lad showed the map. "Humph!" exclaimed Mr. Swift with a smile. "I don't call that a very clear map. It shows a part of Central Mexico, that's true, but it's on such a small scale I don't see how you're going to tell anything by it." "But I have a description," explained Tom. "It seems according to Mr. Illingway's letter, that you have to go to the coast and strike into the interior until you are near the old city of Poltec. That used to be it's name, but Mr. Illingway says it may be abandoned now, or the name changed. But I guess we can find it." "Then, according to what he could learn from the African natives, who talked with the white man, the best way is to hire ox carts and strike into the jungle. That's the only way to carry our baggage, and the dirigible balloon which I'm going to take along." "Pretty uncertain way to look for a buried city of gold," commented Mr. Swift. "But I suppose even if you don't find it you'll have the fun of searching for it, Tom." "But we ARE going to find it!" the lad declared. "We'll get there, you'll see!" "But how are you going to know it when you see it?" asked his father. "If it's underground even a balloon won't help you much." "It's true it is underground," agreed Tom, "but there must be an entrance to it somewhere, and I'm going to hunt for that entrance. Mr. Illingway writes that the city is a very old one, and was built underground by the priests of some people allied to the Aztecs. They wanted a refuge in times of war and they also hid their valuables there. They must have been rich to have so much gold, or else they didn't value it as we do." "That might be so," assented Mr. Swift. "But I still maintain, Tom, that it's like looking for a needle in a haystack." "Still, I'm going to have a try for it," asserted the lad. "If I can once locate the plain of the big temple I'll be near the entrance to the underground city." "What is the 'plain of the big temple,' Tom?" "Mr. Illingway writes," said the lad, again referring to the letter, "that somewhere near the beginning of the tunnel that leads into the city of gold, there is an immense flat plain, on which the ancient Aztecs once built a great temple. Maybe they worshiped the golden images there. Anyhow the temple is in ruins now, near an overgrown jungle, according to the stories the white man used to tell. He once got as near the city of gold as the big temple, but hostile natives drove him and his party back. Then he went to Africa after getting an image from someone, and died there. So no one since has ever found the city of gold." "Well, I hope you do, Tom, but I doubt it. However, I suppose you will hurry your preparations for going away, now that you have all the information you can get." "Right, dad. I must send word to Mr. Damon and Ned at once. A few more days' work, and my balloon will be in shape for a trial flight, and then I can take it apart, pack it up, and ship it. Then ho! for the city of gold!" Mr. Swift smiled at his son's enthusiasm, but he did not check it. He knew Tom too well for that. Naturally Mr. Damon and Ned were delighted with the additional information the missionary had sent, and Ned agreed with Tom that it was a mere matter of diligent search to find the underground city. "Bless my collar button!" cried Mr. Damon. "It may not be as easy as all that, but Tom Swift isn't the kind that gives up! We'll get there!" Meanwhile Tom worked diligently on his balloon. He sent a letter of thanks to Mr. Illingway, at the same time requesting that if any more information was obtained within the next three weeks to cable it, as there would not be time for a letter to reach Shopton ere Tom planned to leave for Mexico. The following days were busy ones for all. There was much to be done, and Tom worked night and day. They had to get rifles ready, for they might meet hostile natives. Then, too, they had to arrange for the proper clothing, and other supplies. To take apart and ship the balloon was no small task, and then there were the passages to engage on a steamer that would land them at the nearest point to strike into the interior, the question of transportation after reaching Mexico, and many other matters to consider. But gradually things began to shape themselves and it looked as though the expedition could start for the city of gold in about two weeks after the receipt of the second letter from the missionary. "I think I'll give the balloon a trial to-morrow," said Tom one night, after a hard day's work, "It's all ready, and it ought to work pretty good. It will be just what we need to sail over some dense jungle and land down on the plain by the great temple." "Bless my slippers!" exclaimed Mr. Damon. "I must think up some way of telling my wife that I'm going." "Haven't you told her yet?" asked Ned. The eccentric man shook his head. "I haven't had a good chance," he said, "but I think I'll tell her to-morrow, and promise her one of the gold images. Then she won't mind." Tom was just a little bit nervous when he got ready for a trial flight in the new dirigible balloon. To tell the truth he much preferred aeroplanes to balloons, but he realized that in a country where the jungle growth prevailed, and where there might be no level places to get a "take off," or a starting place for an aeroplane, the balloon was more feasible. But he need have had no fears, for the balloon worked perfectly. In the bag Tom used a new gas, much more powerful even than hydrogen, and which he could make from chemicals that could easily be carried on their trip. The air craft was small but powerful, and could easily carry Tom, Ned and Mr. Damon, together with a quantity of food and other supplies. They intended to use it by starting from the place where they would leave the most of their baggage, after getting as near to the city of gold as they could by foot trails. Tom hoped to establish a camp in the interior of Mexico, and make trips off in different directions to search for the ruined temple. If unsuccessful they could sail back each night, and if he should discover the entrance to the buried city there was food enough in the car of the balloon to enable them to stay away from camp for a week or more. In order to give the balloon a good test, Tom took up with him not only Ned and Mr. Damon, but Eradicate and Mr. Swift to equalize the weight of food and supplies that later would be carried. The test showed that the craft more than came up to expectations, though the trial trip was a little marred by the nervousness of the colored man. "I doan't jest laik dis yeah kind of travelin'," said Eradicate. "I'd radder be on de ground." Most of the remaining two weeks were spent in packing the balloon for shipment, and then the travelers got their own personal equipment ready. They put up some condensed food, but they depended on getting the major portion in Mexico. It was two days before they were to start. Their passage had been engaged on a steamer, and the balloon and most of their effects had been shipped. Mr. Damon had broken the news to his wife, and she had consented to allow him to go, though she said it would be for the last time. "But if I bring her back a nice, big, gold image I know she'll let me go on other trips with you, Tom." said the eccentric man. "Bless my yard stick, if I couldn't go off on an adventure now and then I don't know what I'd do." They were in the library of the Swift home that evening. Tom, Ned, Mr. Damon and the aged inventor, and of course the only thing talked of was the prospective trip to the city of gold. "What I can't understand," Mr. Swift was saying, "is why the natives made so many of the same images of gold, and why there is that large one in the underground place. What did they want of it?" "That's part of the mystery we hope to solve," said Tom. "I'm going to bring that big image home with me if I can. I guess--" He was interrupted by a ring at the front door. "I hope that isn't Andy Foger," remarked Ned. "No danger," replied Tom. "He'll keep away from here after what he did to my aeroplane." Mrs. Baggert went to the door. "A message for you, Tom," she announced a little later, handing in an envelope. "Hello, a cablegram!" exclaimed the young inventor. "It must be from Mr. Illingway, in Africa. It is," he added a moment later as he glanced at the signature. "What does he say?" asked Mr. Swift. "Can he give us any more definite information about the city of gold?" inquired Ned. "I'll read it," said Tom, and there was a curious, strained note in his voice. "This is what it says:" "'No more information obtainable. But if you go to the city of gold beware of the head-hunters!'" "Head-hunters!" exclaimed Mr. Damon. "Bless my top-knot, what are they?" "I don't know," answered Tom simply, "but whatever they are we've got to be on the lookout for them when we get to the gold city, and that's where I'm going, head-hunters or no head-hunters!" CHAPTER VII TOM MAKES A PROMISE It may well be imagined that the cable warning sent by Mr. Illingway caused our friends considerable anxiety. Coming as it did, almost at the last minute, so brief--giving no particulars--it was very ominous. Yet Tom was not afraid, nor did any of the others show signs of fear. "Bless my shotgun!" exclaimed Mr. Damon, as he looked at the few words on the paper which Tom passed around. "I wish Mr. Illingway had said more about the head-hunters--or less." "What do you mean?" asked Ned. "Well, I wish he'd given us more particulars, told us where we might be on the lookout for the head-hunters, what sort of chaps they were, and what they do to a fellow when they catch him." "Their name seems plainly to indicate what they do," spoke Mr. Swift grimly. "They cut off the head of their enemies, like that interesting Filipino tribe. But perhaps they may not get after you. If they do--" "If they do," interrupted Tom with a laugh, "we'll hop in our dirigible balloon, and get above THEIR heads, and then I guess we can give a good account of ourselves. But would you rather Mr. Illingway had said less about them, Mr. Damon?" "Yes, I wish, as long as he couldn't tell us more, that he'd kept quiet about them altogether. It's no fun to be always on the lookout for danger. I'm afraid it will get on my nerves, to be continually looking behind a rock, or a tree, for a head-hunter. Bless my comb and brush!" "Well, 'forewarned is forearmed,'" quoted Ned. "We won't think anything more about them. It was kind of Mr. Illingway to warn us, and perhaps the head-hunters have all disappeared since that white traveler was after the city of gold. Some story which he told his friends, the natives in Africa, is probably responsible for the missionary's warning. Let's check over our lists of supplies, Tom, and see if we have everything down!" "Can't you do that alone, Ned?" "Why?" and Ned glanced quickly at his chum. Mr. Damon and Mr. Swift had left the room. "Well, I've get an engagement--a call to make, and--" "Enough said, old man. Go ahead. I know what it is to be in love. I'll check the lists. Go see--" "Now don't get fresh!" advised Tom with a laugh, as he went to his room to get ready to pay a little visit. "I say, Tom," called Ned after him. "What about Eradicate? Are you going to take him along? He'd be a big help." "I know he would, but he doesn't want to go. He balked worse than his mule Boomerang when I spoke about an underground city. He said he didn't want to be buried before his time. I didn't tell him we were going after gold, for sometimes Rad talks a bit too much, and I don't want our plans known." "But I did tell him that Mexico was a great place for chickens, and that he might see a bull fight." "Did he rise to that bait?" "Not a bit of it. He said he had enough chickens of his own, and he never did like bulls anyhow. So I guess we'll have to get along without Rad." "It looks like it. Well, go and enjoy yourself. I'll wait here until you come back, though I know you'll be pretty late, but I want to make sure of our lists." "All right, Ned," and Tom busied himself with his personal appearance, for he was very particular when going to call on young ladies. A little later he was admitted to her house by Miss Mary Nestor, and the two began an animated conversation, for this was in the nature of a farewell call by Tom. "And you are really about to start off on your wild search?" asked the girl. "My! It seems just like something out of a book!" "Doesn't it?" agreed Tom. "However, I hope there's more truth in it than there is in some books. I should hate to be disappointed, after all our preparation, and not find the buried city after all." "Do you really think there is so much gold there?" "Of course there's a good deal of guesswork about it," admitted the young inventor, "and it may be exaggerated, for such things usually are when a traveler has to depend on the accounts of natives." "But it is certain that there is a big golden image in the interior of Africa, and that it came from Mexico. Mr. Illingway isn't a person who could easily be deceived. Then, too, the old Aztecs and their allies were wonderful workers in gold and silver, for look at what Cortez and his soldiers took from them." "My! This is quite like a lecture in history!" exclaimed Mary with a laugh. "But it's interesting. I wonder if there are any SMALL, golden images there, as you say there are so many in the underground city." "Lots of them!" exclaimed Tom, as confidently as though he had seen them. "I'll tell you what I'll do, Mary. I'll bring you back one of these golden images for an ornament. It would look nice on that shelf I think," and Tom pointed to a vacant space on the mantle. "I'll bring you a large one or a small one, or both, Mary." "Oh, you reckless boy! Well, I suppose it WOULD be nice to have two, for they must be very valuable. But I'm not going to tax you too much. If you bring me back two SMALL ones, I'll put one down here and the other--" She paused and blushed slightly. "Yes, and the other," suggested Tom. "I'll put the other up in my room to remember you by," she finished with a laugh, "so pick out one that is nicely carved. Some of those foreign ones, such as the Chinese have, are hideous." "That's right," agreed Tom, "and I'll see that you get a nice one. Those Aztecs used to do some wonderful work in gold and silver carving. I've seen specimens in the museum." Then the two young people fell to talking of the wonderful trip that lay before Tom, and Mary, several times, urged him to be careful of the dangers he would be likely to encounter. Tom said nothing to her of the head-hunters. He did not want to alarm Miss Nestor, and then, too, he thought the less he allowed his mind to dwell on that unpleasant feature of the journey, the less likely it would be to get on the nerves of all of them. Ned was right when he predicted that Tom would make quite a lengthy visit. There was much to talk about and he did not expect to see Mary again for some time. But finally he realized that he must leave, and with a renewed promise to bring back with him the two small gold images, and after saying good-bye to Mr. and Mrs. Nestor, Tom took his leave. "If you get marooned in the underground city, Tom," said Mr. Nestor, "I hope you can rig up a wireless outfit, and get help, as you did for us on Earthquake Island." "I hope so," answered our hero with a laugh, and then, a little saddened by his farewell, and pondering rather solemnly on what lay before him--the dangers of travel as well as those of the head-hunters--Tom hastened back to his own home. The young inventor found Ned busy over the list of supplies, diligently checking it and comparing it with the one originally made out, to see that nothing had been omitted. Mr. Damon had gone to his room, for he was to remain at the Swift house until he left with the gold-hunting expedition. "Oh, you've got back, have you?" asked Tom's chum, with a teasing air. "I thought you'd given up the trip to the city of gold." "Oh, cheese it!" invited Tom. "Come on, now I'll help you. Where's Eradicate? I want him to go out and see that the shop is locked up." "He was in here a while ago and he said he was going to look after things outside. He told me quite a piece of news." "What was it?" "It seems that the Foger house has been sold, the furniture was all moved out to-day, and the family has left, bag and baggage. I asked Rad if he had heard where to, and he said someone down in the village was saying that Andy and his father have engaged passage on some ship that sails day after to-morrow." "Day after to-morrow!" cried Tom. "Why, that's when ours sails! I hope Andy didn't hear enough of our plans that night to try to follow us." "It would be just like him," returned Ned, "but I don't think they'll do it. They haven't enough information to go on. More likely Mr. Foger is going to try some new ventures to get back his lost fortune." "Well, I hope he and Andy keep away from us. They make trouble everywhere they go. Now come on, get busy." And, though Tom tried to drive from his mind the thoughts of the Fogers, yet it was with an uneasy sense of some portending disaster that he went on with the work of preparing for the trip into the unknown. He said nothing to Ned about it, but perhaps his chum guessed. "That'll do," said Tom after an hour's labor. "We'll call it a night's work and quit. Can't you stay here--we've got several spare beds." "No, I'm expected home." "I'll walk a ways with you," said Tom, and when he had left his chum at his house our hero returned by a street that would take him past the Foger residence. It was shrouded in darkness. "Everybody's cleared out," said Tom in a low voice as he glance at the gloomy house. "Well, all I hope is that they don't camp on our trail." CHAPTER VIII ERADICATE WILL GO "I guess everything is all ready," remarked Tom, "I can't think of anything more to do," said Ned. "Bless my grip-sack!" exclaimed Mr. Damon, "if there IS, someone else has got to do it. I'm tired to death! I never thought getting ready to go off on a simple little trip was so much work. We ought to have made the whole journey from start to finish in an airship, Tom, as we've done before." "It was hardly practical," answered the young inventor. "I'm afraid we'll be searching for this underground city for some time, and we'll only need an airship or a dirigible balloon for short trips here and there. We've got to go a good deal by information the natives can furnish us, and we can't get at them very well when sailing in the air." "That's right," agreed the eccentric man. "Well, I'm glad we're ready to start." It was the evening of the day before they were to leave for New York, there to take steamer to a small port on the Mexican coast, and every one was busy putting the finishing details to the packing of his personal baggage. The balloon, taken apart for easy transportation, had been sent on ahead, as had most of their supplies, weapons and other needed articles. All they would carry with them were handbags, containing some clothing. "Then you've fully made up your mind not to go; eh Rad?" asked Tom of the colored man, who was busy helping them pack. "You won't take a chance in the underground city?" "No, Massa Tom, I's gwine t' stay home an' look after yo' daddy. 'Sides, Boomerang is gettin' old, an' when a mule gits along in yeahs him temper ain't none ob de best." "Boomerang's temper never was very good, anyhow," said Tom. "Many's the time he's balked on you, Rad." "I know it, Massa Tom, but dat jest shows what strong character he done hab. Nobody kin manage dat air mule but me, an' if I were to leave him, dere suah would be trouble. No, I cain't go to no underground city, nohow." "But if you found some of the golden images you could buy another mule--two of 'em if you wanted that many," said Ned, and a moment later he remembered that Tom did not want the colored man to know anything about the trip after gold. He had been led to believe that it was merely a trip to locate an ancient city. "Did yo' done say GOLDEN images?" asked Eradicate, his eyes big with wonder. Ned glanced apologetically at Tom, and said, with a shrug of his shoulders: "Well, I--" "Oh, we might as well tell him," interrupted the young inventor. "Yes, Rad, we expect to bring back some images of solid gold from the underground city. If you go along you might get some for your self. Of course there's nothing certain about it, but--" "How--how big am dem gold images, Massa Tom?" asked Eradicate eagerly. "You've got him going now, Tom," whispered Ned. "How big?" repeated Tom musingly. "Hum, well, there's one that is said to be bigger than three men, and there must be any number of smaller ones--say boy's size, and from that on down to the real little ones, according to Mr. Illingway." "Real gold--yellow, gold images as big as a man," said Eradicate in a dreamy voice. "An'--an' some big as boys. By golly, Massa Tom, am yo' suah ob dat?" "Pretty sure. Why, Rad?" "Cause I's gwine wid yo', dat's why! I didn't know yo' all was goin' after gold. My golly I's gwine along! Look out ob mah way, ef yo' please,--Mr. Damon. I'se gwine t' pack up an' go. Am it too late to git me a ticket, Massa Tom?" "No, I guess there's room on the ship. But say, Rad, I don't want you to talk about this gold image part of it. You can say we're going to look for an underground city, but no more, mind you!" "Trust me, Massa Tom; trust me. I--I'll jest say BRASS images, dat's what I'll say--BRASS! We's gwine after brass, an' not GOLD. By golly, I'll fool 'em!" "No, don't say anything about the images--brass or gold," cautioned Tom. "But, Rad, there's another thing. We may run across the head-hunters down there in Mexico." "Head-hunters? What's dem?" "They crush you, and chop off your head for an ornament." "Ha! Ha! Den I ain't in no danger, Massa Tom. Nobody would want de head ob an old colored man fo' an ornament. By golly! I's safe from dem head-hunters! Yo' can't scare me dat way. I's gwine after some of dem gold images, I is, an' ef I gits some I'll build de finest stable Boomerang ever saw, an' he kin hab oats fo' times a day. Dat's what I's gwine t' do. Now look out ob mah way, Mr. Damon, ef yo' pleases. I's gwine t' pack up," and Eradicate shuffled off, chuckling to himself and muttering over and over again: "Gold images! Gold images! Images ob solid gold! Think ob dat! By golly!" "Think he'll give the secret away, Tom?" asked Ned. "No. And I'm glad he's going. Four makes a nice party, and Rad will make himself useful around camp. I've been sorry ever since he said he wouldn't go, on account of the good cooking I'd miss, for Rad is sure a fine cook." "Bless my knife and fork, that's so!" agreed Mr. Damon. So complete were the preparations of our friends that nothing remained to do the next morning. Eradicate had his things all in readiness, and when good-byes had been said to Mr. Swift, and Mrs. Baggert, Tom, Ned and Mr. Damon, followed by the faithful colored man, set off for the depot to take the train for New York. There they were to take a coast steamer for Tampico, Mexico, and once there they could arrange for transportation into the interior. The journey to New York was uneventful, but on arrival there they met with their first disappointment. The steamer on which they were to take passage had been delayed by a storm, and had only just arrived at her dock. "It will take three days to get her cargo out, clean the boilers, load another cargo in her and get ready to sail," the agent informed them. "Then what are we to do?" asked Ned. "Guess we'll have to wait; that's all," answered Tom. "It doesn't much matter. We're in no great rush, and it will give us three days around New York. We'll see the sights." "Bless my spectacles! Its an ill wind that blows nobody good," remarked Mr. Damon, "I've been wanting to visit New York for some time, and here's my chance." "We'll go to a good hotel," said Tom, "and enjoy ourselves as long as we have to wait for the steamer." CHAPTER IX "THAT LOOKED LIKE ANDY!" What seemed at first as if it was going to be a tedious time of waiting, proved to be a delightful experience, for our friends found much to occupy their attention in New York. Tom and Ned went to several theatrical performances, and wanted Mr. Damon to go with them, but the odd man said he wanted to visit several museums and other places of historical interest, so, while he was browsing around that way, the boys went to Bronx Park, and to Central Park, to look at the animals, and otherwise enjoy themselves. Eradicate put in his time in his own way. Much of it was spent in restaurants where chicken and pork chops figured largely on the bills of fare, for Tom had plentifully supplied the colored man with money, and did not ask an accounting. "What else do you do besides eat, Rad?" asked Ned with a laugh, the second day of their stay in New York. "I jest natchally looks in de jewelery store windows," replied Eradicate with a grin on his honest black face. "I looks at all de gold ornaments, an' I tries t' figger out how much better mah golden images am gwine t' be." "But don't you go in, and ask what a gold image the size of a man would be worth!" cautioned Tom. "The jeweler might think you were crazy, and he might suspect something." "No, Massa Tom, I won't do nuffin laik dat," promised Eradicate. "But, Massa Tom, how much DOES yo' 'spect a image laik dat WOULD be worth?" "Haven't the least idea, Rad. Enough, though, to make you rich for the rest of your life." "Good land a' massy!" gasped Eradicate, and he spent several hours trying to do sums in arithmetic on scraps of paper. "Hurrah!" cried Tom, when, on the morning of the third day of their enforced stay in New York, a letter was sent up to his room by the hotel clerk. "What's up?" asked Ned. "I didn't know that you sent Mary word that you were here." "I didn't, you old scout!" cried Tom. "This is from the steamship company, saying that the steamer Maderia, on which we have taken passage for Mexico, will sail to-night at high tide. That's the stuff! At last we'll really get on our way." "Bless my notebook!" cried Mr. Damon. "I hoped we'd stay at least another day here. I haven't seen half enough in the museums." "You'll see stranger things than in any museum when we get to the underground city," predicted Tom. "Come on, Ned, we'll take in a moving picture show, have our last lunch in the big city, and then go aboard." So impatient were the travelers to go on board the steamer that they arrived several hours before the time set for sailing. Many others did the same thing, however, as supper was to be served on the Maderia. Though it was within a few hours of leaving time there seemed so much to be done, such a lot of cargo to stow away, and so much coal to put into the bunkers, that Tom and the others might well be excused for worrying about whether or not they really would sail. Big trucks drawn by powerful horses thundered down the long dock. Immense automobiles laden with boxes, barrels and bales puffed to the loading gangways. There was the puffing and whistling of the donkey engines as they hoisted into the big holds the goods intended for export. At the side of the steamer were grimy coal barges, into which was dipped an endless chain of buckets carrying the coal to the bunkers. Stevadores were running here and there, orders and counter-orders were being given, and the confusion must have been maddening to any one not accustomed to it. "Bless my walking stick!" exclaimed Mr. Damon. "We'll never get off to-night, I'm positive." "Dat's right," agreed Eradicate. "Look at all dat coal dey's got to load in." "Oh, they knew how to hustle at the last minute," said Tom, and so it proved. Gradually the loading was finished. The coal barges were emptied and towed away. Truck after truck departed from the dock empty, having left its load in the interior of the steamer. One donkey engine after another ceased to puff, and the littered decks were cleared. "Let's watch the late-comers get aboard," suggested Ned to Tom, when they had arranged things in their stateroom. The two boys and Mr. Damon had a large one to themselves and Eradicate had been assigned a small one not far from them. "That'll make the time pass until supper is ready," agreed the young inventor, so they took their station near the main gangway and watched the passengers hurrying up. There were many going to make the trip to Mexico it seemed, and later the boys learned that a tourist agency had engaged passage for a number of its patrons. "That fat man will never get up the slope unless some one pushes him," remarked Ned, pointing to a very fleshy individual who was struggling up the steep gangplank, carrying a heavy valise. For the tide was almost at flood and the deck of the steamer was much elevated. Indeed it seemed at one moment as if the heavy-weight passenger would slide backward instead of getting aboard. "Go give him a hand, Rad," suggested Tom, and the colored man obligingly relieved the fat man of his grip, thereby enabling him to give all his attention to getting up the plank. And it was this simple act on the part of Rad that was the cause of an uneasy suspicion coming to Tom and Ned. For, as Eradicate hastened to help the stout passenger, two others behind him, a man and a boy, started preciptably at the sight of the colored helper. So confused were they that it was noticed by Ned and his chum. "Look at that!" said Ned in a low voice, their attention drawn from the fat man to the man and youth immediately behind him. "You'd think they were afraid of meeting Rad." "That's right," agreed Tom, for the man and youth had halted, and seemed about to turn back, Then the man, with a quick gesture, tossed a steamer rug he was carrying over his shoulder up so that it hid his face. At the same time the lad with him, evidently in obedience to some command, pulled his cap well down over his face and turned up the collar of a light overcoat he was wearing. He also seemed to shrink down, almost as if he were deformed. "Say!" began Ned in wondering tones, "Tom, doesn't that look like--" "Andy Foger and his father!" burst out the young inventor in a horse whisper. "Ned, do you think it's possible?" "Hardly, and yet--" Ned paused in his answer to look more closely at the two who had aroused the suspicions of himself and Tom. But they had now crowded so close up behind the fat man whom Eradicate was assisting up the plank, that he partly hid them from sight, and the action of the two in covering their faces further aided them in disguising themselves, if such was their intention. "Oh, it can't be!" declared Tom. "If they were going to follow us they wouldn't dare go on the same steamer. It must be some one else. But it sure did look like Andy at first." "That's what I say," came from Ned. "But we can easily find out." "How?" "Ask the purser to show us the passenger list. Even if they are down under some other names he'd know the Fogers if we described them to him." "That's right, we'll do it." By this time the fat man, who was being assisted by Eradicate had reached the top of the gang plank. He must have been expected, for several friends rushed to greet him, and for a moment there was a confusing little throng at the place where the passengers came abroad. Tom and Ned hurried up, intent on getting a closer view of the man and youth who seemed so anxious to escape observation. But several persons got in their way, and the two mysterious ones taking advantage of the confusion, slipped down a companionway to their stateroom, so that when our two lads managed to extricate themselves from the throng around the fat man, who insisted on thanking them for allowing Eradicate to help him, it was too late to effect any identification, at least for the time being. "But we'll go to the purser," said Tom. "If Andy and his father are on this steamer we want to know it." "That's right," agreed Ned. Just then there was the usual cry: "All ashore that's going ashore! Last warning!" A bell rang, there was a hoarse whistle, the rattle of the gangplank being drawn in, a quiver through the whole length of the ship, and Tom cried: "We're off!" "Yes," added Ned, "if Andy and his father are here it's too late to leave them behind now!" CHAPTER X MYSTERIOUS PASSENGERS Ned and Tom did not escape the usual commotion that always attends the sailing of a large steamer. The people on the dock were waving farewells to those on the boat, and those on the deck of the Maderia shook their handkerchiefs, their steamer rugs, their hands, umbrellas--in short anything to indicate their feelings. It was getting dark, but big electric lights made the dock and the steamer's deck brilliantly aglow. The big whistle was blowing at intervals to warn other craft that the steamer was coming out of her slip. Fussy little tugs were pushing their blunt noses against the sides of the Maderia to help her and, in brief, there was not a little excitement. "Bless my steamer chair!" exclaimed Mr. Damon. "We're really off at last! And now for the land of--" "Hush!" exclaimed Tom, who stood near the odd gentleman. "You're forgetting. Some one might hear you." "That's so, Tom. Bless my soul! I'll keep quiet after this." "Mah golly!" gasped Eradicate as he saw the open water between the ship and the deck, "I can't git back now if I wanter--but I doan't wanter. I hope yo' father takes good care ob Boomerang, Massa Tom." "Oh, I guess he will. But come on, Ned, we'll go to the purser's office now." "What for? Is something wrong?" asked Mr. Damon. "No, we just want to see if--er--if some friends of ours are on board," replied the young inventor, with a quick glance at his chum. "Very well," assented Mr. Damon. "I'll wait for you on deck here. It's quite interesting to watch the sights of the harbor." As for these same sights they possessed no attractions for the two lads at present. They were too intent on learning whether or not their suspicions regarding the Fogers were correct. "Now if they are on board," said Tom, as they made their way to the purser's office, "it only means one thing--that they're following us to get at the secret of the city of gold," and Tom whispered this last, even though there seemed to be no one within hearing, for nearly all the passengers were up on deck. "That's right," agreed Ned. "Of course there's a bare chance, if those two were the Fogers, that Mr. Foger is going off to try and make another fortune. But more than likely they're on our trail, Tom." "If it's them--yes." "Hum, Foger--no, I don't think I have any passengers of that name," said the purser slowly, when Tom had put the question. "Let's see, Farday, Fenton, Figaro, Flannigan, Ford, Foraham, Fredericks--those are all the names in the 'Fs'. No Fogers among them. Why, are you looking for some friends of yours, boys?" "Not exactly friends," replied Tom slowly, "but we know them, and we thought we saw them come aboard, so we wanted to make sure." "They might be under some other name," suggested Ned. "Yes, that is sometimes done," admitted the purser with a quick glance at the two lads, "It's done when a criminal wants to throw the police off his track, or, occasionally, when a celebrated person wants to avoid the newspaper reporters. But I hardly think that--" "Oh, I don't believe they'd do it," said Tom quickly. He saw at once that the suspicions of the purser had been aroused, and the official might set on foot inquiries that would be distasteful to the two lads and Mr. Damon. Then, too, if the Fogers were on board under some other name, they would hear of the questions that had been put regarding them, and if they were on a legitimate errand they could make it unpleasant for Tom. "I don't believe they'd do anything like that," the young inventor repeated. "Well, you can look over the passenger list soon," said the purser. "I'm going to post it in the main saloon. But perhaps if you described the persons you are looking for I could help you out. I have met nearly all the passengers already." "Mr. Foger is a big man, with a florid complexion and he has a heavy brown moustache," said Ned. "And Andy has red hair, and he squints," added Tom. "No such persons on board," declared the official positively. "It's true we have several persons who squint, but no one with red hair--I'm sure of it." "Then they're not here," declared Ned. "No, we must have been mistaken," agreed Tom, and there was relief in his tone. It was bad enough to have to search for a hidden city of gold, and perhaps have to deal with the head-hunters, without having to fight off another enemy from their trail. "Much obliged," said the young inventor to the purser, and then the two lads went back on deck. A little later supper was served in the big dining saloon, and the boys and Mr. Damon were glad of it, for they were hungry. Eradicate ate with a party of colored persons whose acquaintance he had quickly made. It was a gay gathering in which Tom and Ned found themselves, for though they had traveled much, generally it had been in one of Tom's airships, or big autos, and this dining on a big ship was rather a novelty to them. The food was good, the service prompt, and Tom found himself possessed of a very good appetite. He glanced across the table and noted that opposite him and Ned, and a little way down the board, were two vacant chairs. "Can't be that anyone is seasick already." he remarked to his chum. "I shouldn't think so, for we haven't any more motion than a ferryboat. But some persons are very soon made ill on the water." "If they're beginning this early, what will happen when we get out where it's real rough?" Tom wanted to know. "They'll sure be in for it," agreed Ned, and a glance around the dining saloon showed that those two vacant chairs were the only ones. Somehow Tom felt a vague sense of uneasiness--as if something was about to happen. In a way he connected it with the suspicion that the Fogers were aboard, and with his subsequent discovery that their names were not on the passenger list. Then, with another thought in mind, he looked about to see if he could pick out the man and youth who, on coming up the gang plank, had been taken by both Tom and Ned to be their enemies. No one looking like either was to be seen, and Tom's mind at once went back to the vacant seats at the table. "By Jove, Ned!" he exclaimed. "I believe I have it!" "Have what--a fit of seasickness?" "No, but these empty seats--the persons we saw you know--they belong there and they're afraid to come out and be seen." "Why should they be--if they're not the Fogers. I guess you've got another think coming." "Well, I'm sure there's something mysterious about those two--the way they hid their faces as they came on board--not appearing at supper--I'm going to keep my eyes open." "All right, go as far as you like and I'm with you. Just now you may pass me the powdered sugar. I want some on this pie." Tom laughed at Ned's matter-of-fact indifference, but when the young inventor turned in to his berth that night he could not stop thinking of the empty seats--the two mysterious passengers--and the two Fogers. They got all jumbled in his head and made his sleep restless. Morning saw the Maderia well out to sea, and, as there was quite a swell on, the vessel rolled and pitched to an uncomfortable degree. This did not bother Tom and Ned, who were used to sudden changes of equilibrium from their voyages in the air. Nor did Mr. Damon suffer. In fact he was feeling fine and went about on deck like an old salt, blessing so many new things that he had many of the passengers amused. Poor Eradicate did suffer though. He was very seasick, and kept to his berth most of the time, while some of his new friends did what they could for him. Tom had in mind a plan whereby he might solve the identity of the mysterious passengers. He was going to do it by a process of elimination--that is he would carefully note all on board until he had fixed on the two who had aroused his suspicions. And he had to do this because so many of the passengers looked very different, now that they had on their ship "togs," than when first coming on board. But the rough weather of the first day prevented the lad from carrying out his plan, as many of the travelers kept to their staterooms, and there were a score of vacant places at the tables. The next day, however, was fine, and with the sea like the proverbial mill pond, it seemed that everyone was out on deck. Yet when meal time came there were these same two vacant seats. "What do you think of it, Ned?" asked Tom, with a puzzled air. "I don't know what to think, Tom. It sure is queer that these two--whoever they are--don't ever come to meals. They can't be seasick on a day like this, and they certainly weren't the first night." "That's right. I'm going to ask one of the stewards where their stateroom is, and why they don't come out." "You may get into trouble." "Oh, I guess not. If I do I can stand it. I want to solve this mystery." Tom did put his question to one of the dining saloon stewards and it created no suspicions. "Ah, yes, I guess you must mean Mr. Wilson and his son." spoke the steward when he had referred to a list that corresponded with the numbers of the vacant places at the table. "They have their meals served in their stateroom." "Why?" asked Tom, "are they ill?" "I really couldn't say, sir. They prefer it that way, and the captain consented to it from the first." "But I should think they'd want to get out for a breath of air," put in Ned. "I can't stay below decks very long." "They may come out at night," suggested the steward. "Some of our travelers think they are less likely to be seasick if they come out at night. They don't see the motion of the waves then." "Guess that's it," agreed Tom with a wink at Ned. "Much obliged. Glad we're not seasick," and he linked his arm in that of his chum's and marched him off. "Why the wink?" asked Ned, when they were out of earshot of the steward. "That was to tip you off to say nothing more. I've got a plan I'm going to work." "What is it?" "Well, we know who the mysterious ones are, anyhow--at least we know their names--Wilson." "It may not be the right one." "That doesn't make any difference. I can find out their stateroom by looking at the passenger list." "What good will that do." "Lots. I'm going to keep a watch on that stateroom until I get a good look at the people in it. And if they only come out at night, which it begins to look like, I'm going to do some night watching. This thing has got to be settled, Ned. Our trip to the city of gold is too important to risk having a mysterious couple on our trail--when that same couple may be the Fogers. I'm going to do some detective work, Ned!" CHAPTER XI THE MIDNIGHT ALARM "Whew! What a lot of 'em!" "Bless my fish line! It's a big school!" "Look how they turn over and over, and leap from the water." "By golly, dere is suttinly some fish dere!" These were the exclamations made by our four friends a few days later, as they leaned over the rail of the Maderia and watched a big school of porpoises gamboling about in the warm waters of the gulf stream. It was the second porpoise school the ship had come up with on the voyage, and this was a much larger one than the first, so that the passengers crowded up to see the somewhat novel sight. "If they were only good eating now, we might try for a few," observed Ned. "Some folks eat them, but they're too oily for me," observed a gentleman who had struck up an acquaintance with the boys and Mr. Damon. "Their skin makes excellent shoe laces though, their oil is used for delicate machinery--especially some that comes from around the head, at least so I have heard." "Wow! Did you see that?" cried Tom, as one large porpoise leaped clear of the water, turned over several times and fell back with a loud splash. "That was the biggest leap yet." "And there goes another," added Ned. "Say, this ought to bring those two mysterious passengers out of their room," observed Tom to his chum in a low voice. "Nearly everyone else seems to be on deck." "You haven't been able to catch a glimpse of them; eh Tom?" "Not a peak. I stayed up several nights, as you know, and paced the deck, but they didn't stir out. Or, if they did, it must have been toward morning after I turned in. I can't understand it. They must be either criminals, afraid of being seen, or they ARE the Fogers, and they know we're on to their game." "It looks as if it might be one or the other, Tom. But if they are criminals we don't have to worry about 'em. They don't concern us." "No, that's right. Split mackerel! Look at that fellow jump. He's got 'em all beat!" and Tom excitedly, pointed at the porpoises, the whole school of which was swimming but a short distance from the steamer. "Yes, a lot of them are jumping now. I wonder--" "Look! Look!" cried the man who had been talking to Mr. Damon. "Something out of the ordinary is going on among those porpoises. I never saw them leap out of the water like that before." "Sharks! It's sharks!" cried a sailor who came running along the deck. "A school of sharks are after the porpoises!" "I believe he's right," added Mr. Sander, the gentleman with Mr. Damon. "See, there's the ugly snout of one now. He made a bite for that big porpoise but missed." "Bless my meat axe!" cried the odd man. "So he did. Say, boys, this is worth seeing. There'll be a big fight in a minute." "Not much of a fight," remarked Mr. Sander. "The porpoise isn't built for fighting. They're trying to get away from the sharks by leaping up." "Why don't they dive, and so get away?" asked Ned. "The sharks are too good at diving," went on Mr. Sander. "The porpoises couldn't escape that way. Their only hope is that something will scare the sharks away, otherwise they'll kill until their appetites are satisfied, and that isn't going to be very soon I'm afraid." "Look! Look!" cried Ned. "A shark leaped half way out of the water then." "Yes, I saw it," called Tom. There was now considerable excitement on deck. Nearly all the passengers, many of the crew and several of the officers were watching the strange sight. The porpoises were frantically tumbling, turning and leaping to get away from their voracious enemies. "Oh, if I only had my electric rifle!" cried Tom. "I'd make some of those ugly sharks feel sick!" "Bless my cartridge belt!" cried Mr. Damon. "That would be a good idea. The porpoises are such harmless creatures. It's a shame to see them attacked so." For the activity of the sharks had now redoubled, and they were darting here and there amid the school of porpoises biting with their cruel jaws. The other fish were frantically leaping and tumbling, but the strange part of it was that the schools of sharks and porpoises kept about the same distance ahead of the ship, so that the passengers had an excellent view of the novel and thrilling sight. "Rifle!" said Mr. Sander, catching at the word. "I fancy the captain may have some. He's quite a friend of mine, I'll speak to him." "Get me one, too, if you please," called Ned as the gentleman hurried away. "And I'll also try my luck at potting a shark. Bless my gunpowder if I won't!" said Mr. Damon. The captain did have several rifles in his stateroom, and he loaned them to Mr. Sander. They were magazine weapons, firing sixteen shots each, but they were not of as high power as those Tom had packed away. "Now we'll make those sharks sing a different tune, if sharks sing!" cried the young inventor. "Yes, we're coming to the rescue of the porpoises!" added Ned. The passengers crowded up to witness the marksmanship, and soon the lads and Mr. Damon were at it. It was no easy matter to hit a shark, as the big, ugly fish were only seen for a moment in their mad rushes after the porpoises, but both Tom and Ned were good shots and they made the bullets tell. "There, I hit one big fellow!" cried Mr. Damon. "Bless my bull's eye, but I plugged him right in the mouth, I think." "I hope you knocked out some of his teeth," cried Ned. They fired rapidly, and while they probably hit some of the innocent porpoises in their haste, yet they accomplished what they had set out to do--scare off the sharks. In a little while the "tigers of the sea" as some one has aptly called them, disappeared. "That's the stuff!" cried Mr. Damon. "Now we can watch the porpoises at play." But they did not have that sight to interest them very long. For, as suddenly as the gamboling fish had appeared, they sank from sight--all but a few dead ones that the sharks had left floating on the calm surface of the ocean. Probably the timid fish had taken some alarm from the depths into which they sank. "Well, that was some excitement while it lasted," remarked Tom. as he and Ned took the rifles back to the captain. "But it didn't bring out the mysterious passengers," added Ned. Tom shook his head and on their return to deck he purposely went out of his way to go past Stateroom No. 27, where the "Wilsons" were quartered. The door was closed and a momentary pause to listen brought our hero no clew, for all was silent in the room. "It's too much for me," he murmured, shaking his head and he rejoined his chum. Several more days passed, for the Maderia was a slow boat, and could not make good time to Mexico. However, our travelers were in no haste, and they fully enjoyed the voyage. Try as Tom did to get a glimpse of the mysterious passengers he was unsuccessful. He spent many hours in a night, and early morning vigil, only to have to do his sleeping next day, and it resulted in nothing. "I guess they want to get on Mexican soil before any one sees their faces," spoke Ned, and Tom was inclined to agree with his chum. They awoke one morning to find the sea tempestuous. The ship tossed and rolled amid the billows, and the captain said they had run into the tail end of a gulf hurricane. "Two days more and we'll be in port," he added, "and I'm sorry the voyage had to be marred even by this blow." For it did blow, and, though it was not a dangerous storm, yet many passengers kept below. "I'm afraid this settles it," remarked Tom that night, when the ship was still pitching and tossing. "They won't come out now, and this is likely to keep up until we get to port. Well, I can't help it." But fate was on the verge of aiding Tom in an unexpected way. Nearly every one turned in early that night for it was no pleasure to sit in the saloons, and to lie in one's berth made it easier to stand the rolling of the vessel. Tom and Ned, together with Mr. Damon, had fallen into slumber in spite of the storm, when, just as eight bells announced midnight there was a sudden jar throughout the whole ship. The Maderia quivered from stem to stern, seemed to hesitate a moment as though she had been brought to a sudden stop, and then plowed on, only to bring up against some obstruction again, with that same sickening jar throughout her length. "Bless my soul! What's that?" cried Mr. Damon, springing from his berth. "Something has happened!" added Tom, as he reached out and switched on the electric lights. "We hit something!" declared Ned. The ship was now almost stopped and she was rolling from side to side. Up on deck could be heard confused shouts and the running to and fro of many feet. The jangling of bells sounded--hoarse orders were shouted--and there arose a subdued hubbub in the interior of the ship. "Something sure is wrong!" cried Tom. "We'd better get our clothes on and get on deck! Come on, Ned and Mr. Damon! Grab life preservers!" CHAPTER XII INTO THE UNKNOWN "Bless my overshoes! I hope we're not sinking!" cried Mr. Damon, as he struggled into some of his clothes, an example followed by Ned and Tom. "This boat has water-tight compartments, and if it does sink it won't do it in a hurry," commented Tom. "I don't care to have it do it at all," declared Ned, who found that he had started to get into his trousers hindside before and he had to change them. "Think of all our baggage and supplies and the balloon on board." For the travelers had shipped their things by the same steamer as that on which they sailed. "Well, let's get out and learn the worst," cried Tom. He was the first to leave the stateroom, and as he rushed along the passages which were now brilliant with light he saw other half-clad passengers bent on the same errand as himself, to get on deck and learn what had happened. "Wait, Tom!" called Ned. "Come along, I'm just ahead of you," yelled his chum from around a corner. "I'm going to see if Eradicate is up. He's an awful heavy sleeper." "Bless my feather bed! That shock was enough to awaken anyone!" commented Mr. Damon, as he followed Ned, who was running to catch up to Tom. Suddenly a thought came to our hero. The mysterious passengers in Stateroom No. 27! Surely this midnight alarm would bring them out, and he might have a chance to see who they were. Tom thought quickly. He could take a turn, go through a short passage, and run past the room of the mysterious passengers getting on deck as quickly as if he went the usual way. "I'll go look after Rad!" Tom shouted to Ned. "You go up on deck, and I'll join you." Eradicate's stateroom was on his way, after he had passed No. 27. Tom at once put his plan into execution. As he ran on, the confusion on deck seemed to increase, but the lad noted that the vessel did not pitch and roll so much, and she seemed to be on an even keel, and in no immediate danger of going down. As Tom neared Stateroom No. 27 he heard voices coming from it, voices that sent a thrill through him, for he was sure he had heard them before. "Where are the life preservers? Oh, I KNOW we'll be drowned! I wish I'd never come on this trip! Look out, those are my pants you're putting on! Oh, where is my collar? Hand me my coat! Look out, you're stepping on my fingers!" These were the confused and alarmed cries that Tom heard. He paused for a moment opposite the door, and then it was suddenly flung open. The lights were glaring brightly inside and a strange sight met the gaze of the young inventor. There stood Mr. Foger and beside him--half dressed--was his son--Andy! Tom gasped. So did Andy and Mr. Foger, for they had both recognized our hero. But how Mr. Foger had changed! His moustache was shaved off, though in spite of this Tom knew him. And Andy! No longer was his hair red, for it had been dyed a deep black and glasses over his eyes concealed their squint. No wonder the purser had not recognized them by the descriptions Tom and Ned had given. "Andy Foger!" gasped Tom. "Tom--it's Tom Swift, father!" stammered the bully. "Close the door!" sharply ordered Mr. Foger, though he and his son had been about to rush out. "I won't do it!" cried Andy. "The ship is sinking and I'm not going to be drowned down here." "So it was you--after all," went on Tom. "What are you doing here?" "None of your business!" snapped Andy. "Get out of my way, I'm going on deck." Tom realized that it was not the proper time to hold a conversation, with a possibly sinking ship under him. He looked at Mr. Foger, and many thoughts shot through his mind. Why were they on board? Had it anything to do with the city of gold? Had Andy overheard the talk? Or was Mr. Foger merely looking for a new venture whereby to retrieve his lost fortune. Tom could not answer. The bully's father glared at our hero and then, slipping on a coat, he made a dash for the door. "Get out of my way!" he shouted, and Tom stood aside. Andy was already racing for the deck, and as the noise and confusion seemed to increase rather than diminish, Tom concluded that his wisest move would be to get out and see what all the excitement was about. He stopped on his way to arouse Eradicate but found that he and all the colored persons had left their staterooms. A few seconds later Tom was on deck. "It's all right, now! It's all right!" several officers were calling. "There is no danger. Go back to your staterooms. The danger is all over." "Is the ship sinking?" "What happened?" "Are we on fire?" "Are you sure there's no danger?" These were only a few of the questions that were flying about, and the officers answered them as best they could. "We hit a derelict, or some bit of wreckage," explained the first mate, when he could command silence. "There is a slight hole below the water-line, but the bulkheads have been closed, and there is not the slightest danger." "Are we going to turn back for New York?" asked one woman. "No, certainly not. We're going right on as soon as a slight break to one of the engines can be repaired. We are in no danger. Only a little water came in before the automatic bulkheads were shut. We haven't even a list to one side. Now please clear the decks and go back to bed." It took more urging, but finally the passengers began to disperse. Tom found Ned and Mr. Damon, who were looking for him. "Bless my life preserver!" cried the odd man. "I thought surely this was my last voyage, Tom!" "So did I," added Ned. "What's the matter, Tom, you look as though you'd seen a ghost." "I have--pretty near. The Fogers are on board." "No! You don't mean it!" "It's a fact. I just saw them. They are the mysterious passengers." And Tom related his experience. "Where are they now?" demanded Ned, looking about the deck. "Gone below again, I suppose. Though I don't see what object they can have in concealing their identity any longer." "Me either. Well, that surely is a queer go." "Bless my hot cross buns! I should say so!" commented Mr. Damon when he heard about it. "What are you going to do, Tom?" "Nothing. I can't. They have a right on board. But if they try to follow us--well, I'll act then," and Tom shut his jaws grimly. Our three friends went back to their state-room, and Eradicate also retired. The excitement was passing, and soon the ship was under way again, the sudden shock having caused slight damage to one of the big engines. But it was soon repaired and, though the storm still continued, the ship made her way well through the waves. A stout bow, water-tight compartments, and the fact (learned later) that she had struck the derelict a glancing blow, had combined to save the Maderia. There were many curious ones who looked over the side next morning to see the gaping hole in the bow. A canvas had been rigged over it, however, to keep out the waves as much as possible, so little could be viewed. Then the thoughts of landing occupied the minds of all, and the accident was nearly forgotten. For it was announced that they would dock early the next morning. In spite of the fact that their presence on board was known to Tom and his friends, the Fogers still kept to their stateroom, not even appearing at meals. Tom wondered what their object could be, but could not guess. "Well, here we are at last--in Mexico," exclaimed Ned the next morning, when, the Maderia having docked, allowed the passengers to disembark, a clean bill of health having been her good luck. "Yes, and now for a lot of work!" added Tom. "We've got to see about getting ox teams, carts and helpers, and no end of food for our trip into the interior." "Bless my coffee pot! It's like old times to be going off into the jungle or wilderness camping," said Mr. Damon. "Did you see anything of the Fogers?" asked Ned of his chum. "Not a thing. Guess they're in their stateroom, and they can stay there for all of me. I'm going to get busy." Tom and his friends went to a hotel, for they knew it would take several days to get their expedition in shape. They looked about for a sight of their enemies, but saw nothing of them. It took five days to hire the ox carts, get helpers, a supply of food and other things, and to unload the balloon and baggage from the ship. In all this time there was no sign of the Fogers, and Tom hoped they had gone about their own business. Our friends had let it be known that they were going into the interior to prospect, look for historic relics and ruins, and generally have a sort of vacation. "For if it is even hinted that we are after the city of gold," said Tom, "it would be all up with us. The whole population of Mexico would follow us. So keep mum, everyone." They all promised, and then they lent themselves to the task of getting things in shape for travel. Eradicate was a big help, and his cheerful good nature often lightened their toil. At last all was in readiness, and with a caravan of six ox carts (for the balloon and its accessories took up much space) they started off, the Mexican drivers cracking their long whips, and singing their strange songs. "Ho, for the interior!" cried Ned gaily. "Yes, we're off into the unknown all right," added Tom grimly, "and there's no telling when we'll get back, if we ever will, should the head-hunters get after us." "Bless my collar and tie! Don't talk that way. It gives me the cold shivers!" protested Mr. Damon. CHAPTER XIII FOLLOWED "Well, this is something like it!" exclaimed Ned as he sat in front of the campfire, flourishing a sandwich in one hand, and in the other a tin cup of coffee. "It sure is," agreed Tom. "But I say, old man, would you just as soon wave your coffee the other way? You're spilling it all over me." "Excuse me!" laughed Ned. "I'll be more careful in the future. Mr. Damon will you have a little more of these fried beans--tortillas or frijoles or whatever these Mexicans call 'em. They're not bad. Pass your plate, Mr. Damon." "Bless my eyelashes!" exclaimed the odd man. "Water, please, quick!" and he clapped his hand over his mouth. "What's the matter?" demanded Tom. "Too much red pepper! I wish these Mexicans wouldn't put so much of it in. Water!" Mr. Damon hastily swallowed a cup of the liquid which Ned passed to him. "I spects dat was my fault," put in Eradicate, who did the cooking for the three whites, while the Mexicans had their own. "I were just a little short ob some ob dem funny fried beans, an' I took some from ober dere," and the colored man nodded toward the Mexican campfire. "Den I puts some red pepper in 'em, an' I done guess somebody'd put some in afo' I done it." "I should say they had!" exclaimed Mr. Damon, drinking more water. "I don't see how those fellows stand it," and he looked to where the Mexican ox drivers were eagerly devouring the highly-spiced food. It was the second day of their trip into the interior, and they had halted for dinner near a little stream of good water that flowed over a grassy plain. So far their trip had been quite enjoyable. The ox teams were fresh and made good time, the drivers were capable and jolly, and there was plenty of food. Tom had brought along a supply especially for himself and his friends, for they did not relish the kind the Mexican drivers ate, though occasionally the gold-seekers indulged in some of the native dishes. "This is lots of fun," Ned remarked again, when Mr. Damon had been sufficiently cooled off. "Don't you think so, Tom?" "Indeed I do. I don't know how near we are to the place we're looking for, nor even if we're going in the right direction, but I like this sort of life." "How long Massa Tom, befo' dat gold--" began Eradicate. "Hush!" interrupted the young inventor quickly, raising a hand of caution, and glancing toward the group of Mexicans. He hoped they had not heard the word the colored man so carelessly used, for it had been the agreed policy to keep the nature of their search a secret. But at the mention of "gold" Miguel Delazes, the head ox driver, looked up quickly, and sauntered over to where Tom and the others were seated on the grass. This Delazes was a Mexican labor contractor, and it was through him that Tom had hired the other men and the ox carts. "Ah, senors!" exclaimed Delazes as he approached, "I fear you are going in the wrong direction to reach the gold mines. If I had known at the start--" "We're not looking for gold mines!" interrupted Tom quickly. He did not like the greedy look in the eyes of Delazes, a look that flared out at the mention of gold--a look that was crafty and full of cunning. "Not looking for gold mines!" the contractor repeated incredulously. "Surely I heard some one say something about gold," and he looked at Eradicate. "Oh, you mustn't mind what Rad says," cried Tom laughing, and he directed a look of caution at the colored man. "Rad is always talking about gold; aren't you, Rad?" "I 'spects I is, Massa Tom. I shore would laik t' find a gold mine, dat's what I would." "I guess that's the case with all of us," put in Ned. "Rad, get the things packed up," directed Tom quickly. "We've had enough to eat and I want to make a good distance before we camp for the night." He wanted to get the colored man busy so the Mexican would have no chance to further question him. "Surely the senors are not going to start off again at once--immediately!" protested Delazes. "We have not yet taken the siesta--the noon-day sleep, and--" "We're going to cut out the siestas on this trip," interposed Tom. "We don't want to stay here too long. We want to find some good ruins that we can study, and the sooner we find them the better." "Ah, then it is but to study--to photograph ruined cities and get relics, that the senors came to Mexico?" Once more that look of cunning came in the Mexican's eyes. "That's about it," answered Tom shortly. He did not want to encourage too much familiarity on the part of the contractor. "So, no siestas if you please, Senor Delazes. We can all siesta to-night." "Ah, you Americanos!" exclaimed the Mexican with a shrug of his shoulders. He stroked his shiny black moustache. "You are ever so on the alert! Always moving. Well, be it so, we will travel on--to the ruined city--if we can find one," and he gave Tom a look that the latter could not quite understand. It was hot--very hot--but Tom noticed that about a mile farther on, the trail led into a thick jungle of trees, where it would be shady, and make the going more comfortable. "We'll be all right when we get there," he said to the others. It was not with very good grace that the Mexicans got their ox teams ready. They had not objected very much when, on the day before Tom had insisted on starting off right after the mid-day meal, but now when it seemed that it was going to be a settled policy to omit the siesta, or noon sleep, there was some grumbling. "They may make trouble for us, Tom," said in a low voice. "Maybe you'd better give in to them." "Not much!" exclaimed the young inventor. "If I do they'll want to sleep all the while, and we'll never get any where. We're going to keep on. They won't kick after the first few times, and if they try any funny business--well, we're well armed and they aren't," and he looked at his own rifle, and Ned's. Mr. Damon also carried one, and Eradicate had a large revolver which he said he preferred to a gun. Each of our white friends also carried an automatic pistol and plenty of ammunition. "I took care not to let the Mexicans have any guns," Tom went on. "It isn't safe." "I'll wager that they've got knives and revolvers tucked away somewhere in their clothes," spoke Ned. "Bless my tackhammer!" cried Mr. Damon. "Why do you say such blood-curdling things Ned? You make me shiver!" In a little while they took up the trail again, the ox carts moving along toward the comparatively cool woods. Our friends had a cart to themselves, one fitted with padded seats, which somewhat made up for the absence of springs, and Eradicate was their driver. Tom had made this arrangement so they might talk among themselves without fear of being overheard by the Mexicans. At first Senor Delazes had suggested that one of his own drivers pilot Tom's cart, saying: "I know what the senors fear--that their language may be listened to, but I assure you that this man understands no English, do you, Josef?" he asked the man in question, using the Spanish. The man shook his head, but a quick look passed between him and his employer. "Oh, I guess we'll let Rad drive," insisted Tom calmly, "it will remind him of his mule Boomerang that he left behind." "As the senor will," Delazes had replied with a shrug of his shoulders, and he turned away. So it was that Tom, Ned and Mr. Damon, in their own cart, piloted by the colored man, were in the rear of the little cavalcade. "Have you any idea where you are going, Tom?" asked Ned, after they had reached the shade, when it was not such a task to talk. "Oh, I have a good general idea," replied the young inventor. "I've studied the map Mr. Illingway sent, and according to that the city of--well, you know the place we're looking for--lies somewhere between Tampico and Zacatecas, and which the plain of the ruined temple which used to be near the ancient city of Poltec, is about a hundred and fifty miles north of the city of Mexico. So I'm heading for there, as near as I can tell. We ought to fetch it in about a week at this rate." "And what are we to do when we get there?" inquired Mr. Damon. "If we keep on to that place where the images are to be found, with this rascally crew of Mexicans, there won't be much gold for us." He had spoken in low tones, though the nearest Mexican cart was some distance ahead. "I don't intend to take them all the way with us," said Tom. "When I think we are somewhere near the temple plain I'm going to make the Mexicans go into camp. Then we'll put the balloon together and we four will go off in that. When we find what we're looking for we'll go back, pick up the Mexicans, and make for the coast." "If the head-hunters let us," put in Ned grimly. "Bless my nail file! There you go again!" cried Mr. Damon. "Positively, Ned, you get on my nerves." "Yais, Massa Ned, an' _I_ jest wish yo' wouldn't mention dem head gen'men no mo'," added Eradicate. "I can't drive straight when I hears yo' say dem words, an' goodness knows dese oxes is wusser t' drive dan my mule Boomerang." "All right I'll keep still," agreed Ned, and then he and Tom, together with Mr. Damon, studied the map, trying to decide whether or not they were on the proper trail. They made a good distance that day, and went into camp that night near the foot of some low hills. "It will be cooler traveling to-morrow," said Tom. "We will be up higher, and though we'll have to go slower on account of the up grade, it will be better for all of us." They found the trail quite difficult the next day, as there were several big hills to climb. It was toward evening, and they were looking for a good place to camp for the night, when Delazes, who was riding in the first cart, was observed to jump down and hasten to the rear. "I wonder what he wants?" spoke Tom, as he noted the approaching figure. "Probably he's going to suggest that we take a few days' vacation," ventured Ned. "He doesn't like work." "Senor," began Delazes addressing Tom, who called to Eradicate to bring his oxen to a halt, "are you aware that we are being followed?" "Followed? What do you mean?" cried the young inventor, looking quickly around. "Bless my watch chain!" gasped Mr. Damon. "Followed? By whom?" He, too, looked around, as did Ned, but the path behind them was deserted. "When last we doubled on our own trail, to make the ascent of the big hill a little easier," on the Mexican, "I saw, on the road below us two ox carts, such as are hired out to prospectors or relic seekers like yourself. At first I thought nothing of it. That was early this morning. When we stopped for dinner, once more having to double, I had another view of the trail, I saw the same two carts. And now, when we are about to camp, the same two carts are there." He pointed below, for the caravan was on quite an elevation now, and down on the faint trail, which was in plain view, for it wound up the mountain like a corkscrew, were two ox carts, moving slowly along. "They are the same ones," went on Delazes, "and they have been following us all day--perhaps longer--though this is the first I have noted them." "Followed!" murmured Tom. "I wonder--" From his valise he took a small but powerful telescope. In the fast-fading light he focused it on the two ox carts. The next moment he uttered an exclamation of anger and dismay. "Who is it?" asked Ned, though he was almost sure what the answer would be. "Andy Foger and his father!" cried Tom. "I might have known they'd follow us--to learn--" and then he stopped, for Senor Delazes was regarding him curiously. CHAPTER XIV A WEARY SEARCH "Are you sure it's them?" asked Ned. "Bless my toothpick!" cried Mr. Damon. "It isn't possible, Tom?" "Yes, it is," said the young inventor. "It's the Fogers all right. Take a look for yourself, Ned." The other lad did, and confirmed his chum's news, and then Mr. Damon also made sure, by using the glass. "No doubt of it," the odd man said. "But what are you going to do, Tom?" Our hero thought for a moment. Then, once more, he looked steadfastly through the glass at the other carts. The occupants of them did not appear to know that they were under observation, and at that distance they could not have made out our friends without a telescope. Tom ascertained that the Fogers were not using one. "Has Senor Swift any orders?" asked Delazes. "Who are these Fogers? Enemies of yours I take it. Why should they follow you merely to find a ruined city, that the ruins and relics may be studied?" "Here are the orders," spoke Tom, a bit sharply, not answering the question. "We'll camp and have supper, and then we'll go on and make all the distance we can after dark." "What, travel at night?" cried the Mexican, as if in horror at the suggestion. "Yes; why not?" asked Tom calmly. "They can't see us after dark, and if we can strike off on another trail we may throw them off our track. Surely we'll travel after supper." "But it will be night--dark--we never work after dark," protested Delazes. "You're going to this time," declared Tom grimly. "But the oxen--they are not used to it." "Nothing like getting used to a thing," went on the young inventor. "They won't mind after a rest and a good feed. Besides, there is a moon to-night, and it will be plenty light enough. Tell the men, Senor Delazes." "But they will protest. It is unheard of, and--" "Send them to me," said Tom quickly. "There'll be double pay for night work. Send them to me." "Ah, that is good. Senor Swift. Double pay! I think the men will not object," and with a greedy look in his black eyes the Mexican contractor hastened to tell his men of the change of plans. Tom took another look at the approaching Fogers. Their carts were slowly crawling up the trail, and as Tom could plainly see them, he made no doubt but that his caravan was also observed by Andy and his father. "I guess that's the best plan to throw them off," agreed Ned, when they were once more underway. "But how are you going to explain to Delazes, Tom, the reason the Fogers are following us? He'll get suspicious, I'm afraid." "Let him. I'm not going to explain. He can think what he likes, I can't stop him. More than likely though, that he'll put it down to some crazy whim of us 'Americanos.' I hope he does. We can talk loudly, when he's around, about how we want to get historical relics, and the Fogers are after the same thing. There have been several expeditions down this way from rival colleges or museums after Aztec relics, and he may think we're one of them. For the golden images are historical relics all right," added Tom in a lower voice. The Mexicans made no objections to continuing on after supper, once they learned of the double pay, and a little later they went into camp. A turn of the trail hid the Fogers from sight, but Tom and his friends had no doubt but what they were still following. It was rather novel, traveling along by the light of the brilliant moon, and the boys and Mr. Damon thoroughly enjoyed it. Orders had been given to proceed as quietly as possible, for they did not want the Fogers to learn of the night trip. "They may see us," Tom had said when they were ready to start, "but we've got to take a chance on that. If the trail divides, however, we can lose them." "It does separate, a little farther on," Delazes had said. "Good!" cried Tom, "then we'll fool our rival relic hunters and our museum will get the benefit." He said this quite loudly. "Ah, then you want the relics for a museum?" asked the Mexican contractor quickly. "Yes, if they pay enough," replied Tom, and he meant it, for he had no doubt that many museums would be glad to get specimens of the golden images. Just as they were about to start off Tom had swept the moonlit trail with his night-glass, but there was no sign of the Fogers, though they may have seen their rivals start off. "Let her go!" ordered Tom, and they were once more underway. It was about five miles to where the trail divided, and it was midnight when they got there, for the going was not easy. "Now, which way," asked Delazes, as the caravan came to a halt. "To the left or right?" "Let me see," mused Tom, trying to remember the map the African missionary had sent him. "Do these roads come together farther on?" "No, but there is a cross trail about twenty miles ahead by which one can get from either of these trails to the other." "Good!" cried the young inventor. "Then we'll go to the right, and we can make our way back. But wait a minute. Send a couple of carts on the left trail for about two miles. We'll wait here until they come back." "The senor is pleased to joke," remarked the Mexican quickly. "I never was more earnest in all my life," replied Tom. "What's the answer?" asked Ned. "I want to fool the Fogers. If they see cart tracks on both roads they won't know which one we took. They may hit on the right one first shot, and again, they may go to the left until they come to the place where our two carts turn back. In that case we'll gain a little time." "Good!" cried Ned. "I might have known you had a good reason, Tom." "Send on two carts," ordered the young inventor, and now Delazes understood the reason for the strategy. He chuckled as he ordered two of the drivers to start off, and come back after covering a couple of miles. It was rather dreary waiting there at the fork of the trail, and to beguile the time Tom ordered fires lighted and chocolate made. The men appreciated this, and were ready to start off again when their companions returned. "There," announced Tom, when they were on the way once more, "I think we've given them something to think over at any rate. Now for a few more miles, and then we'll rest until morning." All were glad enough when Tom decided to go into camp, and they slept later than usual the next morning. The trail was now of such a character that no one following them could be detected until quite close, so it was useless to worry over what the Fogers might do. "We'll just make the best time we can, and trust to luck," Tom said. They traveled on for two days more, and saw nothing of the Fogers. Sometimes they would pass through Mexican villages where they would stop to eat, and Tom would make inquiries about the ancient city of Poltec and the plain of the ruined temple. In every case the Mexicans shook their heads. They had never heard of it. Long before this Tom had ascertained that neither Delazes nor any of his men knew the location of this plain nor had they ever heard of it. "If there is such a place it must be far in--very far in," the contractor had said. "You will never find it." "Oh, yes, I will," declared Tom. But when a week passed, and he was no nearer it than at first even Tom began to get a little doubtful. They made inquiries at every place they stopped, of villagers, of town authorities, and even in some cases of the priests who obligingly went over their ancient church records for them. But there was no trace of the temple plain, and of course none of the city of gold. Peasants, journeying along the road, parties of travelers, and often little bodies of soldiers were asked about the ruined temple, but always the answer was the same. They had never heard of it, nor of the head-hunters either. "Well, I'm glad of the last," said Mr. Damon, looking apprehensively around, while Eradicate felt of his head to see if it was still fast on his shoulders. It was a weary search, and when two weeks had passed even Tom had to admit that it was not as easy as it had seemed at first. As for the Mexicans, they kept on, spurred by the offer of good wages. Delazes watched Tom narrowly, for a sign or hint of what the party was really after, but the young inventor and his friends guarded their secret well. "But I'm not going to give up!" cried Tom. "Our map may be wrong, and likely it is, but I'm sure we're near the spot, and I'm going to keep on. If we don't get some hint of it in a few days, though, I'll establish a camp, go up in the air and see what I can pick out from the balloon." "That's the stuff!" cried Ned. "It will be a relief from these rough ox carts." So for the next few days they doubled and redoubled on their trail, criss-crossing back and forth, ever hoping to get some trace of the temple, which was near the entrance to the city of gold. In all that time nothing was seen of the Fogers. "We'll try the balloon to-morrow," decided Tom, as they went into camp one night after a weary day. Every one was tired enough to sleep soundly under the tents which were set up over the carts, in which beds were laid. It must have been about midnight when Tom, who felt a bit chilly (for the nights were cool in spite of the heat of the day), got up to look at the campfire. It was almost out so he went over to throw on some more logs. As he did so he heard a noise as if something or somebody had leaped down out of a tree to the ground. A moment later, before he could toss on the sticks he had caught up, Tom was aware of two eyes of greenish brightness staring at him in the glow of the dying fire, and not ten feet away. CHAPTER XV THE GOLDEN IMAGE For a moment the young inventor felt a cold chill run down his spine, and, while his hair did not actually "stand up" there was a queer sensation on his scalp as if the hairs WANTED to stand on end, but couldn't quite manage it. Involuntarily Tom started, and one of the sticks he held in his hand dropped to the ground. The green eyes shifted--they came nearer, and the lad heard a menacing growl. Then he knew it was some wild animal that had dropped down from a tree and was now confronting him, ready to spring on the instant. Tom hardly knew what to do. He realized that if he moved it might precipitate an attack on him, and he found himself dimly wondering, as he stood there, what sort of an animal it was. He had about come to the conclusion that it was something between a cougar and a mountain lion, and the next thought that came to him was a wonder whether any one else in the camp was awake, and would come to his rescue. He half turned his head to look, when again there came that menacing growl, and the animal came a step nearer. Evidently every movement Tom made aroused the beast's antagonism, and made him more eager to come to the attack. "I've got to keep my eyes on him," mused the lad. "I wonder if there's any truth in the old stories that you can subdue a wild beast with your eyes--by glaring at him. But whether that's so or not, I've got to do it--keep looking him in the face, for that's all I can do." True, Tom held in his hand some light sticks, but if it came to a fight they would be useless. His gun was back in the tent, and as far as he could learn by listening there was not another soul in the camp awake. Suddenly the fire, which had almost died out, flared up, as a dying blaze sometimes will, and in the bright glare the young inventor was able to see what sort of beast confronted him. He saw the tawny, yellow body, the twitching tail, the glaring eyes and the cruel teeth all too plainly, and he made up his mind that it was some species of the cougar family. Then the embers flared out and it was darker than before. But it was not so dark but what Tom could still see the glaring eyes. "I've got to get away from him--scare him--or shoot him," the lad decided on the instant. "I'd like to bowl him over with a bullet, but how can I get my gun?" He thought rapidly. The gun was in the tent back of him, near where he had been sleeping. It was fully loaded. "I've got to get it," reflected Tom, and then he dropped the other sticks in his hand. Once more the beast growled and came a step nearer--soft, stealthy steps they were, too, making no sound on the ground. Then Tom started to make a cautious retreat backwards, the while keeping his eyes focused on those of the beast. He made up his mind that he would give that "hypnotism" theory a trial, at any rate. But at his first backward step the beast let out such a fierce growl, and came on with such a menacing leap that Tom stood still in very terror. The animal was now so close to him that a short jump would hurl the beast upon the lad. "This won't do," thought Tom. "Every time I go back one step he comes on two, and it won't take him long to catch up to me. And then, too, he'll be in the tent in another minute, clawing Ned or Mr. Damon. What can I do? Oh, for a gun!" He stood still, and this seemed to suit the animal, for it remained quiet. But it never took its eyes off Tom, and the switching tail, and the low growls now and then, plainly indicated that the beast was but waiting its time to leap and give the death blow. Then an idea came to Tom. He remembered that he had once read that the human voice had a wonderful effect on wild animals. He would try it. "And I'm not going to sing him any slumber song, either," mused Tom. "I'll start on a low tone to call for Ned, and gradually raise my voice until I wake him up. Then I'll tell Ned to draw a bead on the beast and plunk him while I hold his attention." Tom lost no time in putting his plan into operation. "Ned! Ned! Say, old man, wake up! I'm in trouble! There's a beast as big as a lion out here. Ned! Ned! Ned!" Tom began in a low voice, but increased his tones with each word. At first the beast seemed uneasy, and then it stopped switching its tail and just glared at Tom. "Ned! I say Ned! Wake up!" Tom listened. All was silent within the tent. "Ned! Oh, Ned!" Louder this time, but still silence. "Hey, Ned! Are you ever going to wake up! Get your gun! Your gun! Shoot this beast! Ned! Ned!" Tom waited. It seemed as if the beast was nearer to him. He called once more. "Ned! Ned!" He was fairly shouting now. Surely some one must hear him. "What's that? What's the matter? Tom? Where are you?" It was Ned's voice--a sleepy voice--and it came from the interior of the tent. "Here!" called Tom. "Out in front--by the fire--get your gun, and get him with the first shot, or it's all up with yours truly." "Get who with the first shot. Who are you talking about?" "This cougar! Hurry Ned, he's creeping nearer!" Tom heard a movement behind him. He dared not turn his head, but he knew it was his chum. Then he heard a gasp and he knew that Ned had seen the beast. Then all Tom could do was to wait. And it was not easy waiting. At any moment the beast might spring, and, as far as he was concerned it would be all over. Nearer and nearer crept the brute. Again Tom felt that queer sensation down his spine. "Hurry, Ned," he whispered. "All right," came back the reassuring answer. There was a moment of silence. Crack! A sliver of flame cut the darkness. There was a report that sounded like a cannon, and it was followed by an unearthly scream. Instinctively Tom leaped back as he saw the greenish eyes change color. The young inventor felt a shower of dirt thrown over him by the claws of the dying cougar, and then he realized that he was safe. He raced toward the tent, to be met by Ned, and the next instant the camp was in wild commotion. "Bless my slippers!" cried Mr. Damon. "What has happened. Tell me at once?" "Fo' de lob of chicken!" yelled Eradicate from a tent he had all to himself--the cook tent. "Santa Maria! Ten thousand confusions! What is it?" fairly screamed Delazes. "Are you all right, Tom?" called Ned. "Sure. It was a good shot." And then came explanations. Wood was thrown on the fire, and as the Mexicans gathered around the blaze they saw, twitching in the death throes, a big cougar, or some animal allied to it. Neither Tom nor his friends had ever seen one just like it, and the Mexican name for it meant nothing to them. But it was dead, and Tom was saved and the way he grasped Ned's hand showed how grateful he was, even if he did not say much. Soon the excitement died out, after Tom had related his experience, and though it was some time before he and the others got to sleep again, they did finally, and the camp was once more quiet. An early start was made the next day, for Tom had reconsidered his determination to assemble the balloon and explore in that air craft, And the reason for his reconsideration was this: They had not gone far on their journey before they met a solitary Mexican, and of him they asked the usual question about the plain of the temple. He knew nothing, as might have been expected, but he stated that there was a large village not far distant in which dwelt many old Mexicans. "They might know something," he said. "It's worth trying," decided Tom. "I'll wait until to-morrow about the balloon. We can make the village by noon, I guess. Perhaps we can get a clew there." But it was nearly night when the ox carts drew into the Mexican settlement, for there was an accident in the afternoon, one of the vehicles breaking down. There were fires blazing in many places in the village, which was one of the most primitive sort, when our friends entered. They were curiously watched as they drove through on their way to a good camping site beyond. And here, once more, fate stepped in to aid Tom in his search for the city of gold. As they were out of corn meal, and needed some for supper, Tom told Eradicate to stop at one of the larger houses to buy some. The lad followed the colored man into the building, which seemed to be used by several families. "We'll be obliged to yo' all fo' some corn meal," began Eradicate, picking out an aged Mexican to whom he addressed his request. "What is it?" asked the Mexican in Spanish. Tom put the question in that language, and he was on the point of explaining that they were travelers, when he stopped midway, and stared at something on a rude shelf in the main room of the house. "Look! Look, Ned!" whispered Tom. "What is it?" asked his chum. "On that shelf! That image! The image of gold! One just like the drawing Mr. Illingway sent from Africa! Ned, we're on the trail at last, for there is one of the small images from the city of gold!" and Tom, with a hand that trembled in spite of himself, pointed at the small, yellow figure. CHAPTER XVI THE MAP ON THE GOLD Naturally, when Tom pointed at the golden image, the eyes of all the Mexicans in the room, as well as those of the friends of the young inventor, followed. For a moment there was silence and then the aged Mexican, whom Eradicate had asked for corn meal, rapidly uttered something in Spanish. "Yes! Yes!" chorused his companions, and they followed this up, by crying aloud when he had said something else: "No! No!" Then there was confused talking, seemingly directed at Tom, who, though he had lowered his hand, continued to stare at the golden image. "What in the world are they saying?" asked Ned, who only knew a little Spanish. "I can't get on to all of it," explained Tom above the confusion. "Evidently they think we've come to take the image away from them and they are objecting." "Offer to buy it then," suggested Ned. "That's what I'm going to do," answered Tom, and once more addressing the aged Mexican, who seemed to be at the head of the household, Tom offered to purchase the relic which meant so much to him, agreeing to pay a large sum. This seemed to create further confusion, and one of the women of the household hastily took down the little statute and was carrying it into an inner room, when Miguel Delazes came up. He looked into the open doorway, glanced about the room which was illuminated by several rude oil lamps, saw the looks of wonder and surprise on the faces of Tom and his companions, noted the excitement among the Mexicans, and then he caught sight of the golden image which the woman held. "Ah!" exclaimed Delazes, and there was a world of meaning in his tone. His small dark eyes glittered. They roved from the image to Tom, and back to the little golden figure again. "Ah!" muttered the contractor. "And so the senor has found that for what he was searching? It IS gold after all, but such gold as never I have seen before. So, the senor hopes to get many relics like that for his museum? So, is it not? Ah, ha! But that is worth coming many miles to get!" Tom realized that if he did not act quickly Delazes might have his secret, and once it was known that Tom was seeking the buried city of gold, the Mexicans could never be shaken off his trail. He decided on a bold step. "Look here, Senor Delazes," said the young inventor. "I had no more idea that golden image was here than you did. I would like to buy it, in fact I offered to, but they don't seem to want to sell it. If you can purchase it for me I'll pay YOU a good price for it." "And doubtless the senor would like many more," suggested Delazes, with an open sneer. "Doubtless the senor would!" snapped Tom. "Look here, Delazes, I'm here on business, to get all the relics I can--this kind or any other that I may fancy. You can think we're after buried treasure if you want to--I'm not going to take the trouble to contradict you. I hired you and your men for a certain purpose. But if you don't want to stay and let me and my friends run things, the sooner you tell me so the better. But I don't want any more of your underhand remarks. Understand?" For a moment Delazes stared at Tom with snapping eyes, as though he would like to have attacked him. Then, knowing that Tom and his friends were well armed, and doubtless thinking that strategy was better than open force he bowed, smiled in what he probably meant for a friendly fashion, and said: "The senor is pleased to joke. Very well, I shall believe what I like. Meanwhile, does Senor Swift commission me to buy the image for him?" Tom hesitated a moment. He feared he would be no match for the shrewd Mexican, and he wondered how much Delazes already knew. Then he decided on keeping up his end baldly, as that had seemed to have the best effect. "You can have a try at buying the image after I have failed," he said. "I'll try my hand first." "Very well," assented the contractor. The talk had been in English, and none of the Mexicans gave any signs of having understood it. Tom realized that he was playing a dangerous game, for naturally Delazes would privately tell the Mexicans to put so high a price on the statute as to prevent Tom from getting it and then the contractor would make his own terms. But Tom decided that this was the only course, and he followed it. "We'll stay here in the village for to-night," he went on. "Delazes, you and your men can make yourselves comfortable with any friends you may find here. We'll set up our tent as usual, after we get some corn meal for supper. I'll talk to them about the relic to-morrow. They seem to be afraid now." "Very well," assented the contractor again, and then he said something in Spanish to the aged Mexican. What it was Tom could not catch, for Delazes spoke rapidly and seemed to use some colloquial, or slang phrases with which our hero was not familiar. The old Mexican assented by a nod, and then he brought out some corn meal which Eradicate took. The woman with the golden image had gone into an inner room. "Bless my pocketbook!" exclaimed Mr. Damon, when he, Tom, Ned and Eradicate were busy setting up their tent near a campfire just on the edge of the village. "This is most unexpected. What are you going to do, Tom?" "I hardly know. I want to have a talk with whoever owns that image, to learn where they got it. One thing is sure, it proves that Mr. Illingway's information about the city of gold is correct." "But it doesn't tell us where it is," said Ned. "It must be somewhere around here," declared his chum. "Otherwise the image wouldn't be here." "Bless my gaiters, that's so!" exclaimed the odd man. "Not necessarily," insisted Ned. "Why one of the images is away over in Africa, and this one may have been brought hundreds of miles from the underground city." "I don't believe so," declared Tom. "We're somewhere in the neighborhood of the city, according to Mr. Illingway's map, I'm sure. That would be true, image or no image. But when you take the little gold statue into consideration it makes me positive that I'm near the end of the trail. I've just got to have a talk with those people to learn where the statue came from." "Look out for Delazes," warned Ned. "I intend to. As soon as I can, I'm going to leave him and his men behind and set off in the balloon. But first I want to get an idea of where to head for. We must locate the plain on which stands the ruined temple." "It's getting exciting," remarked Ned. "I wish--" "Supper am serbed in de dinin' cah!" interrupted Eradicate with a laugh, as he imitated a Pullman porter. "That's the best thing you could wish for," put in Tom gaily. "Come on, we'll have a good meal, a sleep, and then we'll be ready to play detectives again to-morrow." They all slept soundly that night, though Tom had some idea of staying awake to see if Delazes paid any secret visits to the house where the golden image was kept. But he realized that the Mexican, if he wanted to, could easily find means to outwit him, so the young inventor decided to get all the rest he could and trust to chance to help him out. His first visit after breakfast was to the house of the aged Mexican. The image was not in sight, though Tom and Ned and Mr. Damon looked eagerly around for it. There was a curious light in the eyes of the old man as Tom asked for the little statue of gold. Delazes was not in evidence. Tom had to conduct the conversation in Spanish, no particularly easy task for him, though he made out all right. "Will you sell the image?" he asked. "No sell," replied the Mexican quickly. "Will you please let me look at it?" The Mexican hesitated a moment, called a command to some one in the next room, and, a moment later the old woman shuffled in, bearing the wonderful golden image. Tom could not repress a little gasp of delight as he saw it at close range, for it was beautifully carved out of solid, yellow gold. The woman set it on a rude table, and the young inventor, Ned and Mr. Damon drew near to look at the image more closely. It was the work of a master artist. The statue was about eight inches high, and showed a man, dressed in flowing robes, seated crosslegged on a sort of raised pedestal. On the head was a crown, many pointed and the face beneath it showed calm dignity like that of a superior being. In one extended hand was a round ball, with lines on it to show the shape of the earth, though only the two American continents appeared. In the other hand was what might be tables of stone, a book, or something to represent law-giving authority. "How much?" asked Tom. "No sell," was the monotonous answer. "Five hundred dollars," offered our hero. "No sell." "One thousand dollars." "No sell." "Why is it so valuable to you?" Tom wanted to know. "We have him for many years. Bad luck come if he go." Then the Mexican went on to explain that the image had been in his family for many generations, and that once, when it had been taken by an enemy, death and poverty followed until the statue was recovered. He said he would never part with it. "Where did it come from?" asked Tom, and he cared more about this than he did about buying the image. "Far, far off," said the Mexican. "No man know. I no know--my father he no know--his father's father no know. Too many years back--many years." He motioned to the woman to take the statue away, and Tom and his friend realized that little more could be learned. The young inventor stretched out his hand with an involuntary motion, and the Mexican understood. He spoke to the woman and she handed the image to Tom. The Mexican had recognized his desire for a moment's closer inspection and had granted it. "Jove! It's as heavy as lead!" exclaimed Tom. "And solid gold." "Isn't it hollow up the middle?" asked Ned. "Look on the underside, Tom." His chum did so. As he turned the image over to look at the base he had all he could do not to utter a cry of surprise. For there, rudely scratched on the plain surface of the gold, was what was unmistakably a map. And it was a map showing the location of the ruined temple--the temple and the country surrounding it--the ancient city of Poltec, and the map was plain enough so that Tom could recognize part of the route over which they had traveled. But, better than all, was a tiny arrow, something like the compass mark on modern maps. And this arrow pointed straight at the ruins of the temple, and the direction indicated was due west from the village where our travelers now were. Tom Swift had found out what he wanted to know. Without a word he handed back the image and then, trying not to let his elation show in his face, he motioned to Ned and Mr. Damon to follow him from the house. "Bless my necktie!" exclaimed the odd man, when they were out of hearing distance. "What's up, Tom." "I know the way to the ruined temple. We'll start at once," and he told them of the map on the image. "Who do you suppose could have made it?" asked Ned. "Probably whoever took the image from the city of gold. He wanted to find his way back again, or show some one, but evidently none of the recent owners of the image understand about the map, if they know it's there. The lines are quite faint, but it is perfectly plain." "It's lucky I saw it. I don't have to try to buy the image now, nor seek to learn where it came from. Anyhow, if they told me they'd tell Delazes, and he'd be hot after us. As it is I doubt if he can learn now. Come, we'll get ready to hit the trail again." And they did, to the no small wonder of the contractor and his men, who could not understand why Tom should start out without the image, or without having learned where it came from, for Delazes had questioned the old Mexican, and learned all that took place. But he did not look on the base of the statue. Due west went the cavalcade, and then a new complication arose. Tom did not want to take the Mexicans any nearer to the plain of the temple than possible, and he did not know how many miles it was away. So he decided on taking a longer balloon voyage than at first contemplated. "We'll camp to-night at the best place we can find," he said to Delazes, "and then I'm going on in the balloon. You and your men will stay in camp until we come back." "Ha! And suppose the senors do not come back with the balloon?" "Wait a reasonable time for us, and then you can do as you wish. I'll pay you to the end of the month and if you wait for us any longer I have given instructions for the bank in Tampico to pay you and your men what is right." "Good! And the senors are going into the unknown?" "Yes, we don't know where we'll wind up. This hunting for relics is uncertain business. Make yourselves comfortable in camp, and wait." "Waiting is weary business, Senor Swift. If we could come with you--" began Delazes, with an eager look in his eyes. "Out of the question," spoke Tom shortly. "There isn't room in the balloon." "Very well, senor," and with a snapping glance from his black eyes the contractor walked away. CHAPTER XVII THE RUINED TEMPLE Though Tom had his portable balloon in shape for comparatively quick assembling it was several days, after they went into permanent camp, before it was in condition for use. The Mexicans were not of much help for several reasons. Some of them were ignorant men, and were very superstitious, and would have nothing to do with the "Air Fiend" as they called it. In consequence Tom, Ned, Mr. Damon and Eradicate had to do most of the work. But Tom and Ned were a host in themselves, and Mr. Damon was a great help, though he often stopped to bless something, to the no small astonishment of the Mexicans, one of whom innocently asked Tom if this eccentric man was not "a sort of priest in his own country, for he called down so many blessings?" "Bless my pen wiper!" exclaimed Mr. Damon, when Tom had told him. "I must break myself of that habit. Bless my--" and then he stopped and laughed, and went on with the work of helping to install the motor. Another reason why some of the Mexicans were of little service was because they were so lazy. They preferred to sit in the shade and smoke innumerable cigarettes, or sleep. Then, too, some of them had to go out after some small game with which that part of the country abounded, for though there was plenty of tinned food, fresh meat was much more appreciated. But Tom and Ned labored long and hard, and in about a week after making camp they had assembled the dirigible balloon in which they hoped to set out to locate the plain of the ruined temple, and also the entrance to the underground city of gold. "Well, I'll start making the gas to-morrow," decided Tom, in their tent one night, after a hard day's work. "Then we'll give the balloon a tryout and see how she behaves in this part of the world. The motor is all right, we're sure of that much," for they had given the engine a test several days before. "Which way are we going to head?" asked Ned. "North, I think," answered Tom. "But I thought you said that the temple was west--" "Don't you see my game?" went on the young inventor quickly, and in a low voice, for several times of late he had surprised some of the Mexicans sneaking about the tent. "As soon as we start off Delazes is going to follow us." "Follow us?" cried Mr. Damon. "Bless my shoe horn, what do you mean?" "I mean that he still suspects that we are after gold, and he is going to do his best to get on our trail. Of course he can't follow us through the air, but he'll note in what direction we start and as soon as we are out of sight he and his men will hit the trail in the same direction." "What, and leave the camp?" asked Ned. "Yes, though they'll probably skip off with some of our supplies. That's why I'm going to take along an unusually large supply. We may not come back to this camp at all. In fact, it won't be much use after Delazes and his crowd clean it out and leave." "And you really think they'll do that, Tom?" asked his chum. "I'm almost sure of it, from the way the Mexicans have been acting lately. Delazes has been hinting around trying to surprise me into saying which direction we're going to take. But I've been careful. The sight of that golden image aroused him and his men. They're hungry for gold, and they'd do away with us in a minute if they thought they could find what we're looking for and get it without us. But our secret is ours yet, I'm glad to say. If only the balloon behaves we ought soon to be in the--" "Hark!" exclaimed Ned, holding up a warning hand. They heard a rustling outside the tent, and one side bulged in, as if some one was leaning against it. "Some one's listening," whispered Ned. Tom nodded. The next moment he drew his heavy automatic revolver and remarked in loud tones: "My gun needs cleaning. I'm going to empty it through the tent where that bulge is--look out, Ned." The bulge against the canvas disappeared as if by magic, and the sound of some one crawling or creeping away could be heard outside. Tom laughed. "You see how it is," he said. "We can't even think aloud." "Bless my collar button; who was it?" asked Mr. Damon. "Some of Delazes's men--or himself," replied the young inventor. "But I guess I scared him." "Maybe it was Andy Foger," suggested Ned with a smile. "No, I guess we've lost track of him and his father," spoke Tom. "I've kept watch of the back trail as much as I could, and haven't seen them following us. Of course they may pick up our trail later and come here, and they may join forces with the Mexicans. But I don't know that they can bother us, once we're off in the balloon." To Tom's disappointment, the next day proved stormy, a heavy rain falling, so it was impossible to test the balloon with the gas. The camp was a disconsolate and dreary place, and even Eradicate, usually so jolly, was cross and out of sorts. For three days the rain kept up, and Tom and Ned thought they would never see the last of it, but on the fourth morning the sun shone, wet garments and shoes were dried out, tents were opened to the warm wind and everyone was in better spirits. Tom and his chum at once set about making gas for the big bag, their operations being closely watched by the Mexicans. As I have explained before, Tom had the secret of making a very powerful gas from comparatively simple ingredients, and the machinery for this was not complicated. So powerful was it that the bag of the dirigible balloon did not need to be as large as usual, a distinct saving in space. In a short time the bag began to distend and then the balloon took shape and form. The bag was of the usual cigar shape, divided into many compartments so that the puncture of one would not empty out all the vapor. Below the bag was a car or cabin made of light wood. It was all enclosed and contained besides the motor, storage tanks for gasolene, oil and other things, sleeping berths, a tiny kitchen, a pilot house, and a room to be used for a living apartment. Everything was very compact, and there was not half the room there was in some of Tom Swift's other airships. But then the party did not expect to make long voyages. They could take along a good supply of canned and also compressed food, much of which was in tablet or capsule form, and of course they would take their weapons, and ammunition. "And I hope you'll leave room for plenty of gold," said Ned in a whisper to Tom, as they completed arrangements for the gas test. "I guess we can manage to store all that we can get out of the underground city," replied his chum. "I'm going to find a place for the big gold statue if we can manage to lift it." "Say, we'll be millionaires all right!" exulted Ned. Though much still remained to be done on the balloon, it was soon in shape for an efficient test, and that afternoon Tom, Ned and Mr. Damon went up in it to the no small wonder, fear and delight of the Mexicans. Some, who had never seen an air craft before, fell on their knees and prayed. Others shouted, and when Tom started the motor, and showed how he could control his aircraft, there were yells of amazement. "She'll do!" cried the young inventor, as he let out some gas and came down. Thereupon followed busy days, stocking the airship for the trip to discover the ruined temple. Food and supplies were put aboard, spare garments, all their weapons and ammunition, and then Tom paid Delazes and his men, giving them a month's wages in advance, for he told them to wait in camp that long. "But they won't," the young inventor predicted to Ned. There was nothing more to be done. All that they could do, to insure success had been completed. From now on they were in the hands of fate. "All aboard!" cried Tom, as he motioned for Eradicate to take his place in the car. Mr. Damon and Ned followed, and then the young inventor himself. He shook hands with Delazes, though he did not like the man. "Good bye," said Tom. "We may be back before the month is up. If we are not, go back to Tampico." "Si, senor," answered the contractor, bowing mockingly. Tom turned the lever that sent more gas into the bag. The balloon shot up. The young gold-seeker was about to throw on the motor, when Delazes waved his hand to the little party. "Bon voyage!" he called. "I hope you will find the city of gold!" "Bless my soul!" cried Mr. Damon. "He knows our secret!" "He's only guessing at it," replied Tom calmly. "He's welcome to follow us--if he can." Up shot the aircraft, the propellers whirling around like blades of light. Up and up, higher and higher, and then forward, while down below the Mexicans yelled and swung their hats. Straight for the north Tom headed his craft, so as to throw the eagerly watching ones off the track. He intended to circle around and go west when out of sight. And then the very thing Tom had predicted came to pass. The balloon was scarcely half a mile high when, as the young inventor looked down, he uttered a cry. "See!" he said. "They're breaking camp to follow us." And it was so. Riding along in one of the lightest ox carts was Delazes, his eyes fixed on the balloon overhead, while behind him came his followers. "They're following us," said Tom, "but they're going to get sadly left." In an hour Tom knew his balloon would not be visible to the Mexicans, and at the end of that time he pointed for the west. And then, flying low so as to use the trees as a screen, but going at good speed. Tom and his friends were well on their way to the city of gold. "We must keep a good lookout down below," said Tom, when everything was in working order. "We don't want to fly over the plain of the ruined temple." "We may in the night," suggested Ned. "No night flying this time," said his chum. "We'll only move along daytimes. We'll camp at night." For three days they sailed along, sometimes over vast level plains on which grazed wild cattle, again over impenetrable jungles which they could never have gotten through in their ox carts. They crossed rivers and many small lakes, stopping each night on the ground, the airship securely anchored to trees. Tom could make the lifting gas on board so what was wasted by each descent was not missed. One day it rained, and they did not fly, spending rather a lonely and miserable twelve hours in the car. Another time a powerful wind blew them many miles out of their course. But they got back on it, and kept flying to the west. "We must strike it soon," murmured Tom one day. "Maybe we're too far to the north or south," suggested Ned. "Then we'll have to beat back and forth until we get right," was Tom's reply. "For I'm going to locate that ruined temple." They ate breakfast and dinner high in the air, Eradicate preparing the meals in the tiny kitchen. Ever did they keep looking downward for a sight of a great plain, with a ruined temple in the midst of it. In this way a week passed, the balloon beating back and forth to the North or South, and they were beginning to weary of the search, and even Tom, optimistic as he was, began to think he would never find what he sought. It was toward the close of day, and the young inventor was looking for a good place to land. He was flying over a range of low hills, hoping the thick forest would soon come to an end when, as he crossed the last of the range of small mountains, he gave a cry, that drew the attention of Ned and Mr. Damon. "What is it?" demanded his chum. "Look!" said Tom. "There is the great plain!" Ned gazed, and saw, spread out below them a vast level plateau. But this was not all he saw, for there, about in the centre, was a mass of something--something that showed white in the rays of the setting sun. "Bless my chimney!" cried Mr. Damon. "That's some sort of a building." "The ruined temple," said Tom softly. "We've found it at last," and he headed the balloon for it and put on full speed. CHAPTER XVIII FINDING THE TUNNEL In silence, broken only by the noise of the motor, did the gold-seekers approach the temple. As they neared it they could see its vast proportions, and they noted that it was made of some white stone, something like marble. Then, too, as they drew closer, they could see the desolate ruin into which it had fallen. "Looks as if a dynamite explosion had knocked it all apart," observed Ned. "It certainly does," agreed Mr. Damon. "Maybe Cortez, or some of those early explorers, blew it up with gunpowder after fighting the Aztecs, or whatever the natives were called in those days," suggested Tom. "Bless my bookcase! You don't mean to say you think this temple goes back to those early days," spoke Mr. Damon. "Yes, and probably farther," declared Tom. "It must be very ancient, and the whole country about here is desolate. Why, the way the woods have grown up everywhere but on this plain shows that it must be three or four hundred years ago. There must have been a city around the temple, probably Poltec, and yet there isn't a trace of it that we have seen as we came along. Oh, yes, this is very ancient." "It will be jolly fun to explore it," decided Ned. "I wish it wasn't so near night." "We can't do much now," decided Tom. "It will be too dark, and I don't altogether fancy going in those old ruins except by daylight." "Do you think any of those old Aztec priests, with their knifes of glass, will sacrifice you on a stone altar?" asked Ned, with a laugh. "No, but there might be wild beasts in there," went on the young inventor, "and I'm sure there are any number of bats. There must be lots of nooks and corners in there where a whole army could hide. It's an immense place." The ruined temple certainly was large in extent, and in its glory must have been a wonderful place. The balloon came nearer, and then Tom let it sink to rest on the sand not far from the ancient ruin. Out he leaped, followed by his friends, and for a moment they stood in silent contemplation of the vast temple. Then as the last rays of the setting sun turned the white stones to gold, Tom exclaimed: "A good omen! I'm sure the city of gold must be near here, and in the morning we'll begin our search for the secret tunnel that leads to it." "That's the stuff!" cried Ned enthusiastically. An instant later it seemed to get dark very suddenly, as it does in the tropics, and almost with the first shadows of night there came a strange sound from the ruined temple. It was a low moaning, rumbling sound, like a mighty wind, afar off, and it sent a cold shiver down the spines of all in the little party. "Good land a' massy! What am dat?" moaned Eradicate, as he darted back toward the balloon. "Bless my looking glass!" cried Mr. Damon. A second later the noise suddenly increased, and something black, accompanied by a noise of rapidly beating wings rushed from one of the immense doorways. "Bats!" cried Tom. "Thousands of bats! I'm glad we didn't go in after dark!" And bats they were, that had made the noise as they rushed out on their nightly flight. "Ugh!" shuddered Mr. Damon. "I detest the creatures! Let's get under cover." "Yes," agreed Tom, "we'll have supper, turn in, and be up early to look for the tunnel. We're here at last. I'll dream of gold to-night." Eradicate soon had a meal in preparation, though he stopped every now and then to peer out at the bats, that still came in unbroken flight from the old temple. Truly there must have been many thousands of them. Whether Tom dreamed of gold that night he did not say, but he was the first one up in the morning, and Ned saw him hurrying over the sands toward the temple. "Hold on, Tom!" his chum called as he hastened to dress. "Where you going?" "To have a hunt for that tunnel before breakfast. I don't want to lose any time. No telling when Delazes and his crowd may be after us. And the Fogers, too, may strike our trail. Come on, we'll get busy." "Where do you think the tunnel will be?" asked Ned, when he had caught up to Tom. "Well, according to all that Mr. Illingway could tell us, it was somewhere near this temple. We'll make a circle of it, and if we don't come across it then we'll make another, and so on, increasing the size of the circles each time, until we find what we're looking for." "Let's have a look inside the temple first," suggested Ned. "It must have been a magnificent place when it was new, and with the processions of people and priests in their golden robes." "You ought to have been an Aztec," suggested Tom, as he headed for one of the big doorways. They found the interior of the temple almost as badly in ruins as was the outside. In many places the roof had fallen in, the side walls contained many gaping holes, and the stone floor was broken away in many places, showing yawning, black caverns below. They saw hundreds of bats clinging to projections, but the ugly creatures were silent in sleep now. "Bur-r-r-r-r!" murmured Ned. "I shouldn't like any of 'em to fall on me." "No, it's not a very nice place to go in," agreed Tom. They saw that the temple consisted of two parts, or two circular buildings, one within the other. Around the outer part were many rooms, which had evidently formed the living apartments of the priests. There were galleries, chambers, halls and assembly rooms. Then the whole of the interior of the temple, under a great dome that had mostly fallen in, consisted of a vast room, which was probably where the worship went on. For, even without going farther than to the edge of it, the youths could see stone altars, and many strangely-carved figures and statues. Some had fallen over and lay in ruins on the floor. The whole scene was one of desolation. "Come on," invited Tom, "it's healthier and more pleasant outside. Let's look for that tunnel." But the lads soon realized that it was not going to be as easy to locate this as they had hoped. They were looking for some sort of slanting opening, going down into the earth--the entrance to the underground city--but though they both made a complete circuit of the temple, each at a varying distance from the outer walls, no tunnel entrance showed. "Breakfust! Breakfust!" called Eradicate, when Tom was about to start on a second round. "Let's eat," suggested Ned, "and then we four can circle around together." Tom agreed that this would be a good plan. A little later then, with Tom nearest the temple walls, the four began their march around them. Four times that morning they made the circuit, and the same number in the afternoon, until they were nearly half a mile away from the ruin, but no tunnel showed. "Well, we'll have to keep at it to-morrow," suggested Tom. "It's too soon to give up." But the morrow brought no better success, nor did the following two days. In fact for a week they kept up the search for the tunnel, but did not come upon it, and they had now pretty well covered the big plain. They found a few ruins of the ancient city of Poltec. "Well, what about it?" asked Ned one night as they sat in the balloon, talking it over. "What next, Tom?" "We've got to keep at it, that's all. I think we'll go up in the balloon, circle around over the plain at just a little elevation, and maybe we can spot it that way." "All right, I'm with you." But they did not try that plan. For in the middle of the night Ned suddenly awakened. Something had come to him in his sleep. "Tom! Tom!" he cried. "I have it! What chumps we were!" "What's the matter, old man?" asked Tom anxiously. "Are you sick--talking in your sleep?" "Sleep nothing! I've just thought of it. That tunnel entrance is INSIDE the temple. That's the most natural place in the world for it. I'll bet it's right in the middle of the big inner chamber, where the priests could control it. Why didn't we look there before?" "That's right; why didn't we?" agreed Tom. "I believe you're right, Ned! We'll look the first thing in the morning." They did not wait for breakfast before trying the experiment, and Mr. Damon and Eradicate went with Tom and Ned. It was no easy work to make their way over the ruins to the inner auditorium. Wreckage and ruin was all around, and they had to avoid the yawning holes on every side. But when they got to the main, or sacrificial chamber, as Ned insisted on calling it, they found the floor there solid. In the centre was a great altar, but to their chagrin there was not a sign of a tunnel opening. "Fooled again!" said Tom bitterly. "Maybe some of those holes outside is the entrance," suggested Mr. Damon. "I don't believe so," objected Tom. "They seemed to go only to the cellar, if a temple has such a thing." Bitterly disappointed, Tom strolled over and stood in front of the big stone altar. It seemed that he must give up the search. Idly he looked at the sacrificial stone. Projecting from it was a sort of a bundle. Tom took hold of it, and to his surprise he found that it could be moved. Hardly knowing what he was doing, he pulled it toward him. The next instant he uttered a cry of horror, for the immense stone altar, with a dull rumbling, rolled back as though on wheels, and there, over where it had stood was a hole of yawning blackness, with a flight of stone steps leading down into it. And Tom stood so near the edge that he almost toppled in. "Look! Look!" he cried when he could get his gasping breath, and step back out of danger. "The tunnel entrance!" cried Ned. "That's what it is! You've found it, Tom! The entrance to the city of gold at last!" CHAPTER XIX THE UNDERGROUND RIVER They gathered around the opening so unexpectedly disclosed to them, and stared down into the black depths. Beyond the first few steps of the flight that led to they knew not where, nothing could be seen. In his impatience Tom was about to go down. "Bless my match box!" cried Mr. Damon. "What are you going to do, Tom, my boy?" "Go down there, of course! What else? I want to get to the underground city." "Don't!" quickly advised the odd man. "You don't know what's there. It may be a trap, where the old Aztecs used to throw their victims. There may be worse things than bats there. You'll need torches--lights--and you'd better wait until the air clears. It may have been centuries since that place was opened." "I believe that's right," agreed Ned. "Whew; Smell it! It's as musty as time!" An unpleasant odor came up the tunnel entrance, and it was stifling to stand too close. Tom lighted a match and threw it down. Almost instantly the flame was snuffed out. "We couldn't live down there a minute," said the young inventor. "We've got to wait for it to clear. We'll go back to the balloon and get some electric flash lamps. I brought along a lot of 'em, with extra strong batteries. I thought we'd need some if we did find the city of gold, and it looks as if we were almost there now." Tom's plan was voted good so they hurried out of the temple, their feet echoing and re-echoing over the stone floor. The place, ruined and desolate as it was, had no terrors for them now. In fact they were glad of the very loneliness, and Tom and Ned actually looked about apprehensively as they emerged, fearing they might see a sign of the Mexicans or the Fogers. "Guess they can't pick up our trail," said Tom, when, he saw of what Ned was thinking. "No, we've got the place to ourselves. I wonder how long it will take for the air to get fresh?" "Not so very long, I guess. There was a good draught. There must be some opening in the underground city by which the air is sucked in. They'd never have only one opening to it. But we don't need to look for the other. Come on, we'll get out the torches." These electrical contrivances are familiar to all boys. A small electric lamp is set in the end of a hollow tube of tin, and about the lamp is a reflector. Dry electrical batteries are put in the tin tube, and by means of a push button the circuit is closed, illuminating the lamp, which gives a brilliant glow. Tom had a special kind of lamp, with tungsten filaments, which gave a very powerful light, and with batteries designed to last a long time. A clip on the spring controlling the push button made it so that the lamp could be made to give a steady glow. Thus they were well prepared for exploring the tunnel. It took some little time to get the flash lamps ready, and when they were all charged and they had eaten, they went back to the opening to see if the air had cleared. Tom tested it by dropping a match down, and, to his delight it burned with a clear flame. "It's all right!" he exclaimed. "The air is pure. Now to see where we will bring up. Come on, everybody." "Jest one minute, Massa Tom," begged Eradicate, as the young inventor was about to descend the steps, which even the brightness of his lamp did not disclose the end. "Is yo' gwine down dar, Massa Tom?" "Certainly, Rad." "An' is yo'--'scuse me--but is yo' expectin' me fo' t' follow yo'?" "Certainly, Rad." "Den, all I's got t' say is dat yo' is 'spectin' too much. I ain't gwine t' bury mahse'f alive not yit." "But, Rad, this is where the gold images are. If you don't come down with us you won't get any gold." "Am dat so? No gold?" The colored man scratched his head. "Well, I shore does want gold," he murmured. "I reckon I'd better trot along. But one thing mo', Massa Tom." "What is it, Rad?" "Was yo' all aimin' t' stay down thar any length ob time? 'Case if yo' is yo' all'd better take along a snack ob suffin' t' eat. 'Case when I gits among gold I don't want t' come out very soon, an' we might stay dar all day." "Good advice, Rad," exclaimed Ned with a laugh. "I think we may get hungry. You go back and put us up a lunch. We'll wait for you." "Bless my napkin ring! I think you're right!" exclaimed Mr. Damon, and Eradicate hurried back to the balloon to get some of the condensed food. He was soon back and then, with Tom in the lead, and with everyone carrying an electric torch, with a spare one in reserve, and with their weapons in readiness the party descended the stone steps. Their footfalls echoed solemnly as they went down--down into the unknown blackness. They kept their bright lights playing here and there, but even these did not dispell the gloom. On every side was stone--stone walls--stone steps. It was like going down into some vast stretch of catacombs. "Say, will we ever get to the bottom?" asked Ned, when they had counted several hundred steps. "Maybe this goes down to the middle of the earth." "Well, ef it do I'm gwine right along!" called Eradicate. "I's gwine t' hab one ob dem gold images or bust!" "And I'm with you!" cried Tom. "We'll have to get to the bottom sooner or later." Hardly had he spoken than he came to the last step, and saw stretching off before him a long tunnel, straight and level, lined on both sides, and bottom, with smooth stones that gleamed like marble. "Now we are really in the tunnel," declared Ned. "I wonder what's at the end?" "The city of gold, of course," answered Tom confidently. Eagerly they hurried on. There was a slightly musty smell to the air, but it was fresher than might have been expected. Suddenly Tom, who was in advance, uttered a cry. It sounded like one of alarm, and Ned yelled: "What's the matter?" "Look here!" cried Tom. They hurried up to him, to find him standing before a sort of niche in the wall. And the niche was lined with a yellow metal that gleamed like gold, while in it was one of the golden images, the second one they had seen, and the third they heard about. "We're on the trail! We're on the trail!" cried Tom. "Heah! Let me hab dat!" cried Eradicate. "I may not git anudder," and he reached up for the statue. "Let it stay until we come back," suggested Mr. Damon. "Somebody might take it," said the colored man. "Who?" laughed Tom. "There's not a soul here but ourselves. But take it, if you want it, Rad," and Eradicate did so, stuffing the image, which was only about four inches high, into his pocket. Then they went on, and they saw several other images, though not of gold. Several niches were lined with yellow metal, but whether it was gold or not they could not tell. They did not want to stop, as they were anxious to get to the underground city. "Hark! What's that?" asked Tom, when they had gone about a mile along the tunnel. "Don't you hear something?" "Sounds like a roaring," agreed Ned. "Maybe it's more of the bats." "Doesn't sound like bats," declared Tom. "It's more like a waterfall. Come on." They hurried forward, the strange sound increasing at every step, until it filled the tunnel with its menacing roar. "That's strange," said Tom in worried tones. "I hope we don't come to a waterfall." Suddenly the tunnel made a turn, and as they went around the curve in the wall the sound smote on their ears with increased violence. Tom raced forward, focusing his electric lamp down on the stone corridor. The next instant he cried out: "A river! It's an underground river and we can't go any further! We're blocked!" The others came to his side, and there, in the glare of their lamps, they saw rushing along, between two walls of stone, a dark stream which caused the roaring sound that had come to them. The tunnel was cut squarely in two by the stream, which was at least thirty feet wide, and how deep they could only guess. Swiftly it flowed on, its roar filling the tunnel. CHAPTER XX THE CITY OF GOLD "Well, I guess this is the end of it," remarked Ned ruefully, as they stood contemplating the roaring stream by the gleam of their electric flash lamps. "We can't go on to the city of gold unless we swim that river, and--" "And none of us is going to try that!" interrupted Tom sharply. "The strongest swimmer in the world couldn't make a yard against that current. He'd be carried down, no one knows where." "Bless my bathing suit, yes!" exclaimed Mr. Damon. "But what are we to do? Can't we make a raft, or get a boat, or something like that?" "Hab t' be a mighty pow'ful boat t' git across dat ribber ob Jordan," spoke Eradicate solemnly. "That's right," agreed Ned. "But say, Tom, don't you think we could go back, get a lot of trees, wood and stuff and make some sort of a bridge? It isn't so very wide--not more than thirty or forty feet. We ought to be able to bridge it." "I'm afraid not," and Tom shook his head. "In the first place any trees that would be long enough are away at the far edge of the big plain, and we'd have a hard job getting them to the temple, to say nothing of lugging them down the tunnel. Then, too, we don't know much about building a bridge, and with no one on the other side to help us, we'd have our hands full. One slip and we might be all drowned. No, I guess we've got to go back," and Tom spoke regretfully. "It's hard luck, but we've got to give up and go back." "Den I's pow'ful glad I got ma golden image when I did, dat's suah!" exclaimed Eradicate. "Ef we doan't git no mo' I'll hab one. But I'll sell it and whack up wid yo' all, Massa Tom." "You'll do nothing of the sort, Rad!" exclaimed the young inventor. "That image is yours, and I'm sorry we can't get more of them." He turned aside, and after another glance at the black underground river which flowed along so relentlessly he prepared to retrace his steps along the tunnel. "Say, look here!" suddenly exclaimed Ned. "I'm not so sure, after all that we've got to turn back. I think we can go on to the city of gold, after all." "How do you mean?" asked Tom quickly. "Do you think we can bring the balloon down here and float across?" "Bless my watch chain!" exclaimed Mr. Damon, "but that WOULD be a way. I wonder--" "No, I don't mean that way at all," went on Ned. "But it seems to me as if this river isn't a natural one--I mean that it flows along banks of smooth stone, just as if they were cut for it, a canal you know." "That's right," said Tom, as he looked at the edge of the channel of the underground stream. "These stones are cut as cleanly as the rest of the tunnel. Whoever built that must have made a regular channel for this river to flow in. And it's square on the other side, too," he added, flashing his lamp across. "Then don't you see," continued Ned, "that this river hasn't always been here." "Bless my gaiters!" gasped Mr. Damon, "what does he mean? The river not always been here?" "No," proceeded Tom's chum. "For the ancients couldn't have cut the channel out of stone, or made it by cementing separate stones together while the water was here. The channel must have been dry at one time, and when it was finished they turned the water in it." "But how is that going to help us?" asked Tom. "I grant you that the river may not have been here at one time, but it's here NOW, which makes it all the worse for us." "But, Tom!" cried his chum, "if the river was turned aside from this channel once it can be done again. My notion is that the ancients could make the river flow here or not, just as they choose. Probably they turned it into this channel to keep their enemies from crossing to the city of gold, like the ancient moats. Now if we could only find--" "I see! I see!" cried Tom enthusiastically. "You mean there must be some way of shutting off the water." "Exactly," replied his chum. "We've got to shut that stream of water off, or turn it into some other channel, then we can cross, and keep on to the city of gold. And I think there must be some valve--some lever, or handle or something similar to the one that moved the altar-near here that does the trick. Let's all look for it." "Bless my chopping block!" cried Mr. Damon. "That's the strangest thing I ever heard of! But I believe you're right, Ned. We'll look for the handle to the river," and he laughed gaily. Every one was in better spirits, now that there seemed a way out of the difficulty, and a moment later they were eagerly flashing their lamps on the sides, floor and ceiling of the tunnel, to discover the means of shutting off the water. At first they feared that, after all, Ned's ingenious theory was not to be confirmed. The walls, ceiling and floor were as smooth near the edge of the river as elsewhere. But Eradicate, who was searching as eagerly as the others, went back a little, flashing his lamp on every square of stone. Suddenly he uttered a cry. "Look yeah, Massa Tom! Heah's suffin' dat looks laik a big door knob. Maybe yo' kin push it or pull it." They rushed to where he was standing in front of a niche similar to the one where he had found the golden image. Sunken in the wall was a round black stone. For a moment Tom looked at it, and then he said solemnly: "Well, here goes. It may shut off the water, or it may make it rise higher and drown us all, or the whole tunnel may cave in, but I'm going to risk it. Hold hard, everybody!" Slowly Tom put forth his hand and pushed the knob of stone. It did not move. Then he pulled it. The result was the same--nothing. "Guess it doesn't work any more," he said in a low tone. "Twist it!" cried Ned. "Twist it like a door knob." In a flash Tom did so. For a moment no result was apparent, then, from somewhere far off, there sounded a low rumble, above the roar of the black stream. "Something happened!" cried Mr. Damon. "Back to the river!" shouted Tom, for they were some distance away from it now. "If it's rising we may have a chance to escape." They hurried to the edge of the stone channel, and Ned uttered a cry of delight. "It's going down!" he yelled, capering about. "Now we can go on!" And, surely enough, the river was falling rapidly. It no longer roared, and it was flowing more slowly. "The water is shut off," remarked Tom. "Yes, and see, there are steps which lead across the channel," spoke Ned, pointing to them as the receding water revealed them. "Everything is coming our way now." In a short time the water was all out of the channel, and they could see that it was about twenty feet deep. Truly it would have been a formidable stream to attempt to swim over, but now it had completely vanished, merely a few little pools of water remaining in depressions on the bottom of the channel. There were steps leading down to the bottom, and other steps ascending on the other side, showing that the river was used as a barrier to further progress along the tunnel. "Forward!" cried Tom gaily, and they went on. They went down into the river channel, taking care not to slip on the wet steps, and a few seconds later they had again ascended to the tunnel, pressing eagerly on. Straight and true the tunnel ran through the darkness, the only illumination being their electric flash lamps. On and on they went, hoping every minute to reach their goal. "Dish suah am a mighty long tunnel," remarked Eradicate. "Dey ought t' hab a trolley line in yeah." "Bless my punching bag!" cried Mr. Damon, "so they had! Now if those ancients were building to-day--" He stopped suddenly, for Tom, who was in the lead, had uttered a cry. It was a cry of joy, there was no mistaking that, and instinctively they all knew that he had found what he had sought. All confirmed it a moment later, for, as they rushed forward, they discovered Tom standing at the place where the tunnel broadened out--broadened out into a great cave, a cave miles in extent, for all they could tell, as their lamps, powerful as they were, only illuminated for a comparatively short distance. "We're here!" cried Tom. "In the city of gold at last!" "The city of gold!" added Ned. "The underground city of gold!" "And gold there is!" fairly shouted Mr. Damon. "See it's all over! Look at the golden streets--even the sides of the buildings are plated with it--and see, in that house there are even gold chairs! Boys, there is untold wealth here!" "An' would yo' all look at dem golden statues!" cried Eradicate, "dey mus' be millions ob 'em! Oh, golly! Ain't I glad I comed along!" and he rushed into one of the many houses extending along the street of the golden city where they stood, and gathered up a fairly large statue of gold--an image exactly similar to the one he already had, except as to size. "I never would have believed it possible!" gasped Tom. "It's a city of almost solid gold. We'll be millionaires a million times over!" CHAPTER XVI THE BIG IMAGE Could the light of day have penetrated to that mysterious and ancient underground city of gold our friends might have had some idea of its magnificence. As it was they could only view small parts of it at a time by the illumination of their electric torches. But even with them they saw that it was a most wonderful place. "I don't believe there's another city like it in all the world," spoke Tom in awed accents, "there never was, and never will be again. Those Aztecs must have brought all their treasures of gold here." "Bless my cake box! that's so," agreed Mr. Damon. "Let's take a look around," advised Ned, "and then we can decide on what will be best to take away." "It won't take me long t' make up mah mind," spoke Eradicate. "I's goin' t' take all dem images I kin find." "I was going to say we'd have plenty of time to look about and pick what we wanted," said Tom, "but I think perhaps we'd better hurry." "Why?" asked Mr. Damon. "There's no telling when Delazes and his gang may find this place, and even the Fogers may be nearer than we think. But I believe our best plan would be this: To take some gold now, and several of the statues, go back to our balloon, and make some kind of big lamps, so we can light this place up. Then, too, I think we'd better move the balloon into the old temple. It will be safer there. Then we can come back here, pack up as much gold as we can carry, and be off. I don't like to think of being underground when Delazes and the Fogers are on the surface. It might not be altogether safe for us." "Bless my insurance policy!" cried the odd man. "Now YOU'RE giving me the cold shivers, Tom. But I believe you're right. We must look ahead a bit." With all their electric flash lamps turned on, the four advanced farther into the underground city of gold. As they went on they saw the precious yellow metal on every side of them. It was used lavishly, showing that to the ancients it was as common as iron or steel is to-day. But they did not use the gold merely as common material in the construction of buildings or objects of use. Instead, the gold seemed to be brought into play to beautify the city. An artistic scheme was carried out, and while it was true that in many buildings common objects were made of gold, yet each one was beautiful in itself. "What a wonderful place this must have been when it was lighted up," spoke Tom. "Do you think it was ever lighted up?" asked his chum. "It must have been," declared the young inventor. "My idea is that this city was the home of the priests of the temple, and their friends. I don't believe the common people ever came here. Perhaps the officers of the army, the rulers and the royal family were admitted, but not the ordinary people. That's why it's so far underground, and so well guarded by the river." "Probably the priests and others collected so much gold they didn't know what to do with it, and built this city to use it up, and, at the same time have a safe place to store it. And they must have had some means of lighting the place, for they couldn't go about in darkness--they couldn't have seen the gold if they did. Yes, this must have been wonderfully beautiful then. The priests probably came here to study, or perhaps to carry out some of their rites. Of course it's only guesswork, but it seems true to me." "I believe you're right, Tom," said Mr. Damon. As our friends walked about they saw that the city, while smaller than they had at first supposed, was laid out with regular streets. Each one was straight, and at certain places in the stone pavement plates of gold were set, so that literally the streets were paved with gold. There were houses or buildings on each side of the streets, and most of these were open at the doors or windows, for there was no need of heat in that buried city. All about were the golden images such as they had seen in the Mexican's house, and like the one in far off Africa. Some of the images were almost life size, and others were only an inch or two inches in height. Not a house but had half a dozen or more in various places, and there were also the images on golden pedestals about the streets. "This must have been their chief god, or else a representation of some great personage to whom they paid the highest honor," said Mr. Damon. "Perhaps he was the reigning king or ruler, and he, himself, might have ordered the images made out of vanity, like some men of to-day." The boys agreed that this was a natural theory. As for Eradicate he was busy collecting numbers of the small golden statues, and stuffing them in his pockets. "Why don't you take bigger ones, and not so many of them?" asked Tom. "'Case as how I doan't want all mah eggs in one basket," replied the colored man. "I kin carry mo' ob de little fellers," and he persisted in this plan. They found in some of the houses utensils of solid gold, but there appeared to be no way of cooking food, and that was probably done outside, or in the great temple. In many houses were articles evidently used in the sacrificial rites or in worship of strange gods. They did not stay to half examine the wonderful city of gold, for it would have taken several days. But on Tom's advice, they took up a considerable quantity of the precious metal in the most convenient form to carry, including a number of the statues and art objects and started back along the tunnel. "We'll rig up some sort of lamps," Tom explained, "and come back to make a thorough examination of this place. I think the scientific men and historians will be glad to know about this city, and I'm going to make some notes about it." They soon came again to the place of the underground river and found no water there. Ned wanted to turn the stream back into the channel again, but Tom said they might not be able to work the ancient mechanism, so they left the black knob as it was, and hurried on. They decided that the knob must have worked some counter-balance, or great weight that let down a gate and cut off the river from one channel, to turn it into another. When they emerged at the top of the steps, and came out at the opening which had been revealed by the rolling back of the great altar, they saw there that counter weights, delicately balanced, had moved the big stone. "We might close that opening," said Tom, "and then if any one SHOULD come along and surprise us, they wouldn't know how to get to the underground city." This was done, the altar rolling back over the staircase. "Now to get the balloon in the temple, make the lamps, and go back," suggested Tom, and, storing the gold they had secured in a safe place in the temple, they went back to move the airship. This was an easy matter, and soon they had floated the big gas bag and car in through one of the immense doorways and so into the great middle part of the temple where the big stone altar was located. "Now we're prepared for emergencies," remarked Tom, as he looked up at the yawning hole in the dome-like roof. "If worst comes to worst, and we have to run, we can float right up here, out of the temple, and skip." "Do you think anything is going to happen?" asked Mr. Damon anxiously. "You never can tell," replied Tom. "Now to make some lamps. I think I'll use gas, as I've got plenty of the chemicals." It took two days to construct them, and Tom ingeniously made them out of some empty tins that had contained meat and other foods. The tins were converted into tanks, and from each one rose a short piece of pipe that ended in a gas tip. On board the dirigible were plenty of tools and materials. Into the cans were put certain chemicals that generated a gas which, when lighted, gave a brilliant glow, almost like calcium carbide. "Now, I guess we can see to make our way about," remarked Tom, on the morning of the third day, when they prepared to go back to the city of gold. "And we'll take plenty of lunch along, for we may stay until nearly night." It did not take them long to roll back the altar, descend into the tunnel, and reach the underground city. The river channel was now dry, even the small pools of water in the depressions having evaporated. The gas torches worked to perfection, and revealed the beauties and wonders of the city of gold to the astonished gaze of our friends. It was even richer in the precious metal than they had at first supposed. "Before we do any exploring, I think we'd better take some more gold back to the balloon," suggested Tom, "and I think I'll just move the balloon itself more out of sight, so that if any persons come along, and look into the temple, they won't see our airship without looking for it." This was done, and a considerable quantity of the precious metal, including a number of the larger-sized statues, were stored in the balloon car. "We can't take much more," Tom warned his friends, "or we'll be over-weighted." "We've got enough now, to make us all rich," said Ned, contentedly. "I want moah," spoke Eradicate with a grin. They went back to the underground city and began to explore it with a view of taking back to civilization some word of its wonders and beauties. "Didn't Mr. Illingway, in his letters, say something about an immense golden statue here?" asked Ned, when they had almost completed a circuit of the underground place. "So he did!" exclaimed Tom. "I'd almost forgotten. It must be somewhere in the centre of this place I should think. Let's have a hunt for it. We can't take it with us, but maybe we could get part of an arm or a leg to keep as a relic. Come on." It was easy to reach the centre of the underground city, for it was laid out on a regular plan. In a short time they were in sight of the central plaza and, even before they reached it the glare of their gas lamps showed them something glittering golden yellow. It was on a tall, golden pedestal. "There it is!" cried Ned. "Yes, there's the big golden image all right," agreed Tom, hurrying forward, and a moment later they stood before a most wonderful statue. CHAPTER XXII TRAPPED "Well, that sure is a big statue!" exclaimed Ned as he walked around it. "An' to t'ink dat it's SOLID GOLD!" cried Eradicate his eyes big with wonder. "I suah wish I had dat all fo' mahse'f!" "We never could carry that in the balloon," spoke Tom with a shake of his head. "I guess we'll have to leave it here. But I would like to take say the head. It would be worth a lot as a relic to some museum--worth more than the value of the gold itself. I've a notion to do it." "How could you get the head off?" asked Mr. Damon. "Oh, pull the statue down or overturn it, as the American patriots did to the Bowling Green, New York, lead statue of King George III during the Revolutionary days," answered Tom. "I think that's what I'll do." "I say, look here!" called Ned, who had made a circuit of the statue. "There's some sort of an inscription here. See if you can read it, Tom." They went around to the front of the big, golden image where Ned stood. On a sort of a plate, with raised letters, was an inscription in a strange language. Part of it seemed to be the name of the person or god whom the statue represented, and what followed none could make out. "It's something like the ancient Greek or Persian language," declared Mr. Damon, who was quite a scholar. "I can make out a word here and there, and it seems to be a warning against disturbing the statue, or damaging it. Probably it was put there to warn small boys thousands of years ago, if they ever allowed small boys in this place." "Does it say what will be done to whoever harms the statue?" asked Tom with a laugh. "Probably it does, but I can't make out what it is," answered Mr. Damon. "Then here goes to see if we can't overturn it and hack off the head," went on Tom. "I've got a sharp little hatchet, and gold is very soft to cut. Over she goes." "You never can upset that statue," declared Ned. "Yes, I can," cried the young inventor. "I brought a long, thin, but very strong rope with me, and I think if we all pull together we can do it." Tom made a noose and skillfully threw it over the head of the statue. It settled about the neck, and then, all taking hold, and walking away a short distance, they gave a "long pull, a strong pull, and a pull altogether." At first the statue would not move, but when they strained on the rope, the image suddenly tilted, and, a moment later it tumbled to the stone pavement. But the fall was not as heavy as should have resulted from a statue of solid metal. There was a tinkling sound. "That's queer!" cried Tom. "It didn't make half the fuss I expected," and he hurried up to look at the fallen statue. "Why!" he cried in astonishment, "it's hollow--the big golden statue is hollow--it's a fake!" And so it was. The big image was only a shell of gold. "Not so valuable as it looked," commented Ned. "We could take that with us in the balloon, if it wasn't so big." "Well, here goes for the head, anyhow!" exclaimed Tom, and with a few blows of his keen little axe he severed the neck. As he held it up for all to see--rather a grewsome sight it was, too, in the flickering light of the gas torches--there sounded throughout the underground city, a dull, booming noise, like distant thunder. "What's that?" cried Ned. "Bless my bath sponge!" exclaimed Mr. Damon, "I hope the water isn't rising in the river." "Oh land a massy!" gasped Eradicate. Without a word Tom dropped the golden head and made for the street that led to the tunnel. The others followed, and soon caught up to the young inventor. On and on they ran, with only the light of their electric flash torches to guide them. Suddenly Tom stopped. "Go on!" cried Ned. "See what's happened! Go on!" "I can't," answered Tom, and they all wondered at his voice. "There's a big block of stone across the tunnel, and I can't go another step. The stone gate has fallen. We're trapped here in the underground city of gold!" "Bless my soul! The tunnel closed?" cried Mr. Damon. "Look," said Tom simply and in hopeless tones, as he flashed his light. And there, completely filling the tunnel, was a great block of stone, fitting from ceiling to floor and from side wall to side wall, completely cutting off all escape. "Trapped!" gasped Ned. "The Mexicans or Andy Foger did this." "No, I don't think so," spoke Tom solemnly. "I think the pulling down of the statue released this stone gate. We trapped ourselves. Oh, why didn't I leave the statue alone!" "That can't have done it!" declared Ned. "We can soon tell," spoke Mr. Damon. "Let's go back and look. Later maybe we can raise the block," and they returned to the fallen gold statue. Tom casting back a hopeless look at the barrier that had buried them alive in the city of gold. CHAPTER XXIII "IS IT A RESCUE?" "Can you see anything, Tom? Any lever or anything by which we can raise the stone gate?" It was Ned who spoke, and he addressed his chum, who was closely examining the pedestal of the fallen golden statue. "Bless my soul!" exclaimed Mr. Damon, "we've get to find some way out of here soon--or--" He did not finish the sentence, but they all knew what he meant. "Oh good landy!" cried Eradicate. "What's gwine t' become ob us?" "Don't you see anything, Tom?" repeated Ned. "Not a thing. Not a sign of a lever or handle by which the stone might be raised. But wait, I'm going to get on top of the pedestal." He managed to scramble up by stepping on and clinging to various ornamental projections, and soon gained the flat place where the big golden statue had rested. But he saw at a glance that it was as smooth as a billiard table. "Nothing here!" he called down to Ned. "Then how do you suppose the gate closed down when the statue was pulled off?" asked Ned. "It must have been because of the disturbance of the equilibrium, or due to a change of weight. Probably this pedestal rests on a platform, like the platform of a large scale. Its weight, with that of the statue, rested on certain concealed levers, and held the stone up out of sight in the roof of the tunnel. When I yanked down the statue I made the weight uneven, and the stone fell, and there doesn't seem to be any way of putting the weight back again." "No, we never could get the statue back on the pedestal," said Ned. "But maybe there's some mechanism at the stone gate, or near it, like the black knob which turned off the water. We may be able to work that and raise the big stone slab." "It's the only thing to try, as long as we haven't dynamite to blast it," agreed Tom. "Come on, we'll take a look." They went back to where the rock closed the tunnel, but a long and frantic search failed to show the least projection, lever, handle or any other thing, that could be moved. "What in the world do you suppose those ancients made such a terrible contrivance for?" Ned wanted to know. "Well, if we could read the warning on the statue we might know," replied Mr. Damon. "That probably says that whoever disturbs the status will close up the golden city forever." "Maybe there's another way out--or in," suggested Tom hopefully. "We didn't look for that. It must be our next move. We must not let a single chance go by. We'll look for some way of getting out, at the far end of this underground city." Filled with gloomy and foreboding thoughts, they walked away from the stone barrier. To search for another means of egress would take some time, and the same fear came to all of them--could they live that long? "It was a queer thing, to make that statue hollow," mused Ned as he walked between Mr. Damon and Tom. "I wonder why it was done, when all the others are solid gold?" "Maybe they found they couldn't melt up, and cast in a mould, enough gold to make a solid statue that size," suggested Mr. Damon. "Then, too, there may have been no means of getting it on the pedestal if they made it too heavy." They discussed these and other matters as they hurried on to seek for some way of escape. In fact to talk seemed to make them less gloomy and sad, and they tried to keep up their spirits. For several hours they searched eagerly for some means of getting out of the underground city. They went to the farthest limits of it, and found it to be several miles in diameter, but eventually they came to solid walls of stone which reached from roof to ceiling, and there was no way out. They found that the underground city was exactly like an overturned bowl, or an Esquimo ice hut, hollow within, and with a tunnel leading to it--but all below the surface of the earth. The city had been hollowed out of solid rock, and there was but one way in or out, and that was closed by the seamless stone. "There's no use hunting any longer," declared Tom, when, weary and footsore, they had completed a circuit of the outer circumference of the city, "the rock passage is our only hope." "And that's no hope at all!" declared Ned. "Yes, we must try to raise that stone slab, or--break it!" cried Tom desperately. "Come on." "Wait a bit," advised Mr. Damon. "Bless my dinner plate! but I'm hungry. We brought some food along, and my advice to you is to eat and keep up our strength. We'll need it." "By golly gracious, that's so!" declared Eradicate. "I'll git de eatin's." Fortunately there was a goodly supply, and, going in one the houses they ate off a table of solid gold, and off dishes of the precious, yellow metal. Yet they would have given it all--yes, even the gold in their dirigible balloon--for a chance for freedom. "I wonder what became of the chaps who used to live here?" mused Ned as he finished the rather frugal meal. "Oh, they probably died--from a plague maybe, or there may have been a war, or the people may have risen in revolt and killed them off," suggested Tom grimly. "But then there ought to be some remains--some mummies or skeletons or something." "I guess every one left this underground city--every soul." suggested Mr. Damon, "and then they turned on the river and left it. I shouldn't be surprised but what we are the first persons to set foot here in thousands of years." "And WE may stay here for a thousand years," predicted Tom. "Oh, good land a' massy; doan't say dat!" cried Eradicate. "Why we'll all be dead ob starvation in dat time." "Before then, I guess," muttered Tom. "I wonder if there's any water in this hole?" "We'll need it--soon," remarked Ned, looking at the scanty supply they had brought in with them. "Let's have a hunt for it." "Let Rad do that, while we work on the stone gate," proposed the young inventor. "Rad, chase off and see if you can find some water." While the colored man was gone, Tom, Ned and Mr. Damon went back to the stone gate. To attack it without tools, or some powerful blasting powder seemed useless, but their case was desperate and they knew they must do something. "We'll try chipping away the stone at the base," suggested Tom. "It isn't a very hard rock, in fact it's a sort of soft marble, or white sand stone, and we may be able to cut out a way under the slab door with our knifes." Fortunately they had knives with big, strong blades, and as Tom had said, the stone was comparatively soft. But, after several hours' work they only had a small depression under the stone door. "At this rate it will take a month," sighed Ned. "Say!" cried Tom, "we're foolish. We should try to cut through the stone slab itself. It can't be so very thick. And another thing. I'm going to play the flames from the gas torches on the stone. The fires will make it brittle and it will chip off easier." This was so, but even with that advantage they had only made a slight impression on the solid stone door after more than four hours of work, and Eradicate came back, with a hopeless look on his face, to report that he had been unable to find water. "Then we've got to save every drop of what we've got," declared Tom. "Short rations for everybody." "And our lights, too," added Mr. Damon. "We must save them." "All out but one!" cried Tom quickly. "If we're careful we can make them gas torches last a week, and the electric flashes are good for several days yet." Then they laid out a plan of procedure, and divided the food into as small rations as would support life. It was grim work, but it had to be done. They found, with care, that they might live for four days on the food and water and then-- Well--no one liked to think about it. "We must take turns chipping away at the stone door," decided Tom. "Some of us will work and some will sleep--two and two, I guess." This plan was also carried out, and Tom and Eradicate took the first trick of hacking away at the door. How they managed to live in the days that followed they could never tell clearly afterward. It was like some horrible nightmare, composed of hours of hacking away at the stone, and then of eating sparingly, drinking more sparingly, and resting, to get up, and do it all over again. Their water was the first to give out, for it made them thirsty to cut at the stone, and parched mouths and swollen tongues demanded moisture. They did manage to find a place where a few drops of water trickled through the rocky roof, and without this they would have died before five days had passed. They even searched, at times for another way out of the city of gold, for Tom had insisted there must be a way, as the air in the underground cave remained so fresh. But there must have been a secret way of ventilating the place, as no opening was found, and they went back to hacking at the stone. Just how many days they spent in their horrible golden prison they never really knew. Tom said it was over a week, Ned insisted it was a month, Mr. Damon two months, and Eradicate pitifully said "it seem mos' laik a yeah, suah!" It must have been about eight days, and at the end of that time there was not a scrap of food left, and only a little water. They were barely alive, and could hardly wield the knives against the stone slab. They had dug a hole about a foot deep in it, but it would have to be made much larger before any one could crawl through, even when it penetrated to the other side. And how soon this would be they did not know. It was about the end of the eighth day, and Tom and Ned were hacking away at the rocky slab, for Mr. Damon and Eradicate were too weary. Tom paused for a moment to look helplessly at his chum. As he did so he heard, amid the silence, a noise on the other side of the stone door. "What--what's that?" Tom gasped faintly. "It sounds--sounds like some one--coming," whispered Ned. "Oh, if it is only a rescue party!" "A rescue party?" whispered Tom. "Where would a rescue party--" He stopped suddenly. Unmistakably there were voices on the other side of the barrier--human voices. "It IS a rescue party!" cried Ned. "I--I hope so," spoke Tom slowly. "Mr. Damon--Eradicate!" yelled Ned with the sudden strength of hope, "they're coming to save us! Hurry over here!" And then, as he and Tom stood, they saw, with staring eyes, the great stone slab slowly beginning to rise! CHAPTER XXIV. THE FIGHT The talk sounded more plainly now--a confused murmur of voices--many of them--the sound coming under the slowly raising stone doorway. "Who can it be--there's a lot of them," murmured Ned. Tom did not answer. Instead he silently sped back to where they had slept and got his automatic revolver. "Better get yours," he said to his companions. "It may be a rescue party, though I don't see how any one could know we were in here, or it may be--" He did not finish. They all knew what he meant, and a moment later four strained and anxious figures stood on the inner side of the stone door, revolvers in hand, awaiting what might be revealed to them. Would it be friend or foe? At Tom's feet lay the golden head--the hollow head of the statue. The scene was illumined by a flickering gas torch--the last one, as the others had burned out. Slowly the stone went up, very slowly, for it was exceedingly heavy and the mechanism that worked it was primitive. Up and up it went until now a man could have crawled under. Ned made a motion as if he was going to do so, but Tom held him back. Slowly and slowly it went up. On the other side was a very babble of voices now--voices speaking a strange tongue. Tom and his companions were silent. Then, above the other voices, there sounded the tones of some one speaking English. Hearing it Tom started, and still more as he noted the tones, for he heard this said: "We'll be inside in a minute, dad, and I guess we'll show Tom Swift that he and his crowd can't fool us. We've got to the city of gold first!" "Andy Foger!" hoarsely whispered Tom to Ned. The next moment the stone gate went up with a rush, and there, in the light of the gas torch, and in the glare of many burning ones of wood, held by a throng of people on the other side, stood Andy Foger, his father, Delazes, and a horde of men who looked as wild as savages. For a moment both parties stood staring at one another, too startled to utter a sound. Then as Tom noticed that some of the natives, who somewhat resembled the ancient Aztecs, had imitation human heads stuck on the ends of poles or spears, he uttered two words: "Head-hunters!" Like a flash there came to him the warning of the African missionary: "Beware of the head-hunters!" Now they were here--being led on by the Mexican and the Fogers--the enemies of our friends. For another moment there was a silence, and then Andy Foger cried out: "They're here! Tom Swift and his party! They got here first and they may have all the gold!" "If they have they will share it with us!" cried Delazes fiercely. "Quick!" Tom called hoarsely to Ned, Mr. Damon and Eradicate. "We've got to fight. It's the only way to save our lives. We must fight, and when we can, escape, get to the airship and sail away. It's a fight to the finish now." He raised his automatic revolver, and, as he did so one of the savages saw the golden head of the statue lying at Tom's feet. The man uttered a wild cry and called out something in his unknown tongue. Then he raised his spear and hurled it straight at our hero. Had not Mr. Damon pulled Tom to one side, there might have been a different ending to this story. As it was the weapon hissed through the air over the head of the young inventor. The next minute his revolver spat lead and fire, but whether he hit any one or not he could not see, as the place was so filled with smoke, from the powder and from the torches. But some one yelled in pain. "Crouch down and fire!" ordered Tom. "Low down and they'll throw over our heads." It was done on the instant, and the four revolvers rang out together. There were howls of pain and terror and above them could be heard the gutteral tones of Delazes, while Andy Foger yelled: "Look out dad! Here, help me to get behind something or I may be hit. Mr. Delazes, can't you tell those savages to throw spears at Tom Swift and his gang?" "They are doing it, Senor Foger," replied the Mexican. "Oh, why did I not think to bring my gun! We haven't one among us." Then he called some command to the head-hunters who had apparently been enlisted on the side of himself and the two Fogers. The automatic revolvers were soon emptied, and the place was now so full of smoke that neither party could see the other. The torches burned with a red glare. "Reload!" ordered Tom, "and we'll make a rush for it! We can't keep this up long!" It took but an instant to slip in another lot of cartridges and then, on Tom's advice, they slipped the catches to make the automatic weapons simple ones, to be fired at will. They sent several more shots through the door-way but no cries of pain followed, and it was evident that their enemies had stepped back out of the line of fire. "Now's our chance!" cried Tom. "The way is clear. Come on!" He and the others dashed forward, Tom carrying the golden head, though it was hard work. It was not very heavy but it was awkward. As they rushed through the now open gateway they crouched low to avoid the spears, but, as it was one grazed Tom's shoulder, and Eradicate was pierced in the fleshy part of his arm. "Forward! Forward!" cried Tom. "Come on!" And on they went, through the smoke and darkness, Ned flashing his electric torch which gave only a feeble glow as the battery was almost exhausted. On and on! Now they were through the stone gateway, now out in the long tunnel. Behind them they could hear feet running, and several spears clattered to the stone floor. Lights flickered behind them. "If only the river bed is dry!" gasped Tom. "We may yet escape. But if they've filled the channel--" He did not dare think of what that would mean as he ran on, turning occasionally to fire, for he and the others had again reloaded their revolvers. CHAPTER XXV THE ESCAPE--CONCLUSION The noise behind our friends increased. There were shouts of rage, yells of anger at the escape of the prey. High above the other voices were the shrill war-cries of the head-hunters--the savages with their grewsome desires. "Can--can we make it, Tom?" panted Ned. They were almost at the river channel now, and in another instant they had reached it. By the feeble rays of Ned's electric torch they saw with relief that it was empty, though they would have given much to see just a trickle of water in it, for they were almost dead from thirst. Together they climbed up the other side, and as yet their pursuers had not reached the brink. For one moment Tom had a thought of working the black knob, and flooding the channel, but he could not doom even the head-hunters, much less the Fogers and Delazes, to such a death as that would mean. On ran Tom and his companions, but now they could glance back and see the foremost of the other crowd dipping down into the dry channel. "The steps! The steps!" suddenly cried Ned, when they had run a long distance, as a faint gleam of daylight beyond shewed the opening beneath the stone altar. "We're safe now." "Hardly, but a few minutes will tell," said Tom. "The balloon is in shape for a quick rise, and then we'll leave this horrible place behind." "And all the gold, too," murmured Ned regretfully. "We've got some," said Mr. Damon, "and I wouldn't take a chance with those head-hunters for all the gold in the underground city." "Same here!" panted Tom. Then they were at the steps and ran up them. Out into the big auditorium they emerged, weak and faint, and toward the hidden dirigible balloon they rushed. "Quick!" cried Tom, as he climbed into the car, followed by Mr. Damon and Eradicate. "Shove it right under the broken dome, Ned, and I'll turn on the gas machine. It's partly inflated." A moment later the balloon was right below the big opening. The blue sky showed through it--a welcome sight to our friends. The hiss of the gas was heard, and the bag distended still more. "Hop in!" cried Tom. "She'll go up I guess." "There they come!" shouted Ned, as he spoke the foremost of the head-hunters emerged from the hole beneath the stone altar. He was followed by Delazes. "Stop them! Get them! Spear them!" cried the contractor. They evidently thought our friends had all the gold from the underground city. Fortunately the temple was so large that the balloon was a good distance from the hole leading to the tunnel, and before the foremost of the head-hunters could reach it the dirigible began to rise. "If they throw their spears, and puncture the bag in many places we're done for," murmured Tom. But evidently the savages did not think of this, though Delazes screamed it at them. Up went the balloon, and not a moment too soon, for one of the head-hunters actually grabbed the edge of the car, and only let go when he found himself being lifted off the temple floor. Up and up it went and, as it was about to emerge from the broken dome, Tom looked down and saw a curious sight. Mr. Foger and Andy, who brought up in the rear of the pursuing and attacking party, had just emerged from the hole by the great stone altar when there suddenly spouted from the same opening a solid column of water. A cry of wonder came from all as they saw the strange sight. A veritable geyser was now spurting in the very middle of the temple floor, and the head-hunters, the Mexicans and the Fogers ran screaming to get out of the way. "Look!" cried Ned. "What happened?" "The underground river must be running the wrong way!" answered Tom, as he prepared to set in motion the motor. "Either they accidentally turned some hidden lever, or when they raised the stone door they did it. The tunnel is flooded and--" "Bless my match box! So is the underground city!" cried Mr. Damon. "I guess we've seen the last of it and its gold. We were lucky to escape with our lives, and these fellows might have been drowned like rats in a trap, if they hadn't followed us. The underground city will never be discovered again." "And now for home!" cried Tom, when they had eaten and drunk sparingly until they should get back their strength, and had seen to their slight wounds. "And our trip wasn't altogether a failure," said Mr. Damon. "We'd have had more gold if the stone door hadn't trapped us. But I guess we have enough as it is. I wonder how the Fogers ever found us?" "They must have followed our trail, though how we'll never know and they came up to where Delazes and his men were, joined forces with them, and hunted about until they found the temple," remarked Tom. "Then they saw the opening, went down, and found the stone door." "But how did they get it open? and what were they doing with the head-hunters, and why didn't the head-hunters attack them?" Ned wanted to know. "Well, I guess perhaps Delazes knew how to handle those head-hunters," replied Tom. "They may be a sort of lost tribe of Mexicans, and perhaps their ancestors centuries ago owned the city of gold. At any rate I think some of them knew the secret of raising the door." And later Tom learned in a roundabout way from the Fogers that this was so. The father and son had after much hardship joined forces with Delazes and he, by a promise of the heads of the party of our friends, and much tobacco, had gained the head-hunters as allies. On and on sailed the balloon and our friends regained their strength after partaking of the nourishing food. They looked at their store of gold and found it larger than they had thought. Soon they left far behind them the great plain of the ruined temple, which, had they but known it was a lake now, for the underground river, perhaps by some break in the underground mechanism that controlled it, or a break in the channel, overflowed and covered temple, plain and underground city with water many fathoms deep. "Are we going all the way home in the balloon?" asked Ned on the second day of their voyage in the air, when they had stopped to make slight repairs. "No, indeed," replied Tom. "As soon as we get to some city where we can pack it up, and ship our gold without fear of being robbed, I'm coming to earth, and go home in a steamer." This plan was carried out; and a week later, with the gold safely insured by an express company, and the balloon packed for transportation, our friends went to a railroad station, and took a train for Tampico, there to get a steamer for New York. "Bless my top knot!" exclaimed Mr. Damon a few days after this, as they were on the vessel. "I think for queer adventures this one of ours in the city of gold, Tom, puts it all over the others we had." "Oh, I don't know," answered the young inventor, "we certainly had some strenuous times in the past, and I hope we'll have some more in the future." "The same here," agreed Ned. And whether they did or not I will leave my readers to judge if they peruse the next book in this series, which will be called, "Tom Swift and His Air Glider; Or, Seeking the Platinum Treasure." They arrived safely in Shopton in due course of time, and found Mr. Swift well. They did not become millionaires, for they found, to their regret that their gold was rather freely alloyed with baser metals, so they did not have more than half the amount in pure solid gold. But there was a small fortune in it for all of them. In recognition of Mr. Illingway, the African missionary having put Tom on the track of the gold, a large sum was sent to him, to help him carry on his work of humanity. Tom had many offers for the big golden head, but he would not sell it, though he loaned it to a New York museum, where it attracted much attention. There were many articles written about the underground city of gold from the facts the young inventor furnished. Eventually the Fogers got home, but they did not say much about their experiences, and Tom and his friends did not think it worth while to prosecute them for the attack. As for Delazes, Tom never saw nor heard from him again, not in all his reading could he find any account of the head-hunters, who must have been a small, little known tribe. "And you really kept your promise, and brought me a golden image?" asked Mary Nestor of Tom, when he called on her soon after reaching home. "Indeed I did, the two that I promised and a particularly fine one that I picked up almost at the last minute," and Tom gave her the valuable relics. "And now tell me about it," she begged, when she had admired them, and then sat down beside Tom: and there we will leave our hero for the present, as he is in very good company, and I know he wouldn't like to be disturbed. THE END 
951	----	TOM SWIFT AND HIS SKY RACER or The Quickest Flight on Record By VICTOR APPLETON CONTENTS I The Prize Offer II Mr. Swift Is Ill III The Plans Disappear IV Anxious Days V Building the Sky Racer VI Andy Foger Will Contest VII Seeking a Clue VIII The Empty Shed IX A Trial Flight X A Midnight Intruder XI Tom Is Hurt XII Miss Nestor Calls XIII A Clash with Andy XIV The Great Test XV A Noise in the Night XVI A Mysterious Fire XVII Mr. Swift Is Worse XVIII The Broken Bridge XIX A Nervy Specialist XX Just in Time XXI "Will He Live?" XXII Off to the Meet XXIII The Great Race XXIV Won by a Length XXV Home Again--Conclusion TOM SWIFT AND HIS SKY RACER Chapter One The Prize Offer "Is this Tom Swift, the inventor of several airships?" The man who had rung the bell glanced at the youth who answered his summons. "Yes, I'm Tom Swift," was the reply. "Did you wish to see me?" "I do. I'm Mr. James Gunmore, secretary of the Eagle Park Aviation Association. I had some correspondence with you about a prize contest we are going to hold. I believe--" "Oh, yes, I remember now," and the young inventor smiled pleasantly as he opened wider the door of his home. "Won't you come in? My father will be glad to see you. He is as much interested in airships as I am." And Tom led the way to the library, where the secretary of the aviation society was soon seated in a big, comfortable leather chair. "I thought we could do better, and perhaps come to some decision more quickly, if I came to see you, than if we corresponded," went on Mr. Gunmore. "I hope I haven't disturbed you at any of your inventions," and the secretary smiled at the youth. "No. I'm through for to-day," replied Tom. "I'm glad to see you. I thought at first it was my chum, Ned Newton. He generally runs over in the evening." "Our society, as I wrote you, Mr. Swift, is planning to hold a very large and important aviation meet at Eagle Park, which is a suburb of Westville, New York State. We expect to have all the prominent 'bird-men' there, to compete for prizes, and your name was mentioned. I wrote to you, as you doubtless recall, asking if you did not care to enter." "And I think I wrote you that my big aeroplane-dirigible, the Red Cloud, was destroyed in Alaska, during a recent trip we made to the caves of ice there, after gold," replied Tom. "Yes, you did," admitted Mr. Gunmore, "and while our committee was very sorry to hear that, we hoped you might have some other air craft that you could enter at our meet. We want to make it as complete as possible, and we all feel that it would not be so unless we had a Swift aeroplane there." "It's very kind of you to say so," remarked Tom, "but since my big craft was destroyed I really have nothing I could enter." "Haven't you an aeroplane of any kind? I made this trip especially to get you to enter. Haven't you anything in which you could compete for the prizes? There are several to be offered, some for distance flights, some for altitude, and the largest, ten thousand dollars, for the speediest craft. Ten thousand dollars is the grand prize, to be awarded for the quickest flight on record." "I surely would like to try for that," said Tom, "but the only craft I have is a small monoplane, the Butterfly, I call it, and while it is very speedy, there have been such advances made in aeroplane construction since I made mine that I fear I would be distanced if I raced in her. And I wouldn't like that." "No," agreed Mr. Gunmore. "I suppose not. Still, I do wish we could induce you to enter. I don't mind telling you that we consider you a drawing-card. Can't we induce you, some way?" "I'm afraid not. I haven't any machine which--" "Look here!" exclaimed the secretary eagerly. "Why can't you build a special aeroplane to enter in the next meet? You'll have plenty of time, as it doesn't come off for three months yet. We are only making the preliminary arrangements. It is now June, and the meet is scheduled for early in September. Couldn't you build a new and speedy aeroplane in that time?" Eagerly Mr. Gunmore waited for the answer. Tom Swift seemed to be considering it. There was an increased brightness to his eyes, and one could tell that he was thinking deeply. The secretary sought to clinch his argument. "I believe, from what I have heard of your work in the past, that you could build an aeroplane which would win the ten-thousand-dollar prize," he went on. "I would be very glad if you did win it, and, so I think, would be the gentlemen associated with me in this enterprise. It would be fine to have a New York State youth win the grand prize. Come, Tom Swift, build a special craft, and enter the contest!" As he paused for an answer footsteps were heard coming along the hall, and a moment later an aged gentleman opened the door of the library. "Oh! Excuse me, Tom," he said, "I didn't know you had company." And he was about to withdraw. "Don't go, father," said Tom. "You will be as much interested in this as I am. This is Mr. Gunmore, of the Eagle Park Aviation Association. This is my father, Mr. Gunmore." "I've heard of you," spoke the secretary as he shook hands with the aged inventor. "You and your son have made, in aeronautics, a name to be proud of." "And he wants us to go still farther, dad," broke in the youth. "He wants me to build a specially speedy aeroplane, and race for ten thousand dollars." "Hum!" mused Mr. Swift. "Well, are you going to do it, Tom? Seems to me you ought to take a rest. You haven't been back from your gold-hunting trip to Alaska long enough to more than catch your breath, and now--" "Oh, he doesn't have to go in this right away," eagerly explained Mr. Gunmore. "There is plenty of time to make a new craft." "Well, Tom can do as he likes about it," said his father. "Do you think you could build anything speedier than your Butterfly, son?" "I think so, father. That is, if you'd help me. I have a plan partly thought out, but it will take some time to finish it. Still, I might get it done in time." "I hope you'll try!" exclaimed the secretary. "May I ask whether it would be a monoplane or a biplane?" "A monoplane, I think," answered Tom. "They are much more speedy than the double-deckers, and if I'm going to try for the ten thousand dollars I need the fastest machine I can build." "We have the promise of one or two very fast monoplanes for the meet," went on Mr. Gunmore. "Would yours be of a new type?" "I think it would," was the reply of the young inventor. "In fact, I am thinking of making a smaller monoplane than any that have yet been constructed, and yet one that will carry two persons. The hardest work will be to make the engine light enough and still have it sufficiently powerful to make over a hundred miles an hour, if necessary. "A hundred miles an hour in a small monoplane! It isn't possible!" cried the secretary. "I'll make better time than that," said Tom quietly, and with not a trace of boasting in his tones. "Then you'll enter the meet?" asked Mr. Gunmore eagerly. "Well, I'll think about it," promised Tom. "I'll let you know in a few days. Meanwhile, I'll be thinking out the details for my new craft. I have been going to build one ever since I got back, after having seen my Red Cloud crushed in the ice cave. Now I think I had better begin active work." "I hope you will soon let me know," resumed the secretary. "I'm going to put you down as a possible contestant for the ten-thousand-dollar prize. That can do no harm, and I hope you win it. I trust--" He paused suddenly, and listened. So did Tom Swift and his father, for they all distinctly heard stealthy footsteps under the open windows of the library. "Some one is out there, listening," said Tom in low tones. "Perhaps it's Eradicate Sampson," suggested Mr. Swift, referring to the eccentric colored man who was employed by the inventor and his son to help around the place. "Very likely it was Eradicate, Tom." "I don't think so," was the lad's answer. "He went to the village a while ago, and said he wouldn't be back until late to-night. He had to get some medicine for his mule, Boomerang, who is sick. No, it wasn't Eradicate; but some one was under that window, trying to hear what we said." As he spoke in guarded tones, Tom went softly to the casement and looked out. He could observe nothing, as the night was dark, and the new moon, which had been shining, was now dimmed by clouds. "See anything?" asked Mr. Gunmore as he advanced to Tom's side. "No," was the low answer. "I can't hear anything now, either." "I'll go speak to Mrs. Baggert, the housekeeper," volunteered Mr. Swift. "Perhaps it was she, or she may know something about it." He started from the room, and as he went Tom noticed, with something of a start, that his father appeared older that night than he had ever looked before. There was a trace of pain on the face of the aged inventor, and his step was lagging. "I guess dad needs a rest and doctoring up," thought the young inventor as he turned the electric chandelier off by a button on the wall, in order to darken the room, so that he might peer out to better advantage. "I think he's been working too hard on his wireless motor. I must get Dr. Gladby to come over and see dad. But now I want to find out who that was under this window." Once more Tom looked out. The moon had emerged from behind a thin bank of clouds, and gave a little light. "See anything?" asked Mr. Gunmore cautiously. "No," whispered the youth, for it being a warm might, the windows were open top and bottom, a screen on the outside keeping out mosquitoes and other insects. "I can't see a thing," went on Tom, "but I'm sure--" He paused suddenly. As he spoke there sounded a rustling in the shrubbery a little distance from the window. "There's something!" exclaimed Mr. Gunmore. "I see!" answered the young inventor. Without another word he softly opened the screen, and then, stooping down to get under the lower sash (for the windows in the library ran all the way to the floor), Tom dropped out of the casement upon the thick grass. As he did so he was aware of a further movement in the bushes. They were violently agitated, and a second later a dark object sprang from them and sprinted along the path. "Here! Who are you? Hold on!" cried the young inventor. But the figure never halted. Tom sprang forward, determined to see who it was, and, if possible, capture him. "Hold on!" he cried again. There was no answer. Tom was a good runner, and in a few seconds he had gained on the fugitive, who could just be seen in the dim light from the crescent moon. "I've got you!" cried Tom. But he was mistaken, for at that instant his foot caught on the outcropping root of a tree, and the young inventor went flat on his face. "Just my luck!" he cried. He was quickly on his feet again, and took after the fugitive. The latter glanced back, and, as it happened, Tom had a good look at his face. He almost came to a stop, so startled was he. "Andy Foger!" he exclaimed as he recognized the bully who had always proved himself such an enemy of our hero. "Andy Foger sneaking under my windows to hear what I had to say about my new aeroplane! I wonder what his game can be? I'll soon find out!" Tom was about to resume the chase, when he lost sight of the figure. A moment later he heard the puffing of an automobile, as some one cranked it up. "It's too late!" exclaimed Tom. "There he goes in his car!" And knowing it would be useless to keep up the chase, the youth turned back toward his house. Chapter Two Mr. Swift is Ill "Who was it?" asked Mr. Gunmore as Tom again entered the library. "A friend of yours?" "Hardly a friend," replied Tom grimly. "It was a young fellow who has made lots of trouble for me in the past, and who, lately, with his father, tried to get ahead of me and some friends of mine in locating a gold claim in Alaska. I don't know what he's up to now, but certainly it wasn't any good. He's got nerve, sneaking up under our windows!" "What do you think was his object?" "It would be hard to say." "Can't you find him to-morrow, and ask him?" "There's not much satisfaction in that. The less I have to do with Andy Foger the better I'm satisfied. Well, perhaps it's just as well I fell, and couldn't catch him. There would have been a fight, and I don't want to worry dad any more than I can help. He hasn't been very well of late." "No, he doesn't look very strong," agreed the secretary. "But I hope he doesn't get sick, and I hope no bad consequences result from the eavesdropping of this Foger fellow." Tom started for the hall, to get a brush with which to remove some of the dust gathered in his chase after Andy. As he opened the library door to go out Mr. Swift came in again. "I saw Mrs. Baggert, Tom," he said. "She wasn't out under the window, and, as you said, Eradicate isn't about. His mule is in the barn, so it couldn't have been the animal straying around." "No, dad. It was Andy Foger." "Andy Foger!" "Yes. I couldn't catch him. But you'd better go lie down, father. It's getting late, and you look tired." "I am tired, Tom, and I think I'll go to bed. Have you finished your arrangements with Mr. Gunmore?" "Well, I guess we've gone as far as we can until I invent the new aeroplane," replied Tom, with a smile. "Then you'll really enter the meet?" asked the secretary eagerly. "I think I will," decided Tom. "The prize of ten thousand dollars is worth trying for, and besides that, I'll be glad to get to work again on a speedy craft. Yes, I'll enter the meet." "Good!" exclaimed Mr. Gunmore, shaking hands with the young inventor. "I didn't have my trip for nothing, then. I'll go back in the morning and report to the committee that I've been successful. I am greatly obliged to you." He left the Swift home, after refusing Tom's invitation to remain all night, and went to his hotel. Tom then insisted that his father retire. As for the young inventor, he was not satisfied with the result of his attempt to catch Andy Foger. He had no idea why the bully was hiding under the library window, but Tom surmised that some mischief might be afoot. "Sam Snedecker or Pete Bailey, the two cronies of Andy, may still be around here, trying to play some trick on me," mused Tom. "I think I'll take a look outside." And taking a stout cane from the umbrella rack, the youth sallied forth into the yard and extensive grounds surrounding his house. While he is thus looking for possible intruders we will tell you a little more about him than has been possible since the call of the aviation secretary. Tom Swift lived with his father, Barton Swift, in the town of Shopton, New York State. The young man had followed in the footsteps of his parent, and was already an inventor of note. Their home was presided over by Mrs. Baggert, as housekeeper, since Mrs. Swift had been dead several years. In addition, there was Garret Jackson, an engineer, who aided Tom and his father, and Eradicate Sampson, an odd colored man, who, with his mule, Boomerang, worked about the place. In the first volume of this series, entitled "Tom Swift and his Motor-Cycle," here was related how he came to possess that machine. A certain Mr. Wakefield Damon, an eccentric gentleman, who was always blessing himself, or something about him, owned the cycle, but he came to grief on it, and sold it to Tom very cheaply. Tom had a number of adventures on the wheel, and, after having used the motor to save a valuable patent model from a gang of unscrupulous men, the lad acquired possession of a power boat, in which he made several trips, and took part in many exciting happenings. Some time later, in company with John Sharp, an aeronaut, whom Tom had rescued from Lake Carlopa, after the airman had nearly lost his life in a burning balloon, the young inventor made a big airship, called the Red Cloud. With Mr. Damon, Tom made several trips in this craft, as set forth in the book, "Tom Swift and His Airship." It was after this that Tom and his father built a submarine boat, and went under the ocean for sunken treasure, and, following that trip Tom built a speedy electric runabout, and by a remarkable run in that, with Mr. Damon, saved a bank from ruin, bringing gold in time to stave off a panic. "Tom Swift and His Wireless Message" told of the young inventor's plan to save the castaways of Earthquake Island, and how he accomplished it by constructing a wireless plant from the remains of the wrecked airship Whizzer. After Tom got back from Earthquake Island he went with Mr. Barcoe Jenks, whom he met on the ill-fated bit of land, to discover the secret of the diamond makers. They found the mysterious men, but the trip was not entirely successful, for the mountain containing the cave where the diamonds were made was destroyed by a lightning shock, just as Mr. Parker, a celebrated scientist, who accompanied the party, said it would be. But his adventure in seeking to discover the secret of making precious stones did not satisfy Tom Swift, and when he and his friends got back from the mountains they prepared to go to Alaska to search for gold in the caves of ice. They were almost defeated in their purpose by the actions of Andy Foger and his father, who in an under-hand manner, got possession of a valuable map, showing the location of the gold, and made a copy of the drawing. Then, when Tom and his friends set off in the Red Cloud, as related in "Tom Swift in the Caves of Ice," the Fogers, in another airship, did likewise. But Tom and his party were first on the scene, and accomplished their purpose, though they had to fight the savage Indians. The airship was wrecked in a cave of ice, that collapsed on it, and the survivors had desperate work getting away from the frozen North. Tom had been home all the following winter and spring, and he had done little more than work on some small inventions, when a new turn was given his thoughts and energies by a visit from Mr. Gunmore, as narrated in the first chapter of the present volume. "Well, I guess no one is here," remarked the young inventor as he completed the circuit of the grounds and walked slowly back toward the house. "I think I scared Andy so that he won't come back right away. He had the laugh on me, though, when I stumbled and fell." As Tom proceeded he heard some one approaching, around the path at the side of the house. "Who's there?" he called quickly, taking a firmer grasp of his stick. "It's me, Massa Swift," was the response. "I jest come back from town. I got some peppermint fo' mah mule, Boomerang, dat's what I got." "Oh! It's you, is it, Rad?" asked the youth in easier tones. "Dat's who it am. Did yo' t'ink it were some un else?" "I did," replied Tom. "Andy Foger has been sneaking around. Keep your eyes open the rest of the night, Rad." "I will, Massa Tom." The youth went into the house, having left word with the engineer, Mr. Jackson, to be on the alert for anything suspicious. "And now I guess I'll go to bed, and make an early start to-morrow morning, planning my new aeroplane," mused Tom. "I'm going to make the speediest craft of the air ever seen!" As he started toward his room Tom Swift heard the voice of the housekeeper calling to him: "Tom! Oh, Tom! Come here, quickly!" "What's the matter?" he asked, in vague alarm. "Something has happened to your father!" was the startling reply. "He's fallen down, and is unconscious! Come quickly! Send for the doctor!" Tom fairly ran toward his father's room. Chapter Three The Plans Disappear Mr. Swift was lying on the floor, where he had fallen, in front of his bed, as he was preparing to retire. There was no mark of injury upon him, and at first, as he knelt down at his father's side, Tom was at a loss to account for what had taken place. "How did it happen? When was it?" he asked of Mrs. Baggert, as he held up his father's head, and noted that the aged man was breathing slightly. "I don't know what happened, Tom," answered the housekeeper, "but I heard him fall, and ran upstairs, only to find him lying there, just like that. Then I called you. Hadn't you better have a doctor?" "Yes; we'll need one at once. Send Eradicate. Tell him to run--not to wait for his mule--Boomerang is too slow. Oh, no! The telephone, of course! Why didn't I think of that at first? Please telephone for Dr. Gladby, Mrs. Baggert. Ask him to come as soon as possible, and then tell Garret Jackson to step here. I'll have him help me get father into bed." The housekeeper hastened to the instrument, and was soon in communication with the physician, who promised to call at once. The engineer was summoned from another part of the house, and then Eradicate was aroused. Mrs. Baggert had the colored man help her get some kettles of hot water in readiness for possible use by the doctor. Mr. Jackson aided Tom to lift Mr. Swift up on the bed, and they got off some of his clothes. "I'll try to see if I can revive him with a little aromatic spirits of ammonia," decided Tom, as he noticed that his father was still unconscious. He hastened to prepare the strong spirits, while he was conscious of a feeling of fear and alarm, mingled with sadness. Suppose his father should die? Tom could not bear to think of that. He would be left all alone, and how much he would miss the companionship and comradeship of his father none but himself knew. "Oh! but I mustn't think he's going to die!" exclaimed the youth, as he mixed the medicine. Mr. Swift feebly opened his eyes after Tom and Mr. Jackson had succeeded in forcing some of the ammonia between his lips. "Where am I? What happened?" asked the aged inventor faintly. "We don't know, exactly," spoke Tom softly. "You are ill, father. I've sent for the doctor. He'll fix you up. He'll be here soon." "Yes, I'm--I'm ill," murmured the aged man. "Something hurts me--here," and he put his hand over his heart. Tom felt a nameless sense of fear. He wished now that he had insisted on his parent consulting a physician some time before, when Mr. Swift first complained of a minor ailment. Perhaps now it was too late. "Oh! when will that doctor come?" murmured Tom impatiently. Mrs. Baggert, who was nervously going in and out of the room, again went to the telephone. "He's on his way," the housekeeper reported. "His wife said he just started out in his auto." Dr. Gladby hurried into the room a little later, and cast a quick look at Mr. Swift, who had again lapsed into unconsciousness. "Do you think he--think he's going to die?" faltered Tom. He was no longer the self-reliant young inventor. He could meet danger bravely when it threatened himself alone, but when his father was stricken he seemed to lose all courage. "Die? Nonsense!" exclaimed the doctor heartily. "He's not dead yet, at all events, and while there's life there's hope. I'll soon have him out of this spell." It was some little time, however, before Mr. Swift again opened his eyes, but he seemed to gain strength from the remedies which Dr. Gladby administered, and in about an hour the inventor could sit up. "But you must be careful," cautioned the physician. "Don't overdo yourself. I'll be in again in the morning, and now I'll leave you some medicine, to be taken every two hours." "Oh, I feel much better," said Mr. Swift, and his voice certainly seemed stronger. "I can't imagine what happened. I came upstairs, after Tom had received a visit from the minister, and that's all I remember." "The minister, father!" exclaimed Tom, in great amazement. "The minister wasn't here this evening! That was Mr. Gunmore, the aviation secretary. Don't you remember?" "I don't remember any gentleman like that calling here to-night," Mr. Swift said blankly. "It was the minister, I'm sure, Tom." "The minister was here last night, Mr. Swift," said the housekeeper. "Was he? Why, it seems like to-night. And I came upstairs after talking to him, and then it all got black, and--and--" "There, now; don't try to think," advised the doctor. "You'll be all right in the morning." "But I can't remember anything about that aviation man," protested Mr. Swift. "I never used to be that way--forgetting things. I don't like it!" "Oh, it's just because you're tired," declared the physician. "It will all come back to you in the morning. I'll stop in and see you then. Now try to go to sleep." And he left the room. Tom followed him, Mrs. Baggert and Mr. Jackson remaining with the sick man. "What is the matter with my father, Dr. Gladby?" asked Tom earnestly, as the doctor prepared to take his departure. "Is it anything serious?" "Well," began the medical man, "I would not be doing my duty, Tom, if I did not tell you what it is. That is, it is comparatively serious, but it is curable, and I think we can bring him around. He has an affection of the heart, that, while it is common enough, is sometimes fatal. "But I do not think it will be so in your father's case. He has a fine constitution, and this would never have happened had he not been run down from overwork. That is the principal trouble. What he needs is rest; and then, with the proper remedies, he will be as well as before." "But that strange lapse of memory, doctor?" "Oh, that is nothing. It is due to the fact that he has been using his brain too much. The brain protests, and refuses to work until rested. Your father has been working rather hard of late hasn't he?" "Yes; on a new wireless motor." "I thought so. Well, a good rest is what he needs, and then his mind and body will be in tune again. I'll be around in the morning." Tom was somewhat relieved by the doctor's words, but not very much so, and he spent an anxious night, getting up every two hours to administer the medicine. Toward morning Mr. Swift fell into a heavy sleep, and did not awaken for some time. "Oh, you're much better!" declared Dr. Gladby when he saw his patient that day. "Yes, I feel better," admitted Mr. Swift. "And can't you remember about Mr. Gunmore calling?" asked Tom. The aged inventor shook his head, with a puzzled air. "I can't remember it at all," he said. "The minister is the last person I remember calling here." Tom looked worried, but the physician said it was a common feature of the disease from which Mr. Swift suffered, and would doubtless pass away. "And you don't remember how we talked about me building a speedy aeroplane and trying for the ten-thousand-dollar prize?" asked Tom. "I can't remember a thing about it," said the inventor, with a puzzled shake of his head, "and I'm not going to try, at least not right away. But, Tom, if you're going to build a new aeroplane, I want to help you. I'll give you the benefit of my advice. I think my new form of motor can be used in it." "Now! now! No inventions--at least not just yet!" objected the physician. "You must have a good rest first, Mr. Swift, and get strong. Then you and Tom can build as many airships as you like." Mr. Swift felt so much better about three days later that he wanted to get right to work planning the airship that was to win the big prize, but the doctor would not hear of it. Tom, however, began to make rough sketches of what he had in mind changing them from time to time. He also worked on a type of motor, very light, and modeled after one his father had recently patented. Then a new idea came to Tom in regard to the shape of his aeroplane, and he worked several days drawing the plans for it. It was a new idea in construction, and he believed it would give him the great speed he desired. "But I'd like dad to see it," he said. "As soon as he's well enough I'll go over it with him." That time came a week later, and with a complete set of the plans, embodying his latest ideas, Tom went into the library where his father was seated in an easy-chair. Dr. Gladby had said it would not now harm the aged inventor to do a little work. Tom spread the drawings out in front of his father, and began to explain them in detail. "I really think you have something great there, Tom!" exclaimed Mr. Swift, at length. "It is a very small monoplane, to be sure, but I think with the new principle you have introduced it will work; but, if I were you, I'd shape those wing tips a little differently." "No, they're better that way," said Tom pleasantly, for he did not often disagree with his father. "I'll show you from a little model I have made. I'll get it right away." Anxious to demonstrate that he was right in his theory, Tom hurried from the library to get the model of which he had spoken. He left the roll of plans lying on a small table near where his father was seated. "There, you see, dad," said the young inventor as he re-entered the library a few minutes later, "when you warp the wing tips in making a spiral ascent it throws your tail wings out of plumb, and so--" Tom paused in some amazement, for Mr. Swift was lying back in his chair, with his eyes closed. The lad started in alarm, laid aside his model, and sprang to his father's side. "He's had another of those heart attacks!" gasped Tom. He was just going to call Mrs. Baggert, when Mr. Swift opened his eyes. He looked at Tom, and the lad could see that they were bright, and did not show any signs of illness. "Well, I declare!" exclaimed the inventor. "I must have dozed off, Tom, while you were gone. That's what I did. I fell asleep!" "Oh!" said Tom, much relieved. "I was afraid you were ill again. Now, in this model, as you will see by the plans, it is necessary--" He paused, and looked over at the table where he had left the drawings. They were not there! "The plans, father!" Tom exclaimed. "The plans I left on the table! Where are they?" "I haven't touched them," was the answer. "They were on that table, where you put them, when I closed my eyes for a little nap. I forgot all about them. Are you sure they're missing?" "They're not here!" And Tom gazed wildly about the room. "Where can they have gone?" "I wasn't out of my chair," said Mr. Swift, "I ought not to have gone to sleep, but--" Tom fairly jumped toward the long library window, the same one from which he had leaped to pursue Andy Foger. The casement was open, and Tom noted that the screen was also unhooked. It had been closed when he went to get the model, he was sure of that. "Look, dad! See!" he exclaimed, as he picked up from the floor a small piece of paper. "What is it, Tom?" "A sheet on which I did some figuring. It is no good, but it was in with the plans. It must have dropped out." "Do you mean that some one has been in here and taken the plans of your new aeroplane, Tom?" gasped his father. "That's just what I mean! They sneaked in here while you were dozing, took the plans, and jumped out of the window with them. On the way this paper fell out. It's the only clue we have. Stay here, dad. I'm going to have a look." And Tom jumped from the library window and ran down the path after the unknown thief. Chapter Four Anxious Days Peering on all sides as he dashed along the gravel walk, hoping to catch a glimpse of the unknown intruder in the garden or shrubbery, Tom sprinted on at top speed. Now and then he paused to listen, but no sound came to him to tell of some one in retreat before him. There was only Silence. "Mighty queer," mused the youth. "Whoever it was, he couldn't have had more than a minute start of me--no, not even half a minute--and yet they've disappeared as completely as though the ground had opened and let them down; and the worst of it is, that they've taken my plans with them!" He turned about and retraced his steps, making a careful search. He saw no one, until, turning a corner, a little later, he met Eradicate Sampson. "You haven't seen any strangers around here just now, have you, Rad?" asked Tom anxiously. "No, indeedy, I hasn't, Massa Tom. What fo' kind ob a stranger was him?" "That's just what I don't know. Rad. But some one sneaked into the library just now and took some of my plans while my father dozed off. I jumped out after him as soon as I could, but he has disappeared." "Maybe it were th' man who done stowed hisself away on yo' airship, de time yo' all went after de diamonds," suggested the colored man. "No, it couldn't have been him. If it was anybody, it was Andy Foger, or some of his crowd. You didn't see Andy, did you, Rad?" "No, indeedy; but if I do, I suah will turn mah mule, Boomerang, loose on him, an' he won't take any mo' plans--not right off, Massa Tom." "No, I guess not. Well, I must get back to dad, or he'll worry. Keep your eyes open, Rad, and if you see Andy Foger, or any one else, around here, let me know. Just sing out for all you're worth." "Shall I call out, Massa Tom, ef I sees dat blessin' man?" "You mean Mr. Damon?" "Dat's de one. De gen'man what's allers a-blessin' ob hisself or his shoelaces, or suffin laik dat. Shall I sing out ef I sees him?" "Well, no; not exactly, Rad. Just show Mr. Damon up to the house. I'd be glad to see him again, though I don't fancy he'll call. He's off on a little trip, and won't be back for a week. But watch out, Rad." And with that Tom turned toward the house, shaking his head over the puzzle of the missing plans. "Did you find any one?" asked his father eagerly as the young inventor entered the library. "No," was the gloomy answer. "There wasn't a sign of any one." Tom went over to the window and looked about for clues. There was none that he could see, and a further examination of the ground under the window disclosed nothing. There was gravel beneath the casement, and this was not the best medium for retaining footprints. Nor were the gravel walks any better. "Not a sign of any one," murmured Tom. "Are you sure you didn't hear any noise, dad, when you dozed off?" "Not a sound, Tom. In fact, it's rather unusual for me to go to sleep like that, but I suppose it's because of my illness. But I couldn't have been asleep long--not more than two minutes." "That's what I think. Yet in that time someone, who must have been on the watch, managed to get in here and take my plans for the new sky racer. I don't see how they got the wire screen open from the outside, though. It fastens with a strong hook." "And was the screen open?" asked Mr. Swift "Yes, it was unhooked. Either they pushed a wire in through the mesh, caught it under the hook, and pulled it up from the outside, or else the screen was opened from the inside." "I don't believe they could get inside to open the screen without some of us seeing them," spoke the older inventor. "More likely, Tom, it wasn't hooked, and they found it an easy matter to simply pull it open." "That's possible. I'll ask Mrs. Baggert if the screen was unhooked." But the housekeeper could not be certain on that point, and so that part of the investigation amounted to nothing. "It's too bad!" exclaimed Mr. Swift. "It's my fault, for dozing off that way." "No, indeed, it isn't!" declared Tom stoutly. "Is the loss a serious one?" asked his father. "Have you no copy of the plans?" "Yes, I have a rough draft from which I made the completed drawings, and I can easily make another set. But that isn't what worries me--the mere loss of the plans." "What is it, then, Tom?" "The fact that whoever took them must know that they are the plans for a sky racer that is to take part in the big meet. I have worked it out on a new principle, and it is not yet patented. Whoever stole my plans can make the same kind of a sky racer that I intended to construct, and so stand as good a chance to win the prize of ten thousand dollars as I will." "That certainly is too bad, Tom. I never thought of that. Do you suspect any one?" "No one, unless it's Andy Foger. He's mean enough to do a thing like that, but I didn't think he'd have the nerve. However, I'll see if I can learn anything about him. He may have been sneaking around, and if he has my plans he'd ask nothing better than to make a sky racer and beat me." "Oh, Tom, I'm so sorry!" exclaimed Mr. Swift "I--I feel very bad about it!" "There, never mind!" spoke the lad, seeing that his father was looking ill again. "Don't think any more about it, dad. I'll get back those plans. Come, now. It's time for your medicine, and then you must lie down." For the aged inventor was looking tired and weak. Wearily he let Tom lead him to his room, and after seeing that the invalid was comfortable Tom called up Dr. Gladby, to have him come and see Mr. Swift. The doctor said his patient had been overdoing himself a little, and must rest more if he was to completely recover. Learning that his father was no worse, Tom set off to find Andy Foger. "I can't rest until I know whether or not he has my plans," he said to himself. "I don't want to make a speedy aeroplane, and find out at the last minute that Andy, or some of his cronies, have duplicated it." But Tom got little satisfaction from Andy Foger. When that bully was accused of having been around Tom's house he denied it, and though the young inventor did not actually accuse him of taking the plans, he hinted at it. Andy muttered many indignant negatives, and called on some of his cronies to witness that at the time the plans were taken he and they were some distance from the Swift home. So Tom was baffled; and though he did not believe the red-haired lad's denial, there was no way in which he could prove to the contrary. "If he didn't take the plans, who did?" mused Tom. As the young inventor turned away after cross-questioning Andy, the bully called out: "You'll never win that ten thousand dollars!" "What do you know about that?" demanded Tom quickly. "Oh, I know," sneered Andy. "There'll be bigger and better aeroplanes in that meet than you can make, and you'll never win the prize." "I suppose you heard about the affair by sneaking around under our windows, and listening," said Tom. "Never mind how I know it, but I do," retorted the bully. "Well, I'll tell you one thing," said Tom calmly. "If you come around again it won't be healthy for you. Look out for live wires, if you try to do the listening act any more, Andy!" And with that ominous warning Tom turned away. "What do you suppose he means, Andy?" asked Pete Bailey, one of Andy's cronies. "It means he's got electrical wires strung around his place," declared Sam Snedecker, "and that we'll be shocked if we go up there. I'm not going!" "Me, either," added Pete, and Andy laughed uneasily. Tom heard what they said, and in the next few days he made himself busy by putting some heavy wires in and about the grounds where they would show best. But the wires carried no current, and were only displayed to impress a sense of fear on Andy and his cronies, which purpose they served well. But it was like locking the stable door after the horse had been stolen, for with all the precautions he could take Tom could not get back his plans, and he spent many anxious days seeking them. They seemed to have completely disappeared, however, and the young inventor decided there was nothing else to do but to draw new ones. He set to work on them, and in the meanwhile tried to learn whether or not Andy had the missing plans. He sought this information by stealth, and was aided by his chum, Ned Newton. But all to no purpose. Not the slightest trace or clue was discovered. Chapter Five Building the Sky Racer "What will you do, if, after you have your little monoplane all constructed, and get ready to race, you find that some one else has one exactly like it at the meet?" asked Ned Newton one day, when he and Tom were out in the big workshop, talking things over. "What will you do, Tom?" "I don't see that there is anything I can do. I'll go on to the meet, of course, and trust to some improvements I have since brought out, and to what I know about aeroplanes, to help me win the race. I'll know, too, who stole my plans." "But it will be too late, then." "Yes, too late, perhaps, to stop them from using the drawings, but not too late to punish them for the theft. It's a great mystery, and I'll be on the anxious seat all the while. But it can't be helped." "When are you going to start work on the sky racer?" "Pretty soon, now. I've got another set of plans made, and I've fixed them so that if they are stolen it won't do any one any good." "How's that?" "I've put in a whole lot of wrong figures and measurements, and scores of lines and curves that mean nothing. I have marked the right figures and lines by a secret mark, and when I work on them I'll use only the proper ones. But any one else wouldn't know this. Oh, I'll fool 'em this time!" "I hope you do. Well, when you get the machine done I'd like to ride in it. Will it carry two, as your Butterfly does?" "Yes, only it will be much different; and, of course, it will go much faster. I'll give you a ride, all right, Ned. Well, now I must get busy and see what material I need for what I hope will prove to be the speediest aeroplane in the world." "That's going some! I must be leaving now. Don't forget your promise. I saw Mary Nestor on my way over here. She was asking for you. She said you must be very busy, for she hadn't seen you in some time." "Um!" was all Tom answered, but by the blush that mounted to his face it was evident that he was more interested in Mary Nestor than his mere exclamation indicated. When Ned had gone Tom got out pencil and paper, and was busily engaged in making some intricate calculations. He drew odd little sketches on the margin of the sheet, and then wrote out a list of the things he would need to construct the new aeroplane. This finished, he went to Mr. Jackson, the engineer, and asked him to get the various things together, and to have them put in the special shop where Tom did most of his work. "I want to get the machine together as soon as I can," he remarked to the engineer, "for it will need to be given a good tryout before I enter in the race, and I may find that I'll have to make several changes in it." Mr. Jackson promised to attend to the matter right away, and then Tom went in to talk to his father about the motor that was to whirl the propeller of the new air craft. Mr. Swift had improved very much in the past few days, and though Dr. Gladby said he was far from being well, the physician declared there was no reason why he should not do some inventive work. He and Tom were deep in an argument of gasoline motors, discussing the best manner of attaching the fins to the cylinders to make them air-cooled, when a voice sounded outside, the voice of Eradicate: "Heah! Whar yo' goin'?" demanded the colored man. "Whar yo' goin'?" "Somebody's out in the garden!" exclaimed Tom, jumping up suddenly. "Perhaps it's the same person who took the plans!" suggested Mr. Swift. "Hold on, dere!" yelled Eradicate again. Then a voice replied: "Bless my insurance policy! What's the matter? Have there been burglars around? Why all these precautions? Bless my steam heater! Don't you know me?" "Mr. Damon!" cried Tom, a look of pleasure coming over his face. "Mr. Damon is coming!" "So I should judge," responded Mr. Swift, with a smile. "I wonder why Eradicate didn't recognize him?" They learned why a moment later, for on looking from the library window, Tom saw the colored man coming up the walk behind a well-dressed gentleman. "Why, mah goodness! It's Mr. Damon!" exclaimed Eradicate. "I didn't know yo', sah, wif dem whiskers on! I didn't, fo' a fac'!" "Bless my razor! I suppose it does make a difference," said the eccentric man. "Yes, my wife thought I'd look better, and more sedate, with a beard, so I grew one to please her. But I don't like it. A beard is too warm this kind of weather; eh, Tom?" And Mr. Damon waved his hand to the young inventor and his father, who stood in the low windows of the library. "Entirely too warm, bless my finger-nails, yes!" "I agree with you!" exclaimed Tom. "Come in! We're glad to see you!" "I called to see if you aren't going on another trip to the North Pole, or somewhere in the Arctic regions," went on Mr. Damon. "Why?" inquired Tom. "Why, then this heavy beard of mine would come in handy. It would keep my throat and chin warm." And Mr. Damon ran his hands through his luxuriant whiskers. "No more northern trips right away," said Tom. "I'm about to build a speedy monoplane, to take part in the big meet at Eagle Park." "Oh, yes, I heard about the meet," said Mr. Damon. "I'd like to be in that." "Well, I'm building a machine that will carry two," went on Tom, "and if you think you can stand a speed of a hundred miles an hour, or better, I'll let you come with me. There are some races where a passenger is allowed." "Have you got a razor?" asked Mr. Damon suddenly. "What for?" inquired Mr. Swift, wondering what the eccentric man was going to do. "Why, bless my shaving soap! I'm going to cut off my beard. If I go in a monoplane at a hundred miles an hour I don't want to make any more resistance to the wind than possible, and my whiskers would certainly hold back Tom's machine. Where's a razor? I'm going to shave at once. My wife won't mind when I tell her what it's for. Lend me a razor, please, Tom." "Oh, there's plenty of time," explained the lad, with a laugh. "The race doesn't take place for over two months. But when it does, I think you would be better off without a beard." "I know it," said Mr. Damon simply. "I'll shave before we enter the contest, Tom. But now tell me all about it." Tom did so, relating the story of the theft of the plans. Mr. Damon was for having Andy arrested at once, but Mr. Swift and his son pointed out that they had no evidence against him. "All we can do," said the young inventor, "is to keep watch on him, and see if he is building another aeroplane. He has all the facilities, and he may attempt to get ahead of me. If he enters a sky craft at the meet I'll be pretty sure that he has made it from my stolen plans." "Bless my wing tips!" cried Mr. Damon. "But can't we do anything to stop him?" "I'm afraid not," answered Tom; and then he showed Mr. Damon his re-drawn plans, and told in detail of how he intended to construct the new aeroplane. The eccentric man remained as the guest of the Swift family that night, departing for his home the next day, and promising to be on hand as soon as Tom was ready to test his new craft, which would be in about a month. As the days passed, Tom, with the help of his father, whose health was slightly better, and with the aid of Mr. Jackson, began work on the speedy little sky racer. As you boys are all more or less familiar with aeroplanes, we will not devote much space to the description of the new one Tom Swift made. We can describe it in general terms, but there were some features of it which Tom kept a secret from all save his father. Suffice it to say that Tom had decided to build a small air craft of the single-wing type, known as the monoplane. It was to be a cross between the Bleriot and the Antoinette, with the general features of both, but with many changes or improvements. The wings were shaped somewhat like those of a humming-bird, which, as is well known, can, at times, vibrate its wings with such velocity that the most rapid camera lens cannot quite catch. And when it is known that a bullet in flight has been successfully photographed, the speed of the wings of the humming-bird can be better appreciated. The writer has seen a friend, with a very rapid camera, which was used to snap automobiles in flight, attempt to take a picture of a humming-bird. He got the picture, all right, but the plate was blurred, showing that the wings had moved faster than the lens could throw them on the sensitive plate. Not that Tom intended the wings of his monoplane to vibrate, but he adopted that style as being the best adapted to allow of rapid flight through the air; and the young inventor had determined that he would clip many minutes from the best record yet made. The body of his craft, between the forward wings and the rear ones, where the rudders were located, was shaped like a cigar, with side wings somewhat like the fin keels of the ocean liner to prevent a rolling motion. In addition, Tom had an ingenious device to automatically adapt his monoplane to sudden currents of air that might overturn it, and this device was one of the points which he kept secret. The motor, which was air-cooled, was located forward, and was just above the heads of the operator and the passenger who sat beside him. The single propeller, which was ten feet in diameter, gave a minimum thrust of one thousand pounds at two thousand revolutions per minute. This was one feature wherein Tom's craft differed from others. The usual aeroplane propeller is eight feet in diameter, and gives from four to five hundred pounds thrust at about one thousand revolutions per minute, so it can be readily seen wherein Tom had an advantage. "But I'm building this for speed," he said to Mr. Jackson, "and I'm going to get it! We'll make a hundred miles an hour without trouble." "I believe you," replied the engineer. "The motor you and your father have made is a wonder for lightness and power." In fact, the whole monoplane was so light and frail as to give one the idea of a rather large model, instead of a real craft, intended for service. But a careful inspection showed the great strength it had, for it was braced and guyed in a new way, and was as rigid as a steel-trussed bridge. "What are you going to call her?" asked Mr. Jackson, about two weeks after they had started work on the craft, and when it had begun to assume shape and form. "I'm going to name her the Humming-Bird," replied Tom. "She's little, but oh, my!" "And I guess she'll bring home the prize," added the engineer. And as the days went by, and Tom, his father and Mr. Jackson continued to work on the speedy craft, this hope grew in the heart of the young inventor. But he could not rid himself of worry as to the fate of the plans that had disappeared. Who had them? Was some one making a machine like his own from them? Tom wished he knew. Chapter Six Andy Foger Will Contest One afternoon, as Tom was working away in the shop on his sky racer, adjusting one of the rear rudders, and pausing now and then to admire the trim little craft, he heard some one approaching. Looking out through a small observation peephole made for this purpose, he saw Mrs. Baggert hurrying toward the building. "I wonder what's the matter?" he said aloud, for there was a look of worriment on the lady's face. Tom threw open the door. "What is it, Mrs. Baggert?" he called. "Some one up at the house who wants to see me?" "No, it's your father!" panted the housekeeper, for she was quite stout. "He is very ill again, and I can't seem to get Dr. Gladby on the telephone. Central says he doesn't answer." "My father worse!" cried Tom in alarm, dropping his tools and hurrying from the shop. "Where's Eradicate? Send him for the doctor. Perhaps the wires are broken. If he can't locate Dr. Gladby, get Dr. Kurtz. We must have some one. Here, Rad! Where are you?" he called, raising his voice. "Heah I be!" answered the colored man, coming from the direction of the garden, which he had been weeding. "Get out your mule, and go for Dr. Gladby. If he isn't home, get Dr. Kurtz. Hurry, Rad!" "I's mighty sorry, Massa Tom," answered the colored man, "but I cain't hurry, nohow." "Why not?" "Because Boomerang done gone lame, an' he won't run. I'll go mahse'f, but I cain't take dat air mule." "Never mind. I'll go in the Butterfly," decided Tom quickly. "I'll run up to the house and see how dad is, and while I'm gone, Rad, you get out the Butterfly. I can make the trip in that. If Dr. Kurtz had a 'phone I could get him, but he lives over on the back road, where there isn't a line. Hurry, Rad!" "Yes, sah, Massa Tom, I'll hurry!" The colored man knew how to get the monoplane in shape for a flight, as he had often done it. Tom found his father in no immediate danger, but Mr. Swift had had a slight recurrence of his heart trouble, and it was thought best to have a doctor. So Tom started off in his air craft, rising swiftly above the housetop, and sailed off toward the old-fashioned residence of Dr. Kurtz, a sturdy, elderly German physician, who sometimes attended Mr. Swift. Tom decided that as long as Dr. Gladby did not answer his 'phone, he could not be at home, and this, he learned later, was the case, the physician being in a distant town on a consultation. "My, this Butterfly seems big and clumsy beside my Humming-Bird," mused Tom as he slid along through the air, now flying high and now low, merely for practice. "This machine can go, but wait until I have my new one in the air! Then I'll show 'em what speed is!" He was soon at the physician's house, and found him in. "Won't you ride back with me in the monoplane?" asked Tom. "I'm anxious to have you see dad as soon as you can. "Vot! Me drust mineself in one ob dem airships? I dinks not!" exclaimed Dr. Kurtz ponderously. "Vy, I vould not efen ride in an outer-mobile, yet, so vy should I go in von contrivance vot is efen more dangerous? No, I gomes to your fader in der carriage, mit mine old Dobbin horse. Dot vill not drop me to der ground, or run me up a tree, yet! Vot?" "Very well," said Tom, "only hurry, please." The young inventor, in his airship, reached home some time before the slow-going doctor got there in his carriage. Mr. Swift was no worse, Tom was glad to find, though he was evidently quite ill. "So, ve must take goot care of him," said the doctor, when he had examined the patient. "Dr. Gladby he has done much for him, und I can do little more. You must dake care of yourself, Herr Swift, or you vill--but den, vot is der use of being gloomy-minded? I am sure you vill go more easy, und not vork so much." "I haven't worked much," replied the aged inventor. "I have only been helping my son on a new airship." "Den dot must stop," insisted the doctor. "You must haf gomplete rest--dot's it--gomplete rest." "We'll do just as you say, doctor," said Tom. "We'll give up the aeroplane matters, dad, and go away, you and I, where we can't see a blueprint or a pattern, or hear the sound of machinery. We'll cut it all out." "Dot vould he goot," said Dr. Kurtz ponderously. "No, I couldn't think of it," answered Mr. Swift. "I want you to go in that race, Tom--and win!" "But I'll not do it, dad, if you're going to be ill." "He is ill now," interrupted the doctor. "Very ill, Dom Swift." "That settles it. I don't go in the race. You and I'll go away, dad--to California, or up in Canada. We'll travel for your health." "No! no!" insisted the old inventor gently. "I will be all right. Most of the work on the monoplane is done now, isn't it, Tom?" "Yes, dad." "Then you go on, and finish it. You and Mr. Jackson can do it without me now. I'll take a rest, doctor, but I want my son to enter that race, and, what's more, I want him to win!" "Vell, if you don't vork, dot is all I ask. I must forbid you to do any more. Mit Dom, dot is different. He is young und strong, und he can vork. But you--not, Herr Swift, or I doctor you no more." And the physician shook his big head. "Very well. I'll agree to that if Tom will promise to enter the race," said the inventor. "I will," said Tom. The physician took his leave shortly after that, the medicine he gave to Mr. Swift somewhat relieving him. Then the young inventor, who felt in a little better spirits, went back to his workshop. "Poor dad," he mused. "He thinks more of me and this aeroplane than he does of himself. Well, I will go in the race, and I'll--yes, I'll win!" And Tom looked very determined. He was about to resume work on his craft when something about the way one of the forward planes was tilted attracted his attention. "I never left it that way," mused Tom. "Some one has been in here. I wonder if it was Mr. Jackson?" Tom stepped to the door and called for Eradicate. The colored man came from the direction of the garden, which he was still weeding. "Has Mr. Jackson been around, Rad?" asked the lad. "No, sah. I ain't seed him." "Have you been in here, looking at the Humming-Bird?" "No, Massa Tom. I nebber goes in dere, lessen as how yo' is dere. Dem's yo' orders." "That's so, Rad. I might have known you wouldn't go in. But did you see any one enter the shop?" "Not a pusson, sab." "Have you been here all the while?" "All but jes' a few minutes, when I went to de barn to put some liniment on Boomerang's so' foot." "H'm! Some one might have slipped in here while I was away," mused Tom. "I ought to have locked the doors, but I was in a hurry. This thing is getting on my nerves. I wonder if it's Andy Foger, or some one else, who is after my secret?" He made a hasty examination of the shop, but could discover nothing more wrong, except that one of the planes of the Humming-Bird had been shifted. "It looks as if they were trying to see how it was fastened on, and how it worked," mused Tom. "But my plans haven't been touched, and no damage has been done. Only I don't like to think that people have been in here. They may have stolen some of my ideas. I must keep this place locked night and day after this." Tom spent a busy week in making improvements on his craft. Mr. Swift was doing well, and after a consultation by Dr. Kurtz and Dr. Gladby it was decided to adopt a new style of treatment. In the meanwhile, Mr. Swift kept his promise, and did no work. He sat in his easy-chair, out in the garden, and dozed away, while Tom visited him frequently to see if he needed anything. "Poor old dad!" mused the young inventor. "I hope he is well enough to come and see me try for the ten-thousand-dollar prize--and win it! I hope I do; but if some one builds, from my stolen plans, a machine on this model, I'll have my work cut out for me." And he gazed with pride on the Humming-Bird. For the past two weeks Tom had seen nothing of Andy Foger. The red-haired bully seemed to have dropped out of sight, and even his cronies, Sam Snedecker and Pete Bailey, did not know where he had gone. "I hope he has gone for good," said Ned Newton, who lived near Andy. "He's an infernal nuisance. I wish he'd never come back to Shopton." But Andy was destined to come back. One day, when Tom was busy installing a wireless apparatus on his new aeroplane, he heard Eradicate hurrying up the path that led to the shop. "I wonder if dad is worse?" thought Tom, that always being his first idea when he knew a summons was coming for him. Quickly be opened the door. "Some one's comin' out to see you, Massa Tom," said the colored man. "Who is it?" asked the lad, taking the precaution to put his precious plans out of sight. "I dunno, sah; but yo' father knows him, an' he said fo' me to come out heah, ahead ob de gen'man, an' tell yo' he were comin'. He'll be right heah." "Oh, well, if dad knows him, it's all right. Let him come, Rad." "Yes, sah. Heah he comes." And the colored man pointed to a figure advancing down the gravel path. Tom watched the stranger curiously. There was something familiar about him, and Tom was sure he had met him before, yet he could not seem to place him. "How are you, Tom Swift?" greeted the newcomer pleasantly. "I guess you've forgotten me, haven't you?" He held out his hand, which Tom took. "Don't know me, do you?" he went on. "Well, I'm afraid I've forgotten your name," admitted the lad, just a bit embarrassed. "But your face is familiar, somehow, and yet it isn't." "I've shaved off my mustache," went on the other. "That makes a difference. But you haven't forgotten John Sharp, the balloonist, whom you rescued from Lake Carlopa, and who helped you build the Red Cloud? You haven't forgotten John Sharp, have you, Tom?" "Well, I should say not!" cried the lad heartily. "I'm real glad to see you. What are you doing around here? Come in. I've got something to show you," and he motioned to the shop where the Humming-Bird was housed. "Oh, I know what it is," said the veteran balloonist. "You do?" "Yes. It's your new aeroplane. In fact, I came to see you about it." "To see me about it?" "Yes. I'm one of the committee of arrangements for the meet to be held at Eagle Park, where I understand you are going to contest. I came to see how near you were ready, and to get you to make a formal entry of your machine. Mr. Gunmore sent me." "Oh, so you're in with them now, eh?" asked Tom. "Well, I'm glad to know I've got a friend on the committee. Yes, my machine is getting along very well. I'll soon be ready for a trial flight. Come in and look at it. I think it's a bird--a regular Humming-Bird!" And Tom laughed. "It certainly is something new," admitted Mr. Sharp as his eyes took in the details of the trim little craft. "By the way, Shopton is going to be well represented at the meet." "How is that? I thought I was the only one around here to enter an aeroplane." "No. We have just received an entry from Andy Foger." "From Andy Foger!" gasped Tom. "Is he going to try to win some of the prizes?" "He's entered for the big one, the ten-thousand-dollar prize," replied the balloonist. "He has made formal application to be allowed to compete, and we have to accept any one who applies. Why, do you object to him, Tom?" "Object to him? Mr. Sharp, let me tell you something. Some time ago a set of plans of my machine here were stolen from my house. I suspected Andy Foger of taking them, but I could get no proof. Now you say he is building a machine to compete for the big prize. Do you happen to know what style it is?" "It's a small monoplane, something like the Antoinette, his application states, though he may change it later." "Then he's stolen my ideas, and is making a craft like this!" exclaimed Tom, as he sank upon a bench, and gazed from the balloonist to the Humming-Bird, and back to Mr. Sharp again. "Andy Foger is trying to beat me with my own machine!" Chapter Seven Seeking a Clue John Sharp was more than surprised at the effect his piece of information had on Tom Swift. Though the young inventor had all along suspected Andy of having the missing plans, yet there had been no positive evidence on this point. That, coupled with the fact that the red-haired bully had not been seen in the vicinity of Shopton lately, had, in a measure, lulled Tom's suspicions to rest, but now his hope had been rudely shattered. "Do you really think that's his game?" asked Mr. Sharp. "I'm sure of it," replied the youth. "Though where he is building his aeroplane I can't imagine, for I haven't seen him in town. He's away." "Are you sure of that?" "Well, not absolutely sure," replied Tom. "It's the general rumor that he's out of town." "Well, old General Rumor is sometimes a person not to be relied upon," remarked the balloonist grimly. "Now this is the way I size it up: Of course, all I know officially is that Andy Foger has sent in an entry for the big race for the ten-thousand-dollar prize which is offered by the Eagle Park Aviation Association. I'm a member of the arrangements committee, and so I know. I also know that you and several others are going to try for the prize. That's all I am absolutely sure of. "Now, when you tell me about the missing plans, and you conclude that Andy is doing some underhanded work, I agree with you. But I go a step farther. I don't believe he's out of town at all." "Why not?" exclaimed Tom. "Because when he has an airship shed right in his own backyard, where, you tell me, he once made a craft in which he tried to beat you out in the trip to Alaska, when you think of that, doesn't it seem reasonable that he'd use that same building in which to make his new craft?" "Yes, it does," admitted Tom slowly, "but then everybody says he's out of town." "Well, what everybody says is generally not so. I think you'll find that Andy is keeping himself in seclusion, and that he's working secretly in his shop, building a machine with which to beat you." "Do you, really?" "I certainly do. Have you been around his place lately?" "No. I've been too busy; and then I never have much to do with him." "Then take my advice, and see if you can't get a look inside that shop. You may see something that will surprise you. If you find that Andy is infringing on your patented ideas, you can stop him by an injunction. You've got this model patented, I take it?" "Oh, yes. I didn't have at the time the plans were stolen, but I've patented it since. I could get at him that way." "Then take my advice, and do it. Get a look inside that shed, and you'll find Andy working secretly there, no matter if his cronies do think he's out of town." "I believe I will," agreed Tom, and somehow he felt better now that he had decided on a plan of action. He and the balloonist talked over at some length just the best way to go about it, for the young inventor recalled the time when he and Ned Newton had endeavored to look into Andy's shed, with somewhat disastrous results to themselves; but Tom knew that the matter at stake justified a risk, and he was willing to take it. "Well, now that's settled," said Mr. Sharp, "tell me more about yourself and your aeroplane. My! To think that the Red Cloud was destroyed! That was a fine craft." "Indeed she was," agreed Tom. "I'm going to make another on similar lines, some day, but now all my time is occupied with the Humming-Bird." "She is a hummer, too," complimented Mr. Sharp. "But I almost forgot the real object of my trip here. There is no doubt about you going in the race, is there?" "I fully expect to," replied Tom. "The only thing that will prevent me will be--" "Don't say you're worried on account of what Andy Foger may do," interrupted Mr. Sharp. "I'm not. I'll attend to Andy, all right. I was going to say that my father's illness might interfere. He's not well at all. I'm quite worried about him." "Oh, I sincerely hope he'll be all right," remarked the balloonist. "We want you in this race. In fact, we're going to feature you, as they say about the actors and story-writers. The committee is planning to do considerable advertising on the strength of Tom Swift, the well-known young inventor, being a contestant for the ten-thousand-dollar prize." "That's very nice, I'm sure," replied Tom, "and I'm going to do my best. Perhaps dad will take a turn for the better. He wants me to win as much as I want to myself. Well, we'll not worry about it, anyhow, until the time comes. I want to show you some new features of my latest aeroplane." "And I want to see them, Tom. Don't you think you're making a mistake, though, in equipping it with a wireless outfit?" "Why so?" "Well, because it will add to the weight, and you want such a small machine to be as light as possible." "Yes, but you see I have a very light engine. That part my father helped me with. In fact, it is the lightest air-cooled motor made, for the amount of horsepower it develops, so I can afford to put on the extra weight of the wireless outfit. I may need to signal when I am flying along at a hundred miles an hour." "That's so. Well, show me some of the other good points. You've certainly got a wonderful craft here." Tom and Mr. Sharp spent some time going over the Humming-Bird and in talking over old times. The balloonist paid another visit to Mr. Swift, who was feeling pretty good, and who expressed his pleasure in seeing his old friend again. "Can't you stay for a few days?" asked Tom, when Mr. Sharp was about to leave. "If you wait long enough you may be able to help me work up the clues against Andy Foger, and also witness a trial flight of the Humming-Bird." "I'd like to stay, but I can't," was the answer. "The committee will be anxious for me to get back with my report. Good luck to you. I'll see you at the time of the race, if not before." Tom resolved to get right to work seeking clues against his old enemy, Andy, but the next day Mr. Swift was not so well, and Tom had to remain in the house. Then followed several days, during which time it was necessary to do some important work on his craft, and so a week passed without any information having been obtained. In the meanwhile Tom had made some cautious inquiries, but had learned nothing about Andy. He had no chance to interview Pete or Sam, the two cronies, and he did not think it wise to make a bald request for information at the Foger home. Ned Newton could not be of any aid to his friend, as he was kept busy in the bank night and day, working over a new set of books. "I wonder how I can find out what I want to know?" mused Tom one afternoon, when he had done considerable work on the Humming-Bird. "I certainly ought to do it soon, so as to be able to stop Andy if he's infringing on my patents. Yet, I don't see how--" His thoughts were interrupted by hearing a voice outside the shop, exclaiming: "Bless my toothpick! I know the way, Eradicate, my good fellow. It isn't necessary for you to come. As long as Tom Swift is out there, I'll find him. Bless my horizontal rudder! I'm anxious to see what progress he's made. I'll find him, if he's about!" "Yes, sah, he's right in dere," spoke the colored man. "He's workin' on dat Dragon Fly of his." Eradicate did not always get his names right. "Mr. Damon!" exclaimed Tom in delight, at the sound of his friend's voice. "I believe he can help me get evidence against Andy Foger. I wonder I didn't think of it before! The very thing! I'll do it!" Chapter Eight The Empty Shed "Bless my dark-lantern! Where are you, Tom?" called Mr. Damon as he entered the dim shed where the somewhat frail-appearing aeroplane loomed up in the semi-darkness, for it was afternoon, and rather cloudy. "Where are you?" "Here!" called the young inventor. "I'm glad to see you! Come in!" "Ah! there it is, eh?" exclaimed the odd man, as he looked at the aeroplane, for there had been much work done on it since he had last seen it. "Bless my parachute, Tom! But it looks as though you could blow it over." "It's stronger than it seems," replied the lad. "But, Mr. Damon, I've got something very important to talk to you about." Thereupon Tom told all about Mr. Sharp's visit, of Andy's entry in the big race, and of the suspicions of himself and the balloonist. "And what is it you wish me to do?" asked Mr. Damon. "Work up some clues against Andy Foger." "Good! I'll do it! I'd like to get ahead of that bully and his father, who once tried to wreck the bank I'm interested in. I'll help you, Tom! I'll play detective! Let me see--what disguise shall I assume? I think I'll take the part of a tramp. Bless my ham sandwich! That will be the very thing. I'll get some ragged clothes, let my beard grow again--you see I shaved it off since my last visit--and I'll go around to the Foger place and ask for work. Then I can get inside the shed and look around. How's that for a plan?" "It might be all right," agreed Tom, "only I don't believe you're cut out for the part of a tramp, Mr. Damon." "Bless my fingernails! Why not?" "Oh, well, it isn't very pleasant to go around in ragged clothes." "Don't mind about me. I'll do it." And the odd gentleman seemed quite delighted at the idea. He and Tom talked it over at some length, and then adjourned to the house, where Mr. Swift, who had seemed to improve in the last few days, was told of the plan. "Couldn't you go around after evidence just as you are?" asked the aged inventor. "I don't much care for this disguising business." "Oh, it's very necessary," insisted Mr. Damon earnestly. "Bless my gizzard! but it's very necessary. Why, if I went around the Foger place as I am now, they'd know me in a minute, and I couldn't find out what I want to know." "Well, if you keep on blessing yourself," said Tom, with a laugh, "they'll know you, no matter what disguise you put on, Mr. Damon." "That's so," admitted the eccentric gentleman. "I must break myself of that habit. I will. Bless my topknot! I'll never do it any more. Bless my trousers buttons!" "I'm afraid you'll never do it!" exclaimed Tom. "It is rather hard," said Mr. Damon ruefully, as he realized what he had said. "But I'll do it. Bless--" He paused a moment, looked at Tom and his father, and then burst into a laugh. The habit was more firmly fastened on him than he was aware. For several hours Tom, his father and Mr. Damon discussed various methods of proceeding, and it was finally agreed that Mr. Damon should first try to learn what Andy was doing, if anything, without resorting to a disguise. "Then, if that doesn't work, I'll become a tramp," was the decision of the odd character. "I'll wear the raggedest clothes I can find Bless--" But he stopped in time. Mr. Damon took up his residence in the Swift household, as he had often done before, and for the next week he went and came as he pleased, sometimes being away all night. "It's no use, though," declared Mr. Damon at the end of the week. "I can't get anywhere near that shed, nor even get a glimpse inside of it. I haven't been able to learn anything, either. There are two gardeners on guard all the while, and several times when I've tried to go in the side gate, they've stopped me." "Isn't there any news of Andy about town?" asked Tom. "I should think Sam or Pete would know where he is." "Well, I didn't ask them, for they'd know right away why I was inquiring," said Mr. Damon, "but it seems to me as if there was something queer going on. If Andy Foger is working in that shed of his, he's keeping mighty quiet about it. Bless my--" And once more he stopped in time. He was conquering the habit in a measure. "Well, what do you propose to do next?" asked Tom. "Disguise myself like a tramp, and go there looking for work," was the firm answer. "There are plenty of odd jobs on a big place such as the Foger family have. I'll find out what I want to know, you see." It seemed useless to further combat this resolution, and, in a few days Mr. Damon presented a very different appearance. He had on a most ragged suit, there was a scrubby beard on his face, and he walked with a curious shuffle, caused by a pair of big, heavy shoes which he had donned, first having taken the precaution to make holes in them and get them muddy. "Now I'm all ready," he said to Tom one day, when his disguise was complete. "I'm going over and try my luck." He left the house by a side door, so that no one would see him, and started down the walk. As he did so a voice shouted: "Hi, there! Git right out oh heah! Mistah Swift doan't allow no tramps heah, an' we ain't got no wuk fo' yo', an' there ain't no cold victuals. I does all de wuk, me an' mah mule Boomerang, an' we takes all de cold victuals, too! Git right along, now!" "It's Eradicate. He doesn't know you," said Tom, with a chuckle. "So much the better," whispered Mr. Damon. But the disguise proved almost too much of a success, for seeing the supposed tramp lingering near the house, Eradicate caught up a stout stick and rushed forward. He was about to strike the ragged man, when Tom called out: "That's Mr. Damon, Rad!" "Wh--what!" gasped the colored man; and when the situation had been explained to him, and the necessity for silence impressed upon him, he turned away, too surprised to utter a word. He sought consolation in the stable with his mule. Just what methods Mr. Damon used he never disclosed, but one thing is certain: That night there came a cautious knock on the door of the Swift home, and Tom, answering it, beheld his odd friend. "Well," he asked eagerly, "what luck?" "Put on a suit of old clothes, and come with me," said Mr. Damon. "We'll look like two tramps, and then, if we're discovered, they won't know it was you." "Have you found out anything?" asked Tom eagerly. "Not yet; but I've got a key to one of the side doors of the shed, and we can get in as soon as it's late enough so that everybody there will be in bed." "A key? How did you get it?" inquired the youth. "Never mind," was the answer, with a chuckle. "That was because of my disguise; and I haven't blessed anything to-day. I'm going to, soon, though. I can feel it coming on. But hurry, Tom, or we may be too late." "And you haven't had a look inside the shed?" asked the young inventor. "You don't know what's there?" "No; but we soon will." Eagerly Tom put on some of the oldest and most ragged garments he could find, and then he and the odd gentleman set off toward the Foger home. They waited some time after getting in sight of it, because they saw a light in one of the windows. Then, when the house was dark, they stole cautiously forward toward the big, gloomy shed. "On this side," directed Mr. Damon in a whisper. "The key I have opens this door." "But we can't see when we get inside," objected Tom. "I should have brought a dark lantern." "I have one of those pocket electric flashlights," said Mr. Damon. "Bless my candlestick! but I thought of that." And he chuckled gleefully. Cautiously they advanced in the darkness. Mr. Damon fumbled at the lock of the door. The key grated as he turned it. The portal swung back, and Tom and his friend found themselves inside the shed which, of late, had been such an object of worry and conjecture to the young inventor. What would he find there? "Flash the light," he called to Mr. Damon in a hoarse whisper. The eccentric man drew it from his packet. He pressed the spring switch, and in an instant a brilliant shaft of radiance shot out, cutting the intense blackness like a knife. Mr. Damon flashed it on all sides. But to the amazement of Tom and his companion, it did not illuminate the broad white wings and stretches of canvas of an aeroplane. It only shone on the bare walls of the shed, and on some piles of rubbish in the corners. Up and down, to right and left, shot the pencil of light. "There's--there's nothing here!" gasped Tom. "I--I guess you're right!" agreed Mr. Damon "The shed is empty!" "Then where is Andy Foger building his aeroplane?" asked Tom in a whisper; but Mr. Damon could not answer him. Chapter Nine A Trial Flight For a few moments after their exclamations of surprise Tom and Mr. Damon did not know what else to say. They stared about in amazement, hardly able to believe that the shed could be empty. They had expected to see some form of aeroplane in it, and Tom was almost sure his eyes would meet a reproduction of his Humming-Bird, made from the stolen plans. "Can it be possible there's nothing here?" went on Tom, after a long pause. He could not seem to believe it. "Evidently not," answered Mr. Damon, as he advanced toward the center of the big building and flashed the light on all sides. "You can see for yourself." "Or, rather, you can't see," spoke the youth. "It isn't here, that's sure. You can't stick an aeroplane, even as small a one as my Humming Bird, in a corner. No; it isn't here." "Well, we'll have to look further," went on Mr. Damon. "I think--" But a sudden noise near the big main doors of the shed interrupted him. "Come on!" exclaimed Tom in a whisper. "Some one's coming! They may see us! Let's get out!" Mr. Damon released the pressure on the spring switch, and the light went out. After waiting a moment to let their eyes become accustomed to the darkness, he and Tom stole to the door by which they had entered. As they swung it cautiously open they again heard the noise near the main portals by which Andy had formerly taken in and out the Anthony, as he had named the aeroplane in which he and his father went to Alaska, where, like Tom's craft, it was wrecked. "Some one is coming in!" whispered Tom. Hardly had he spoken when a light shone in the direction of the sound. The illumination came from a big lantern of the ordinary kind, carried by some one who had just entered the shed. "Can you see who it is?" whispered Mr. Damon, peering eagerly forward; too eagerly, for his foot struck against the wooden side wall with a loud bang. "Who's there?" suddenly demanded the person carrying the lantern. He raised it high above his head, in order to cast the gleams into all the distant corners. As he did so a ray of light fell upon his face. "Andy Foger!" gasped Tom in a hoarse whisper. Andy must have heard, for he ran forward just as Tom and Mr. Damon slipped out. "Hold on! Who are you?" came in the unmistakable tones of the red-haired bully. "I don't think we're going to tell," chuckled Tom softly, as he and his friend sped off into the darkness. They were not followed, and as they looked back they could see a light bobbing about in the shed. "He's looking for us!" exclaimed Mr. Damon with an inward laugh. "Bless my watch chain! But it's a good thing we got in ahead of him. Are you sure it was Andy himself?" "Sure! I'd know his face anywhere. But I can't understand it. Where has he been? What is he doing? Where is he building his aeroplane? I thought he was out of town." "He may have come back to-night," said Mr. Damon. "That's the only one of your questions I can answer. We'll have to wait about the rest, I'm sure he wasn't around the house to-day, though, for I was working at weeding the flower beds, in my disguise as a tramp, and if he was home I'd have seen him. He must have just come back, and he went out to his shed to get something. Well, we did the best we could." "Indeed we did," agreed Tom, "and I'm ever so much obliged to you, Mr. Damon." "And we'll try again, when we get more clues. Bless my shoelaces! but it's a relief to be able to talk as you like." And forthwith the eccentric man began to call down so many blessings on himself and on his belongings, no less than on his friends, that Tom laughingly warned him that he had better save some for another time. The two reached home safely, removed their "disguises," and told Mr. Swift of the result of their trip. He agreed with them that there was a mystery about Andy's aeroplane which was yet to be solved. But Tom was glad to find that, at any rate, the craft was not being made in Shopton, and during the next two weeks he devoted all his time to finishing his own machine. Mr. Jackson was a valuable assistant, and Mr. Damon gave what aid he could. "Well, I think I'll be ready for a trial flight in another week," said Tom one day, as he stepped back to get a view of the almost completed Humming-Bird. "Shall you want a passenger?" asked Mr. Damon. "Yes, I wish you would take a chance with me. I could use a bag of sand, not that I mean you are to be compared to that," added Tom quickly, "but I'd rather have a real person, in order to test the balancing apparatus. Yes, we'll make a trial trip together." In the following few days Tom went carefully over the aeroplane, making some slight changes, strengthening it here and there, and testing the motor thoroughly. It seemed to work perfectly. At length the day of the trial came, and the Humming-Bird was wheeled out of the shed. In spite of the fact that it was practically finished, there yet remained much to do on it. It was not painted or decorated, and looked rather crude. But what Tom wanted to know was how it would fly, what control he had over it, what speed it could make, and how it balanced. For it was, at best, very frail, and the least change in equilibrium might be fatal. Before taking his place in the operator's seat Tom started the motor, and by means of a spring balance tested the thrust of the propellers. It was satisfactory, though he knew that when the engine had been run for some time, and had warmed up, it would do much better. "All ready, I guess, Mr. Damon!" he called, and the odd gentleman took his place. Tom got up into his own seat, in front of several wheels and levers by which he operated the craft. "Start the propeller!" he requested of Mr. Jackson, and soon the motor was spitting fire, while the big, fan-like blades were whirring around like wings of light. The engineer and Eradicate were holding back the Humming-Bird. "Let her go!" cried Tom as he turned on more gasoline and further advanced the spark of the motor. The roar increased, the propeller looked like a solid circle of wood, and the trim little monoplane moved slowly across the rising ground, increasing its speed every second, until, like some graceful bird, it suddenly rose in the air as Tom tilted the wing tips, and soared splendidly aloft! Chapter Ten A Midnight Intruder Tom Swift sent his wonderful little craft upward on a gentle slant. Higher and higher it rose above the ground. Now it topped the trees; now it was well over them. On the earth below stood Mr. Swift, Mr. Jackson, Eradicate and Mrs. Baggert. They were the only witnesses of the trial flight, and as the aged inventor saw his son's latest design in aeroplanes circling in the air he gave a cheer of delight. It was too feeble for Tom to hear, but the lad, glancing down, saw his father waving his hand to him. "Dear old dad!" thought Tom, waving in return. "I hope he's well enough to see me win the big prize." Tom and Mr. Damon went skimming easily through the air, at no great speed, to be sure, for the young inventor did not want to put too sudden a strain on his motor. "This is glorious!" cried the odd gentleman. "I never shall have enough of aeroplaning, Tom!" "Nor I, either," added his companion. "But how do you like it? Don't you think it's an improvement on my Butterfly, Mr. Damon?" "It certainly is. You're a wonder, Tom! Look out! What are you up to?" for the machine had suddenly swerved in a startling manner. "Oh, that's just a new kind of spiral dip I was trying," answered Tom. "I couldn't do that with my other machine, for I couldn't turn sharp enough." "Well, don't do it right away again," begged Mr. Damon, who had turned a little white, and whose breath was coming in gasps, even though he was used to hair-raising stunts in the frail craft of the air. Tom did not take his machine far away, for he did not want to exhibit it to the public yet, and he preferred to remain in the vicinity of his home, in case of any accident. So he circled around, did figures of eight, went up and down on long slants, took sharp turns, and gave the craft a good tryout. "Does it satisfy you?" asked Mr. Damon, when Tom had once more made the spiral dip, but not at high speed. "In a way, yes," was the answer. "I see a chance for several changes and improvements. Of course, I know nothing about the speed yet, and that's something that I'm anxious about, for I built this with the idea of breaking all records, and nothing else. I know, now, that I can construct a craft that will successfully navigate the air; in fact, there are any number of people who can do that; but to construct a monoplane that will beat anything ever before made is a different thing. I don't yet know that I have done it." "When will you?" "Oh, when I make some changes, get the motor tuned up better, and let her out for all she's worth. I want to do a hundred miles an hour, at least. I'll arrange for a speedy flight in about two weeks more." "Then I think I will stay home," said Mr. Damon. "No; I'll need you," insisted Tom, laughing. "Now watch. I'm going to let her out just a little." He did, with the result that they skimmed through the air so fast that Mr. Damon's breath became a mere series of gasps. "We'll have to wear goggles and mouth protectors when we really go fast!" yelled Tom above the noise of the motor, as he slowed down and turned about for home. "Go fast! Wasn't that fast?" asked Mr. Damon. Tom shook his head. "You wait, and you'll see," he announced. They made a good landing, and Mr. Swift hastened up to congratulate his son. "I knew you could do it, Tom!" he cried. "I couldn't, though, if it hadn't been for that wonderful engine of yours, dad! How do you feel?" "Pretty good. Oh! but that's a fine machine, Tom!" "It certainly is," agreed Mr. Jackson. "It will be when I have it in better trim," admitted the young inventor modestly. "By golly!" cried Eradicate, who was grinning almost from ear to ear, "I's proud oh yo', Massa Tom, an' so will mah mule Boomerang be, when I tells him. Yes, sah, dat's what he will be--proud ob yo', Massa Tom!" "Thanks, Rad." "Well, some folks is satisfied with mighty little under 'em, when they go up in the air, that's my opinion," said Mrs. Baggert. "Why, wouldn't you ride in this?" asked Tom of the buxom housekeeper. "Not if you was to give me ten thousand dollars!" she cried firmly. "Oh, dear! I think the potatoes are burning!" And she rushed back into the house. The next day Tom started to work overhauling the Humming-Bird, and making some changes. He altered the wing tips slightly, and adjusted the motor, until in a thrust test it developed nearly half again as much power as formerly. "And I'll need it all," declared Tom as he thought of the number of contestants that had entered the great race. For the Eagle Park meet was to be a large and important one, and the principal "bird-men" of the world were to have a part in it. Tom knew that he must do his very best, and he spared no efforts to make his monoplane come up to his ideal, which was a very exacting one. "We'll have a real speed test to-morrow," Tom announced to Mr. Damon one night. "I'll see what the Humming-Bird can really do. You'll come, won't you?" "Oh, I suppose so. Bless my insurance policy! I might as well take the same chance you do. But if you're going to have such a nerve-racking thing as that on the program, you'd better get to bed early and have plenty of sleep." "Oh, I'm not tired. I think I'll go out this evening." "Where?" "Oh, just around town, to see some of the fellows." But if Tom was only going around town merely to see his male friends, why did he dress so carefully, put on a new necktie, and take several looks in the glass before he went out? We think you can guess, and also the girl's name. The young inventor got in rather late, and after a visit to the aeroplane shed, to see that all was right there, he went to bed, first connecting up the burglar-alarm wires that guarded the doors and windows of the aerodrome. How long he had been asleep Tom did not know, but he was suddenly awakened by hearing the buzzing of the alarm at the head of his bed. At first he took it for the droning and humming of the aeroplane motor, as he had a hazy notion, and a sort of dream, that he was in his craft. Then, with a start, he realized what it was--the burglar alarm. "Some one's in the shed!" he gasped. Out of bed he leaped, drawing on his trousers and coat, and putting on a pair of slippers, with speed worthy of a fireman. He grabbed up a revolver and rushed from his room, pounding on the door of Mr. Jackson's apartment in passing. "Some one in the shed, after the Humming-Bird!" shouted Tom. "Get a gun, and come down!" Chapter Eleven Tom Is Hurt As Tom passed down the hall on his way to the side door, from which he could more quickly reach the aeroplane shed, he saw his father coming from his room. "What's the matter? What is it?" asked Mr. Swift, and alarm showed on his pale face. "It's nothing much, dad," said the youth, as quietly as he could, for he realized that to excite his father might have a bad effect on the invalid. "Then why are you in such a hurry? Why have you that revolver? I know there is something wrong, Tom. I am going to help you!" In his father's present weakened state Tom desired this least of all, so he said: "Now, never mind, dad. I thought I heard a noise out in the yard, and I'm not going to take any chances. So I roused Mr. Jackson, and I'm going down to see what it is. Perhaps it may only be Eradicate's mule, Boomerang, kicking around, or it may be Rad himself, or some one after his chickens. Don't worry. Mr. Jackson and I can attend to it. You go back to bed, father." Tom spoke with such assurance that Mr. Swift believed him, and retired to his room, just as the engineer, partly dressed, came hurrying out in response to Tom's summons. He had his rifle, and, had the invalid inventor seen that, he surely would have worried more. "Come on!" whispered Tom. "Don't make any noise. I don't want to excite my father." "What was it?" asked the engineer. "I don't know. Burglar alarm went off, that's all I can say until we get to the shed." Together the two left the house softly, and soon were hurrying toward the aeroplane shed. "Look!" exclaimed Mr. Jackson. "Didn't you see a light just then, Tom?" "Where?" "By the side window of the shed?" "No, I didn't notice it! Oh, yes! There it is! Some one is in there! If it's Andy Foger, I'll have him arrested, sure!" "Maybe we can't catch him." "That's so. Andy is a pretty slippery customer. Say, Mr. Jackson, you go around and get Eradicate, and have him bring a club. We can't trust him with a gun. Tell him to get at the back door, and I'll wait for you to join me, and we'll go in the front door. Then we'll have 'em between two fires. They can't get away." "How about the windows?" "They're high up, and hard to open since I put the new catches on them. Whoever got in must have forced the lock of the door. There goes the light again!" As Tom spoke there was seen the faint glimmer of a light. It moved slowly about the interior of the shed, and with a peculiar bobbing motion, which indicated that some one was carrying it. "Go for Eradicate, and don't make any more noise than you can help in waking him up," whispered Tom, for they were now close to the shed, and might be heard. Mr. Jackson slipped off in the darkness, and Tom drew nearer to the building that housed his Humming-Bird. There was one window lower than the others, and near it was a box, that Tom remembered having seen that afternoon. He planned to get up on that and look in, before making a raid to capture the intruder. Tom raised himself up to the window. The light had been visible a moment before he placed the box in position, but an instant later it seemed to go out, and the place was in darkness. "I wonder if they've gone away?" thought Tom. "I can't hear any noise." He listened intently. It was dark and silent in the shop. Suddenly the light flashed up brighter than before, and the young inventor caught sight of a man walking around the new aeroplane, examining it carefully. He carried, as Tom could see, a large-sized electric flash-lamp, with a brilliant tungsten filament, which gave a powerful light. As the youth watched, he saw the intruder place the light on a bench, in such a position that the rays fell full upon the Humming-Bird. Then, adjusting the spring switch so that the light would continue to glow, the man stepped back and drew something from an inner pocket. "I wonder what he's up to?" mused Tom. "I wish Eradicate and Mr. Jackson would hurry back. Who can that fellow be, I wonder? I've never seen him before, as far as I know. I thought sure it was going to turn out to be Andy Foger!" Tom turned around to look into the dark yard surrounding the shed. He was anxious to hear the approach of his two allies, but there was no sound of their footsteps. As he turned back to watch the man he could not repress a cry of alarm, for what the intruder had drawn from his pocket was a small hatchet, and he was advancing with it toward the Humming-Bird! "He's going to destroy my aeroplane!" gasped Tom, and he raised his revolver to fire. He did not intend to shoot at the man, but only to fire to scare him, and thus hasten the coming of Mr. Jackson and the colored man. But there was no need of this, for an instant later the two came running up silently, Eradicate with a big club. "Whar am he?" he asked in a hoarse whisper. "Let me git at him, Massa Tom!" "Hush!" exclaimed the young inventor. "We have no time to lose! He's in there, getting ready to chop my aeroplane to bits! Go to the back door, Rad, and if he tries to come out don't let him get away." "I won't!" declared the colored man emphatically, and he shook his club suggestively. "Come on! We'll go in the front door," whispered Tom to the engineer. "I have the key. We'll catch him red-handed, and hand him over to the police." Waiting a few seconds, to enable Eradicate to get to his place, Tom and the engineer stole softly toward the big double doors. Every moment the youth expected to hear the crash of the hatchet on his prize machine. He shivered in anticipation, but the blows did not fall. Tom pushed open the door and stepped inside, followed by Mr. Jackson. As they did so they saw the man standing in front of the Humming-Bird. He again raised the little hatchet, which was like an Indian tomahawk, and poised it for an instant over the delicate framework and planes of the air craft. Then his arm began to descend. "Stop!" yelled Tom, and at the same time he fired in the air. The man turned as suddenly as though a bullet had struck him, and for a moment Tom was afraid lest he had hit him by accident; but an instant later the intruder grabbed up his flashlight, and holding it before him, so that its rays shone full on Tom and Mr. Jackson, while it left him in the shadow, sprang toward them, the hatchet still in his hand. "Look out, Tom!" cried Mr. Jackson. "Out of my way!" shouted the man. Bravely Tom stood his ground. He wished now that he had a club instead of his revolver. The would-be vandal was almost upon him. Mr. Jackson clubbed his rifle and swung it at the fellow. The latter dodged, and came straight at Tom. "Look out!" yelled the engineer again, but it was too late. There was the sound of a blow, and Tom went down like a log. Then the place was in darkness, and the sound of footsteps in rapid flight could be heard outside the shed. The intruder, after wounding the young inventor, had made his escape. Chapter Twelve Miss Nestor Calls "What's de mattah? Shall I come in? Am anybody hurted?" yelled Eradicate Sampson as he pounded on the rear door of the aeroplane shed. "Let me in, Massa Tom!" "All right! Wait a minute! I'm coming!" called Mr. Jackson. He tried to peer through the darkness, to where a huddled heap indicated the presence of Tom. Then he thought of the electric lights, which were run by a storage battery when the dynamo was shut down, and a moment later the engineer had switched on the incandescents, filling the big shed with radiance. "Tom, are you badly hurt?" gasped Mr. Jackson. There was no answer, for Tom was unconscious. "Let me in! Let me git at dat robber wif mah club!" cried the colored man eagerly. Knowing that he would need help in carrying Tom to the house, Mr. Jackson hurried to the back door. He had a key to it, and it was quicker to open it than to send Eradicate away around the shed to the front portals. "Whar am he?" gasped the faithful darky, as he took a firmer grasp of his club and looked around the place. "Let me git mah hands on him! I'll feed him t' Boomerang, when I gits froo wif him!" "He's gone," said the engineer. "Help me look after Tom. I'm afraid he's badly hurt." They hastened to the unconscious lad. On one side of his head was a bad cut, which was bleeding freely. "Oh! he's daid! I know he's daid!" wailed Eradicate. "Not a bit of it. He isn't dead, but he may die, if we don't get him into the house, and have a doctor here soon," said Mr. Jackson sternly. "Catch hold of him, Rad, and, mind, don't carry on, and get excited, and scare Mr. Swift. Just pretend it isn't very bad, or we'll have two patients on our hands instead of only Tom." They managed to get the youth into the house, and, contrary to their fears, Mr. Swift was not nearly so nervous as they had expected. Calmly he took charge of matters, and even telephoned for Dr. Gladby himself, while Mr. Jackson and Eradicate undressed Tom and got him to bed. Mrs. Baggert busied herself heating water and getting things in readiness for the doctor, who had promised to come at once. Tom was just regaining consciousness when the physician came in, having driven over at top speed. "What--what happened? Did the Humming-Bird fall?" asked Tom in a whisper, putting his hand to his head. "No, something fell on you, I guess," said the doctor, who had been hurriedly told of the circumstances. "But don't worry, Tom. You'll be all right in a few days. You got a bad cut on the head, but the skull isn't fractured, I'm glad to say. Here, now, just drink this," and he gave Tom some medicine he had mixed in a glass. The cut was soon dressed, and Tom felt much better, though weak and a trifle dizzy. "Did he hit me with the hatchet?" he asked Mr. Jackson. "I couldn't tell," was the engineer's reply, "it all happened so quickly. In another instant I'd have bowled him over, instead of him landing on you, but I just missed him. He either used the hatchet, or some blunt instrument." "Well, don't talk about it now," urged the doctor. "I want Tom to get quiet and go to sleep. He'll be much better in the morning, but I must forbid any aeroplane flights." And he shook his finger at Tom in warning. "You'll have to lie quiet for several days," he added. "All right," agreed the young inventor weakly, and then he dozed off, for the physician had given him a quieting medicine. "Haven't you any idea who it was?" asked Dr. Gladby of Mr. Jackson, as he prepared to leave. "Not the slightest. It was no one Tom or I had ever seen before. But whoever it was, he intended to destroy the Humming-Bird, that was evident!" "The scoundrel! I'm glad you foiled him in time; but it's too bad about Tom. However, we'll soon have him all right again." "I knows who done it!" broke in Eradicate, who was a sort of privileged character about the Swift home. "Who?" asked Mr. Jackson. "It were dat Andy Foger. Leastways, he send dat man heah t' make mincemeat oh de Hummin'-Bird. I's positib 'bout dat, so I am!" And Eradicate grinned triumphantly. "Well, perhaps Andy did have a hand in it," admitted Mr. Swift, "but we have no proof of it, I can't see what his object would be in wanting to destroy Tom's new craft." "Pure meanness. Afraid that Tom will beat him in the race," suggested Mr. Jackson. "It's too big a risk to take," went on the aged inventor. "I'm inclined to think it might be one of the gang of men who made the diamonds in the cave in the mountains. They might have sent a spy on East, and he might try to damage the aeroplane to be revenged for what Tom and Mr. Jenks did to them." "It's possible," agreed the engineer. "Well, we'll wait until Tom can talk, and we'll go over it with him." "Not until he is stronger, though," stipulated the physician as he went away. "Don't excite Tom for a few days." The young inventor was much better the following day, and when Dr. Gladby called he said Tom could sit up for a little while. Two days later Tom was well enough to be talked to, and his father and Mr. Jackson went over all the details of the matter. Mr. Damon, who had returned home, came to see his friend as soon as he heard of his plight, and was also a member of the consulting party. "Bless my dictionary!" exclaimed the eccentric man. "I wish I had been here to take a hand in it. But, Tom, do you believe it was one of the diamond-making gang?" "I hardly think so," was the reply. "They would take some other means of revenge than by destroying my new aeroplane. I'm inclined to think it was some one who is in with Andy Foger." "Then we'll hire detectives, and locate him and them," declared Mr. Damon, blessing several things in succession. Tom, however, did not like that plan, and it was decided to do nothing right away. In another few days Tom was able to be up, though he was still a semi-invalid, not venturing out of the house. It was one afternoon, when, rather tired of his confinement, he was wishing he could resume work on his air craft, that Mrs. Baggert came in, and said: "Some one to see you, Tom." "Is it Mr. Damon?" "No, it's a lady. She--" "Oh, Tom! How are you?" cried a girlish voice, and Mary Nestor walked into the room, holding out both hands to the young inventor. Tom, with a blush, arose hastily. "No! no! Sit still!" commanded the girl. "Oh! I'm so sorry to hear about your accident! In fact, I only heard this morning. We've been away, mamma and I, and we just got back. Tell me all about it, that is, if you feel able. But don't exert yourself. Oh! I wish I had hold of that man!" And Miss Nestor clenched her two pretty little hands and set her white, even teeth grimly together, as though she would do most desperate things indeed. "I wish you did, too!" exclaimed Tom. "That is, so you could hold him until I had a chance at him. But I'm all right now. It was very good of you to call. How are you, and how are your folks?" "Very well. But I came to hear about you. Tell me," and she looked anxiously at Tom, while Mrs. Baggert discreetly withdrew to the adjoining room, and made a great noise, rattling papers and moving chairs about. Thereupon Tom told what had happened, while Mary Nestor listened interestedly and with expressions of fear at times. "But if Andy had anything to do with it," concluded Tom, "I can't understand what his object is. Andy is acting very strangely lately. We can't locate him, nor find out where he is building his airship. That's what I want to know; but Mr. Damon and I, after a lot of trouble, only found his aeroplane shed empty." "And you want to find out where Andy Foger is building his aeroplane which he has entered in the big race?" asked Miss Nestor. "That's what I'd like to know," declared Tom earnestly. "Only we can't seem to do it. No one knows." "Why don't you write to Mr. Sharp, or some one of the aviation meet committee?" asked the girl simply. "They would know, for you say Andy made his formal entry with them, and the rules require him to tell from what city and State he will enter his craft. Write to the committee, Tom." For a moment the young inventor stared at her. Then he banged his fist down on the arm of his chair. "By Jove, Mary! That's the very thing!" he cried. "I wonder why I never thought of that, instead of fiddling around in disguises, and things like that? I wonder why I never thought of that plan?" "Perhaps because it was so simple," she answered, with a pretty blush. "I guess that's it," agreed Tom. "It takes a woman to jump across a bridge to a conclusion every time. I'll write to Mr. Sharp at once." Chapter Thirteen A Clash with Andy Tom lost no time in writing to Mr. Sharp. He wondered more and more at his own neglect in not before having asked the balloonist, when the latter was in Shopton, where Andy was building his aeroplane. But, as it developed later, Mr. Sharp did not know at that time. While waiting for a reply to his letter, Tom busied himself about his own craft, making several changes he had decided on. He also began to paint and decorate it, for he wanted to have the Humming-Bird present a neat appearance when she was officially entered in the great race. Miss Nestor called on Tom again, and Mr. Damon was a frequent visitor. He agreed to accompany Tom to the aviation park when it was time for the race, and also to be a passenger in the ten-thousand-dollar contest. "It must be perfectly wonderful to fly through the air," said Miss Nestor one day, when Tom and Mr. Damon had the Humming-Bird out on the testing ground, trying the engine, which had been keyed up to a higher pitch of speed. "I consider it perfectly marvelous, and I can't imagine how it must seem to skim along that way." "Come and try it," urged Tom suddenly. "There's not a bit of danger. Really there isn't." "Oh! I'd never dare do it!" replied the girl, with a gasp. "That machine is too swift by name and swift by nature for me." "Why don't you take Miss Nestor on a grass-cutting flight, Tom?" suggested Mr. Damon. "Bless my lawn mower! but she wouldn't be frightened at that." "Grass cutting?" repeated the girl. "What in the world does that mean?" "It means skimming along a few feet up in the air," answered the young inventor, who had now fully recovered from the effects of the blow given him by the midnight intruder. In spite of many inquiries, no clues to his identity had been obtained. "How high do you go when you 'cut grass,' as you call it?" asked Miss Nestor, and Tom thought he detected a note of eager curiosity in her voice. "Not high at all," he said. "In fact, sometimes I do cut off the tops of tall daisies. Come, Mary! Won't you try that? I know you'll like it, and when you've been over the lawn a few times you'll be ready for a high flight. Come! there's no danger." "I--I almost believe I will," she said hesitatingly. "Will you take me down when I want to come?" "Of course," said Tom. "Get in, and we'll start." The Humming-Bird was all ready for a trial flight, and Tom was glad of the chance to test it, especially with such a pretty passenger as was Miss Nestor. "Bless my shoelaces!" cried Mr. Damon. "I can see where I am going to be cut out, Tom Swift. I'll not get many more rides with you now that Miss Nestor is taking to aeroplaning, you young rascal!" And he playfully shook his finger at Tom. "Oh, I don't expect to get enthusiastic over it," said Miss Nestor, who, now that she had taken her place in one of the small seats under the engine, appeared as if she would be glad of the chance to change her mind. But she did not. "Now, if you take me more than five feet up in the air, I'll never speak to you again, Tom Swift!" she exclaimed. "Five feet it shall be, unless you yourself ask to go higher," was the youth's reply, as he winked at Mr. Damon. Well he knew the fascination of aeroplaning, and he was almost sure of what would happen. "You can take a tape measure along, and see for yourself," he added to his fair passenger. "The barograph will hardly register such a little height." "Well, it's as high as I want to go," said the girl. "Oh!" with a scream, as Tom started the propeller. "Are we going?" "In a moment," was his reply. He took his seat beside the girl. The motor was speeded up until it sounded like the roar of the ocean surf in a storm. "Let her go!" cried Tom to Mr. Damon and Mr. Jackson, who were holding back the Humming-Bird. They gave her a slight shove to over-come the inertia, and the trim little craft darted across the ground at every increasing speed. Miss Nestor caught her breath with a gasp, glanced at Tom, and noted how cool he was, and then her frantic grip of the uprights slightly relaxed. "We'll go up a little way in a minute!" shouted Tom in her ear as they were speeding over the level ground. He pulled a lever slightly, and the Humming-Bird rose a little in the air, but only for a short distance, not more than five feet, and Tom held her there, though he had to run the engine at a greater speed than would have been the case had he been in the sustaining upper currents. It was as if the Humming-Bird resented being held so closely to the earth. Around in a big circle, back and forth went the craft, at no time being more than seven feet from the ground. Tom glanced at Miss Nestor. Her cheeks were unusually red, and there was a bright sparkle in her eyes. "It's glorious!" she cried. "Do you--do you think there's any danger in going higher? I believe I'd like to go up a bit." "I knew it!" cried Tom. "Up we go!" And he pulled the wind-bending plane lever toward him. Upward shot the craft, as if alive. "Oh!" gasped Mary. "Sit still! It's all right!" commanded Tom. "It's glorious; glorious!" she cried. "I'm not a bit afraid now!" "I knew you wouldn't be," declared the young inventor, who had calculated on the fascination which the motion through the air, untrammeled and free, always produces. "Shall we go higher?" "Yes!" cried Miss Nestor, and she gazed fearlessly down at the earth, which was falling away from beneath their feet. She was in the grip of the air, and it was a new and wonderful sensation. Tom went up to a considerable distance, for, once a person loses his first fright, one hundred feet or one thousand feet elevation makes little difference to him. It was this way with Miss Nestor. Now, indeed, could Tom demonstrate to her some of the fine points of navigation in the upper currents, and though he did no risky "stunts," he showed the girl what it means to do an ascending spiral, how to cut corners, how to twist around in the figure eight, and do other things. Tom did not try for the great speed of which he knew his craft was capable, for he knew there was some risk with Miss Nestor aboard. But he did nearly everything else, and when he sent the Humming-Bird down he had made another convert and devotee to the royal sport of aeroplaning. "Oh! I never would have dared believe I could do it!" exclaimed the girl, as with flushed cheeks and dancing eyes she dismounted from the seat. "Mamma and papa will never believe I did it!" "Bring them over, and I'll take them for a flight," said Tom, with a laugh, as Mary departed. Tom received an answer to his letter to Mr. Sharp that night. "Andy Foger's entry blank states," wrote the balloonist, "that he is constructing his aeroplane in the village of Hampton, which is about fifty miles from your place. If there is anything further I can do for you, Tom, let me know. I will see you at the meet. Hope you win the prize." "In Hampton, eh?" mused Tom. "So that's where Andy has been keeping himself all this while. His uncle lives there, and that's the reason for it. He wanted to keep it a secret from me, so he could use my stolen plans for his craft. But he shan't do it! I'll go to Hampton!" "And I'll go with you!" declared Mr. Damon, who was with Tom when he got the note from the balloonist. "We'll get to the bottom of this mystery after a while, Tom." Delaying a few days, to make the final changes in his aeroplane, Tom and Mr. Damon departed for Hampton one morning. They thought first of going in the Butterfly, but as they wanted to keep their mission as secret as possible, they decided to go by train, and arrive in the town quietly and unostentatiously. They got to Hampton late that afternoon. "What's the first thing to be done?" asked Mr. Damon as they walked up from the station, where they were almost the only persons who alighted from the train. "Go to the hotel," decided Tom. "There's only one, I was told, so there's not much choice." Hampton was a quiet little country town of about five thousand inhabitants, and Tom soon learned the address of Mr. Bentley, Andy's uncle, from the hotel clerk. "What business is Mr. Bentley in?" asked Tom, for he wanted to learn all he could without inquiring of persons who might question his motives. "Oh, he's retired," said the clerk. "He lives on the interest of his money. But of late he's been erecting some sort of a building on his back lot, like a big shed, and folks are sort of wondering what he's doing in it. Keeps mighty secret about it. He's got a young fellow helping him." "Has he got red hair?" asked Tom, while his heart beat strangely fast. "Who? Mr. Bentley? No. His hair's black." "I mean the young fellow." "Oh! his? Yes, his is red. He's a nephew, or some relation to Mr. Bentley. I did hear his name, but I've forgotten it. Sandy, or Andy, or some such name as that." This was near enough for Tom and Mr. Damon, and they did not want to risk asking any more questions. They turned away to go to their rooms, as the clerk was busy answering inquiries from some other guests. A little later, supper was served, and Tom, having finished, whispered to Mr. Damon to join him upstairs as soon as he was through. "What are you going to do?" asked the eccentric man. "We're going out and have a look at this new shed by moonlight," decided Tom. "I want to see what it's like, and, if possible, I want to get a peep inside. I'll soon be able to tell whether or not Andy is using my stolen plans." "All right. I'm with you. Bless my bill of fare! But we seem to be doing a lot of mysterious work of late." "Yes," agreed Tom. "But if you have to bless anything to-night, Mr. Damon, please whisper it. Andy, or some of his friends, may be about the shed, and as soon as they hear one of your blessings they'll know who's coming." "Oh, I'll be careful," promised Mr. Damon. "Andy will find out, sooner or later, that we are in town," went on Tom, "but we may be able to learn to-night what we want to know, and then we can tell how to act." A little later, as if they were merely strolling about, Mr. Damon and Tom headed for Mr. Bentley's place, which was on the outskirts of the town. There was a full moon, and the night was just right for the kind of observation Tom wanted to make. There were few persons abroad, and the young inventor thought he would have no one spying on him. They located the big house of Andy's uncle without trouble. Going down a side street, they had a glimpse of a shed, built of new boards, standing in the middle of a large lot. About the structure was a new, high wooden fence, but as Tom and his friend passed along it they saw that a gate in it was open. "I'm going in!" whispered Tom. "Will it be safe?" asked Mr. Damon. "I don't care whether it will be or not. I've got to know what Andy is doing. Come on! We'll take a chance!" Cautiously they entered the enclosure. The big shed was dark, and stood out conspicuously in the moonlight. "There doesn't seem to be any one here," whispered Tom. "I wonder if we could get a look in the window?" "It's worth trying, anyhow," agreed Mr. Damon. "I'm with you, Tom." They drew nearer to the shed. Suddenly Tom stepped on a stick, which broke with a sharp report. "Bless my spectacles!" cried Mr. Damon, half aloud. There was silence for a moment, and then a voice cried out: "Who's there? Hold on! Don't come any farther! It's dangerous!" Tom and Mr. Damon stood still, and from behind the shed stepped Andy Foger and a man. "Oh! it's you, is it, Tom Swift?" exclaimed the red-haired bully. "I thought you'd come sneaking around. Come on, Jake! We'll make them wish they'd stayed home!" And Andy made a rush for Tom. Chapter Fourteen The Great Test "Bless my gizzard!" exclaimed Mr. Damon, who hardly knew what to do. "We'd better be getting out of here, Tom!" "Not much!" exclaimed the young inventor. "I never ran from Andy Foger yet, and I'm not going to begin now." He assumed an attitude of defense, and stood calmly awaiting the onslaught of the bully; but Andy knew better than to come to a personal argument with Tom, and so the red-haired lad halted some paces off. The man, who had followed young Foger, also stopped. "What do you want around here, Tom Swift?" demanded Andy. "You know very well what I want," said the young inventor, calmly. "I want to know what you did with the aeroplane plans you took from my house." "I never took any!" declared Andy vigorously. "Well, there's no use discussing that," went on Tom. "What I came here to find out, and I don't mind telling you, is whether or not you are building a monoplane to compete against me, and building it on a model invented by me; and what's more, Andy Foger, I intend to find this out, too!" Tom started toward the big shed, which loomed up in the moonlight. "Stand back!" cried Andy, getting in Tom's way. "I can build any kind of an aeroplane I like, and you can't stop me!" "We'll see about that," declared the young inventor, as he kept on. "I'm not going to allow my plans to be stolen, and a monoplane made after them, and do nothing about it." "You keep away!" snarled Andy, and he grabbed Tom by the shoulder and struck him a blow in the chest. He must have been very much excited, or otherwise he never would have come to hostilities this way with Tom, whom he well knew could easily beat him. The blow, together with the many things he had suffered at Andy's hands, was too much for our hero. He drew back his fist, and a moment later Andy Foger was stretched out on the grass. He lay there for a moment, and then rose up slowly to his knees, his face distorted with rage. "You--you hit me!" he snarled. "Not until you hit first," said Tom calmly. "Bless my punching bag! That's so!" exclaimed Mr. Damon. "You'll suffer for this!" whined Andy, getting to his feet, but taking care to retreat from Tom, who stood ready for him. "I'll get square with you for this! Jake, come on, and we'll get our guns!" Andy turned and hurried back toward the shed, followed by the evil-looking man, who had apparently been undecided whether to attack Mr. Damon or Tom. Now the bully and his companion were in full retreat. "We'll get our guns, and then we'll see whether they'll want to stay where they're not wanted!" went on Andy, threateningly. "Bless my powderhorn! What had we better do?" asked Mr. Damon. "I guess we'd better go back," said Tom calmly. "Not that I'm afraid of Andy. His talk about guns is all bluff; but I don't want to get into any more of a row, and he is just ugly and reckless enough to make trouble. I'm afraid we can't learn what we came to find out, though I'm more convinced than ever that Andy is using my plans to make his aeroplane." "But what can you do?" "I'll see Mr. Sharp, and send a protest to the aviation committee. I'll refuse to enter if Andy flies in a model of my Humming-Bird, and I'll try to prevent him from using it after he gets it on the ground. That is all I can do, it seems, lacking positive information. Come on, Mr. Damon. Let's get back to our hotel, and we'll start for home in the morning." "I have a plan," whispered the odd man. "What is it?" asked Tom, narrowly watching for the reappearance of Andy and the man. "I'll stay here until they come, then I'll pretend to run away. They'll chase after me, and get all excited, and you can go up and look in the shed windows. Then you can join me later. How's that?" "Too risky. They might fire at you by mistake. No. We'll both go. I've found out more than enough to confirm my suspicions." They turned out of the lot which contained the shed, and walked toward the road, just as Andy and his crony came back. "Huh! You'd better go!" taunted the bully. Tom had a bitter feeling in his heart. It seemed as if he was defeated, and he did not like to retreat before Andy. "You'd better not come back here again, either," went on Andy. Tom and Mr. Damon did not reply, but kept on in silence. They returned to Shopton the next day. "Well," remarked Tom, when he had gone out to look at his Humming-Bird, "I know one thing. Andy Foger may build a machine something like this, but I don't believe he can put in all the improvements I have, and certainly he can't equal that engine; eh, dad?" "I hope not, Tom," replied his father, who seemed to be much improved in health. "When are you going to try for speed?" asked Mr. Damon. "To-morrow, if I can get it tuned up enough," replied Tom, "and I think I can. Yes, we'll have the great test to-morrow, and then I'll know whether I really have a chance for that ten thousand dollars." Never before had Tom been so exacting in his requirements of his air craft as when, the next day, the Humming-Bird was wheeled out to the flight ground, and gotten ready for the test. The young inventor went over every bolt, brace, stay, guy wire and upright. He examined every square inch of the wings, the tips, planes and rudders. The levers, the steering wheel, the automatic equilibrium attachments and the balancing weights were looked at again and again. As for the engine, had it been a delicate watch, Tom could not have scrutinized each valve, wheel, cam and spur gear more carefully. Then the gasoline tank was filled, the magneto was looked after, the oil reservoirs were cleaned out and freshly filled, and finally the lad remarked: "Well, I guess I'm ready. Come along, Mr. Damon." "Am I going with you in the test?" "Surely. I've been counting on you. If you're to be with me in the race, you want to get a sample of what we can do. Take your place. Mr. Jackson, are you ready to time us?" "All ready, Tom." "And, dad, do you feel well enough to check back Mr. Jackson's results? I don't want any errors." "Oh, yes, Tom. I can do it." "Very well, then. Now this is my plan. I'm going to mount upward on an easy slant, and put her through a few stunts first, to warm up, and see that everything is all right. Then, when I give the signal, by dropping this small white ball, that means I'm ready for you to start to time me. Then I'll begin to try for the record. I'll go about the course in a big ellipse, and--well, we'll see what happens." While Mr. Damon was in his seat the young inventor started the propeller, and noted the thrust developed. It was satisfactory, as measured on the scale, and then Tom took his place. "Let her go!" he cried to Mr. Jackson and Eradicate, after he had listened to the song of the motor for a moment. The Humming-Bird flew across the course, and a moment later mounted into the air. Tom quickly took her up to about two thousand feet, and there, finding the conditions to his liking, he began a few evolutions designed to severely test the craft's stability, and to learn whether the engine was working properly. "How about it?" asked Mr. Damon anxiously. "All right!" shouted Tom in his ear, for the motor was making a great racket. "I guess we'll make the trial next time we come around. Get ready to drop the signal ball." Tom slowly brought the aeroplane around in a graceful curve. He sighted down, and saw the first tall white pole that marked the beginning of the course. "Drop!" he called to Mr. Damon. The white rubber ball went to the earth like a shot. Mr. Jackson and Mr. Swift saw it, and started their timing-watches. Tom opened the throttle and advanced the spark. The great test was on! The Humming-Bird trembled and throbbed with the awful speed of the motor, like a thing alive. She seemed to rush forward as an eagle dropping down from a dizzy height upon some hapless prey. "Faster yet!" murmured Tom. "We must go faster yet!" The motor was warming up. Streaks of fire came from it. The exhaust of the explosions was a continuous roar. Faster and faster flew the frail craft. Around and around the air course she circled. The wind appeared to be rushing beneath the planes and rudders with the velocity of a hurricane. Had it not been for the face protectors they wore, Tom and Mr. Damon could not have breathed. For ten minutes this fearful speed was kept up. Then Tom, knowing he had run the motor to the limit, slowed it down. Next he shut it off completely, and prepared to volplane back to earth. The silence after the terrific racket was almost startling. For a moment neither of the aviators spoke. Then Mr. Damon said: "Do you think you did it, Tom?" "I don't know. We'll soon find out. They'll have the record." And he motioned toward the earth, which they were rapidly nearing. Chapter Fifteen A Noise in the Night "Well, did I make it? Make any kind of a record?" asked Tom eagerly, as he brought the trim little craft to a stop, after it had rolled along the ground on the bicycle wheels. "What do you think you did?" asked Mr. Jackson, who had been busy figuring on a slip of paper. "Did I get her up to ninety miles an hour?" inquired Tom eagerly. "If I did, I know when the motor wears down a bit smoother that I can make her hit a hundred in the race, easily. Did I touch ninety, Mr. Jackson?" "Better than that, Tom! Better than that!" cried his father. "Yes," joined in Mr. Jackson. "Allowing for the difference in our watches, Tom, your father and I figure that you did the course at the rate of one hundred and twelve miles an hour!" "One hundred and twelve!" gasped the young inventor, hardly able to believe it. "I made it a hundred and fifteen," said Mr. Swift, who was almost as pleased as was his son, "and Mr. Jackson made it one hundred and eleven; so we split the difference, so to speak. You certainly have a sky racer, Tom, my boy!" "And I'll need it, too, dad, if I'm to compete with Andy Foger, who may have a machine almost like mine." "But I thought you were going to object to him if he has," said Mr. Damon, who had hardly recovered from the speedy flight through space. "Well, I was just providing for a contingency, in case my protest was overruled," remarked Tom. "But I'm glad the Humming-Bird did so well on her first trial. I know she'll do better the more I run her. Now we'll get her back in her 'nest,' and I'll look her over, when she cools down, and see if anything has worked loose." But the trim little craft needed only slight adjustments after her tryout, for Tom had built her to stand up under a terrific strain. "We'll soon be in shape for the big race," he announced, "and when I bring home that ten thousand dollars I'm going to abandon this sky-scraping business, except for occasional trips." "What will you do to occupy your mind?" asked Mr. Damon. "Oh, I'm going to travel," announced Tom. "Then there's my new electric rifle, which I have not perfected yet. I'll work on that after I win the big race." For several days after the first real trial of his sky racer Tom was busy going over the Humming-Bird, making slight changes here and there. He was the sort of a lad who was satisfied with nothing short of the best, and though neither his father nor Mr. Jackson could see where there was room for improvement, Tom was so exacting that he sat up for several nights to perfect such little details as a better grip for the steering-lever, a quicker way of making the automatic equilibriumizer take its position, or an improved transmitter for the wireless apparatus. That was a part of his monoplane of which Tom was justly proud, for though many aeroplanes to-day are equipped with the sending device, few can receive wireless messages in mid-air. But Tom had seen the advantage of this while making a trip in the ill-fated Red Cloud to the cave of the diamond makers, and he determined to have his new craft thus provided against emergencies. The wireless outfit of the Humming-Bird was a marvel of compactness. Thus the days passed, with Tom very busy; so busy, in fact, that he hardly had time to call on Miss Nestor. As for Andy Foger, he heard no more from him, and the bully was not seen around Shopton. Tom concluded that he was at his uncle's place, working on his racing craft. The young inventor sent a formal protest to the aviation committee, to be used in the event of Andy entering a craft which infringed on the Humming-Bird, and received word from Mr. Sharp that the interests of the young inventor would be protected. This satisfied Tom. Still, at times, he could not help wondering how the first plans had so mysteriously disappeared, and he would have given a good deal to know just how Andy got possession of them, and how he knew enough to use them. "He, or some one whom he hired, must have gotten into our house mighty quickly that day," mused Tom, "and then skipped out while dad fell into a little doze. It was a mighty queer thing, but it's lucky it was no worse." The time was approaching for the big aviation meet. Tom's craft was in readiness, and had been given several other trials, developing more speed each time. Additional locks were put on the doors of the shed, and more burglar-alarm wires were strung, so that it was almost a physical impossibility to get into the Humming-Bird's "nest" without arousing some one in the Swift household. "And if they do, I guess we'll be ready for them," said Tom grimly. He had been unable to find out who it was that had attempted once before to damage the monoplane, but he suspected it was the ill-favored man who was working with Andy. As for Mr. Swift, at times he seemed quite well, and again he required the services of a physician. "You will have to be very careful of your father, Tom," said Dr. Gladby. "Any sudden shock or excitement may aggravate his malady, and in that case a serious operation will be necessary." "Oh, we'll take good care of him," said the lad; but he could not help worrying, though he tried not to let his father see the strain which he was under. It was some days after this, and lacking about a week until the meet was to open, when a peculiar thing happened. Tom had given his Humming-Bird a tryout one day, and had then begun to make arrangements for taking it apart and shipping it to Eagle Park. For he would not fly to the meet in it, for fear of some accident. So big cases had been provided. "I'll take it apart in the morning," decided Tom, as he went to his room, after seeing to the burglar alarm, "and ship her off. Then Mr. Damon and I will go there, set her up, and get ready to win the race." Tom had opened all the windows in his room, for it was very warm. In fact it was so warm that sleep was almost out of the question, and he got up to sit near the windows in the hope of feeling a breeze. There it was more comfortable, and he was just dozing off, and beginning to think of getting back into bed, when he was aware of a peculiar sound in the air overhead. "I wonder if that's a heavy wind starting up?" he mused. "Good luck, if it is! We need it." The noise increased, sounding more and more like wind, but Tom, looking out into the night, saw the leaves of the trees barely moving. "If that's a breeze, it's taking its own time getting here," he went on. The sound came nearer, and then Tom knew that it was not the noise of the wind in the trees. It was more like a roaring and rumbling. "Can it be distant thunder?" Tom asked himself. "There is no sign of a storm." Once more he looked from the window. The night was calm and clear--the trees as still as if they were painted. The sound was even more plain now, and Tom, who had sharp ears, at once decided that it was just over the house--directly overhead. An instant later he knew what it was. "The motor of an aeroplane, or a dirigible balloon!" he exclaimed. "Some one is flying overhead!" For an instant he feared lest the shed had been broken into, and his Humming-Bird taken, but a glance toward the place seemed to show that it was all right. Then Tom hastily made his way to where a flight of stairs led to a little enclosed observatory on the roof. "I'm going to see what sort of a craft it is making that noise," he said. As he opened the trap door, and stepped out into the little observatory the sound was so plain as to startle him. He looked up quickly, and, directly overhead he saw a curious sight. For, flying so low as to almost brush the lightning rod on the chimney of the Swift home, was a small aeroplane, and, as Tom looked up, he saw in a light that gleamed from it, two figures looking down on him. Chapter Sixteen A Mysterious Fire For a few moments Tom did not know what to think. Not that the sight of aeroplanes in flight were any novelty to him, but to see one flying over his house in the dead of night was a little out of the ordinary. Then, as he realized that night-flights were becoming more common, Tom tried to make out the details of the craft. "I wish I had brought the night glasses with me," he said aloud. "Here they are," spoke a voice at his side, and so suddenly that Tom was startled. He looked down, and saw Mr. Jackson standing beside him. "Did you hear the noise, too?" the lad asked the engineer. "Yes. It woke me up. Then I heard you moving around, and I heard you come up here. I thought maybe it was a flight of meteors you'd come to see, and I knew the glasses would be handy, so I stopped for them. Take a look, Tom. It's an aeroplane; isn't it?" "Yes, and not moving very fast, either. They seem to be circling around here." The young inventor was peering through the binoculars, and, as soon as he had the mysterious craft in focus, he cried: "Look, Mr. Jackson, it's a new kind of monoplane. I never saw one like it before. I wonder who could have invented that? It's something like a Santos-Dumont and a Bleriot, with some features of Cornu's Helicopter. That's a queer machine." "It certainly is," agreed the engineer, who was now sighting through the glasses. In spite of the darkness the binoculars brought out the peculiarities of the aeroplane with considerable distinctness. "Can you make out who are in it?" asked Tom. "No," answered Mr. Jackson. "You try." But Tom had no better luck. There were two persons in the odd machine, which was slowly flying along, moving in a great circle, with the Swift house for its center. "I wonder why they're hanging around here?" asked Tom, suspiciously. "Perhaps they want to talk to you," suggested Mr. Jackson. "They may be fellow inventors--perhaps one of them is that Philadelphia man who had the Whizzer." "No," replied the lad. "He would have sent me word if he intended calling on me. Those are strangers, I think. There they are, coming back again." The mysterious aeroplane was once more circling toward the watchers on the roof. There was a movement on the steps, near which Tom was standing, and his father came up. "Is anything the matter?" he asked anxiously. "Only a queer craft circling around up here," was the reply. "Come and see, dad." Mr. Swift ascended to the roof. The aeroplane was higher now, and those in her could not so easily be made out. Tom felt a vague sense of fear, as though he was being watched by the evil eyes of his enemies. More than once he looked over to the shed where his craft was housed, as though some danger might threaten it. But the shed of the Humming-Bird showed no signs of invaders. Suddenly the mysterious aeroplane increased its speed. It circled about more quickly, and shot upward, as though to show the watchers of what it was capable. Then, with a quick swoop it darted downward, straight for the building where Tom's newest invention was housed. "Look out! They'll hit something!" cried the young inventor, as though those in the aeroplane could hear him. Then, just as though they had heeded his warning, the pilots of the mysterious craft shot her upward, after she had hovered for an instant over the big shed. "That was a queer move," said Tom. "It looked as if they lost control of her for a moment." "And they dropped something!" cried Mr. Jackson. "Look! something fell from the aeroplane on the roof of the shed." "Some tool, likely," spoke Tom. "I'll get it in the morning, and see what sort of instruments they carry. I'd like to examine that machine, though." The queer aeroplane was now shooting off in the darkness and Tom followed it with the glasses, wondering what its construction could be like. He was to have another sight of it sooner than he expected. "Well, we may as well get back to bed," said Mr. Jackson. "I'm tired, and we've got lots to do to-morrow." "Yes," agreed Tom. "It's cooler now. Come on, dad." Tom fell into a light doze. He thought afterward he could not have slept more than half an hour when he heard a commotion out in the yard. For an instant he could not tell what it was, and then, as he grew wider awake he knew that it was the shouting of Eradicate Sampson, and the braying of Boomerang. But what was Eradicate shouting? "Fire! Fire! Fire!" Tom leaped to his window. "Wake up, Massa Tom! Wake up! De areoplane shed am on fire, an' de Humming-Bird will burn up! Hurry! Hurry!" Tom looked out. Flames were shooting up from the roof of the shed where his precious craft was kept. Chapter Seventeen Mr. Swift is Worse Almost before the echoes of Eradicate's direful warning cry had died away, Tom was on his way out of the house, pausing only long enough to slip on a pair of shoes and his trousers. There was but one thought in his mind. If he could get the Humming-Bird safely out he would not care if the shed did burn, even though it contained many valuable tools and appliances. "We must save my new aeroplane!" thought Tom, desperately. "I've got to save her!" As he raced through the hall he caught up a portable chemical fire-extinguisher. Tom saw his father's door open, and Mr. Swift looked out. "What is it?" he called anxiously. "Fire!" answered the young inventor, almost before he thought of the doctor's warning that Mr. Swift must not be excited. Tom wished he could recall the word, but it was too late. Besides Eradicate, down in the yard was shouting at the top of his voice: "Fire! Fire! Fire!" "Where, Tom?" gasped Mr. Swift, and his son thought the aged inventor grew suddenly paler. "Aeroplane shed," answered the lad. "But don't worry dad. It's only a small blaze. We'll get it out. You stay here. We'll attend to it--Mr. Jackson and Eradicate and I." "No--I'm going to help!" exclaimed Mr. Swift, sturdily. "I'll be with you, Tom. Go on!" The lad rushed down to the yard, closely followed by the engineer, who had caught up another extinguisher. Eradicate was rushing about, not knowing what to do, but still keeping up his shouting. "It's on de roof! De roof am all blazin'!" he yelled. "Quit your noise, and get to work!" cried Tom. "Get out a ladder, Rad, and raise it to the side of the shed. Then play this extinguisher on the blaze. Mr. Jackson, you help me run the Humming-Bird out. After she's safe we'll tackle the fire." Tom cast a hurried look at the burning shed. The flames were shooting high up from the roof, now, and eating their way down. As he rushed toward the big doors, which he intended to open to enable him to run out his sky racer, he was wondering how the fire came to start so high up as the roof. He wondered if a meteor could have fallen and caused it. As the doors, which were quickly unlocked by Tom, swung back, and as he and the engineer started to go in, they were met by choking fumes as if of some gas. They recoiled for the moment. "What--what's that?" gasped Tom, coughing and sneezing. "Some chemical--I--I don't know what kind," spluttered Mr. Jackson. "Have you any carboys of acid in there Tom, that might have exploded by the heat?" "No; not a thing. Let's try again." Once more they tried to go in, but were again driven back by the distressing fumes. The fire was eating down, now. There was a hole burned in the roof, and by the leaping tongues of flame Tom could see his aeroplane. It was almost in the path of the blaze. "We must get her out!" he shouted. "I'm going in!" But it was impossible, and the daring young inventor nearly succumbed to the choking odors. Mr. Jackson dragged him back. "We can't go in!" he cried. "There has been some mysterious work here! Those fumes were put here to keep us from saving the machine. This fire has been set by some enemy! We can't go in!" "But I am going!" declared Tom. "We'll try the back door." They rushed to that, but again were driven out by the gases and vapors, which were mingled with the smoke. Disheartened, yet with a wild desire to do something to save his precious craft, Tom Swift drew back for a moment. As he did so he heard a hiss, as Eradicate turned the chemical stream on the blaze. Tom looked up. The faithful colored man was on a ladder near the burning roof, acting well his part as a fireman. "That's the stuff!" cried Tom. "Come on, Mr. Jackson. Maybe if we use the chemical extinguishers we can drive out those fumes!" The engineer understood. He took up the extinguisher he had brought, and Tom got a second one from a nearby shed. Then Mr. Swift came out bearing another. "You shouldn't have come, dad! We can attend to it!" cried Tom, fearing for the effect of the excitement on his invalid parent. "Oh, I couldn't stay there and see the shed burn. Are you getting it under control? Why don't you run out the Humming-Bird?" Tom did not mention the choking fumes. He passed up a full extinguisher to Eradicate, who had used all the chemical in his. Then Tom got another ladder, and soon three streams were being directed on the flames. They had eaten, a pretty big hole in the roof, but the chemicals were slowly telling on them. As soon as he saw that Eradicate and Mr. Jackson could control the blaze, Tom descended to the ground, and ran once more to the big doors. He was determined to make another try to wheel out the aeroplane, for he saw from above that the flames were now on the side wall, and might reach the craft any minute. And it would not take much to inflict serious damage on the sky racer. "I'll get her, fumes or no fumes!" murmured Tom, grimly. And, whether it was the effect of the chemical streams, or whether the choking odors were dissipated through the hole in the roof was not manifested, but, at any rate, Tom found that he could go in, though he coughed and gasped for breath. He wheeled the aeroplane outside, for the Humming-Bird was almost as light as her namesake. A hurried glance by the gleam of the dying fire assured Tom that his craft was not damaged beyond a slight scorching of one of the wing tips. "That was a narrow escape!" he murmured, as he wheeled the sky racer far away, out of any danger from sparks. Then he went back to help fight the fire, which was extinguished in about ten minutes more. "It was a mighty queer blaze," said Mr. Jackson, "starting at the top that way. I wonder what caused it?" "We'll investigate in the morning," decided Tom. "Now, dad, you must get back to your room." He turned to help his father in, but at that moment Mr. Swift, who was trying to say something, fell over in a dead faint. "Quick! Help me carry him into the house!" cried Tom. "Then telephone for Dr. Gladby, Mr. Jackson." The physician looked grave when, half an hour later, he examined his patient. "Mr. Swift is very much worse," he said in a low voice. "The excitement of the fire has aggravated his ailment. I would like another doctor to see him, Tom." "Another doctor?" Tom's voice showed his alarm. "Yes, we must have a consultation. I think Dr. Kurtz will be a good one to call in. I should like his opinion before I decide what course to take." "I'll send Eradicate for him at once," said the young inventor, and he went to give the colored man his instructions, while his heart was filled with a great fear for his father. Chapter Eighteen The Broken Bridge Dr. Kurtz looked as grave as did Dr. Gladby when he had made an examination of the patient. Mr. Swift was still in a semi-conscious condition, hardly breathing as he rested on the bed where they had placed him after the fire. "Vell," said the German physician, after a long silence, "vot is your obinion, my dear Gladby?" "I think an operation is necessary." "Yes, dot is so; but you know vot kind of an operation alone vill safe him; eh, my dear Gladby?" Dr. Gladby nodded. "It will be a rare and delicate one," he said. "There is but one surgeon I know of who can do it." "You mean Herr Hendrix?" asked Dr. Kurtz. "Yes, Dr. Edward Hendrix, of Kirkville. If he can be induced to come I think there is a chance of saving Mr. Swift's life. I'll speak to Tom about it." The two physicians, who had been consulting together, summoned the youth from another room, where, with Mrs. Baggert and Mr. Jackson he had been anxiously awaiting the verdict. "What is it?" the young inventor asked Dr. Gladby. The medical man told him to what conclusion he and his colleague had arrived, adding: "We advise that Dr. Hendrix be sent for at once. But I need hardly tell you, Tom, that he is a noted specialist, and his services are in great demand. He is hard to get." "I'll pay him any sum he asks!" burst out the youth. "I'll spend all my fortune--and I have made considerable money of late--I'll spend every cent to get my father well! Money need not stand in the way, Dr. Gladby." "I knew that, Tom. Still Dr. Hendrix is a very busy man, and it is hard to induce him to come a long distance. It is over a hundred miles to Kirkville, and it is an out-of-the-way place. I never could understand why Dr. Hendrix settled there. But there he is, and if we want him he will have to come from there. The worst of it is that there are few trains, and only a single railroad line from there to Shopton." "Then I'll telegraph," decided Tom. "I'll offer him his own price, and ask him to rush here as soon as he can." "You had better let Dr. Kurtz and me attend to that part of it," suggested the physician. "Dr. Hendrix would hardly come on the request of some one whom he did not know. I'll prepare a telegram, briefly explaining the case. It is the sort of an operation Dr. Hendrix is much interested in, and I think he will come on that account, if for no other reason. I'll write out the message, and you can have Eradicate take it to the telegraph office." "I'll take it myself!" exclaimed Tom, as he got ready to go out into the night with the urgent request. "Is there any immediate danger for my father?" he asked. "No; not any immediate danger," replied Dr. Gladby. "But the operation is imperative if he is to live. It is his one and only chance." Tom thought only of his father as he hurried on through the night. Even the prospect of the great race, so soon to take place, had no part in his mind. "I'll not race until I'm sure dad is going to get better," he decided. With the message to the noted specialist Tom also sent one to Mr. Damon, telling him the news, and asking him to come to Shopton. Tom felt that the presence of the odd gentleman would help him, and Mr. Damon, who first intended to stay on at the Swift home until he and Tom departed for Eagle Park, had gone back to his own residence to attend to some business Tom knew he would come in the morning, and Mr. Damon did arrive on the first train. "Bless my soul!" he exclaimed with ready sympathy, as he extended his hand to Tom. "What's all this?" The young inventor told him, beginning with the fire that had been the cause of the excitement which produced the change in Mr. Swift. "But I have great hopes that the specialist will be able to cure him," said Tom, for, with the coming of daylight, his courage had returned to him. "Dr. Gladby and Dr. Kurtz depend a great deal on Dr. Hendrix," he said. "Yes, he certainly is a wonderful man. I have heard a great deal about him. I have no doubt but what he will cure your father. But about the fire? How did it start?" "I don't know, but now that I have a few hours to spare before the doctor can get here, I'm going to make an examination." "Bless my penwiper, but I'll help you." Tom went into the house, to inquire of Mrs. Baggert, for probably the tenth time that morning, how his father was doing. Mr. Swift was still in a semi-conscious condition, but he recognized Tom, when the youth stood at his bedside. "Don't worry about me, son," said the brave old inventor, as he took Tom's hand. "I'll be all right. Go ahead and get ready for the race. I want you to win!" Tears came into Tom's eyes. Would his father be well enough to allow him to take part in the big event? He feared not. By daylight it was seen that quite a hole had been burned in the aeroplane shed. Tom and Mr. Damon, accompanied by Mr. Jackson, walked through the place. "And you say the fire broke out right after you had seen the mysterious airship hovering over the house?" asked the eccentric man. "Well, not exactly after," answered Tom, "but within an hour or so. Why do you ask?" But Mr. Damon did not answer. Something on the floor of the shed, amid a pile of blackened and charred pieces of wood, attracted his attention. He stooped over and picked it up. "Is this yours?" he asked Tom. "No. What is it?" The object looked like a small iron ball, with a tube about half an inch in diameter projecting slightly from it. Tom took it. "Why, it looks like an infernal machine or a dynamite bomb," he said. "I wonder where it came from? Guess I'd better drop it in a pail of water. Maybe Eradicate found it and brought it here. I never saw it before. Mr. Jackson, please hand me that pail of water. We'll soak this bomb." "There is no need," said Mr. Damon, quietly. "It is harmless now. It has done its work. It was that which set fire to your shed, and which caused the stifling fumes." "That?" cried Tom. "Yes. This ball is hollow, and was filled with a chemical. It was dropped on the roof, and, after a certain time, the plug in the tube was eaten through, the chemicals ran out, set the roof ablaze, and, dripping down inside spread the choking odors that nearly prevented you from getting out your aeroplane." "Are you sure of this?" asked the young inventor. "Positive. I read about these bombs recently. A German invented them to be used in attacking a besieged city in case of war." "But how did this one get on my shed roof?" asked Tom. "It was dropped there by the mysterious airship!" exclaimed the odd man. "That was why the aeroplane moved about over your place. Those in it hoped that the fire would not break out until you were all asleep, and that the shed and the Humming-Bird would be destroyed before you came to the rescue. Some of your enemies are still after you, Tom." "And it was Andy Foger, I'll wager!" he cried. "He was in that aircraft! Oh, I'll have a long score to settle with him!" "Of course you can't be sure it was he," said Mr. Damon, "but I wouldn't be a bit surprised but what it was. Andy is capable of such a thing. He wanted to prevent you from taking part in the race." "Well, he sha'n't!" cried Tom, and then he thought of his invalid father. They made a further examination of the shed, and discovered another empty bomb. Then Tom recalled having seen something drop from the mysterious aeroplane as it passed over the shed. "It was these bombs," he said. "We certainly had a narrow escape! Oh, wait until I settle my score with Andy Foger!" As there would be but little use for the aeroplane shed now, if Tom sent his craft off to the meet, it was decided to repair it temporarily only, until he returned. Accordingly, a big tarpaulin was fastened over the hole in the roof. Then Tom put a new wing tip on in place of the one that had been scorched. He looked all over his sky racer, and decided that it was in fit condition for the coming meet. "I'll begin to take it apart for shipment, as soon as I hear from the specialist that dad is well enough for me to go," he said. It was a few hours after the discovery of the empty bomb that Tom saw Dr. Gladby coming along. The physician was urging his horse to top speed. Tom felt a vague fear in his heart. "I've got a message from Dr. Hendrix, Tom," he said, as he stopped his carriage, and approached the lad. "When can he come?" asked the young inventor, eagerly. "He can't get here, Tom." "Can't get here! Why not?" "Because the railroad bridge has collapsed, and there is no way to come. He can't make any other connections to get here in time--in time to do your father any good, Tom. He has just sent me a telegram to that effect. Dr. Hendrix can't get here, and..." Dr. Gladby paused. "Do you mean that my father may die if the operation is not performed?" asked Tom, in a low voice. "Yes," was the answer. "But can't Dr. Hendrix drive here in an auto?" asked the lad. "Surely there must be some way of getting over the river, even if the railroad bridge is down. Can't he cross in a boat and drive here?" "He wouldn't be in time, Tom. Don't you understand, Dr. Hendrix must be here within four hours, if he is to save your father's life. He never could do it by driving or by coming on some other road, or in an auto. He can't make the proper connections. There is no way." "Yes, there is!" cried Tom, suddenly. "I know a way!" "How?" asked Dr. Gladby, thrilled by Tom's ringing tones. "How can you do it, Tom?" "I'll go for Dr. Hendrix in my Humming-Bird." "Going for him would do no good. He must be brought here." "And so he shall be!" cried Tom. "I'll bring him here in my sky racer--if he has the nerve to stand the journey, and I think he has! I'll bring Dr. Hendrix here!" and Tom hurried away to prepare for the thrilling trip. Chapter Nineteen A Nervy Specialist There was little time to lose. Every moment of delay meant so much less chance for the recovery of Mr. Swift. Even now the periods of consciousness were becoming shorter and farther apart. He seemed to be sinking. Tom resolutely refused to think of the possibility of death, as he went in to bid his parent good-by before starting off on his trip through the air. Mr. Swift barely knew his son, and, with tears in his eyes, though he bravely tried to keep them back, the young inventor went out into the yard. There stood the Humming-Bird, with Mr. Jackson, Mr. Damon and Eradicate working over her, to get her in perfect trim for the race before her--a race with death. Fortunately there was little to be done to get the speedy craft ready. Tom had accomplished most of what was necessary, while waiting for word from Dr. Hendrix. Now about all that needed to be done was to see that there was plenty of gasoline and oil in the reservoirs. "I'll give you a note to Dr. Hendrix," said Mr. Gladby, as Tom was fastening on his faceguard. "I--I trust you won't be disappointed, Tom. I hope he will consent to return with you." "He's got to come," said the young inventor, simply, as if that was all there was to it. "Do you think you can make the trip in time?" asked Mr. Damon. "It is a little less than a hundred miles in an airline, but you have to go and go back. Can the aeroplane do it?" "I'd be ashamed of her if she couldn't," said Tom, with a grim tightening of his lips. "She's just got to do it; that's all! But I know she will," and he patted the big propeller and the motor's shining cylinders as though the machine was a thing alive, like a horse or a dog, who could understand him. He climbed to his seat, the other one holding a bag of sand to maintain a good balance. "Start her," ordered Tom, and Mr. Jackson twisted the propeller. The motor caught at once, and the air throbbed with the noise of the explosions. Tom listened to the tune of the machinery. It sang true. "Two thousand pounds thrust!" called the engineer, as he looked at the scale. "Let her go!" cried Tom, whose voice was hardly heard above the roar. The trim little aeroplane scudded over the ground, gathering speed at every revolution of the wheels. Then with a spring like that of some great bird launching itself in flight, she left the earth, and took to the air. Tom was off on his trip. Those left behind sent up a cautious cheer, for they did not want to disturb Mr. Swift. They waved their hands to the young inventor, and he waved his in reply. Then he settled down for one of the swiftest flights he had ever undertaken. Tom ascended until he struck a favorable current of air. There was a little wind blowing in the direction he wished to take, and that aided him. But even against a powerful head-wind the Humming-Bird could make progress. The young inventor saw the ground slipping backward beneath him. Carefully he watched the various indicators, and listened intently to the sound of the cylinders' explosions. They came rapidly and regularly. The motor was working well. Tom glanced at the barograph. It registered two thousand feet, and he decided to keep at about that height, as it gave him a good view, and he could see to steer, for a route had been hastily mapped out for him by his friends. Over cities, towns, villages, scattered farmhouses; across stretches of forest; over rivers, above big stretches of open country he flew. Often he could see eager crowds below, gazing up at him. But he paid no heed. He was looking for a sight of a certain broad river, which was near Kirkville. Then he knew he would be close to his goal. He had speeded up the motor to the limit, and there was nothing to do now, save to manage the planes, wing tips and rudders, and to see that the gasoline and oil were properly fed to the machine. Faster and faster went the Humming-Bird, but Tom's thoughts were even faster. He was thinking of many things--of his father--of what he would do if Mr. Swift died--of the mysterious airship--of the stolen plans--of the fire in the shed--of the great race--and of Andy Foger. He took little note of time, and when, in less than an hour he sighted the river that told him he was near to Kirkville, he was rather startled. "You certainly did come right along, Humming-Bird!" he murmured proudly. He descended several hundred feet, and, as he passed over the town, the people of which grew wildly excited, he looked about for the house of the noted specialist. He knew how to pick it out, for Dr. Gladby had described it to him, and Tom was glad to see, as he came within view of the residence, that it was surrounded by a large yard. "I can land almost at his door," he said, and he did, volplaning to earth with an ease born of long practice. To say that Dr. Hendrix was astonished when Tom dropped in on him in this manner, would not be exactly true. The specialist was not in the habit of receiving calls from youths in aeroplanes, but the fact was, that Dr. Hendrix was so absorbed in his work, and thought so constantly about it, that it took a great deal to startle him out of his usual calm. "And so you came for me in your aeroplane?" he asked of Tom, as he gazed at the trim little craft. It is doubtful if he really saw it, however, as Dr. Hendrix was just then thinking of an operation he had performed a few hours before. "I'm sorry you had your trip for nothing," he went on. "I'd like very much to come to your father, but didn't you get my telegram, telling about the broken bridge? There is no way for me to get to Shopton in time." "Yes, there is!" cried Tom, eagerly. "How?" "The same way I came--in the aeroplane! Dr. Hendrix you must go back with me! It's the only way to save my father's life. Come with me in the Humming-Bird. It's perfectly safe. I can make the trip in less than an hour. I can carry you and your instruments. Will you come? Won't you come to save my father's life?" Tom was fairly pleading now. "A trip in an aeroplane," mused Dr. Hendrix "I've never taken such a thing. I--" "Don't be afraid, there's really no danger," said Tom. The physician seemed to reach a sudden conclusion. His eyes brightened. He walked over and looked at the little Humming-Bird. For the time being he forgot about his operations. "I'll go with you!" he suddenly cried. "I'll go with you, Tom Swift! If you've got the nerve, so have I! and if my science and skill can save your father's life, he'll live to be an old man! Wait until I get my bag and I'll be with you!" Tom's heart gave a bound of hope. Chapter Twenty Just in Time While Dr. Hendrix was in his office, getting ready to make the thrilling trip through the air with Tom, the young inventor spent a few minutes going over his monoplane. The wonderful little craft had made her first big flight in excellent time, though Tom knew she could do better the farther she was flown. Not a stay had started, not a guy wire was loose. The motor had not overheated, and every bearing was as cool as though it had not taken part in thousands of revolutions. "Oh, I can depend on you!" murmured Tom, as he looked to see that the propeller was tight on the shaft. He gave the bearing a slight adjustment to make sure of it. He was at this when the specialist reappeared. Dr. Hendrix, after his first show of excitement, when he had made his decision to accompany Tom, had resumed his usual calm demeanor. Once again he was the grave surgeon, with his mind on the case before him. "Well, is my auto ready?" he asked absentmindedly. Then, as he saw the little aeroplane, and Tom standing waiting beside it, he added: "Oh, I forgot for the moment that I was to make a trip through the air, instead of in my car. Well, Mr. Swift, are we all ready?" "All ready," replied the young inventor. "We're going to make fast time, Dr. Hendrix. You'd better put this on," and Tom extended a face protector. "What's it for?" The physician looked curiously at it. "To keep the air from cutting your cheeks and lips. We are going to travel a hundred miles an hour this trip." "A hundred miles an hour!" Dr. Hendrix spoke as though he would like to back out. "Maybe more, if I can manage it," went on Tom, calmly, as he proceeded to remove the bag of sand from the place where the surgeon was to sit. Then he looked to the various equilibrium arrangements and the control levers. He was so cool about it, taking it all for granted, as if rising and flying through the air at a speed rivaling that of the fastest birds, was a matter of no moment, that Dr. Hendrix was impressed by the calm demeanor of the young inventor. "Very well," said the surgeon with a shrug of his shoulders, "I guess I'm game, Tom Swift." The doctor took the seat Tom pointed out to him, with his bag of instruments on his knees. He put on the face protector, and had, at the suggestion of our hero, donned a heavy coat. "For it's cold in the upper regions," said Tom. Several servants in the physician's household had gathered to see him depart in this novel fashion, and the chauffeur of the auto, in which the specialist usually made his calls, was also there. "I'll give you a hand," said the chauffeur to the young inventor. "I was at an aviation meet once, and I know how it's done." "Good," exclaimed Tom. "Then you can hold the machine, and shove when I give the word." Tom started the propeller himself, and quickly jumped into his seat. The chauffeur held back the Humming-Bird until the young aviator had speeded up the motor. "Let go!" cried the youthful inventor, and the man gave the little craft a shove. Across the rather uneven ground of the doctor's yard it ran, straight for a big iron barrier. "Look out! We'll be into the fence!" shouted the surgeon. "We'll be killed!" He seemed about to leap off. "Sit still!" cried Tom, and at that instant he tilted the elevation planes, and the craft shot upward, going over the fence like a circus horse taking a seven-barred gate. "Oh!" exclaimed the physician in a curious voice. They were off on their trip to save the life of Mr. Swift. What the sensations of the celebrated specialist were, Tom never learned. If he was afraid, his fright quickly gave place to wonder, and the wonder soon changed to delight as the machine rose higher and higher, acquired more speed, and soared in the air over the country that spread out in all directions from Kirkville. "Magnificent! Magnificent!" murmured the doctor, and then Tom knew that the surgeon was in the grip of the air, and was one of the "bird-men." Every moment the Humming-Bird increased her speed. They passed over the river near where men were working on the broken bridge. It was now no barrier to them. Tom, noting the barograph, and seeing that they were twenty-two hundred feet high, decided to keep at about that distance from the earth. "How fast are we going?" cried Dr. Hendrix, into the ear of the young inventor. "Just a little short of a hundred an hour!" Tom shouted back. "We'll hit a hundred and five before long." His prediction proved true, and when about forty miles from Shopton that terrific speed had been attained. It seemed as if they were going to have a trip devoid of incident, and Tom was congratulating himself on the quick time made, when he ran into a contrary strata of air. Almost before he knew it the Humming-Bird gave a dangerous and sickening dive, and tilted at a terrifying angle. "Are we going to turn turtle?" cried the doctor. "I--I hope not!" gasped Tom. He could not understand why the equilibrium weights did not work, but he had no time then to investigate. Quickly he warped the wing tips and brought the craft up on an even keel. He gave a sigh of relief as the aeroplane was once more shooting forward, and he was not mistaken when he thought he heard Dr. Hendrix murmur a prayer of thankfulness. Their escape had been a narrow one. Tom's nerve, and the coolness of the physician, had alone saved them from a fall to death. But now, as if ashamed of her prank, the Humming-Bird went along even better than before. Tom was peering through the slight haze that hung over the earth, for a sight of Shopton. At length the spires of the churches came into view. "There it is," he called, pointing downward. "We'll land in two minutes more." "No time to spare," murmured the doctor, who knew the serious nature of the aged inventor's illness. "How long did it take us?" "Fifty-one minutes," replied Tom, glancing at a small clock in front of him. Then he shut off the motor and volplaned to earth, to the no small astonishment of the surgeon. He made a perfect landing in the yard before the shed, leaped from his seat, and called: "Come, Dr. Hendrix!" The surgeon followed him. Dr. Gladby and Dr. Kurtz came to the door of the house. On their faces were grave looks. They greeted the celebrated surgeon eagerly. "Well?" he asked quickly, and they knew what he meant. "You are only just in time," said Dr. Gladby, softly, and Tom, following the doctors into the house, wondered if his trip with the specialist had been in vain. Chapter Twenty-One "Will He Live?" Soon there were busy scenes in the Swift home, as preparations were made for a serious operation on the aged inventor. Tom's father had sunk into deep unconsciousness, and was stretched out on the bed as though there was no more life in him. In fact, Tom, for the moment, feared that it was all over. But good old Dr. Kurtz, noting the look on the lad's face, said: "Ach, Dom, doan't vorry! Maybe it vill yet all be vell, und der vater vill hear of der great race. Bluck up your courage, und doan't gif up. Der greatest surgeon in der vorld is here now, und if anybody gan safe your vater, Herr Hendriz gan. Dot vos a great drip you made--a great drip!" Tom felt a little comforted and, after a sight of his father, and a silent prayer that God would spare his life for years to come, the young inventor went out in the yard. He wanted to be busy about something, for he knew, with the doctors, and a trained nurse who had been hastily summoned, there was no immediate need for him. He wanted to get his mind off the operation that would soon take place, and so he decided to look over his aeroplane. Mr. Damon came out when Tom was going over the guy wires and braces, to see how they had stood the strain. "Well, Tom, my lad," said the eccentric man, sadly, as he grasped our hero's hand, "it's too bad. But hope for the best. I'm sure your father will pull through. We will have to begin taking the Humming-Bird apart soon; won't we, if we're going to ship it to Eagle Park?" He wanted to take Tom's mind off his troubles. "I don't know whether we will or not," was the answer, and Tom tried to speak unbrokenly, but there was a troublesome lump in his throat, and a mist of tears in his eyes that prevented him from seeing well. The Humming-Bird, to him, looked as if she was in a fog. "Nonsense! Of course we will!" cried Mr. Damon. "Why, bless my wishbone! Tom, you don't mean to say you're going to let that little shrimp Andy Foger walk away with that ten-thousand-dollar prize without giving him a fight for it; are you?" This was just what Tom needed, and it seemed good to have Mr. Damon bless something again, even if it was only a wishbone. "No!" exclaimed Tom, in ringing tones. "Andy Foger isn't going to beat me, and if I find out he is going to race with a machine made after my stolen plans, I'll make him wish he'd never taken them." "But if the machine he had flying over here when he dropped that bomb on the shed roof, and set fire to it, is the one he's going to race with, it isn't like yours," suggested Mr. Damon, who was glad he had turned the conversation into a more cheerful channel. "That's so," agreed the young inventor. "Well, we'll have to wait and see." He was busy now, going over every detail of the Humming-Bird. Mr. Damon helped him, and they discovered the defect in the equilibrium weights, and remedied it. "We can't afford to have an accident in the race," said Tom. He glanced toward the house, and wondered if the operation had begun yet. He could see the trained nurse hurrying here and there, Mrs. Baggert helping her. Eradicate Sampson shuffled out from the stable where he kept his mule Boomerang. On the face of the honest colored man there was a dejected look. "Am Massa Swift any better, Massa Tom?" he asked. "We can't tell yet," was the answer. "Well, if he doan't git well, den I'm goin' t' sell mah mule," went on the dirt-chaser, from which line of activity Eradicate had derived his name. "Sell Boomerang! Bless my curry comb! what for?" asked Mr. Damon. "'Case as how he wouldn't neber be any good fo' wuk any mo'," explained Eradicate. "He's got so attached t' dis place, an' all de folkes on it, dat he'd feel so sorry ef--ef--well, ef any ob 'em went away, dat I couldn't git no mo' wuk out ob him, no how. So ef Massa Swift doan't git well, den I an' Boomerang parts!" "Well, we hope it won't happen," said Tom, greatly touched by the simple grief of Eradicate. The young inventor was silent a moment, and then he softly added: "I--I wonder when--when we'll know?" "Soon now, I think," answered Mr. Damon, in a low voice. Silently they waited about the aeroplane. Tom tried to busy himself, but he could not. He kept his eyes fastened on the house. It seemed like several hours, but it was not more than one, ere the white-capped nurse came to the door and waved her hand to Tom. He sprang to his feet and rushed forward. What would be the message he was to receive? He stood before the nurse, his heart madly beating. She looked gently at him. "Will he--will he live?" Tom asked, pantingly. "I think so," she answered gently. "The operation is over. It was a success, so far. Time alone will tell, now. Dr. Hendrix says you can see your father for just a moment." Chapter Twenty-Two Off to the Meet Softly Tom tiptoed into the room where his father lay. At the bedside were the three doctors, and the nurse followed the young inventor in. Mrs. Baggert stood in the hall, and near her was Garret Jackson. The aged housekeeper had been weeping, but she smiled at Tom through her tears. "I think he's going to get well," she whispered. She always looked on the bright side of things. Tom's heart felt better. "You must only speak a few words to him," cautioned the specialist, who had performed such a rare and delicate operation, near the heart of the invalid. "He is very weak, Tom." Mr. Swift opened his eyes as his son approached. He looked around feebly. "Tom--are you there?" he asked in a whisper. "Yes, dad," was the eager answer. "They tell me you--you made a great trip to get Dr. Hendrix--broken bridge--came through the air with him. Is that right?" "Yes, dad. But don't tire yourself. You must get well and strong." "I will, Tom. But tell me; did you go in--in the Humming-Bird?" "Yes, dad." "How did she work?" "Fine. Over a hundred, and the motor wasn't at its best." "That's good. Then you can go in the big race, and win." "No, I don't believe I'll go, dad." "Why not?" Mr. Swift spoke more strongly. "I--because--well, I don't want to." "Nonsense, Tom! I know; it's on my account. I know it is. But listen to me. I want you to go in! I want you to win that race! Never mind about me. I'm going to get well, and I'll recover all the more quickly if you win that race. Now promise me you'll go in it and--and--win!" The invalid's strength was fast leaving him. "I--I---," began Tom. "Promise!" insisted the aged inventor, trying to rise. Dr. Hendrix made a hasty move toward the bed. "Promise!" whispered the surgeon to Tom. "I--I promise!" exclaimed Tom, and the aged inventor sank back with a smile of satisfaction on his pale face. "Now you must go," said Dr. Gladby to Tom. "He has talked long enough. He must sleep now, and get up his strength." "Will he get better?" asked Tom, anxiously. "We can't say for sure," was the answer. "We have great hopes." "I don't want to enter the race unless I know he is going to live," went on Tom, as Dr. Gladby followed him out of the room. "No one can say for a certainty that he will recover," spoke the physician. "You will have to hope for the best, that is all, Tom. If I were you I'd go in the race. It will occupy your mind, and if you could send good news to your father it might help him in the fight for life he is making." "But suppose--suppose something happens while I am away?" suggested the young inventor. The doctor thought for a moment. Then he exclaimed: "You have a wireless outfit on your craft; haven't you?" "Yes." "Then you can receive messages from here every hour if you wish. Garret Jackson, your engineer, can send them, and you can pick them up in mid-air if need be." "So I can!" cried Tom. "I will go to the meet. I'll take the Humming-Bird apart at once, and ship it to Eagle Park. Unless Dr. Hendrix wants to go back in it," he added as an after thought. "No," spoke Dr. Gladby, "Dr. Hendrix is going to remain here for a few days, in case of an emergency. By that time the bridge will have been repaired, and he can go back by train. I gather, from what he said, that though he liked the air trip, he will not care for another one." "Very well," assented Tom, and Mr. Damon and he were kept busy, packing the Humming-Bird for shipment. Mr. Jackson helped them, and Eradicate and his mule Boomerang were called on occasionally when boxes or crates were to be taken to the railroad station. In the meanwhile, Mr. Swift, if he did not improve any, at least held his own. This the doctors said was a sign of hope, and, though Tom was filled with anxiety, he tried to think that fate would be kind to him, and that his father would recover. Dr. Hendrix left, saying there was nothing more he could do, and that the rest depended on the local physicians, and on the nurse. "Und ve vill do our duty!" ponderously exclaimed Dr. Kurtz. "You go off to dot bird race, Dom, und doan't vorry. Ve vill send der with-out-vire messages to you venever dere is anyt'ing to report. Go mit a light heart!" How Tom wished he could, but it was out of the question. The last of the parts of the Humming-Bird had been sent away, and our hero forwarded a telegram to Mr. Sharp, of the arrangement committee, stating that he and Mr. Damon would soon follow. Then, having bidden his father a fond farewell, and after arranging with Mr. Jackson to send frequent wireless messages, Tom and the eccentric man left for the meet. There was a wireless station at Eagle Park, and Tom had planned to receive the messages from home there until he could set up his own plant. He would have two outfits. One in the big tent where the Humming-Bird was to be put together, and another on the machine itself, so that when in the air, practicing, or even in the great race itself, there would be no break in the news that was to be flashed through space. Tom and Mr. Damon arrived at Eagle Park on time, and Tom's first inquiry was for a message from home. There was one, stating that Mr. Swift was fairly comfortable, and seemed to be doing well. With happiness in his heart, the young inventor then set about getting the parts of his craft from the station to the park, where he and Mr. Damon, with a trusty machinist whom Mr. Sharp had recommended, would assemble it. Tom arranged that in his absence the wireless operator on the grounds would take any message that came for him. The Humming-Bird, in the big cases and boxes, had safely arrived, and these were soon in the tent which had been assigned to Tom. It was still several days until the opening of the meet, and the grounds presented a scene of confusion. Workmen were putting up grand stands, tents and sheds were being erected, exhibitors were getting their machines in shape, and excited contestants of many nationalities were hurrying to and fro, inquiring about parts delayed in shipment, or worrying lest some of their pet ideas be stolen. Tom and Mr. Damon, with Frank Forker, the young machinist, were soon busy in their big tent, which was a combined workshop and living quarters, for Tom had determined to stay right on the ground until the big race was over. "I don't see anything of Andy Foger," remarked Mr. Damon, on the second day of their residence in the park. "There are lots of new entries arriving, but he doesn't seem to be on hand." "There's time enough," replied Tom. "I am afraid he's hanging back until the last minute, and will spring his machine so late that I won't have time to lodge a protest. It would be just like him." "Well, I'll be on the lookout for him. Have you heard from home to-day, Tom?" "No. I'm expecting a message any minute." The young inventor glanced toward the wireless apparatus which had been set up in the tent. At that moment there came the peculiar sound which indicated a message coming through space, and down the receiving wires. "There's something now!" exclaimed Tom, as he hurried over and clamped the telephone receiver to his ear. He listened a moment. "Good news!" he exclaimed. "Dad sat up a little to-day! I guess he's going to get well!" and he clicked back congratulations to his father and the others in Shopton. Another day saw the Humming-Bird almost in shape again, and Tom was preparing for a tryout of the engine. Mr. Damon had gone over to the committee headquarters to consult with Mr. Sharp about the steps necessary for Tom to take in case Andy did attempt to enter a craft that infringed on the ideas of the young inventor, and on his way back he saw a newly-erected tent. There was a young man standing in the entrance, at the sight of whom the eccentric man murmured: "Bless my skate-strap! His face looks very familiar!" The youth disappeared inside the tent suddenly, and, as Mr. Damon came opposite the canvas shelter, he started in surprise. For, on a strip of muslin which was across the tent, painted in gay colors, were the words: THE FOGER AEROPLANE "Bless my elevation rudder!" cried Mr. Damon. "Andy's here at last! I must tell Tom!" Chapter Twenty-Three The Great Race "Well," remarked Mr. Sharp, when Tom and Mr. Damon had called on him, to state that Andy Foger's machine was now on the grounds, and demanding to be allowed to view it, to see if it was an infringement on the one entered by the young inventor, "I'll do the best I can for you. I'll lay the case before the committee. It will meet at once, and I'll let you know what they say." "Understand," said Tom, "I don't want to interfere unless I am convinced that Andy is trying an underhand trick. My plans are missing, and I think he took them. If his machine is made after those plans, it is, obviously, a steal, and I want him ruled out of the meet." "And so he shall be!" exclaimed Mr. Sharp. "Get the evidence against him, and we'll act quickly enough." The committee met in about an hour, and considered the case. Meanwhile, Tom and Mr. Damon strolled past the tent with its flaring sign. There was a man on guard, but Andy was not in sight. Then Tom was sent for, and Mr. Sharp told him what conclusion had been arrived at. It was this: "Under the rules of the meet," said the balloonist, "we had to guarantee privacy to all the contestants until such time as they choose to exhibit their machines. That is, they need not bring them out until just before the races," he added. "This is not a handicap affair, and the speediest machine, or the one that goes to the greatest height, according to which class it enters, will win. In consequence we cannot force any contestant to declare what kind of a machine he will use until he gets ready. "Some are going to use the familiar type of biplanes and, as you can see, there is no secret about them. They are trying them out now." This was so, for several machines of this type were either in the air, circling about, or were being run over the ground. "But others," continued Mr. Sharp, "will not even take the committee into their confidence until just before the race. They want to keep their craft a secret. We can't compel them to do otherwise. I'm sorry, Tom, but the only thing I see for you to do is to wait until the last minute. Then, if you find Andy has infringed on your machine, lodge a protest--that is unless you can get evidence against him before that time." Tom well knew the uselessness of the latter plan. He and Mr. Damon had tried several times to get a glimpse of the craft Andy had made, but without success. As to the other alternative--that of waiting until the last moment--Tom feared that, too, would be futile. "For," he reasoned, "just before the race there will be a lot of confusion, officials will be here and there, scattered over the ground, they will be hard to find, and it will be almost useless to protest then. Andy will enter the race, and there is a possibility that he may win. Almost any one could with a machine like the Humming-Bird. It's the machine almost as much as the operator, in a case like this." "But you can protest after the race," suggested Mr. Damon. "That would be little good, in case Andy beat me. The public would say I was a sorehead, and jealous. No, I've either got to stop Andy before the race, or not at all. I will try to think of a plan." Tom did think of several, but abandoned them one after the other. He tried to get a glimpse inside the tent where the Foger aeroplane was housed, but it was too closely guarded. Andy himself was not much in evidence, and Tom only had fleeting glimpses of the bully. Meanwhile he and Mr. Damon, together with their machinist, were kept busy. As Tom's craft was fully protected by patents now, he had no hesitation in taking it out, and it was given several severe tests around the aerial course. It did even better than Tom expected of it, and he had great hopes. Always, though, there were two things that worried him. One was his father's illness, and the other the uneasiness he felt as to what Andy Foger might do. As to the former, the wireless reports indicated that Mr. Swift was doing as well as could be expected, but his improvement was not rapid. Regarding the latter worry, Tom saw no way of getting rid of it. "I've just got to wait, that's all," he thought. The day before the opening of the meet, Tom and Mr. Damon had given the Humming-Bird a grueling tryout. They had taken her high up--so high that no prying eyes could time them, and there Tom had opened the motor for all the power in it. They had flashed through space at the rate of one hundred and twenty miles an hour. "If we can only do that in the race, the ten thousand dollars is mine!" exulted Tom, as he slanted the nose of the aeroplane toward the earth. The day of the race dawned clear and beautiful. Tom was up early, for there remained many little things to do to get his craft in final trim for the contest. Then, too, he wanted to be ready to act promptly as soon as Andy's machine was wheeled out, and he also wanted to get a message from home. The wireless arrived soon after breakfast, and did not contain very cheering news. "Your father not so well," Mr. Jackson sent. "Poor night, but doctor thinks day will show improvement. Don't worry." "Don't worry! I wonder who could help it," mused poor Tom. "Well, I'll hope for the best," and he wired back to tell the engineer in Shopton to keep in touch with him, and to flash the messages to the Humming-Bird in the air, after the big race started. "Now I'll go out and see if I can catch a glimpse of what that sneak Andy has to pit against me," said Tom. The Foger tent was tightly closed, and Tom turned back to his own place, having arranged with a messenger to come and let him know as soon as Andy's craft was wheeled out. All about was a scene of great activity. The grand stands were filled, and a big crowd stood about the field anxiously waiting for the first sight of the "bird-men" in their wonderful machines. Now and then the band blared out, and cheers arose as one after another the frail craft were wheeled to the starting place. Men in queer leather costumes darted here and there--they were the aviators who were soon to risk life and limb for glory and gold. Most of them were nervously smoking cigarettes. The air was filled with guttural German or nasal French, while now and then the staccato Russian was heard, and occasionally the liquid tones of a Japanese. For men of many nations were competing for the prizes. The majority of the machines were monoplanes and biplanes though one triplane was entered, and there were several "freaks" as the biplane and monoplane men called them--craft of the helicopter, or the wheel type. There was also one Witzig Liore Dutilleul biplane, with three planes behind. Tom was familiar with most of these types, but occasionally he saw a new one that excited his curiosity. However, he was more interested in what Andy Foger would turn out. Andy's machine had not been tried, and Tom wondered how he dared risk flying in it, without at least a preliminary tryout. But Andy, and those with him, were evidently full of confidence. News of the suspicions of Tom, and what he intended to do in case these suspicions proved true, had gotten around, and there was quite a crowd about his own tent, and another throng around that of Andy. Tom and Mr. Damon had wheeled the Humming-Bird out of her canvas "nest." There was a cheer as the crowd caught sight of the trim little craft. The young inventor, the eccentric man, and the machinist were busy going over every part. Meanwhile the meet had been officially opened, and it was announced that the preliminary event would be some air evolutions at no great height, and for no particular prize. Several biplanes and monoplanes took part in this. It was very interesting, but the big ten-thousand-dollar race, over a distance of a hundred miles was the principal feature of the meet, and all waited anxiously for this. The opening stunts passed off successfully, save that a German operator in a Bleriot came to grief, crashing down to the ground, wrecking his machine, and breaking an arm. But he only laughed at that, and coolly demanded another cigarette, as he crawled out of the tangle of wires, planes and the motor. After this there was an exhibition flight by a French aviator in a Curtis biplane, who raced against one in a Baby Wright. It was a dead heat, according to the judges. Then came a flight for height; and while no records were broken, the crowd was well satisfied. "Get ready for the hundred-mile ten-thousand-dollar-prize race!" shouted the announcer, through his megaphone. Tom's heart gave a bound. There were seven entrants in this contest besides Tom and Andy Foger, and as announced by the starter they were as follows: CONTESTANT MACHINE Von Bergen.................Wright Biplane Alameda..............Antoinette Monoplane Perique.................Bleriot Monoplane Loi Tong..........Santos-Dumont Monoplane Wendell....................Curtis Biplane De Tromp...................Farman Biplane Lascalle.............Demoiselle Monoplane Andy Foger.................-------------- Tom Swift..........Humming-Bird Monoplane "What is the style of the Foger machine?" yelled some one in the crowd, as the announcer lowered his megaphone. "It has not been announced," was the reply. "It will at once be wheeled out though, in accordance with the conditions of the race." There was a craning of necks, and an uneasy movement in the crowd, for Tom's story was now generally known. "Get ready to make your protest," advised Mr. Damon to the young inventor. "I'll stay by the machine here until you come back. Bless my radiator! I hope you beat him!" "I will, if it's possible!" murmured Tom, with a grim tightening of his lips. There was a movement about Andy's tent, whence, for the last half hour had come spasmodic noises that indicated the trying-out of the motor. The flaps were pulled back and a curious machine was wheeled into view. Tom rushed over toward it, intent on getting the first view. Would it prove to be a copy of his speedy Humming-Bird? Eagerly he looked, but a curious sight met his eyes. The machine was totally unlike any he had expected to see. It was large, and to his mind rather clumsy, but it looked powerful. Then, as he took in the details, he knew that it was the same one that had flown over his house that night--it was the one from which the fire bomb had been dropped. He pushed his way through the crowd. He saw Andy standing near the curious biplane, which type of air craft it nearest resembled, though it had some monoplane features. On the side was painted the name: SLUGGER Andy caught sight of Tom Swift. "I'm going to beat you!" the bully boasted, "and I haven't a machine like yours, after all. You were wrong." "So I see," stammered Tom, hardly knowing what to think. "What did you do with my plans then?" "I never had them!" Andy turned away, and began to assist the men he had hired to help him. Like all the others, his machine had two seats, for in this race each operator must carry a passenger. Tom turned away, both glad and sorry,--glad that his rival was not to race him in a duplicate of the Humming-Bird, but sorry that he had as yet no track of the strangely missing plans. "I wonder where they can be?" mused the young inventor. Then came the firing of the preliminary gun. Tom rushed back to where Mr. Damon stood waiting for him. There was a last look at the Humming-Bird. She was fit to race any machine on the ground. Mr. Damon took his place. Tom started the propeller. The other contestants were in their seats with their passengers. Their assistants stood ready to shove them off. The explosions of so many motors in action were deafening. "How much thrust?" cried Tom to his machinist. "Twenty-two hundred pounds!" "Good!" The report of the starting-gun could not be heard. But the smoke of it leaped into the air. It was the signal to go. Tom's voice would not have carried five feet. He waved his hands as a signal. His helper thrust the Humming-Bird forward. Over the smooth ground it rushed. Tom looked eagerly ahead. On a line with him were the other machines, including Andy Foger's Slugger. Tom pulled a lever. He felt his craft soar upward. The other machines also pointed their noses into the air. The big race for the ten-thousand-dollar prize was under way! Chapter Twenty-Four Won by a Length Rising upward, on a steep slant, for he wanted to get into the upper currents as soon as possible, Tom looked down and off to his left and saw one machine going over the ground in curious leaps and bounds. It was the tiny Demoiselle--the smallest craft in the race, and its peculiar style of starting was always thus manifested. "I don't believe he's going to make it," thought Tom. He was right. In another moment the tiny craft, after rising a short distance, dove downward, and was wrecked. The young inventor saw the two men crawling out from the tangled planes and wings, apparently uninjured. "One contestant less," thought Tom, grimly, though with pity in his heart for the unfortunates. However, he must think of himself and his own craft now. He glanced at Mr. Damon sitting beside him. That odd gentleman, with never a thought of blessing anything now, unless he did it silently, was watching the lubricating system. This was a vital part of the craft, for if anything went wrong with it, and the bearings overheated, the race would have to be abandoned. So Tom was not trusting to any automatic arrangement, but had instituted, almost at the last moment, a duplicate hand-worked system, so that if one failed him he would have the other. "A good start!" shouted Mr. Damon in his ear. Tom nodded, and glanced behind him. On a line with the Humming-Bird, and at about the same elevation, were the Bleriot monoplane and a Wright biplane. Below were the Santos-Dumont and the Antoinette. "Where's the Slugger?" called Tom to his friend. Mr. Damon motioned upward. There, in the air above Tom's machine, and slightly in advance, was Andy Foger's craft. He had gotten away in better shape than had the Humming-Bird. For a moment Tom's heart misgave him. Then he turned on more power, and had the satisfaction of mounting upward and shooting onward until he was on even terms with Andy. The bully gave one glance over toward his rival, and pulled a lever. The Slugger increased her speed, but Tom was not a second behind him. There was a roaring noise in the rear, and up shot De Tromp in the Farman, and Loi Tong, the little Japanese, in the Santos-Dumont. Truly the race was going to be a hotly contested one. But the end was far off yet. After the first jockeying for a start and position, the race settled down into what might be termed a "grind." The course was a large one, but so favorable was the atmosphere that day, and such was the location of Eagle Park in a great valley, that even on the far side of the great ellipse the contestants could be seen, dimly with the naked eye, but very plainly with glasses, with which many of the spectators were provided. Around and around they went, at no very great height, for it was necessary to make out the signals set up by the race officials, so that the contestants would know when they were near the finish, that they might use the last atom of speed. So at varying heights the wonderful machines circled about the course. The Humming-Bird was working well, and Tom felt a sense of pride as he saw the ground slipping away below him. He felt sure that he would win, even when Alameda, the Spaniard, in the Antoinette, came creeping up on him, and even when Andy Foger, with a burst of speed, placed himself and his passenger in the lead. "I'll catch him!" muttered Tom, and he opened the throttle a trifle wider, and went after Andy, passing him with ease. They had covered about thirty miles of the course, when the humming and crackling of the wireless apparatus told Tom that a message was coming. He snapped the receiver to his ear, adjusting the outer covering to shut out the racket of the motor, and listened. "Well?" asked Mr. Damon, as Tom took off the receiver. "Dad isn't quite so well," answered the lad. "Mr. Jackson says they have sent for Dr. Hendrix again. But dad is game. He sends me word to go on and win, and I'll do it, too, only--" Tom paused, and choked back a sob. Then he prepared to get more speed out of his motor. "Of course you will!" cried Mr. Damon. "Bless my--!" But they encountered an adverse current of wind at that moment, and it required the attention of both of the aviators to manage the machine. It was soon on an even keel again, and once more was shooting forward around the course. At times Tom would be in advance, and again he would have to give place to the Curtis, the Farman, or the Santos-Dumont, as these speedy machines, favored by a spurt from their motors, or by some current of air, shot ahead. But, in general, Tom maintained the lead, and among the spectators there began a series of guesses as to how much he would win by. Tom glanced at the barograph. It registered a little over twelve hundred feet. He looked at the speed gage. He was doing a trifle better than a hundred miles an hour. He looked down at the signals. There was twenty miles yet to go. It was almost time for the spurt for which he had been holding back. Yet he would wait until five miles from the end, and then he felt that he could gain and maintain a lead. "Andy seems to be doing well," said Mr. Damon. "Yes, he has a good machine," conceded Tom. Five miles more were reeled off. Then another five. Another round of that distance and Tom would key his motor up to the highest pitch, and then the Humming-Bird would show what she could do. Eagerly Tom waited for the right signal. Suddenly the wireless began buzzing again. Quickly the young inventor clamped the receiver to his ear. Mr. Damon saw him turn pale. "Dr. Gladby says dad has a turn for the worse. There is little hope," translated Tom. "Will you--are you going to quit?" asked Mr. Damon. Tom shook his head. "No!" he cried. "My father has become unconscious, so Mr. Jackson says, but his last words were to me: 'Tell Tom to win the race!' And I'm going to do it!" Tom suddenly changed his plans. There was to be no waiting for the signal now. He would begin his final spurt, and if possible finish the hundred miles at his utmost speed, win the race and then hasten to his father's side. With a menacing roar the motor of the Humming-Bird took up the additional power that Tom sent into her. She shot ahead like an eagle darting after his prey. Tom opened up a big gap between his machine and the one nearest him, which, at that moment, was the Antoinette, with the Spaniard driving her. "Now to win!" cried Tom, grimly. Surely no race was ever flown as was that one! Tom flashed through the air so quickly that his speed was almost incredible. The gage registered one hundred and thirty miles an hour! Down below in the grand stands, and on the aviation field, there were yells of approval--of wonder--of fear. But Tom and Mr. Damon could not hear them. They only heard the powerful song of the motor. Faster and faster flew the Humming-Bird. Tom looked down, and saw the signal put up which meant that there were but three miles more to go. He felt that he could do it. He was half a lap ahead of them all now. But he saw Andy Foger's machine pulling away from the bunch. "He's going to try to catch me!" exulted Tom. Then something happened. The motor of the Humming-Bird suddenly slackened its speed, it missed explosions, and the trim little craft began to drop behind. "What's the matter?" cried Mr. Damon. "Three of the cylinders are out of business!" yelled Tom. "We're done for, I guess." On came the other machines, Andy in the lead, then the Santos-Dumont, then the Farman, and lastly the Wright. They saw the plight of the Humming-Bird and determined to beat her. Tom cast a despairing look up at the motor. There was nothing to be done. He could not reach it in mid-air. He could only keep on, crippled as he was, and trust to luck. Andy passed by his rival with an evil smile on his ugly face. Then the Antoinette flashed by. In turn all the others left Tom in the rear. His heart was like lead. Mr. Damon gazed blankly forward. They were beaten. It did not seem possible. There was but a single chance. If Tom shut off all power, coasted for a moment, and then, ere the propeller had ceased revolving, if he could start the motor on the spark, the silent cylinders might pick up, with the others, and begin again. He would try it. They could be no worse off than they were. "A mile behind!" gasped Tom. "It's a long chance, but I'll take it." He shut off the power. The motor was silent, the Humming-Bird began to fall. But ere she had gone down ten feet Tom suddenly switched on the batteries. There was a moment of silence, and then came the welcome roar that told of the rekindled motor. And such a roar as it was! Every cylinder was exploding as though none of them had ever stopped! "We did it!" yelled Tom. Opening up at full speed, he sent the sky racer on the course to overtake and pass his rivals. Slowly he crept on them. They looked back and saw him coming. They tried to put on more speed, but it was impossible. Andy Foger was in the lead. He was being slowly overhauled by the Santos-Dumont, with the queer tail-rudders. "I'll get him!" muttered Tom. "I'll pass 'em all!" And he did. With a wonderful burst of speed the little Humming-Bird overtook one after another of her larger rivals, and passed them. Then she crept up on Andy's Slugger. In an instant more it was done, and, a good length in advance of the Foger craft, Tom shot over the finish line a winner, richer by ten thousand dollars, and, not only that, but he had picked up a mile that had been lost, and had snatched victory from almost certain defeat. There was a succession of thundering cheers as he shut off the motor, and volplaned to earth, but he paid little attention to them. He brought his craft to a stop just as the wireless on it buzzed again. He listened with a look of pain on his face. "My father is dying," he said simply. "I must go to him. Mr. Damon, will you fill the tanks with oil and gasoline, while I send off a message?" "Oil and gasoline," murmured the odd man, while hundreds pressed up to congratulate Tom Swift "What are you going to do?" "I'm going to my father in the Humming-Bird," said Tom. "It's the only way I can see him alive," and he began to click off a message to Mr. Jackson, stating that he had won the race and was going to fly to Shopton, while Mr. Damon and several others replenished the fuel and oil of the aeroplane. Tom Swift had won one race. Could he win the other? Chapter Twenty-Five Home Again--Conclusion Mr. Sharp pushed his way through the crowd. "The committee has the certified check ready for you, Tom," called the balloonist. "Will you come and get it?" "Send it to me, please," answered the young inventor. "I must go to my father." "Huh! I'd have beaten him in another round," boasted Andy Foger. No one paid any attention to him. "Monsieur ezz plucky!" said the Frenchman, Perique. "I am honaired to shake his hand! He has broken all ze records!" "Dot's der best machine I effer saw," spoke the Dutchman, De Tromp, ponderously. "Shake hands!" "Ver' fine, ver' good!" came from the little Japanese, and all the contestants congratulated Tom warmly. Never before had a hundred miles been covered so speedily. A man elbowed his way through the press of people. "Is your machine fully protected by patents?" he inquired earnestly. "It is," said Tom. "Then, as a representative of the United States Government, I would like an option to purchase the exclusive right to use them," said the man. "Can you guarantee that no one else has any plans of them? It will mean a fortune to you." Tom hesitated. He thought of the stolen plans. If he could only get possession of them! He glanced at Andy Foger, who was wheeling his machine back into the tent. But there was no time now to have it out with the bully. "I will see you again," said Tom to the government agent. "I must go to my father, who is dying. I can't answer you now." The tanks were filled. Tom gave a hasty look to his machine, and, bidding his new friends farewell, he and Mr. Damon took their places aboard the Humming-Bird. The little craft rose in the air, and soon they had left Eagle Park far behind. Eagerly Tom strained his eyes for a sight of his home town, though he knew it would be several hours ere he could hover over it. Would he be in time? Would he be in time? That question came to him again and again. For a time the Humming-Bird skimmed along as though she delighted in the rapid motion, in slipping through the air and sliding along on the billows of wind. Tom, with critical ears, listened to the hum of the motor, the puffing of the exhaust, the grinding of the gear wheels, and the clicking of the trips, as valve after valve opened or closed to admit the mixture of air and gasoline, or closed to give the compression necessary for the proper explosion. "Is she working all right?" asked Mr. Damon, anxiously, and, such was the strain on him that he did not think to bless anything. "Is she all right, Tom, my lad?" "I think so. I'm speeding her to the limit. Faster than I ever did before, but I guess she'll do. She was built to stand a strain, and she's got to do it now!" Then there was silence again, as they slid along through the air like a coaster gliding down a steep descent. "It was a great race, wasn't it?" asked Mr. Damon, as he shifted to an easier position in his seat. "A great race, Tom. I didn't think you'd do it, one spell there." "Neither did I," came the answer, as the young inventor changed the spark lever. "But I made up my mind I wouldn't be beaten by Andy Foger, if I could help it. Though it was taking a risk to shut off the current the way I did." "A risk?" "Yes; it might not have started again," and Tom looked down at the earth below them, as if measuring the distance he would have fallen had not his sky racer kept on at the critical moment. "And--and if the current hadn't come on again; eh, Tom? Would we--?" Mr. Damon did not finish, but Tom knew what he meant. "It would have been all up with us," he said simply. "I might have volplaned back to earth, but at the speed we were going, and at the height, around a curve, we might have turned turtle." "Bless my--!" began Mr. Damon, and then he stopped. The thought of Tom's trouble came to him, and he realized that his words might grate on the feelings of his companion. On they rushed through the air with the Humming-Bird speeded up faster and faster as she warmed to her task. The machinery seemed to be working perfectly, and as Tom listened to the hum a look of pleasure replaced the look of anxiety on his face. "Don't you think we'll make it?" asked Mr. Damon, after another pause, during which they passed over a large city, the inhabitants exhibiting much excitement as they sighted the airship over their heads. "We've got to make it!" declared Tom between his clenched teeth. He turned on a little more gasoline, and there was a spurt in their speed which made Mr. Damon grasp the upright braces near him with firm hands, and his face became a little paler. "It's all right," spoke Tom, reassuringly. "There's no danger." But Tom almost reckoned without his host, for a few moments later, as he was trying to get more revolutions out of the propellers, he ran into an adverse current of air. In an instant the Humming-Bird was tilted up almost on her "beams' ends," so to speak, and had it not been that the young inventor quickly warped the wing tips, to counteract the pressure on one side, there might have been a different end to this story. "Bless my----!" began Mr. Damon, but he got no further, for he had to bend his body as Tom did, to equalize the pressure of the wind current. "A little farther over!" yelled the lad. "A little farther over this way, Mr. Damon!" "But if I come any more toward you I'll be out of my seat!" objected the eccentric man. "If you don't you'll be out of the aeroplane!" cried Tom grimly, and his companion leaned over as far as he could until the young pilot had brought the craft to an even keel again. Then Tom speeded up the motor, which he had partly shut down as they passed through the danger zone, and again they were racing through space. They were nearing Shopton now, as the lad and Mr. Damon could tell by the familiar landmarks which loomed up in sight. Tom strained his eyes for the first view of his home. Suddenly, as they were skimming along, there came a cessation of the hum and roar that told of the perfectly-working motor. It was an ominous silence. "What's--what's wrong?" gasped Mr. Damon. "Something's given way," answered Tom quickly. "I'm afraid the magneto isn't sparking as it ought to." "Well, can't we volplane back to earth?" asked the odd man, for he had become familiar with this feat when anything happened to the motor. "We could," answered Tom, "but I'm not going to." "Why not?" "Because we're too far from Shopton--and dad! I'm going to keep on. I've got to--if I want to be there in time!" "But if the motor doesn't work?" "I'll make her work!" Tom was desperately manipulating the various levers and handles connected with the electrical ignition system. He tried in vain to get the magneto to resume the giving out of sparks, and, failing in that, he switched on the batteries. But, to his horror, the dry cells had given out. There was no way of getting a spark unless the little electrical machine would work. The propellers were still whirring around by their own momentum, and if Tom could switch in the magneto in time all might yet be well. They had started to fall, but, by quickly bringing up the head plane tips, Tom sent his craft soaring upward again on a bank of air. "Here!" he cried to Mr. Damon. "Take the steering-wheel and kept her on this level as long as you can." "What are you going to do?" "I've got to fix that magneto!" "But if she dips down?" "Throw up the head planes as I did. It's our only chance! I can't go down now, so far from Shopton!" Mr. Damon reached over and took the wheel from Tom's hands. Then the young inventor, leaning forward, for the magneto was within easy reach, looked to see what the trouble was. He found it quickly. A wire had vibrated loose from a binding-post. In a second Tom had it in place again; and, ere the propellers had ceased revolving, he had turned the switch. The magneto took up the work in a flash. Once more the spark exploded the gasoline mixture, and the propellers sent the Humming-Bird swiftly ahead. "We'll make it now!" declared Tom grimly. "We're almost there," added Mr. Damon, as he relinquished the wheel to the young pilot. The craft had gone down some, but Tom sent her up again. Nearer and nearer home they came, until at last the spires of the Shopton churches loomed into view. Then he was over the village. Now he was within sight of his own house. Tom coasted down a bank of air, and brought the Humming-Bird up with a jerk of the ground brakes. Before the wheels had ceased turning he had leaped out. "It's Massa Tom!" cried Eradicate, as he saw Tom alight. The young inventor hurried into the house. He was met by the nurse, who held up a warning finger. Tom's heart almost stopped beating. He was aware that Dr. Gladby came from the room where Mr. Swift lay. "Is he--is he--am I too late?" gulped Tom. "Hush!" cautioned the nurse. Tom reeled, and would have fallen had not the doctor caught him, for the lad was weak and worn out. "He is going to get well!" were the joyful words he heard, as if in a dream, and then his strength suddenly came back to him. "The crisis is just passed, Tom," went on Dr. Gladby, "and your father will recover, and be stronger than ever. Your good news of winning was like a tonic to him. Now let me congratulate you on the race." Tom had flashed by wireless a brief message of his success. "Dad's news is better than all the congratulations in the world," he said softly, as he grasped the doctor's hand. * * * * * It was a week later. Mr. Swift improved rapidly once the course of the disease was permanently checked, and he was soon able to sit up. Tom was with him in the room, talking of the great race, and how he had won. He fingered the certified check for ten thousand dollars that had just come to him by mail. "You certainly did wonderfully well," said the aged inventor, softly. "Wonderfully well, Tom. I'm proud of you." "You may well be," added Mr. Damon. "Bless my shoelaces, but I thought Andy Foger had us there one spell; didn't you, Tom?" "Indeed I did. But you helped me win, Mr. Damon." "Nonsense!" exclaimed the odd man. "Yes, you did. You helped me a lot." "Well, are you going to keep after more air-prizes, Tom, or are you going to try for something else?" asked his father. "I don't believe I'll go in any more aeroplane races right away," answered the young inventor. "For some time I've been wanting to complete and perfect my electric rifle. I think I'll begin work on that soon." "And go hunting?" asked Mr. Damon. "I think so," answered Tom, dreamily. "I don't know just where, though." Where he went, and what he shot, will be told in the next volume of this series, to be called: "Tom Swift and His Electric Rifle; or, Daring Adventures in Elephant Land." For a few moments after Tom's announcement no one spoke, then the young inventor said: "It's too bad that first set of plans were stolen. If I had them I could make a good deal with the Government about my little aeroplane. But they don't want to take up with it as long as there is a chance of some foreign nation getting information about the secret parts, and my patents won't hold abroad. I wonder if there is any way of getting those plans away from Andy Foger? I don't understand why he hasn't used them before this. I thought sure he would make a craft like the Humming-Bird to race against me." "What plans are those?" asked Mr. Swift. "Why, don't you remember?" asked Tom. "The ones I showed you one day, in the library, when you fell asleep, and some one slipped in and stole them." A curious look came over Mr. Swift's face. He passed his hand across his brow. "I am beginning to remember something I have been trying to recall ever since I became ill," he said slowly. "It is coming back to me. Those plans--in the library--I fell asleep, but before I did so I hid those plans, Tom!" "You hid those plans!" Tom fairly shouted the words. "Yes, I remember feeling a drowsy feeling coming on, and I feared lest some one might see the drawings. I got up and put them under the window, in a little, hollow place in the foundation wall. Then I came back in through the window again, and went to sleep. Then, on account of my illness, just as I once before forgot something, and thought the minister had called, I lost all recollection of them. I hid those plans." Tom leaped to his feet. He rushed to the place named by his father. Soon his triumphant shout told of his success. He came hurrying back into the house with a roll of papers in his hands. And there were the long-missing plans! damp and stained by the weather, but all there. No enemy had them, and Tom's secret was safe. "Now I can accept the Government offer!" he cried. And a few weeks later he made a most advantageous deal with the United States officials for his patents. Dr. Gladby explained that Mr. Swift's queer action was due to his illness. He became liable to lapses of memory, and one happened just after he hid away the plans. Even the hiding of them was caused by the peculiar condition of his brain. He had opened the library window, slipped oot with the papers, and hastened in again, to fall asleep in his chair, during the short time Tom was gone. "And Andy Foger never took them at all," remarked Mary Nestor, when Tom was telling her about it a few days afterward. "No. I guess I must apologize to him." Which Tom did, but Andy did not receive it very graciously, especially as Tom accused him of trying to destroy the Humming-Bird. Andy denied this and denied having anything to do with the mysterious fire, and, as there was no way to prove him guilty, Tom could not proceed against him. So the matter was dropped. Mr. Swift continued to improve, and was soon himself again, and able to resume his inventive work. Tom received several offers to give exhibition flights at big aero meets, but refused, as he was busy on his new rifle. Mr. Damon helped him. Andy Foger made several successful flights in his queer aeroplane, which turned out to be the product of a German genius who was supplied with money by Mr. Foger. Andy became very proud, and boasted that he and the German were going abroad to give flights in Europe. "I'd be glad if he would," said Tom, when he heard of the plan. "He wouldn't bother me then." With the money received from winning the big race, and from his contracts from the Government, Tom Swift was now in a fair way to become quite wealthy. He was destined to have many more adventures; yet, come what might, never would he forget the thrilling happenings that fell to his lot while flying for the ten-thousand dollar prize in his sky racer. 
953	----	TOM SWIFT AND HIS BIG TUNNEL or The Hidden City of the Andes by Victor Appleton CONTENTS I An Appeal for Aid II Explanations III A Face at the Window IV Tom's Experiments V Mary's Present VI Mr. Nestor's Letter VII Off for Peru VIII The Bearded Man IX The Bomb X Professor Bumper XI In the Andes XII The Tunnel XIII Tom's Explosive XIV Mysterious Disappearances XV Frightened Indians XVI On the Watch XVII The Condor XVIII The Indian Strike XIX A Woman Tells XX Despair XXI A New Explosive XXII The Fight XXIII A Great Blast XXIV The Hidden City XXV Success TOM SWIFT AND HIS BIG TUNNEL Chapter I An Appeal for Aid Tom Swift, seated in his laboratory engaged in trying to solve a puzzling question that had arisen over one of his inventions, was startled by a loud knock on the door. So emphatic, in fact, was the summons that the door trembled, and Tom started to his feet in some alarm. "Hello there!" he cried. "Don't break the door, Koku!" and then he laughed. "No one but my giant would knock like that," he said to himself. "He never does seem able to do things gently. But I wonder why he is knocking. I told him to get the engine out of the airship, and Eradicate said he'd be around to answer the telephone and bell. I wonder if anything has happened?" Tom shoved back his chair, pushed aside the mass of papers over which he had been puzzling, and strode to the door. Flinging it open he confronted a veritable giant of a man, nearly eight feet tall, and big in proportion. The giant, Koku, for that was his name, smiled in a good-natured way, reminding one of an overgrown boy. "Master hear my knock?" the giant asked cheerfully. "Hear you, Koku? Say, I couldn't hear anything else!" exclaimed Tom. "Did you think you had to arouse the whole neighborhood just to let me know you were at the door? Jove! I thought you'd have it off the hinges." "If me break, me fix," said Koku, who, from his appearance and from his imperfect command of English, was evidently a foreigner. "Yes, I know you can fix lots of things, Koku," Tom went on, kindly enough. "But you musn't forget what enormous strength you have. That's the reason I sent you to take the engine out of the airship. You can lift it without using the chain hoist, and I can't get the chain hoist fast unless I remove all the superstructure. I don't want to do that. Did you get the engine out?" "Not quite. Almost, Master." "Then why are you here? Has anything gone wrong?" "No, everything all right, Master. But man come to machine shop and say he must have talk with you. I no let him come past the gate, but I say I come and call you." "That's right, Koku. Don't let any strangers past the gate. But why didn't Eradicate come and call me. He isn't doing anything, is he? Unless, indeed, he has gone to feed his mule, Boomerang." "Eradicate, he come to call you, but that black man no good!" and Koku chuckled so heartily that he shook the floor of the office. "What's the matter with Eradicate?" asked Tom, somewhat anxiously. "I hope you and he haven't had another row?" Eradicate had served Tom and his father long before Koku, the giant, had been brought back from one of the young inventor's many strange trips, and ever since then there had been a jealous rivalry between the twain as to who should best serve Tom. "No trouble, Master," said Koku. "Eradicate he start to come and tell you strange man want to have talk, but Eradicate he no come fast enough. So I pick him up, and I set him down by gate to stand on guard, and I come to tell you. Koku come quick!" "Oh, I knew it must be something like that!" exclaimed Tom in some vexation. "Now I'll have Eradicate complaining to me that you mauled him. Picked him up and set him down again." "Sure. One hand!" boasted the giant. "Eradicate him not be heavy. More as a sack of flour now." "No, poor Eradicate is getting pretty old and thin," commented Tom. "He can't move very quickly. But you should have let him come, Koku. It makes him feel badly when he thinks he can't be of service to me any more." "Man say he in hurry." The giant spoke softly, as though he felt the gentle rebuke Tom administered. "Koku run quick tell you--bang on door." "Yes, you banged all right, Koku. Well, it can't be helped, I reckon. Where is this strange man? Who is he? Did you ever see him before?" "Me no can tell, Master. Not sure. But him now be at the outer gate. Eradicate watch." "All right. I'll go and see who it is. I don't want any strangers poking around here, especially with the plans of my new gyroscope lying in plain view." Before he left the laboratory Tom swept into a desk drawer the mass of papers and blue prints, and locked the receptacle. "No use taking any chances," he remarked. "I've had too much trouble with people trying to get inside information about dad's and my patents. Now, Koku, I'll go and see this man." The buildings composing the plant of Tom Swift and his father at Shopton were enclosed by a high, board fence, and at one of the entrances was a sort of gate-house, where some one was always on guard. Only those who could give a good account of themselves, workmen in the plant, or those known to the sentinel were admitted. It happened that the colored man, Eradicate, was on guard at the gates this day when the stranger asked to see Tom. Koku, working on the airship engine not far away, saw the stranger. Hearing the man say he was in a hurry and noting the slow progress of the aged Eradicate, who was troubled with rheumatism, the giant took matters into his own hands. Tom Swift entered the gate-house and saw, seated in a chair, a man who was impatiently tapping the floor with his thick-soled shoe. "Looks like a detective or a policeman in disguise," thought Tom, for, almost invariably, members of this profession wear very thick-soled shoes. Opposite the stranger sat Eradicate, a much-injured look on his honest, black face. "Oh, Massa Tom!" exclaimed Eradicate, as soon as the young inventor entered. "Dat Koku he--he--he done gone and cotch me by de collar ob mah coat, an' den he lif' me up, an' he sot me down so hard--so hard--dat he jar loose all mah back teef!" and Eradicate opened his mouth wide to display his gleaming ivories. "Eradicate, he no can come quick. He walk like so fashion!" and Koku, who had followed the young inventor, imitated the limping gait of the colored man with such a queer effect that Tom could not help laughing, and the stranger smiled. "Ef I gits holt on yo'--ef I does, yo' great, big, overgrown lummox, Ah'll--Ah'll--" began the colored man, stammeringly. "There. That will do now!" interrupted Tom. "Don't quarrel in here. Koku, get back to that engine and lift out the motor. Eradicate, didn't father tell you to whitewash the chicken coops to-day?" "Dat's what he done, Massa Tom." "Well, go and see about that. I'll stay here for a while, and when I leave I'll call one of you, or some one else, to be on guard. Skip now!" Having thus disposed of the warring factions, Tom turned to the stranger and after apologizing for the little interruption, asked: "You wished to see me?" "If you're Tom Swift; yes." "Well, I'm Tom Swift," and the young owner of the name smiled. "I hope you will pardon a stranger for calling on you," resumed the man, "but I'm in a lot of trouble, and I think you are the only one who can help me out." "What sort of trouble?" Tom inquired. "Contracting trouble--tunnel blasting, to be exact. But if you have a few minutes to spare perhaps you will listen to my story. You will then be better able to understand my difficulty." Tom Swift considered a moment. He was used to having appeals for help made to him, and usually they were of a begging nature. He was often asked for money to help some struggling inventor complete his machine. In many cases the machines would have been of absolutely no use if perfected. In other cases the inventions were of the utterly hopeless class, incapable of perfection, like some perpetual motion apparatus. In these cases Tom turned a deaf ear, though if the inventor were in want our hero relieved him. But this case did not seem to be like anything Tom had ever met with before. "Contracting trouble--blasting," repeated the youth, as he mused over what he had heard. "That's it," the man went on. "Permit me to introduce myself" and he held out a card, on which was the name MR. JOB TITUS Down in the lower left-hand corner was a line: "Titus Brothers, Contractors." "I am glad to meet you, Mr. Titus," Tom said warmly, offering his hand. "I don't know anything about the contracting business, but if you do blasting I suppose you use explosives, and I know a little about them." "So I have heard, and that's why I came to you," the contractor went on. "Now if you'll give me a few minutes of your time--" "You had better come up to the house," interrupted Tom. "We can talk more quietly there." Calling a young fellow who was at work near by to occupy the gate-house, Tom led Mr. Titus toward the Swift homestead, and, a little later, ushered him into the library. "Now I'll listen to you," the youth said, "though I can't promise to aid you." "I realize that," returned Mr. Titus. "This is a sort of last chance I'm taking. My brother and I have heard a lot about you, and when he wrote to me that he was unable to proceed with his contract of tunneling the Andes Mountains for the Peruvian government, I made up my mind you were the one who could help us if you would." "Tunneling the Andes Mountains!" exclaimed Tom. "Yes. The firm represented by my brother and myself have a contract to build a railroad for the Peruvian government. At a point some distance back in the district east of Lima, Peru, we are making a tunnel under the mountain. That is, we have it started, but now we can't advance any further." "Why not?" "Because of the peculiar character of the rock, which seems to defy the strongest explosive we can get. Now I understand you used a powder in your giant cannon that--" Mr. Titus paused in his explanation, for at that moment there arose such a clatter out on the front piazza as effectually to drown conversation. There was a noise of the hoofs of a horse, the fall of a heavy body, a tattoo on the porch floor and then came an excited shout: "Whoa there! Whoa! Stop! Look out where you're kicking! Bless my saddle blanket! Ouch! There I go!" Chapter II Explanations "What in the world is that?" cried Mr. Job Titus, in alarm. Tom Swift did not answer. Instead he jumped up from his chair and ran toward the front door. Mr. Titus followed. They both saw a strange sight. Standing on the front porch, which he seemed to occupy completely, was a large horse, with a saddle twisted underneath him. The animal was looking about him as calmly as though he always made it a practice to come up on the front piazza when stopping at a house. Off to one side, with a crushed hat on the back of his head, with a coat split up the back, with a broken riding crop in one hand and a handkerchief in the other, sat a dignified, elderly gentleman. That is, he would have been dignified had it not been for his position and condition. No gentleman can look dignified with a split coat and a crushed hat on, sitting under the nose of a horse on a front piazza, with his raiment otherwise much disheveled, while he wipes his scratched and bleeding face with a handkerchief. "Bless my--bless my--" began the elderly gentleman, and he seemed at a loss what particular portion of his anatomy or that of the horse, to bless, or what portion of the universe to appeal to, for he ended up with: "Bless everything, Tom Swift!" "I heartily agree with you, Mr. Damon!" cried Tom. "But what in the world happened?" "That!" exclaimed Mr. Damon, pointing with his broken crop at the horse on the piazza. "I was riding him when he ran away--just as my motorcycle tried to climb a tree. No more horses for me! I'll stick to airships," and slamming his riding crop down on the porch floor with such force that the horse started back, Mr. Damon arose, painfully enough if the contortions on his face and his grunts of pain went for anything. "Let me help you!" begged Tom, striding forward. "Mr. Titus, perhaps you will kindly lead the horse down off the piazza?" "Certainly!" answered the tunnel contractor. "Whoa now!" he called soothingly, as the steed evinced a disposition to sit down on the side railing. "Steady now!" The horse finally allowed himself to be led down the broad front steps, sadly marking them, as well as the floor of the piazza, with his sharp shoes. "Ouch! Oh, my back!" exclaimed Mr. Damon, as Tom helped him to stand up. "Is it hurt?" asked Tom, anxiously. "No, I've just got what old-fashioned folks call a 'crick' in it," explained the elderly horseman. "But it feels more like a river than a 'crick.' I'll be all right presently." "How did it happen?" asked Tom, as he led his guest toward the hall. Meanwhile Mr. Titus, wondering what it was all about, had tied the horse to a post out near the street curb, and had re-entered the library. "I was riding over to see you, Tom, to ask you if you wouldn't go to South America with me," began Mr. Damon, rubbing his leg tenderly. "South America?" cried Tom, with a sudden look at Mr. Titus. "Yes, South America. Why, there isn't anything strange in that, is there? You've been to wilder countries, and farther away than that." "Yes, I know--it's just a coincidence. Go on." "Let me get where I can sit down," begged Mr. Damon. "I think that crick in my back is running down into my legs, Tom. I feel a bit weak. Let me sit down, and get me a glass of water. I shall be all right presently." Between them Tom and Mr. Titus assisted the horseman into an easy chair, and there, under the influence of a cup of hot tea, which Mrs. Baggert, the housekeeper, insisted on making for him, he said he felt much better, and would explain the reason for his call which had culminated in such a sensational manner. And while Mr. Damon is preparing his explanation I will take just a few moments to acquaint my new readers with some facts about Tom Swift, and the previous volumes of this series in which he has played such prominent parts. Tom Swift was the son of an inventor, and not only inherited his father's talents, but had greatly added to them, so that now Tom had a wonderful reputation. Mr. Swift was a widower, and he and Tom lived in a big house in Shopton, New York State, with Mrs. Baggert for a housekeeper. About the house, from time to time, shops and laboratories had been erected, until now there was a large and valuable establishment belonging to Tom and his father. The first volume of this series is entitled, "Tom Swift and His Motor Cycle." It was through a motor cycle that Tom became acquainted with Mr. Wakefield Damon, who lived in a neighboring town. Mr. Damon had bought the motor cycle for himself, but, as he said, one day in riding it the machine tried to climb a tree near the Swift house. The young inventor (for even then he was working on several patents) ministered to Mr. Damon, who, disgusted with the motor cycle, and wishing to reward Tom, let the young fellow have the machine. Tom's career began from that hour. For he learned to ride the motor cycle, after making some improvements in it, and from then on the youth had led a busy life. Soon afterward he secured a motor boat and from that it was but a step to an airship. The medium of the air having been conquered, Tom again turned his attention to the water, or rather, under the water, and he and his father made a submarine. Then he built an electric runabout, the speediest car on the road. It was when Ton Swift had occasion to send his wireless message from a lonely island where he had been shipwrecked that he was able to do Mr. and Mrs. Nestor a valuable service, and this increased the regard which Miss Mary Nestor felt for the young inventor, a regard that bid fair, some day, to ripen into something stronger. Tom Swift might have made a fortune when he set out to discover the secret of the diamond makers. But Fate intervened, and soon after that quest he went to the caves of ice, where he and his friends met with disaster. In his sky racer Tom broke all records for speed, and when he went to Africa to rescue a missionary, had it not been for his electric rifle the tide of battle would have gone against him and his party. Marvelous, indeed, were the adventures underground, which came to Tom when he went to look for the city of gold, but the treasure there was not more valuable than the platinum which Tom sought in dreary Siberia by means of his air glider. Tom thought his end had come when he fell into captivity among the giants; but even that turned out well, and he brought two of the giants away with him. Koku, one of the two giants, became devotedly attached to the lad, much to the disgust of Eradicate Sampson, the old negro who had worked for the Swifts for a generation, and who, with his mule Boomerang, "eradicated" from the place as much dirt as possible. With his wizard camera Tom did much to advance the cause of science. His great searchlight was of great help to the United States government in putting a stop to the Canadian smugglers, while his giant cannon was a distinct advance in ordnance, not excepting the great German guns used in the European war. When Tom perfected his photo telephone the last objection to rendering telephonic conversation admissible evidence in a law court was done away with, for by this invention a person was able to see, as well as to hear, over the telephone wire. One practically stood face to face with the person, miles away, to whom one was talking. The volume immediately preceding this present one is called: "Tom Swift and His Aerial Warship." The young inventor perfected a marvelous aircraft that was the naval terror of the seas, and many governments, recognizing what an important part aircraft were going to play in all future conflicts, were anxious to secure Tom's machine. But he was true to his own country, though his rivals were nearly successful in their plots against him. The Mars, which was the name of Tom's latest craft, proved to be a great success, and the United States government purchased it. It was not long after the completion of this transaction that the events narrated in the first chapter of this book took place. Mr. Damon and Tom had been firm friends ever since the episode of the motor cycle, and the eccentric gentleman (who blessed so many things) often went with Tom on his trips. Besides Mary Nestor, Tom had other friends. The one, after Miss Nestor, for whom he cared most (if we except Mr. Damon) was Ned Newton, who was employed in a Shopton bank. Ned also had often gone with Tom, though lately, having a better position, he had less time to spare. "Well, do you feel better, Mr. Damon?" asked Tom, after a bit. "Yes, very much, thank you. Bless my pen wiper! but I thought I was done for when I saw my horse bolt for your front stoop. He rushed up it, fell down, but, fortunately, I managed to get out of his way, though the saddle girth slipped. And all I could think of was that my wife would say: 'I told you so!' for she warned me not to ride this animal. "But he never ran away with me before, and I was in a hurry to get over to see you, Tom. Now then, let's get down to business. Will you go to South America with me?" "Whereabout in South America are you going, Mr. Damon, and why?" Tom asked. "To Peru, Tom." "What a coincidence!" exclaimed Mr. Titus. "I beg your pardon?" said Mr. Damon, interrogatively. "I said what a coincidence. I am going there myself." "Excuse me," interposed Tom, "I don't believe, in the excitement of the moment, I introduced you gentlemen. Allow me--Mr. Damon--Mr. Titus." The presentation over, Mr. Damon went on: "You see, Tom, I have lately invested considerable money in a wholesale drug concern. We deal largely in Peruvian remedies, principally the bark of the cinchona tree, from which quinine is made. Of late there has been some trouble over our concession from the Peruvian government, and the company has decided to send me down there to investigate. "Of course, as soon as I made up my mind to go I thought of you. So I came over to see if you would not accompany me. All went well until I reached your front gate. Then my horse became frightened by a yellow toy balloon some boy was blowing up in the street and bolted with me. I suppose if it had been a red or green balloon the effect would have been the same. However, here I am, somewhat the worse for wear. Now Tom, what do you say? Will you go to South America--to Peru--with me, and help look up this Quinine business?" Once more Mr. Titus and Tom looked at each other. Chapter III A Face at the Window "What is the matter?" asked Mr. Damon, catching the glance between Tom and the contractor. "Is there anything wrong with South America--Peru? I know they have lots of revolutions in those countries, but I don't believe Peru is what they call a 'banana republic'; is it?" "No," and Mr. Titus shook his head. "It isn't a question of revolutions." "But it's something!" insisted Mr. Damon. "Bless my ink bottle! but it's something. As soon as I mention Peru, Tom, you and Mr. Titus eye each other as if I'd said something dreadful. Out with it! What is it?" "It's just--just a coincidence," Tom said. "But go on, Mr. Damon. Finish what you have to say and then we'll explain." "Well, I guess I've told you all you need to know for the present. I went into this wholesale drug concern, hoping to make some money, but now, on account of the trouble down in Peru, we stand to lose considerable unless I can get back the cinchona concession." "What does that mean?" Tom asked. "Well, it means that our concern secured from the Peruvian government the right to take this quinine-producing bark from the trees in a certain tropical section. But there has been a change in the government in the district where our men were working, and now the privilege, or concession, has been withdrawn. I'm going down to see if I can't get it back. And I want you to go with me." "And I came here for very nearly the same thing," went on Mr. Titus. "That is where the coincidence comes in. It is strange that we should both appeal to Mr. Swift at the same time." "Well, Tom's a valuable helper!" exclaimed Mr. Damon. "I know him of old, for I've been on many a trip with him." "This is the first time I have had the pleasure of meeting him," resumed the tunnel contractor, "but I have heard of him. I did not ask him to go to South America for us. I only wanted to get some superior explosive for my brother, who is in charge of driving the railroad tunnel through a spur of the Andes. I look after matters up North here, but I may have to go to Peru myself. "As I told Mr. Swift, I had read of his invention of the giant cannon and the special powder he used in it to send a projectile such a distance. The cannon is now mounted as one of the pieces of ordnance for the defense of the Panama Canal, is it not?" he asked Tom. The young inventor nodded in assent. "Having heard of you, and the wonderful explosive used in your big cannon," the contractor went on, "I wrote to my brother that I would try and get some for him. "You see," he resumed, "this is the situation. Back in the Andes Mountains, a couple of hundred miles east of Lima, the government is building a short railroad line to connect two others. If this is done it will mean that the products of Peru--quinine bark, coffee, cocoa, sugar, rubber, incense and gold can more easily be transported. But to connect the two railroad lines a big tunnel must be constructed. "My brother and I make a specialty of such work, and when we saw bids advertised for, our firm put in an estimate. There was some trouble with a rival firm, which also bid, but we secured the contract, and bound ourselves to have the tunnel finished within a certain time, or forfeit a large sum. "That was over a year ago. Since then our men, aided by the native Indians of Peru, have been tunneling the mountain, until, about a month back, we struck a snag." "What sort of snag?" Tom asked. "A snag in the shape of extra hard rock," replied the tunnel contractor. "Briefly, Paleozoic rocks make up the eastern part of the Andean Mountains in Peru, while the western range is formed of Mesozoic beds, volcanic ashes and lava of comparatively recent date. Near the coast the lower hills are composed of crystalline rocks, syenite and granite, with, here and there, a strata of sandstone or limestone. These are, undoubtedly, relics of the lower Cretaceous age, and we, or rather, my brother, states that he has found them covered with marine Tertiary deposits. "Now this Mesozoic band varies greatly. Porphyritic tuffs and massive limestone compose the western chain of the Andes above Lima, while in the Oroya Valley we find carbonaceous sandstones. Some of the tuffs may be of the Jurassic age, though the Cretaceous period is also largely represented. "Now while these different masses of rock formation offer hard enough problems to the tunnel digger, still we are more or less prepared to meet them, and we figured on a certain percentage of them. Up to the present time we have met with just about what we expected, but what we did not expect was something we came upon when the tunnel had been driven three miles into the mountain." "What did you find?" asked Tom, who knew enough about geology to understand the terms used. Mr. Damon did not, however, and when Mr. Titus rolled off some of the technical words, the drug investor softly murmured such expressions as "Bless my thermometer! Bless my porous plaster!" "We found," resumed Mr. Titus, "after we had bored for a considerable distance into the mountain, a mass of volcanic rock which is so hard that our best diamond drills are dulled in a short time, and the explosives we use merely shatter the face of the cutting, and give us hardly any progress at all. "It was after several trials, and when my brother found that he was making scarcely any progress, compared to the energy of his men and the blasting, that he wrote to me, explaining matters. I at once thought of you, Tom Swift, and your powerful explosive, for I had read about it. "Now then, will you sell us some of your powder--explosive or whatever you call it--Mr. Swift, or tell us where we can get it? We need it soon, for we are losing valuable time." Mr. Titus paused to draw on a piece of paper a rough map of Peru, and the district where the tunnel was being constructed. He showed where the two railroad lines were, and where the new route would bring them together, the tunnel eliminating a big grade up which it would have been impossible to haul trains of any weight. "What do you say, Mr. Swift?" the contractor concluded. "Will you let us have some of your powder? Or, better still, will you come to Peru yourself? That would suit us immensely, for you could be right on the ground. And you could carry out your plan of going with your friend here," and Mr. Titus nodded toward Mr. Damon. "That is, if you were thinking of going." "Well, I was thinking of it," Tom admitted. "Mr. Damon and I have been on so many trips together that it seems sort of natural for us to 'team it.' I have never been to Peru, and I should like to see the country. There is only one matter though, that bothers me." "What is it?" asked Mr. Titus quickly. "If it is a question of money dismiss it from your mind. The Peruvian government is paying a large sum for this tunnel, and we stand to make considerable, even if we were the lowest bidders. We can afford to pay you well--that is, we shall be able to if we can complete the bore on time. That is what is bothering me now--the unexpected strata of hard rock we have met with, which seems impossible to blast. But I feel sure we can do it with the explosive used in your giant cannon." "That is just the point!" Tom exclaimed. "I am not so sure my explosive would do." "Why not?" the tunnel contractor asked. "It's powerful enough; isn't it?" "Yes, it is powerful enough, but whether it will have the right effect on volcanic rock is hard to say. I should like to see a rock sample." "I can telegraph to have some sent here to you," said Mr. Titus eagerly. "Meantime, here is a description of it. I can read you that"; and, taking a letter from his pocket, he read to Tom a geological description of the hard rock. "Hum! Yes," mused Tom, as he listened. "It seems to be of the nature of obsidian." "Bless my watch chain!" cried Mr. Damon. "What's that?" "Obsidian is a volcanic rock--a sort of combination of glass and flint for hardness," Tom explained. "It is brittle, black in color, and the natives of the Admiralty Islands use it for tipping their spears with which they slay victims for their cannibalistic feasts." "Bless my--bless my ear-drums!" gasped Mr. Damon. "Cannibals!" "Obsidian was also used by the ancient Mexicans to make knives and daggers," Tom went on. "When Cortez conquered Mexico he found the priests cutting the hearts from their living victims with knives made from this volcanic glass-like rock, known as obsidian. It may be that your brother has met with a vein of that in the tunnel," Tom said to the contractor. "Possibly," admitted Mr. Titus. "In that case," Tom stated, "I may have to use a new kind of explosive. That used for my giant cannon would merely crumble the hard rock for a short distance." "Then will you accept the contract, and help us out?" asked Mr. Titus eagerly. "We will pay you well. Will you come to Peru and look over the ground?" "And kill two birds with one stone, and come with me also?" put in Mr. Damon. Tom pondered for a moment. He was about to answer when the tunnel contractor, who was looking from the library window, suddenly jumped from his chair crying: "There he is again! Once more dogging me!" As he rushed from the room, Tom and Mr. Damon had a glimpse of a face at one of the low library windows--a face that had an evil look. It disappeared as Mr. Titus ran from the room. Chapter IV Tom's Experiments "Bless my looking glass, Tom, what does that mean?" exclaimed Mr. Damon. "That face!" "I don't know," answered the young inventor. "But the sight of some one looking in here seemed to disturb Mr. Titus. We must follow him." "Perhaps he saw your giant Koku looking in," suggested the odd, little man who blessed everything he could think of. "The sight of his face, to any one not knowing him, Tom, would be enough to cause fright." "It wasn't Koku who looked in the window," said Tom, decidedly. "It was some stranger. Come on." The young inventor and Mr. Damon hurried out after the tunnel contractor, who was running down the road that led in front of the Swift homestead. "He's chasing some one, Tom," called Mr. Damon. "Yes, I see he is. But who?" "I can't see any one," reported Mr. Damon, who had run down to the gate, at which his horse was still standing. Mr. Damon had washed the dirt from his hands and face, and was wearing one of Mr. Swift's coats in place of his own split one. Tom joined the eccentric man and together they looked down the road after the running Mr. Titus. They were in half a mind to join him, when they saw him pull up short, raise his hands as though he had given over the pursuit, and turn back. "I guess he got away, whoever he was," remarked Tom. "We'll walk down and meet Mr. Titus, and ask him what it all means." Shortly afterward they came up to the contractor, who was breathing heavily after his run, for he was evidently not used to such exercise. "I beg your pardon, Tom Swift, for leaving you and Mr. Damon in such a fashion," said Mr. Titus, "but I had to act quickly or lose the chance of catching that rascal. As it was, he got away, but I think I gave him a scare, and he knows that I saw him. It will make him more cautious in the future." "Who was it?" asked Tom. "Well, I didn't have as close a look as I could have wished for," the contractor said, as he walked back toward the house with Tom and Mr. Damon, "but I'm pretty sure the face that peered in at us through the library window was that of Isaac Waddington." "And who is he, if it isn't asking information that ought not be given out?" inquired Mr. Damon. "Oh, no, certainly. I can tell you," said the contractor. "Only perhaps we had better wait until we get back to the house. "Since one of their men was seen lurking around here there may be others," went on Mr. Titus, when the three were once more seated in the Swift library. "It is best to be on the safe side. The face I saw, I'm sure, was that of Waddington, who is a tool of Blakeson & Grinder, rival tunnel contractors. They put in a bid on this Andes tunnel, but we were lower in our figures by several thousand dollars, and the contract was awarded to us. "Blakeson & Grinder tried, by every means in their power, to get the job away from us. They even invoked the aid of some Peruvian revolutionists and politicians, but we held our ground and began the work. Since then they have had spies and emissaries on our trail, trying their best to make us fail in our work, so the Peruvian officials might abrogate the contract and give it to them. "But, so far, we've managed to come out ahead. This Waddington is a sort of spy, and I've found him dodging me several times of late. I suppose he wants to find out my plans so as to be ready to jump in the breach in case we fail." "Do you think your rivals had anything to do with the difficulties you are now meeting with in digging the tunnel?" asked Mr. Damon. Mr. Titus shook his head. "The present difficulties are all of Nature's doing," he said. "It's just the abnormally hard rock that is bothering us. Only for that we'd be all right, though we might have petty difficulties because of the mean acts of Blakeson & Grinder. But I don't fear them." "How do you think this Waddington, if it was he, knew you were coming here?" asked Tom. "I can only guess. My brother and I have had some correspondence regarding you, Tom Swift. That is, I announced my intention of coming to see you, and my brother wrote me to use my discretion. I wrote back that I would consult you. "Our main office is in New York, where we employ a large clerical and expert force. There is nothing to prevent one of our stenographers, for instance, turning traitor and giving copies of the letters of my brother and myself to our rivals. "Mind you, I don't say this was done, and I don't suspect any of our employees, but it would be an easy matter for any one to know my plans. I never thought of making a secret of them, or of my trip here. In some way Waddington found out about the last, and he must have followed me here. Then he sneaked up under the window, and tried to hear what we said." "Do you think he did?" asked Tom. "I wouldn't be surprised. We took no pains to lower our voices. But, after all, he hasn't learned much that he didn't know before, if he knew I was coming here. He didn't learn the secret of the explosive that must be used, and that is the vital thing. For I defy him, or any other contractor, to blast that hard rock with any known explosive. We've tried every kind on the market and we've failed. We'll have to depend on you, Tom Swift, to help us out with some of your giant cannon powder." "And I'm not sure that will work," said the young inventor. "I think I'll have to experiment and make a new explosive, if I conclude to go to Peru." "Oh, you'll go all right!" declared Mr. Titus with a smile. "I can see that you are eager for the adventures I am sure you'll find there, and, besides, your friend here, Mr. Damon, needs you." "That's what I do, Tom!" exclaimed the odd man. "Bless my excursion ticket, but you must come!" "I'll have to invent the new powder first," Tom said. "That's what I like to hear!" exclaimed Mr. Titus. "It shows you are thinking of coming with us." Tom only smiled. "I am so anxious to get the proper explosive," went on Mr. Titus, "that I would even purchase it from our rivals, Blakeson & Grinder, if I thought they had it. But I'm sure they have not, though they may think they can get it. "That may be the reason they are following me so closely. They may want to know just when we will fail, and have to give up the contract, and they may think they can step in and finish the work. But I don't believe, without your help, Tom Swift, that they can blast that hard rock, and--" "Well, I'll say this," interrupted Tom, "first come, first served with me, other things being equal. You have applied to me and, like a lawyer, I won't go over to the other side now. I consider myself retained by your firm, Mr. Titus, to invent some sort of explosive, and if I am successful I shall expect to be paid." "Oh, of course!" cried the contractor eagerly. "Very good," Tom went on. "You needn't fear that I'll help the other fellows. Now to get down to business. I must see some samples of this rock in order to know what kind of explosive force is needed to rend it." "I have some in New York," went on the contractor. "I'll have it sent to you at once. I would have brought it, only it is too heavy to carry easily, and I was not sure I could engage you." "Did that fellow--Waddington, I believe you called him--get away from you?" asked Mr. Damon. "Clean away," the contractor answered. "He was a better runner than I." "It doesn't matter much," Tom said. "He didn't hear anything that would benefit him, and I'll give my men orders to be on the lookout for him. What sort of fellow is he, Mr. Titus?" The contractor described the eavesdropper, and Mr. Damon exclaimed: "Bless my turkey wish-bone! I'm sure I passed that chap when I was riding over to see you a while ago, Tom." "You did?" "Yes, on the highway. He inquired the way to your place. But there was nothing strange in that, since you employ a number of men, and I thought this one was coming to look for work. I can't say I liked his appearance, though." "No, he isn't a very prepossessing individual," commented Mr. Titus. "Well, now what's the first thing to be done, Tom Swift?" "Get me some samples of the rock, so I can begin my experiments." "I'll do that. And now let us consider about going to Peru. For I'm sure you will be successful in your experiments, and will find for us just the powder or explosive we need." "We can go together." said Mr. Damon. "I shall certainly feel more at home in that wild country if I know Tom Swift is with me, and I will appreciate the help of you and your friends, Mr. Titus, in straightening out the tangles of our drug business." "I'll do all I can for you, Mr. Damon." The three then talked at some length regarding possible plans. Tom sent out word to one of his men to keep a sharp watch around the house and grounds, against the possible return of Waddington, but nothing more was seen of him, at least for the time being. Mr. Titus drew up a sort of tentative agreement with Tom, binding his firm to pay a large sum in case the young inventor was successful, and then the contractor left, promising to have the rock samples come on later by express. Mr. Damon, after blessing a few dozen more or less impersonal objects, took his departure, his fractious horse having quieted down in the meanwhile, and Tom was left to himself. "I wonder what I've let myself in for now," the youth mused, as he went back to his laboratory. "It's a new field for me--tunnel blasting. Well, perhaps something may come of it." But of the strange adventure that was to follow his agreement to help Mr. Titus, our hero, Tom Swift, had not the least inkling. Tom went back to his labors over the gyroscope problem, but he could arrive at no satisfactory conclusion, and, tossing aside the papers, covered with intricate figures, he exclaimed: "Oh, I'm going for a walk! This thing is getting on my nerves." He strolled through the Shopton streets, and as he reached the outskirts of the town, he saw just ahead of him the figure of a girl. Tom quickened his pace, and presently was beside her. "Where are you going, Mary?" he asked. "Oh, Tom! How you startled me!" she exclaimed, turning around. "I was just thinking of you." "Thanks! Something nice?" "I shan't tell you!" and she blushed. "But where are you going?" "Walking with you!" Tom was nothing if not bold. "Hadn't you better wait until you're asked?" she retorted, mischievously. "If I did I might not get an invitation. So I'm going to invite myself, and then I'm going to invite you in here to have an ice cream soda," and he and Miss Nestor were soon seated at a table in a candy shop. Tom had nearly finished his ice cream when he glanced toward the door, and started at the sight of a man who was entering the place. "What's the matter?" asked Mary. "Did you drop some ice cream, Tom?" "No, Mary. But that man--" Mary turned in time to see an excited man hurry out of the candy shop after a hasty glance at Tom Swift. "Who was he?" the girl asked. "I--er--oh, some one I thought I knew, but I guess I don't," said Tom, quickly. "Have some more cream, Mary?" "No, thank you. Not now." Tom was glad she did not care for any, as he was anxious to get outside, and have a look at the man, for he thought he had recognized the face as the same that had peered in his window. But when he and Miss Nestor reached the front of the shop the strange man was not in sight. "I guess he came in to cool off after his run," mused Tom, "but when he saw me he didn't care about it. I wonder if that was Waddington? He's a persistent individual if it was he." "Are you undertaking any new adventures, Tom?" asked Mary. "Well, I'm thinking of going to Peru." "Peru!" she cried. "Oh, what a long way to go! And when you get there will you write to me? I'm collecting stamps, and I haven't any from Peru." "Is that--er--the only reason you want me to write?" asked Tom. "No," said Mary softly, as she ran up the walk. Tom smiled as he turned away. Three days later he received a box from New York. It contained the samples from the Andes tunnel, and Tom at once began his experiments to discover a suitable explosive for rending the hard stone. "It is compressed molten lava," said Mr. Swift. "You'll never get an explosive that will successfully blast that, Tom." "We'll see," declared the young inventor. Chapter V Mary's Present Outside a rudely-constructed shack, in the middle of a large field, about a mile away from the nearest of the buildings owned by Tom Swift and his father, were gathered a group of figures one morning. From the shack, trailing over the ground, were two insulated wires, which led to a pile of rocks and earth some distance off. Out of the temporary building came Koku, the giant, bearing in his arms a big rock, of peculiar formation. "That's it, Koku!" exclaimed Tom Swift. "Now don't drop it on your toes." "No, Master, me no drop," the giant said, as he strode off with the heavy load as easily as a boy might carry a stone for his sling-shot. Koku placed the big rock on top of the pile of dirt and stones and came back to the hut, just as Eradicate, the colored man-of-all-work, emerged. Koku was not looking ahead, and ran into Eradicate with such force that the latter would have fallen had not the giant clasped his big arms about him. "Heah now! Whut yo' all doin' t' me?" angrily demanded Eradicate. "Yo' done gone an' knocked de breff outen me, dat's whut yo' all done! I'll bash yo' wif a rock, dat's what I'll do!" Koku, laughing, tried to explain that it was all an accident, but Eradicate would not listen. He looked about for a stone to throw at the giant, though it was doubtful, with his feeble strength, and considering the great frame of the big man, if any damage would have been done. But Eradicate saw no rocks nearer than the pile in which ended the two insulated wires, and, with mutterings, the negro set off in that direction, shuffling along on his rheumatic legs. From the shack Tom Swift hailed: "Hi there, Rad! Come back! Where are you going?" "I'se gwine t' git a rock, Massa Tom, an' bash de haid ob dat big lummox ob a giant! He done knocked de breff outen me, so he did." "You come back from that stone pile!" Tom ordered. "I'm going to blow it up in a minute, and if you get too near you'll have the breath knocked out of you worse than Koku did it. Come back, I say!" But Eradicate was obstinate and kept on. Tom, who was adjusting a firing battery in the shack, laughed, and then in exasperation cried: "Koku, go and get him and bring him back. Carry him if he won't come any other way. I don't want the dear old chump to get the fright of his life, and he sure will if he goes too close. Bring him back!" "Koku bring, Master," was the giant's answer. He ran toward Eradicate, who, seeing his tormentor approaching, redoubled his shuffling pace toward the stone pile. But he was no match for the giant, who, ignoring his struggles, picked up Eradicate, and, flinging him over his shoulder like a sack of meal, brought him to the shack. "There him be, Master!" said the giant. "So I see," laughed Tom. "Now you stay here, Rad." "No, sah! No, sah, Massa Tom! I--I'se gwine t' git a rock an'--an' bash his haid--dat's what I'se gwine t' do!" and the colored man tried to struggle to his feet. "Look out now!" cried Tom, suddenly. "If things go right there won't be a rock left for you to 'bash' anybody's head with, Rad. Look out!" The three cowered inside the shack, which, though it was rudely made, was built of heavy logs and planks, with a fronting of sod and bags of sand. Tom turned a switch. There was a loud report, and where the stone pile had been there was a big hole in the ground, while the air was filled with fragments of rock and dirt. These came down in a shower on the roof of the shack, and Eradicate covered his ears with his trembling hands. "Am--am de world comin' to de end, Massa Tom?" he asked. "Am dat Gabriel's trump I done heah?" "No, you dear old goose!" laughed the young inventor. "That was just a charge of my new explosive--a small charge, too. But it seems to have done the work." He ran from the shack to the place where the rock pile had been, and picked up several small fragments. "Busted all to pieces!" exulted Tom Swift. "Not a piece left as big as a hickory nut. That's going some! I've got the right mixture at last. If an ounce did that, a few hundred pounds ought to knock that Andes tunnel through the mountain in no time. I'll telegraph to Mr. Titus." Leaving Koku and Rad to collect the wires and firing apparatus, there being no danger now, as no explosive was left in the shack, Tom made his way back to the house. His father met him. "Well, Tom," he asked, "another failure?" "No, Dad! Success! This time I turned the trick. I seem to have gotten just the right mixture. Look, these are some of the pieces left from the big rock--one of the samples Mr. Titus sent me. It was all cracked up as small as this," and he held out the fragments he had picked up in the field. Mr. Swift regarded them for a few moments. "That's better, Tom," he said. "I didn't think you could get an explosive that would successfully shatter that hard rock, but you seem to have done it. Have you the formula all worked out?" "All worked out, Dad. I only made a small quantity, but the same proportions will hold good for the larger amounts. I'm going to start in and make it now. And then--Ho! for Peru!" Tom struck an attitude, such as some old discoverer might have assumed, and then he hurried into the house to telephone a telegram to the Shopton office. The message was to Mr. Titus, and read: "Explosive success. Start making it at once. Ready for Peru in month's time." "Thirteen words," repeated Tom, as the operator called them back to him. "I hope that doesn't mean bad luck." The experiment which Tom Swift had just brought to a successful conclusion was one of many he had conducted, extending over several wearying weeks. As soon as Tom had received the samples of the rock he had begun to experiment. First he tried some of the explosive that was so successful in the giant cannon. As he had feared, it was not what was needed. It cracked the rock, but did not disintegrate it, and that was what was needed. The hard rock must be broken up into fragments that could be easily handled. Merely to crack it necessitated further explosions, which would only serve to split it more and perhaps wedge it fast in the tunnel. So Tom tried different mixtures, using various chemicals, but none seemed to be just right. The trials were not without danger, either. Once, in mixing some ingredients, there was an explosion that injured one man, and blew Tom some distance away. Fortunately for him, there was an open window in the direction in which he was propelled, and he went through that, escaping with only some cuts and bruises. Another time there was a hang-fire, and the explosive burned instead of detonating, so that one of the shops caught, and there was no little work in subduing the flames. But Tom would not give up, and finally, after many trials, he hit on what he felt to be the right mixture. This he took out to the big lot, and having made a miniature tunnel with some of the sample rock, and having put some of the explosive in a hole bored in the big chunk Koku carried, Tom fired the charge. The result we have seen. It was a success. A day after receiving Tom's message Mr. Titus came on and a demonstration was given of the powerful explosive. "Tom, that's great!" cried the tunnel contractor. "Our troubles are at an end now." But, had he known it, new ones were only just beginning. Tom at once began preparations for making the explosive on a large scale, as much of it would be needed in the Andes tunnel. Then, having turned the manufacturing end of it over to his men, Tom began his preparations for going to Peru. Mr. Damon was also getting ready, and it was arranged that he, with Tom and Mr. Titus, should take a vessel from San Francisco, crossing the continent by train. The supply of explosive would follow them by special freight. "We might have gone by Panama except for the slide in the canal," Tom said. "And I suppose I could take you across the continent in my airship, Mr. Titus, if you object to railroad travel." "No, thank you, Tom. If it's just the same to you, I'd rather stay on the ground," the contractor said. "I'm more used to it." A day or so before the start for San Francisco was to be made, Tom, passing a store in Shopton, saw something in the window he thought Mary Nestor would like. It was a mahogany work-box, of unique design, beautifully decorated, and Tom purchased it. "Shall I have it sent?" asked the clerk. "No, thank you," Tom answered. He knew the young lady who had waited on him, and, for reasons of his own, he did not want her to know that Mary was to get the box. Carrying the present to his laboratory, Tom prepared to wrap it up suitably to send to Mary, with a note. Just, however, as he was looking for a box suitable to contain the gift, he received a summons to the telephone. Mr. Titus, in New York, wanted to speak to him. "Here, Rad!" Tom called. "Just box this up for me, like a good fellow, and then take it to Miss Nestor at this address; will you?" and Tom handed his man the addressed letter he had written to Mary. "Be careful of it," Tom cautioned. "Oh, I'll be careful, Massa Tom," was the reply. "I'll shore be careful." And Eradicate was--all too careful. Chapter VI Mr. Nestor's Letter "Got t' git a good strong box fo' dish yeah," murmured Eradicate, as he looked at the beautiful mahogany present Tom had turned over to him to take to Mary. "Mah Landy! Dat suttinly am nice; Ah! Um! Jest laik some ob de old mahogany furniture dat was in our fambily down Souf." Eradicate did not mean his family, exactly, but the one in which he had been a slave. "Yassum, dat shore am nice!" he went on, talking to himself as he admired the present. "I shore got t' put dat in a good box! An' dish year note, too. Let's see what it done say on de outside." Eradicate held the envelope carefully upside down, and read--or rather pretended to read--the name and address. Eradicate knew well enough where Mary lived, for this was not the first time he had gone there with messages from his young master. "Massa Tom shore am a fine writer," mused the negro, as he slowly turned the envelope around. "I cain't read nobody's writin' but hisen, nohow." Had Eradicate been strictly honest with himself, he would have confessed that he could not read any writing, or printing either. His education had been very limited, but one could show him, say, a printed sign and tell him it read "Danger" or "Five miles to Branchville," or anything like that, and the next time he saw it, Eradicate would know what that sign said. He seemed to fix a picture of it in his mind, though the letters and figures by themselves meant nothing to him. So when Tom told him the envelope contained the name and address of Miss Nestor, Eradicate needed nothing more. He rummaged about in some odds and ends in the corner of the laboratory, and brought out a strong, wooden box, which had a cover that screwed down. "Dat'll be de ticket!" Eradicate exclaimed. "De mahogany present will jest fit." Eradicate took some excelsior to pad the box, and then, dropping inside it the gift, already wrapped in tissue paper, he proceeded to screw on the cover. There was something printed in red letters on the outside box, but Eradicate could not read, so it did not trouble him. "Dat Miss Nestor shore will laik her present," he murmured. "An' I'll be mighty keerful ob it' laik Massa Tom tole me. He wouldn't trust dat big lummox Koku wif anyt'ing laik dis." Screwing on the cover, and putting a piece of wrapping paper outside the rough, wooden box, with the letter in his hand, Eradicate, full of his own importance, set off for Miss Nestor's house. Tom had not returned from the telephone, over which he was talking to Mr. Titus. The message was an important one. The contractor said he had received word from his brother in Peru that his presence was urgently needed there. "Could you arrange to get off sooner than we planned, Tom?" asked Mr. Titus. "I am afraid something has happened down there. Have you sent the first shipment of explosive?" "Yes, that went three days ago. It ought to arrive at Lima soon after we do. Why yes, I can start to-night if we have to. I'll find out if Mr. Damon can be with us on such short notice." "I wish you would," came from Mr. Titus. "And say, Tom, do you think you could take that giant Koku with you?" "Why?" "Well, I think he'd come in handy. There are some pretty rough characters in those Andes Mountains, and your big friend might be useful." "All right. I was thinking of it, anyhow. Glad you mentioned it. Now I'll call up Mr. Damon, and I'll let you know, in an hour or so, if he can make it." "Bless my hair brush, yes, Tom!" exclaimed the eccentric man, when told of the change in plans. "I can leave to-night as well as not." Word to this effect was sent on to Mr. Titus, and then began some hurrying on the part of Tom Swift. He told Koku to get ready to leave for New York at once, where he and the giant would join Mr. Titus and Mr. Damon, and start across the continent to take for steamer for Lima, Peru. "Rad, did you send that present to Miss Nestor?" asked Tom, later, as he finished packing his grip. "Yas, sah. I done did it. Took it mase'f!" "That's good! I guess I'll have to say good-bye to Mary over the telephone. I won't have time to call. I'm glad I thought of the present." Tom got the Nestor house on the wire. But Mary was not in. "There's a package here for her," said the girl's mother. "Did you--?" "Yes, I sent that," Tom said. "Sorry I won't be able to call and say good-bye, but I'm in a terrible rush. I'll see her as soon as I get back, and I'll write as soon as I arrive." "Do," urged Mrs. Nestor. "We'll all be glad to hear from you," for Tom and Mary were tentatively engaged to be married. Tom and Koku went on with their hurried preparations to leave for New York. Eradicate begged to be taken along, but Tom gently told the faithful old servant that it was out of the question. "Besides, Rad," he said, "it's dangerous in those Andes Mountains. Why, they have birds there, as big as cows, and they can swoop down and carry off a man your size." "Am dat shorely so, Massa Tom?" "Of course it is! You get the dictionary and read about the condors of the Andes Mountains." "Dat's what I'll do, Massa Tom. Birds as big as cows what kin pick up a man in dere beaks, an' carry him off! Oh, my! No, sah, Massa Tom! I don't want t' go. I'll stay right yeah!" Shortly before Tom and Koku departed for the railroad station, where they were to take a train for New York, Mary Nestor returned home. "Tom called you on the telephone to say good-bye," her mother informed her, "and said he was sorry he could not see you. But he sent some sort of gift." "Oh, how sweet of him!" Mary exclaimed. "Where is it?" "On the dining room table. Eradicate brought it with a note." Mary read the note first. In it Tom begged Mary to accept the little token, and to think of him when she used it. "Oh! I wonder what it can be," she cried in delight. "Better open it and see," advised Mr. Nestor, who had come in at that moment. Mary cut the string of the outside paper, and folded back the wrapper. A wooden box was exposed to view, a solid, oblong, wooden box, and on the top, in bold, red letters Mary, her father and her mother read: DYNAMITE! HANDLE WITH CARE! "Oh! Oh!" murmured Mrs. Nestor. "Dynamite! Handle with care!" repeated Mr. Nestor, in a sort of dazed voice. "Quick! Get a pail of water! Dump it in the bathtub! Soak it good, and then telephone for the police. Dynamite! What does this mean?" He rushed toward the kitchen, evidently with the intention of getting a pail of water, but Mary clasped him by the arm. "Father!" she exclaimed. "Don't get so excited!" "Excited!" he cried. "Who's excited? Dynamite! We'll all be blown up! This is some plot! I don't believe Tom sent this at all! Look out! Call the police! Excited! Who's getting excited?" "You are, Daddy dear!" said Mary calmly. "This is some mistake. Tom did send this--I know his writing. And wasn't it Eradicate who brought this package, Mother?" "Yes, my dear. But your father is right. Let him put it in water, then it will be safe. Oh, we'll all be blown up. Get the water!" "No!" cried Mary. "There is some mistake. Tom wouldn't send me dynamite. There must be a present for me in there. Tom must have put it in the wrong box by mistake. I'm going to open it." Mary's calmness had its effect on her parents. Mr. Nestor cooled down, as did his wife, and a closer examination of the outer box did not seem to show that it was an infernal machine of any kind. "It's all a mistake, Daddy," Mary said. "I'll show you. Get me a screw driver." After some delay one was found, and Mr. Nestor himself opened the box. When the tissue paper wrappings of the mahogany gift were revealed he gave a sigh of relief, and when Mary undid the wrappings, and saw what Tom had sent her, she cried: "Oh, how perfectly dear! Just what I wanted! I wonder how he knew? Oh, I just love it!" and she hugged the beautiful box in her arms. "Humph!" exclaimed Mr. Nestor, a slowly gathering light of anger showing in his eyes. "It is a nice present, but that is a very poor sort of joke to play, in my estimation." "Joke! What joke?" asked Mary. "Putting a present in a box labeled Dynamite, and giving us such a scare," went on her father. "Oh, Father, I'm sure he didn't mean to do it!" Mary said, earnestly. "Well, maybe he didn't! He may have thought it a joke, and he may not have! But, at any rate, it was a piece of gross carelessness on his part, and I don't care to consider for a son-in-law a young man as careless as that!" "Oh, Daddy!" expostulated Mary. "Now, now! Tut, tut!" exclaimed Mr. Nestor. "It isn't your fault, Mary, but this Tom Swift must be taught a lesson. He was careless, if nothing worse, and, for all he knew, there might have been some stray bits of dynamite in that packing box. It won't do! It won't do! I'll write him a letter, and give him a piece of my mind!" And in spite of all his wife and his daughter could say, Mr. Nestor did write Tom a scathing letter. He accused him of either perpetrating a joke, or of being careless, or both, and he intimated that the less he saw of Tom at the Nestor home hereafter the better pleased he would be. "There! I guess that will make him wish he hadn't done it!" exclaimed Mr. Nestor, as he called a messenger and sent the letter to Tom's house. Mary and her mother did not know the contents of the note, but Mary tried to get Tom on the wire and explain. However, she was unable to reach him, as Tom was on the point of leaving. The messenger, with Mr. Nestor's letter, arrived just as our hero was receiving the late afternoon mail from the postman, and just as Tom and Koku were getting in an automobile to leave for the depot. "Good-bye, Dad!" Tom called. "Good-bye, Mrs. Baggert!" He thrust Mr. Nestor's letter, unopened, together with some other mail matter, which he took to be merely circulars, into an inner pocket, and jumped into the car. Tom and Koku were off on the first stage of their journey. Chapter VII Off for Peru "Well, Tom Swift, you're on time I see," was Mr. Job Titus' greeting, when our hero, and Koku, the giant, alighted from a taxicab in New York, in front of the hotel the contractor had appointed as a meeting place. "Yes, I'm here." "Did you have a good trip?" "Oh, all right, yes. Nothing happened to speak of, though we were delayed by a freight wreck. Has Mr. Damon got here yet?" "Not yet, Tom. But I had a message saying he was on his way. Come on up to the rooms I have engaged. Hello, what's all the crowd here for?" asked the contractor in some surprise, for a throng had gathered at the hotel entrance. "I expect it's Koku they're staring at," announced Tom, and the giant it was who had attracted the attention. He was carrying his own big valise, and a small steamer trunk belonging to Tom, as easily as though they weighed nothing, the trunk being under one arm. "I guess they don't see men of his size outside of circuses," commented the contractor. "We can pretty nearly, though not quite match him, down in Peru though, Tom. Some of the Indians are big fellows." "We'll get up a wrestling match between one of them and Koku," suggested Tom. "Come on!" he called to the giant, who was surrounded by a crowd. Koku pushed his way through as easily as a bull might make his way through a throng of puppies about his heels, and as Tom, Mr. Titus and the giant were entering the hotel corridor, the chauffeur of the taxicab called out with a laugh: "I say, boss, don't you think you ought to pay double rates on that chap," and he nodded in the direction of the giant. "That's right!" added some one in the crowd with a laugh. "He might have broken the springs." "All right," assented Tom, good-naturedly, tossing the chauffeur a coin. "Here you are, have a cigar on the giant." There was more laughter, and even Koku grinned, though it is doubtful if he knew what about, for he could not understand much unless Tom spoke to him in a sort of code they had arranged between them. "Sorry to have hastened your departure," began Mr. Titus when he and Tom sat in the comfortable hotel rooms, while Koku stood at a window, looking out at what to him were the marvelous wonders of the New York streets. "It didn't make any difference," replied the young inventor. "I was about ready to come anyhow. I just had to hustle a little," and he thought of how he had had to send Mary's present to her instead of taking it himself. As yet he was all unaware of the commotion it had caused. "Did you get the powder shipment off all right?" "Yes, and it will be there almost as soon as we. Other shipments will follow as we need them. My father will see to that." "I'm glad you hit on the right kind of powder," went on the contractor. "I guess I didn't make any mistake in coming to you, Tom." "Well, I hope not. Of course the explosive worked all right in experimental charges with samples of the tunnel rock. It remains to be seen what it will do under actual conditions, and in big service charges." "Oh, I've no doubt it will work all right." "What time do we leave here?" Tom asked. "At two-thirty this afternoon. We have just time to get a good dinner and have our baggage transferred to the Chicago limited. In less than a week we ought to be in San Francisco and aboard the steamer. I hope Mr. Damon arrives on time." "Oh, you can generally depend on him," said Tom. "I telephoned him, just before I started from Shopton, and he said--" "Bless my carpet slippers!" cried a voice outside the hotel apartment. "But I can find my way all right. I know the number of the room. No! you needn't take my bag. I can carry it my self!" "There he is!" laughed Tom, opening the door to disclose the eccentric gentleman himself, struggling to keep possession of his valise against the importunities of a bellboy. "Ah, Tom--Mr. Titus! Glad to see you!" exclaimed Mr. Damon. "I--I am a little late, I fear--had an accident--wait until I get my breath," and he sank, panting, into a chair. "Accident?" cried Tom. "Are you--?" "Yes--my taxicab ran into another. Nobody hurt though." "But you're all out of breath," said Mr. Titus. "Did you run?" "No, but I walked upstairs." "What! Seven flights?" exclaimed Tom. "Weren't the hotel elevators running?" "Yes, but I don't like them. I'd rather walk. And I did--carried my valise--bellboy tried to take it away from me every step--here you are, son--it wasn't the tip I was trying to get out of," and he tossed the waiting and grinning lad a quarter. "There, I'm better now," went on Mr. Damon, when Tom had given him a glass of water. "Bless my paper weight! The drug concern will have to vote me an extra dividend for what I've gone through. Well, I'm here, anyhow. How is everything?" "Fine!" cried Tom. "We'll soon be off for Peru!" They talked over plans and made sure nothing had been forgotten. Their railroad tickets had been secured by Mr. Titus so there was nothing more to do save wait for train-time. "I've never been to Peru," Tom remarked shortly before lunch. "What sort of country is it?" "Quite a wonderful country," Mr. Titus answered. "I have been very much interested in it since my brother and I accepted this tunnel contract. Peru seems to have taken its name from Peru, a small river on the west coast of Colombia, where Pizarro landed. The country, geographically, may be divided into three sections longitudinally. The coast region is a sandy desert, with here and there rivers flowing through fertile valleys. The sierra region is the Andes division, about two hundred and fifty miles in width." "Is that where we're going?" asked Tom. "Yes. And beyond the Andes (which in Peru consist of great chains of mountains, some very high, interspersed with table lands, rich plains and valleys) there is the montana region of tropical forests, running down to the valley of the Amazon. "That sounds interesting," commented Mr. Damon. "It is interesting," declared Mr. Titus. "For it is from this tropical region that your quinine comes, Mr. Damon, though you may not have to go there to straighten out your affairs. I think you can do better bargaining with the officials in Lima, or near there." "Are there any wild animals in Peru?" Tom inquired. "Well, not many. Of course there are the llamas and alpacas, which are the beasts of burden--almost like little camels you might say, though much more gentle. Then there is the wild vicuna, the fleece of which is made into a sort of wool, after which a certain kind of cloth is named. "Then there is the taruco, a kind of deer, the viscacha, which is a big rat, the otoc, a sort of wild dog, or fox, and the ucumari, a black bear with a white nose. This bear is often found on lofty mountain tops, but only when driven there in search of food. "The condors, of course, are big birds of prey in the Andes. You must have read about them; how they seem to lie in the upper regions of the air, motionless, until suddenly they catch sight of some dead animal far down below when they sweep toward it with the swiftness of the wink. There is another bird of the vulture variety, with wings of black and white feathers. The ancient Incas used to decorate their head dresses with these wing feathers." "Well, I'm glad I'm going to Peru," said Tom. "I never knew it was such an interesting country. But I don't suppose we'll have time to see much of it." "Oh, I think you will," commented Mr. Titus. "We don't always have to work on the tunnel. There are numerous holidays, or holy-days, which our Indian workers take off, and we can do nothing without them. I'll see that you have a chance to do some exploring if you wish." "Good!" exclaimed Tom. "I brought my electric rifle with me, and I may get a chance to pop over one of those bears with a white nose. Are they good to eat?" "The Indians eat them, I believe, when they can get them, but I wouldn't fancy the meat," said the contractor. Luncheon over, the three travelers departed with their baggage for the Chicago Limited, which left from the Pennsylvania Station at Twenty-third Street. As usual, Koku attracted much attention because of his size. The trip to San Francisco was without incident worth narrating and in due time our friends reached the Golden Gate where they were to go aboard their steamer. They had to wait a day, during which time Tom and Mr. Titus made inquiries regarding the first powder shipment. They had had unexpected good luck, for the explosive, having been sent on ahead by fast freight, was awaiting them. "So we can take it with us on the Bellaconda," said, Tom, naming the vessel on which they were to sail. The powder was safely stowed away, and our friends having brought their baggage aboard, putting what was wanted on the voyage in their staterooms, went out on deck to watch the lines being cast off. A bell clanged and an officer cried: "All ashore that's going ashore!" There were hasty good-byes, a scramble on the part of those who had come to bid friends farewell, and preparations were made to haul in the gangplank. Just as the tugs were slowly pushing against the Bellaconda to get her in motion to move her away from the wharf, there was a shout down the pier and a taxicab, driven at reckless speed, dashed up. "Wait a minute! Hold that gangway. I have a passenger for you!" cried the chauffeur. He pulled up with a screeching of brakes, and a man with a heavy black beard fairly leaped from the vehicle, running toward the plank which was all but cast off. "My fare! My fare!" yelled the taxicab driver. "Take it out of that! Keep the change!" cried the bearded man over his shoulder, tossing a crumpled bill to the chauffeur. And then, clutching his valise in a firm hand, the belated passenger rushed up the gangplank just in time to board the steamer which was moving away from the dock. "Close shave--that," observed Tom. "That's right," assented Mr. Titus. "Well, we're off for Peru!" exclaimed Mr. Damon, as the vessel moved down the bay. Chapter VIII The Bearded Man Travel to Tom and Mr. Damon presented no novelties. They had been on too many voyages over the sea, under the sea and even in the air above the sea to find anything unusual in merely taking a trip on a steamer. Mr. Titus, though he admitted he had never been in a submarine or airship, had done considerable traveling about the world in his time, and had visited many countries, either for business or pleasure, so he was an old hand at it. But to Koku, who, since he had been brought from the land where Tom Swift had been made captive, had gone about but little, everything was novel, and he did not know at what to look first. The giant was interested in the ship, in the water, in the passengers, in the crew and in the sights to be seen as they progressed down the harbor. And the big man himself was a source of wonder to all save his own party. Everywhere he went about the decks, or below, he was followed by a staring but respectful crowd. Koku took it all good-naturedly, however, and even consented to show his great strength by lifting heavy weights. Once when several sailors were shifting one of the smaller anchors (a sufficiently heavy one for all that) Koku pushed them aside with a sweep of his big arm, and, picking up the big "hook," turned to the second mate and asked: "Where you want him?" "Good land, man!" cried the astonished officer. "You'll kill yourself!" But Koku carried the anchor where it ought to go, and from then on he was looked up to with awe and admiration by the sailors. From San Francisco to Callao, Peru (the latter city being the seaport of Lima, which is situated inland), is approximately nine hundred miles. But as the Bellaconda was a coasting steamer, and would make several stops on her trip, it would be more than a week before our friends would land at Callao, then to proceed to Lima, where they expected to remain a day or so before striking into the interior to where the tunnel was being bored through the mountain. The first day was spent in getting settled, becoming used to their new surroundings, finding their places and neighbors at table, and in making acquaintances. There were some interesting men and women aboard the Bellaconda, and Tom Swift, Mr. Damon and Mr. Titus soon made friends with them. This usually came about through the medium of Koku, the giant. Persons seeing him would inquire about him, and when they learned he was Tom Swift's helper it was an easy topic with which to open conversation. Tom told, modestly enough, how he had come to get Koku in his escape from captivity, but Mr. Damon was not so simple in describing Tom's feats, so that before many days had passed our hero found himself regarded as a personage of considerable importance, which was not at all to his liking. "But bless my fountain pen!" cried Mr. Damon, when Tom objected to so much notoriety. "You did it all; didn't you?" "Yes, I know. But these people won't believe it." "Oh, yes they will!" said the odd man. "I'll take good care that they believe it." "If any one say it not so, you tell me!" broke Koku, shaking his huge fist. "No, I guess I'd better keep still," said Tom, with a laugh. The weather was pleasant, if we except a shower or two, and as the vessel proceeded south, tropical clothing became the order of the day, while all who could, spent most of their time on deck under the shade of awnings. "Did you ever hear anything more of that fellow, Waddington?" asked Tom of Mr. Titus one day. "Not a thing. He seems to have dropped out of sight." "And are your rivals, Blakeson & Grinder, making any trouble?" "Not that I've heard of. Though just what the situation may be down in Peru I don't know. I fancy everything isn't going just right or my brother would not be so anxious for me to come on in such a hurry." "Do you anticipate any real trouble?" Mr. Titus paused a moment before answering. "Well, yes," he said, finally, "I do!" "What sort?" asked Tom. "That I can't say. I'll be perfectly frank with you, Tom. You know I told you at the time that we were in for difficulties. I didn't want you to go into this thing blindly." "Oh, I'm not afraid of trouble," Tom hastened to assure his friend. "I've had more or less of it in my life, and I'm willing to meet it again. Only I like to know what kind it is." "Well, I can't tell you--exactly," went on the tunnel contractor. "Those rivals of ours, Blakeson & Grinder, are unscrupulous fellows. They feel very bitter about not getting the contract, I hear. And they would be only too glad to have us fail in the work. That would mean that they, as the next lowest bidders, would be given the job. And we would have to make up the difference out of our pockets, as well as lose all the work we have, so far, put on the tunnel." "And you don't want that to happen!" "I guess not, my boy! Well, it won't happen if we get there in time with this new explosive of yours. That will do the business I'm sure." "I hope so," murmured Tom. "Well, we'll soon see. And now I think I'll go and write a few letters. We are going to put in at Panama, and I can mail them there." Tom started for his stateroom, and rapidly put his hand in the inner pocket of his coat. He drew out a bundle of letters and papers, and, as he looked at them, a cry of astonishment came from his lips. "What's the matter?" asked Mr. Titus. "Matter!" cried Tom. "Why here's a letter from Mary--from Mr. Nestor," he went on, as he scanned the familiar handwriting. "I never opened it! Let's see--when did I get that?" His memory went back to the day of his departure from Shopton when he had sent Mary the gift, and he recalled that the letter had arrived just as he was getting into the automobile. "I stuck it in my pocket with some other mail," he mused, "and I never thought of it again until just now. But this is the first time I've worn this coat since that day. A letter from Mr. Nestor! Probably Mary wrote, thanking me for the box, and her father addressed the envelope for her. Well, let's see what it says." Tom retired to the privacy of his stateroom to read the note, but he had not glanced over more than the first half of it before he cried out: "Dynamite! Great Scott! What does this mean? 'Gross carelessness! Poor idea of a joke! No person with your idea of responsibility will ever be my son-in-law!' Box labeled 'open with care!' Why--why--what does it all mean?" Tom read the letter over again, and his murmurs of astonishment were so loud that Mr. Damon, in the next room, called out: "What's the matter, Tom? Get bad news?" "Bad news? I should say so! Mary--her father--he forbids me to see her again. Says I tried to dynamite them all--or at least scare them into believing I was going to. I can't understand it!" "Tell me about it, Tom," suggested Mr. Damon, coming into Tom's stateroom. "Bless my gunpowder keg! what does it mean?" Thereupon Tom told of having purchased the gift for Mary, and of having, at the last minute, told Eradicate to put it in a box and deliver it at the Nestor home. "Which he evidently did," Tom went on, "but when it got there Mary's present was in a box labeled 'Dynamite. Handle with care.' I never sent that." Mr. Damon read over Mr. Nestor's letter which had lain so long in Tom's pocket unopened. "I think I see how it happened," said the old man. "Eradicate can't read; can he, Tom?" "No, but he pretends he can." "And did you have any empty boxes marked dynamite in your laboratory?" "Why yes, I believe I did. I used dynamite as one of the ingredients of my new explosive." "Well then, it's as clear as daylight. Eradicate, being unable to read, took one of the empty dynamite boxes in which to pack Mary's present. That's how it happened." Tom thought for a moment. Then he burst into a laugh. "That's it," he said, a bit ruefully. "That's the explanation. No wonder Mr. Nestor was roiled. He thought I was playing a joke. I'll have to explain. But how?" "By letter," said Mr. Damon. "Too slow. I'll send a wireless," decided Tom, and he began the composition of a message that cost him considerable in tolls before he had hit on the explanation that suited him. "That ought to clear the atmosphere," he said when the wireless had shot his message into the ether. "Whew! And to think, all this while, Mary and her folks have believed that I tried to play a miserable joke on them! My! My! I wonder if they'll ever forgive me. When I get hold of Eradicate--" "Better teach him to read if he's going to do up love packages," interrupted Mr. Damon, dryly. "I will," decided the young inventor. The Bellaconda stopped at Panama and then kept on her way south. Soon after that she ran into a severe tropical storm, and for a time there was some excitement among the passengers. The more timid of them put on life preservers, though the captain and his officers assured them there was no danger. Tom and Mr. Titus, descending from the deck, whence they had been warned by one of the mates, were on their way to their stateroom, walking with some difficulty owing to the roll of the ship. As they approached their quarters the door of a stateroom farther up the passage opened, and a head was thrust out. "Will you send a steward to me?" a man requested. "I am feeling very ill, and need assistance." "Certainly," Tom answered, and at that moment he heard Mr. Titus utter an exclamation. "What is it?" asked Tom, for the man who had appealed for help, had withdrawn his head. "That--that man!" exclaimed the contractor. "That was Waddington, the tool of our rivals." "Waddington!" repeated Tom, with a look at the now closed door. "Why, the bearded man has that stateroom--the bearded man who so nearly lost the steamer. He isn't Waddington!" "And I tell you Waddington is in that room!" insisted the contractor. "I only saw the upper part of his face, but I'd know his eyes anywhere. Waddington is spying on us!" Chapter IX The Bomb Tom Swift and Mr. Titus withdrew a little way down the corridor, around a bulkhead and out of sight of any one who might look out from the stateroom whence had come the appeal for help. But, at the same time, they could keep watch over it. "I tell you Waddington is in there!" insisted Mr. Titus, hoarsely whispering. "Well, perhaps he may be," admitted Tom. "But several times I have seen the bearded man going in there, and it's only a single stateroom, for it's so marked on the deck plan." "Waddington might be disguised with a false beard, Tom." "Yes, he might. But did the man who just now looked out have a beard?" "I couldn't tell, as I saw only the upper part of his face. But those were Waddington's shifty eyes, I'm positive." "If Waddington were on board don't you suppose you would have seen him before this?" "Not positively, no. If he and the bearded man are one and the same that would account for it. But I haven't noticed the bearded man once since he came aboard in such a hurry." "Nor have I, now that I come to think of it," Tom admitted. "However, there is an easy way to prove who is in there." "How?" "We'll knock on the door and go in." "Perhaps he won't let us." "He'll think it's the steward he called for. Come, you know Waddington better than I do. You knock and go in." "I don't know Waddington very well," admitted the contractor. "I have only seen him a few times, but I am sure that was he. But what shall I do when he sees I'm not the steward?" "Tell him you have sent for one. I'll go with the message, so it will be true enough. Even if you have only a momentary glance at him in close quarters you ought to be able to tell whether or not he has on a false beard, and whether or not it is Waddington." Mr. Titus considered for a moment, and then he said: "Yes, I guess that is a good plan. You go for the steward, Tom, and I'll see if I can get in that stateroom. But I'm sure I'm not mistaken. I'll find Waddington in there, perhaps in the person of the bearded man, disguised. Or else they are using a single stateroom as a double one." And while Tom went off down the pitching and rolling corridor to find a steward, Mr. Titus, not without some apprehension, advanced to knock on the door of the suspect. "If it is Waddington he'll know me at once, of course," thought the contractor, "and there may be a row. Well, I can't help it. The success of my brother and myself depends on finishing that tunnel, and we can't have Waddington, and those whose tool he is, interfering. Here goes!" He tapped on the door, and a faint voice called: "Come in!" The contractor entered, and saw the bearded man lying in his berth. "Is there anything I can do for you?" asked the contractor, bending close over the man. He wanted to see if the beard were false. Somewhat to his surprise the contractor saw that undoubtedly it was real. "Steward, will you kindly get me--Oh, you're not the steward!" the bearded man exclaimed. "No, my friend and I heard you call," replied the contractor. "He has gone for the steward, who will be here soon. Can I do anything for you in the meanwhile?" "No--not a thing!" was the rather snappish answer, and the man turned his face away. "I beg your pardon," he went on, as if conscious that he had acted rudely, "but I am suffering very much. The steward knows just what I want. I have had these attacks before. I am a poor sailor. If you will send the steward to me I will be obliged to you. He can fix me up." "Very well," assented Mr. Titus. "But if there is anything I can do--" At that moment footsteps and voices were heard in the corridor, and as the door of the bearded man's stateroom was opened, Mr. Titus had a glimpse of Tom and one of the stewards. "Yes, I'll look after him," the steward said "He's been this way before. Thank you, sir, for calling me." "I guess the steward has been well tipped," thought Tom. As Mr. Titus came out and the door was shut, the young inventor asked in a whisper, "Well, was it he?" The contractor shook his head. "No," he answered. "I never was more surprised in my life. I felt sure it was Waddington in there, but it wasn't. That man's beard is real, and while he has a look like Waddington about the eyes and upper part of his face, the man is a stranger to me. That is I think so, but in spite of all that, I have a queer feeling that I have met him before." "Where?" Tom inquired. "That I can't say," and the tunnel contractor shook his head. "Whew! That was a bad one!" he exclaimed, as the steamer pitched and tossed in an alarming manner. "Yes, the storm seems to be getting worse instead of better," agreed Tom. "I hope none of the cargo shifts and comes banging up against my new explosive. If it does, there'll be no more tunnel digging for any of us." "Better not mention the fact of the explosives on board," suggested Mr. Titus. "I won't," promised Tom. "The passengers are frightened enough as it is. But I watched the powder being stored away. I guess it is safe." The storm raged for two days before it began to die away. Meanwhile, nothing was seen, on deck or in the dining cabins, of the bearded man. Tom and Mr. Titus made some guarded inquiries of the steward who had attended the sick man, and from him learned that he was down on the passenger list as Senor Pinto, from Rio de Janeiro, Brazil. He was traveling in the interests of a large firm of coffee importers of the United States, and was going to Lima. "And there's no trace of Waddington?" asked Tom of Mr. Titus, as they were discussing matters in their stateroom one day. "Not a trace. He seems to have dropped out of sight, and I'm glad of it." "Perhaps Blakeson & Grinder have given up the fight against you." "I wish they had, though I don't look for any such good luck. But I'm willing to fight them, now that we have an even chance, thanks to your explosive." The storm blew itself out. The Bellaconda "crossed the line," and there was the usual horseplay among the sailors when Father Neptune came aboard to hold court. Those who had never before been below the equator were made to undergo more or less of an initiation, being lathered and shaved, and then pushed backward into a canvas tank of water on deck. While Tom enjoyed the voyage, with the possible exception of the storm, he was anxious, and so was Mr. Titus, for the time to come when they should get to the tunnel and try the effect of the new explosive. Mr. Damon found an elderly gentleman as fond of playing chess as was the eccentric man himself, and his days were fully occupied with castles, pawns, knights, kings, queens and so on. As for Koku he was taken in charge by the sailors and found life forward very agreeable. Senor Pinto had recovered from his seasickness, the steward told Tom and Mr. Titus, but still he kept to his stateroom. It was when the Bellaconda was within a day or two of Callao that a wireless message was received for Mr. Titus. It was from his brother. The message read: "Have information from New York office that rivals are after you. Look out for explosive." "What does that mean?" asked Tom. "Well, I presume it means our rival contractors know we have a supply of your new powder on board, and they may try to get it away from us." "Why?" Tom demanded. "To prevent our using it to complete the tunnel. In that case they'll get the secret of it to use for themselves, when the contract goes to them by default. Can we do anything to protect the powder, Tom?" "Well, I don't know that we'll need to while it's stowed away in the cargo. They can't get at it any more than we can, until the ship unloads. I guess it's safe enough. We'll just have to keep our eyes open when it's taken out of the hold, though." Tom and Mr. Titus, both of whom were fond of fresh air and exercise, had made it a practice to get up an hour before breakfast and take a constitutional about the steamer deck. They did this as usual the morning after the wireless warning was received, and they were standing near the port rail, talking about this, when they heard a thud on the deck behind them. Both turned quickly, and saw a round black object rolling toward them. From the object projected what seemed to be a black cord, and the end of this cord was glowing and smoking. For a moment neither Tom nor Mr. Titus spoke. Then, as a slow motion of the ship rolled the round black thing toward Tom, he cried: "It a bomb!" He darted toward it, but Mr. Titus pulled him back. "Run!" yelled the contractor. Before either of them could do anything, a queer figure of an elderly gentleman stepped partly from behind a deck-house, and stooped over the smoking object. "Look out!" yelled Mr. Titus, crouching low. "That's an explosive bomb! Toss it overboard!" Chapter X Professor Bumper Fairly fascinated by the spluttering fuse, neither Tom nor Mr. Titus moved for a second, while the deadly fire crept on through the black string-like affair, nearer and nearer to the bomb itself. Then, just as Tom, holding back his natural fear, was about to thrust the thing overboard with his foot, hardly realizing that it might be even more deadly to the ship in the water than it was on the deck, the foot of the newcomer was suddenly thrust out from behind the deck-house, and the sizzling fuse was trodden upon. It went out in a puff of smoke, but the owner of the foot was not satisfied with that for a hand reached down, lifted the bomb, the fuse of which still showed a smouldering spark of fire, and calmly pulled out the "tail" of the explosive. It was harmless then, for the fuse, with a trail of smoke following, was tossed into the sea, and the little man came out from behind the deck-house, holding the unexploded bomb. For a moment neither Tom nor Mr. Titus could speak. They felt an inexpressible sense of relief. Then Tom managed to gasp out: "You--you saved our lives!" The little man who had stepped on the fuse, and had then torn it from the bomb, looked at the object in his hand as though it were the most natural thing in the world to pick explosives up off the deck of passenger steamers, as he remarked: "Well, perhaps I did. Yes, I think it would have gone off in another second or two. Rather curious; isn't it?" "Curious? Curious!" asked and exclaimed Mr. Titus. "Why, yes," went on the little man, in the most matter of fact tone. "You see, most explosive bombs are round, made that way so the force will be equal in all directions. But this one, you notice, has a bulge, or protuberance, on one side, so to speak. Very curious! "It might have been made that way to prevent its rolling overboard, or the bomb's walls might be weaker near that bulge to make sure that the force of the explosion would be in that direction. And the bulge was pointed toward you gentlemen, if you noticed." "I should say I did!" cried Mr. Titus. "My dear sir, you have put us under a heavy debt to you! You saved our lives! I--I am in no frame of mind to thank you now, but--" He strode over to the little man, holding out his hand. "No, no, I'd better keep it," went on the person who had rendered the bomb ineffective. "You might drop it you know. You are nervous--your hand shakes." "I want to shake hands with you!" exclaimed Mr. Titus--"to thank you!" "Oh, that's it. I thought you wanted the bomb. Shake hands? Certainly!" And while this ceremony was being gone through with, Tom had a moment to study the appearance of the man who had saved their lives. He had seen the passenger once or twice before, but had taken no special notice of him. Now he had good reason to observe him. Tom beheld a little, thin man, little in the sense of being of the "bean pole" construction. His head was as bald as a billiard ball, as the young inventor could notice when the stranger took off his hat to bow formally in response to the greeting of some ladies who passed, while Mr. Titus was shaking hands with him. The bald head was sunk down between two high shoulders, and when the owner wished to observe anything closely, as he was now observing the bomb, the head was thrust forward somewhat as an eagle might do. And Tom noticed that the eyes of the little man were as bright as those of an eagle. Nothing seemed to escape them. "I want to add my thanks to those of Mr. Titus for saving our lives," said Tom, as he advanced. "We don't know what to make of it all, but you certainly stopped that bomb from going off." "Yes, perhaps I did," admitted the little man coolly and calmly, as though preventing bomb explosions was his daily exercise before breakfast. Tom and Mr. Titus introduced themselves by name. "I am Professor Swyington Bumper," said the bomb-holder, with a bow, removing his hat, and again disclosing his shiny bald head. "I am very glad to have met you indeed." "And we are more than glad," said Tom, fervently, as he glanced at the explosive. "Now that the danger is over," went on Mr. Titus, "suppose we make an investigation, and find out how this bomb came to be here." "Just what I was about to suggest," remarked Professor Bumper. "Bombs, such as this, do not sprout of themselves on bare decks. And I take it this one is explosive." "Let me look at it," suggested Tom. "I know something of explosives." It needed but a casual examination on the part of one who had done considerable experimenting with explosives to disclose the fact that it had every characteristic of a dangerous bomb. Only the pulling out of the fuse had rendered it harmless. "If it had gone off," said Tom, "we would both have been killed, or, at least, badly injured, Mr. Titus." "I believe you, Tom. And we owe our lives to Professor Bumper." "I'm glad I could be of service, gentlemen," the scientist remarked, in an easy tone. "Explosives are out of my line, but I guessed it was rather dangerous to let this go off. Have you any idea how it got here?" "Not in the least," said Tom. "But some one must have placed it here, or dropped it behind us." "Would any one have an object in doing such a thing?" the professor asked. Tom and Mr. Titus looked at one another. "Waddington!" murmured the contractor. "If he were on board I should say he might have done it to get us out of the way, though I would not go so far as to say he meant to kill us. It may be this bomb has only a light charge in it, and he only meant to cripple us." "We'll find out about that," said Tom. "I'll open it." "Better be careful," urged Mr. Titus. "I will," the young inventor promised. "I beg your pardon," he went on to Professor Bumper. "We have been talking about something of which you know nothing. Briefly, there is a certain man who is trying to interfere in some work in which Mr. Titus and I are interested, and we think, if he were on board, he might have placed this bomb where it would injure us." "Is he here?" asked the professor. "No. And that is what makes it all the more strange," said Mr. Titus. "At one time I thought he was here, but I was mistaken." Tom took the now harmless bomb to his stateroom, and there, after taking the infernal machine apart, he discovered that it was not as dangerous as he had at first believed. The bomb contained no missiles, and though it held a quantity of explosive, it was of a slow burning kind. Had it gone off it would have sent out a sheet of flame that would have severely burned him and Mr. Titus, but unless complications had set in death would not have resulted. "They just wanted to disable us," said the contractor. "That was their game. Tom, who did it?" "I don't know. Did you ever see this Professor Bumper before?" "I never did." "And did it strike you as curious that he should happen to be so near at hand when the bomb fell behind us?" "I hadn't thought of that," admitted the contractor. "Do you mean that he might have dropped it himself?" "Well, I wouldn't go so far as to say that," replied Tom, slowly. "But I think it would be a good idea to find out all we can of Professor Swyington Bumper." "I agree with you, Tom. We'll investigate him." Chapter XI In the Andes Professor Swyington Bumper seemed to live in a region all by himself. Though he was on board the Bellaconda, he might just as well have been in an airship, or riding along on the back of a donkey, as far as his knowledge, or recognition, of his surroundings went. He seemed to be thinking thoughts far, far away, and he was never without a book--either a bound volume or a note-book. In the former he buried his hawk-like nose, and Tom, looking over his shoulder once, saw that the book was printed in curious characters, which, later, he learned were Sanskrit. If he had a note-book the bald-headed professor was continually jotting down memoranda in it. "I can hardly think of him as a conspirator against us," said Tom to Mr. Titus. "After you have been in the contracting business as long as I have you'll distrust every one," was the answer. "Waddington isn't on board, or I'd distrust him. That Spaniard, Senor Pinto, seems to be out of consideration, and there only remains the professor. We must watch him." But Professor Bumper proved to be above suspicion. Carefully guarded inquiries made of the captain, the purser and other ships' officers, brought out the fact that he was well known to all of them, having traveled on the line before. "He is making a search for something, but he won't say what it is," the captain said. "At first we thought it was gold or jewels, for he goes away off into the Andes Mountains, where both gold and jewels have been found. He never looks for treasure, though, for though some of his party have made rather rich discoveries, he takes no interest in them." "What is he after then?" asked Mr. Titus. "No one knows, and he won't tell. But whatever it is he has never found it yet. Always, when he comes back, unsuccessful, from a trip to the interior and goes back North with us, he will remark that he has not the right directions. That he must seek again. "Back he comes next season, as full of hope as before, but only to be disappointed. Each time he goes to a new place in the mountains where he digs and delves, so members of the parties he hires tell me, but with no success. He carries with him something in a small iron box, and, whatever this is, he consults it from time to time. It may be directions for finding whatever he is after. But there seems to be something wrong." "This is quite a mystery," remarked Tom. "It certainly is. But Professor Bumper is a fine man. I have known him for years." "This seems to dispose of the theory that he planted the bomb, and that he is one of the plotters in the pay of Blakeson & Grinder," said Mr. Titus, when he and Tom were alone. "Yes, I guess it does. But who can have done it?" That was a question neither could answer. Tom had a theory, which he did not disclose to Mr. Titus, that, after all, the somewhat mysterious Senor Pinto might, in some way, be mixed up in the bomb attempt. But a close questioning of the steward on duty near the foreigner's cabin at the time disclosed the fact that Pinto had been ill in his berth all that day. "Well, unless the bomb fell from some passing airship, I don't see how it got on deck," said Tom with a shake of his head. "And I'm sure no airship passed over us." They had kept the matter secret, not telling even Mr. Damon, for they feared the eccentric man would make a fuss and alarm the whole vessel. So Mr. Damon, occasionally blessing his necktie or his shoe laces, played chess with his elderly gentleman friend and was perfectly happy. That Professor Bumper not only had kept his promise about not mentioning the bomb, but that he had forgotten all about it, was evident a day or two after the happening. Tom and Mr. Titus passed him on deck, and bowed cordially. The professor returned the salutation, but looked at the two in a puzzled sort of fashion. "I beg your pardon," he remarked, "but your faces are familiar, though I cannot recall your names. Haven't I seen you before?" "You have," said Tom, with a smile. "You saved our lives from a bomb the other day." "Oh, yes! So I did! So I did!" exclaimed Professor Bumper. "I felt sure I had seen you before. Are you all right?" "Yes. There haven't been any more bombs thrown at us," the contractor said. "By the way, Professor Bumper, I understand you are quite a traveler in the Andes, in the vicinity of Lima." "Yes, I have been there," admitted the bald-headed scientist in guarded tones. "Well, I am digging a tunnel in that vicinity," went on Mr. Titus, "and if you ever get near Rimac, where the first cutting is made, I wish you would come and see me--Tom too, as he is associated with me." "Rimac-Rimac," murmured the professor, looking sharply at the contractor. "Digging a tunnel there? Why are you doing that?" and he seemed to resent the idea. "Why, the Peruvian government engaged me to do it to connect the two railroad lines," was the answer. "Do you know anything about the place?" "Not so much as I hope to later on," was the unexpected answer. "As it happens I am going to Rimac, and I may visit your tunnel." "I wish you would," returned Mr. Titus. Later on, in their stateroom, the contractor remarked to the young inventor: "Sort of queer; isn't it?" "What?" asked Tom. "His not remembering us?" "No, though that was odd. But I suppose he is forgetful, or pretends to be. I mean it's queer he is going to Rimac." "What do you mean?" asked Tom. "Well, I don't know exactly what I mean," went on the tunnel contractor, "but our tunnel happens to start at Rimac, which is a small town at the base of the mountains." "Maybe the professor is a geologist," suggested Tom, "and he may want to get some samples of that hard rock." "Maybe," admitted Mr. Titus. "But I shall keep my eyes on him all the same. I'm not going to have any strangers, who happen to be around when bombs drop near us, get into my tunnel." "I think you're wrong to doubt Professor Bumper," Tom said. A few days after this, when Tom and Mr. Titus were casually discussing the weather on deck and wondering how much longer it would be before they reached Callao, Mr. Damon, who had been playing numberless games of chess, came up for a breath of air. "Mr. Damon," called Tom, "come over here and meet a friend of ours, Professor Bumper," and he was about to introduce them, for the two, as far as Tom knew, had not yet met. But no sooner had the professor and Mr. Damon caught sight of each other than there was a look of mutual recognition. "Bless my fountain pen!" cried the eccentric man. "If it isn't my old friend!" "Mr. Damon!" cried the professor. "I am delighted to see you again. I did not know you were on board!" "Nor I you. Bless my apple dumpling! Are you still after those Peruvian antiquities?" "I am, Mr. Damon. But I did not know you were acquainted with Mr. Swift." "Oh, Tom and I are old friends." "Professor Bumper saved the lives of Mr. Titus and myself," said Tom, "or at least he saved us from severe injury by a bomb." "Pray do not mention it, my friends," put in the professor, casually. "It was nothing." Of course he did not mean it just that way. Then, naturally, Mr. Damon had to be told all about the bomb for the first time, and his wonder was great. He blessed everything he could think of. "And to think it should be my old friend, Professor Bumper, who saved you," said the odd man to Tom and Mr. Titus later that day. "Do you know him well?" asked Mr. Titus. "Very well indeed. Our drug concern sells him many chemicals for his experiments." "Well, if you know him I guess he can't be what I thought he was," the contractor went on. "I'm glad to know it. Why is he going to the Andes?" "Oh, for many years he has been interested in collecting Peruvian antiquities. He has a certain theory in regard to something or other about their ancient civilization, but just what it is I have, at this moment, forgotten. Only I know you can thoroughly trust Professor Bumper, for a finer man never lived, though he is a bit absent-minded at times. But you will like him very much." Thus the last lingering doubt of Professor Bumper was removed. Mr. Damon told something of how the scientist had been honored by degrees from many colleges and was regarded as an authority on Peruvian matters. But who had placed the bomb on deck remained a mystery. In due time Callao, the seaport of Lima, was reached and our friends disembarked. Tom saw to the unloading of the explosive, which was to be sent direct to the tunnel at Rimac. Mr. Titus, Tom and Mr. Damon would remain in Lima a day or so. Professor Bumper disembarked with our friends, and stopped at the same hotel. Tom kept a lookout for Senor Pinto, but did not see him, and concluded that the Spaniard was ill, and would be carried ashore on a stretcher, perhaps. Lima, the principal city and capital of Peru, proved an interesting place. It was about eight miles inland and was built on an arid plain about five hundred feet above sea level. Yet, though it was on what might be termed a desert, the place, by means of irrigation, had been made into a beauty spot. Tom found the older part of the city was laid out with mathematical regularity, each street crossing the other at right angles. But in the new portions there was not this adherence to straightness. "Bless my transfer! Why, they have electric cars here!" exclaimed Mr. Damon, catching sight of one on the line between Callao and the capital. "What did you think they'd have?" asked Mr. Titus, "elephants or camels?" "I--I didn't just know," was the answer. "Oh, you'll find a deal of civilization here," the contractor said. "Of course much of the population is negro or Indian, but they are often rich and able to buy what they want. There is a population of over 150,000, and there are two steam railroads between Callao and Lima, while there is one running into the interior for 130 miles, crossing the Andes at an elevation of over three miles. It is a branch of that road, together with a branch of the one running to Ancon, that I am to connect with a tunnel." Tom found some beautiful churches and cathedrals in Lima, and spent some time visiting them. He and Mr. Damon also visited, in the outskirts, the tobacco, cocoa and other factories. Three days after reaching the capital, Mr. Titus having attended to some necessary business while Mr. Damon set on foot matters connected with his affairs, it was decided to strike inland to Rimac, and to try the effect of Tom Swift's explosive on the tunnel. The journey was to be made in part by rail, though the last stages of it were over a rough mountain trail, with llamas for beasts of burden, while our friends rode mules. As Tom, Mr. Damon, Koku, and Mr. Titus were going to the railroad station they saw Professor Bumper also leaving the hotel. "I believe our roads lie together for a time," said the bald-headed scientist, "and, if you have no objections, I will accompany you." "Come, and welcome!" exclaimed Mr. Titus, all his suspicions now gone. "And it may be that you will be able to help me," the scientist went on. "Help you--how?" asked Tom. "I will tell you when we reach the Andes," was the mysterious answer. It was a day later when they left the train at a small station, and struck off into the foothills of the great Andes Mountains, where the tunnel was started, that the professor again mentioned his object. "Friends," he said, as he gazed up at the towering cliffs and crags, "I am searching for the lost city of Pelone, located somewhere in these mountains. Will you help me to find it?" Chapter XII The Tunnel Mr. Damon, of the three who heard Professor Bumper make this statement, showed the least sign of astonishment. It would have been more correct to say that he showed none at all. But Tom could not restrain himself. "The lost city of Pelone!" he exclaimed. "Is it here--in these mountains?" asked Mr. Titus. "I have reason to hope that it is," went on the professor. "The golden tablets are very vague, but I have tried many locations, and now I am about to try here. I hope I shall succeed. At any rate, I shall have agreeable company, which has not always been my luck on my previous expeditions seeking to find the lost city." "Oh, Professor, are you still on that quest?" asked Mr. Damon, in a matter-of-fact tone. "Yes, Mr. Damon, I am. And now that I look about me, and see the shape of these mountains, I feel that they conform more to the description on the golden plates than any location I have yet tried. Somehow I feel that I shall be successful here." "Did you know Professor Bumper was searching for a lost city of the Andes?" asked Tom, of his eccentric friend. "Why yes," answered Mr. Damon. "He has been searching for years to locate it." "Why didn't you tell us?" inquired Mr. Titus. "Why, I never thought of it. Bless my memorandum book! it never occurred to me. I did not think you would be interested. Tell them your story, Professor Bumper." "I will soon. Just now I must see to my equipment. The story will keep." And though Tom and Mr. Titus were both anxious to hear about the lost city, they, too, had much to do to get ready for the trip into the interior. The beginning of the tunnel under one of the smaller of the ranges of the Andes lay two days journey from the end of the railroad line. And the trip must be made on mules, with llamas as beasts of burden, transporting the powder and other supplies. "We'll only need to take enough food with us for the two days," said Mr. Titus. "We have a regular camp at the tunnel mouth, and my brother has supplies of grub and other things constantly coming in. We also have shacks to live in; but on this trip we will use tents, as the weather at this season is fine." It was quite a little expedition that set off up the mountain trail that afternoon, for they had arrived at the end of the railroad line shortly before dinner, and had eaten at a rather poor restaurant. Professor Bumper had made up his own exploring party, consisting of himself and three native Indian diggers with their picks and shovels. They were to do whatever excavating he decided was necessary to locate the hidden city. Several mules and llamas, laden with the new explosive, and burdened with camp equipment and food, and a few Indian servants made up the cavalcade of Tom, the contractor, Mr. Damon and Koku. The giant was almost as much a source of wonder to the Peruvians as he had been on board the ship. And he was a great help, too. For some of the Indians were under-sized, and could not lift the heavy boxes and packages to the backs of the beasts of burden. But Koku, thrusting the little men aside, grasped with one hand what two of them had tried in vain to lift, and set it on the back of mule or llama. The way was rough but they took their time to it, for the trail was an ascending one. Above and beyond them towered the great Andes, and Tom, gazing up into the sky, which in places seemed almost pierced by the snow-covered peaks, saw some small black specks moving about. "Condors," said Mr. Titus, when his attention was called to them. "Some of them are powerful birds, and they sometimes pick up a sheep and make off with it, though usually their food consists of carrion." They went into camp before the sun went down, for it grew dark soon after sunset, and they wanted to be prepared. Supper was made ready by the Indian helpers, and when this was over, and they sat about a camp fire, Tom said: "Now, Professor Bumper, perhaps you'll explain about the lost city." "I wish I could explain about it," began the scientist. "For years I have dreamed of finding it, but always I have been disappointed. Now, perhaps, my luck may change." "Do you think it may be near here?" asked Mr. Titus, motioning toward the dark and frowning peaks all about them. "It may be. The signs are most encouraging. In brief, the story of the lost city of Pelone is this. Thousands of years ago--in fact I do not know how many--there existed somewhere in Peru an ancient city that was the centre of civilization for this region. Older it was than the civilization of the Mexicans--the Montezumas--older and more cultured. "It is many years since I became interested in Peruvian antiquities, and then I had no idea of the lost city. But some of the antiques I picked up contained in their inscriptions references to Pelone. At first I conceived this to be a sort of god, a deity, or perhaps a powerful ruler. But as I went on in my work of gathering ancient things from Peru, I saw that the name Pelone referred to a city--a seat of government, whence everything had its origin. "Then I got on the track more closely. I examined ancient documents. I found traces of an ancient language and writings, different from anything else in the world. I managed to construct an alphabet and to read some of the documents. From them I learned that Pelone was a city situated in some fertile valley of the Andes. It had existed for thousands of years; it was the seat of learning and culture. Much light would be thrown on the lives of the people who lived in Peru before the present races inhabited it, if I could but locate Pelone. "Then I came across two golden tablets on which were graven the information that Pelone had utterly vanished." "How?" asked Tom. "The golden tablets did not say. They simply stated the fact that Pelone was lost, and one sentence read: 'He who shall find it again shall be richly rewarded.' But it is not for that that I seek. It is that I may give to the world the treasures it must contain--the treasures of an ancient civilization." "And how do you think the city disappeared?" asked Mr. Titus. "I do not know. Whether it was destroyed by enemies, whether it was buried under the ashes of a volcano, whether it still exists, deserted and solitary in some valley amid the mountain fastnesses of the Andes, I do not know. But I am certain the city once existed, and it may exist yet, though it may be in dust-covered ruins. That is what I seek to find. See! Here are the tablets telling about it. I got them from an old Peruvian grave." He took from a box two thin sheets of yellow metal. They were covered with curious marks, but Tom and the others could make nothing of them. Only Professor Bumper was able to decipher them. "And that is the story of the lost city of Pelone--as much as I know," he said. "For years I have sought it. If I can find it I shall be famous, for I shall have added to human knowledge." "If the people of that city wrote on golden tablets, the yellow metal must have been plentiful," commented Mr. Titus. "You might strike a rich mine." "I have no use for riches," said the professor. "Well, I have," the contractor said, with a laugh. "That's why I'm putting through this tunnel. And if my brother and I don't do it we'll be in a bad way financially. We have struck traces of gold, but not in paying quantities. I should like to see this lost city of yours, Professor Bumper. It may contain gold." "You may have all the gold, if I am allowed to keep the antiquities we find," stipulated the scientist. "Then you will help me in my search?" "As much as we can spare time for from the tunnel work," promised Mr. Titus. "I'll instruct my men to keep their eyes open for any sign of ancient writings on the rocks we blast out." "Thank you," said the professor. The night passed uneventfully enough, if one excepts the mosquitoes which seemed to get through the nets, making life miserable for all. And once Tom thought he heard gruntings in the bush back of the tent, which noises might, he imagined, have been caused by a bear. Toward morning he heard an unearthly screech in the woods, and one of the Indians, tending the fire, grunted out a word which meant pumas. "I can see it isn't going to be dull here," Tom mused, as he turned over and tried to sleep. Breakfast made them all feel better, and they set off on the final stage of their journey. "If all goes well we'll be at the tunnel entrance and camp to-night," said the contractor. "This second half of the trip is the roughest." There was no need of saying that, for it was perfectly evident. The trail was a most precarious one, and only a mule or llama could have traveled it. The mules were most sure-footed, but, as it was, one slipped, and came near falling over a cliff. But no real accident occurred, and finally, about an hour before sunset, the cavalcade turned down the slope and emerged on a level plain, which ended against the face of a great cliff. As Tom rode nearer the cliff he could make out around it groups of rude buildings, covered with corrugated iron. There was quite a settlement it seemed. Then, in the face of the cliff there showed something black--like a blot of ink, though more regular in outline. "The mouth of the tunnel," said Mr. Titus to Tom. "Come on over to the office and I'll introduce you to my brother. I guess he will be glad we've arrived." Tom dismounted from his mule, an example followed by the others. Professor Bumper gazed up at the great mountains and murmured: "I wonder if the lost city of Pelone lies among them?" Suddenly the silence of the evening was broken by a dull, rumbling sound. "Bless my court plaster!" cried Mr. Damon. "What's that?" "A blast," answered Mr. Titus. "But I never knew them to set off one so late before. I hope nothing is wrong!" And, as he spoke, panic-stricken men began running out of the mouth of the tunnel, while those outside hastened toward them, shouting and calling. Chapter XIII Tom's Explosive "Something has happened!" cried Mr. Titus as he ran forward, followed by Tom, Mr. Damon and Koku. Professor Bumper started with them, but on the way he saw a curious bit of rock which he stopped to pick up and examine. At the entrance of the tunnel, from which came rushing dirt-stained and powder-blackened men, Mr. Titus was met by a man who seemed to be in authority. "Hello, Job!" he cried. "Glad you're back. We're in trouble!" "What's the matter?" was the question. "This is my brother Walter," he said. "This is Tom Swift and Mr. Damon," thus hurriedly he introduced them. "What happened, Walter?" "Premature blast. Third one this week. Somebody is working against us!" "Never mind that now," cried Job Titus. "We must see to the poor fellows who are hurt." "I guess there aren't many," his brother said. "They were on their way out when the charge went off. Some more of Blakeson & Grinder's work, I'll wager!" They were rushing in to the smoke-filled tunnel now, followed by Tom, Mr. Damon and Koku, who would follow his young master anywhere. Tom saw that the tunnel was lighted with incandescent lamps, suspended here and there from the rocky roof or sides. The electric lights were supplied with current from a dynamo run by a gasoline engine. "Where is it, Serato? Where was the blast?" asked Walter Titus, of a tall Indian, who seemed to be in some authority. "Back at second turn," was the answer, in fairly good English. "I go get beds." "He means stretchers," translated Job. "That's our Peruvian foreman. A good fellow, but easily scared." They ran on into the tunnel, Tom and Mr. Damon noticing that a small narrow-gage railroad was laid on the floor, mules being the motive power to bring out the small dump cars loaded with rock and dirt, excavated from the big hole. "Mind the turn!" called Job Titus, who was ahead of Tom and Mr. Damon. "It's rough here." Tom found it so, for he slipped over some pieces of rock, and would have fallen had not Koku held him up. "Thanks," gasped Tom, as on he ran. A little later he came to a place where a cluster of electric lights gave better illumination, and he could see it was there that the damage had been done. A number of men were lying on the dirt and rock floor of the tunnel, and some of them were bleeding. Others were staggering about as though shocked or stunned. "We must get the injured ones out of here!" cried Walter Titus. "Where are the men with stretchers?" "I sint that Spalapeen Serato for thim!" broke in a voice, rich in Irish brogue. "But he's thot stupid he might think I was after sindin' him fer wather!" "No, Tim. Serato is after the stretchers all right," said Walter. "We passed him on the way." "That's Tim Sullivan, our Irish foreman, though he has only a few of his own kind to boss," explained Job Titus in a whisper. Some of the workmen (all of whom save the few Irish referred to were Peruvian Indians) had now recovered from their shock, or fright, and began to help the Titus brothers, Tom, Mr. Damon and Koku in looking after the injured. Of these there were five, only two of whom were, seemingly, seriously hurt. "Me take them out," said Koku, and placing one gently over his left shoulder, and the other over his right, out of the tunnel he stalked with them, not waiting for the stretchers. And it was well he did so, for one man was in need of an immediate operation, which was performed at the rude hospital the contractors maintained at the tunnel mouth. The other man died as Koku was carrying him out, but the giant had saved one life. Serato, the Indian foreman, with some of his men now came in, and the other injured were carried out on stretchers, being attended to by the two doctors who formed part of the tunnel force. Among a large body of men some were always falling ill or getting hurt, and in that wild country a doctor had to be kept near at hand. When the excitement had died down, and it was found that one death would be the total toll of the accident and that the premature blast had done no damage to the tunnel, the two Titus brothers began to consider matters. Tom, Mr. Damon and the two contractors sat in the main office and talked things over. Koku was eating supper, though the others had finished, but, naturally, it took Koku twice as long as any one else. Professor Bumper was busy transcribing material in his note-book. "Well, I'm glad you've come back, Job," said his brother. "Things have been going at sixes and sevens here since you went to get some new kind of blasting powder. By the way, I hope you got it, for we are practically at a standstill." "Oh, I got it all right--some of Tom Swift's best--specially made for us. And, better still, I've brought Tom back with me." "So I see. Well, I'm glad he's here." "Now what about this accident to-day?" went on Job. "Well, as I said, it's the third this week. All of them seemed to be premature blasts. But I've sent for some of the fuses used. I'm going to get at the bottom of this. Here is Sullivan with them now. Come in, Tim," he called, as the Irishman knocked at the door. "Are they the fuses used in the blasts?" Walter asked. "They are, sor. An' they mostly burn five minutes, which is plenty of time fer all th' min t' git out of danger. Only this time th' fuse didn't seem to burn more than a minute, an' I lit it meself." "Let's see how long they burn now," suggested Job. One of the longer fuses was lighted. It spluttered and smoked, while the contractors timed it with their watches. "Four minutes!" exclaimed Job. "That's queer, and they're the regular ten minute length. I wonder what this means. He took up another fuse, and examined it closely. "Why!" he cried. "These aren't our fuses at all. They're another make, and much more rapid in burning. No wonder you've been having premature blasts. They go off in about half the time they should." "I can't understhand thot!" said Tim, thoughtfully. "I keep all the fuses locked up, and only take thim out when I need thim." "Then somebody has been at your box, Tim, and they took out our regular fuses and put in these quicker ones. It's a game to make trouble for us among our men, and to damage the tunnel." "Bless my rubber boots!" cried Mr. Damon. "Who would do a thing like that?" "Our rivals, perhaps, though I do not like to accuse any man on such small evidence," said Walter. "But we must adopt new measures." "And be very careful of the fuses," said Job. "Thot's what I will!" declared Tim. "I'll put th' supply in a new place. No wonder there was blasts before th' min could git out th' way! Bad cess t' th' imps thot did this!" and he banged his big fist down on the table. Since the trouble began a guard had been always posted around the tunnel entrance and surrounding buildings, and this night the patrol was doubled. Tom, Mr. Damon and the two Titus brothers sat up quite late, talking over plans and ideas. Professor Bumper went to bed early, as he said he was going to set off before sunrise to make a search for the lost city. "I regard him as more or less of a visionary," said Mr. Job Titus; "but he seems a harmless gentleman, and we'll do all we can to help him." "Surely," agreed his brother. The night was not marked by any disturbance, and after breakfast, Tom, under the guidance of the Titus brothers, looked over the tunnel with a view to making his first experiment with the new explosive. The tunnel was being driven straight into the face of one of the smaller ranges of the Andes Mountains. It was to be four miles in length, and when it emerged on the other side it would enable trains to make connections between the two railroads, thus tapping a rich and fertile country. On the site of the tunnel, which was two days' mule travel east from Rimac, the Titus brothers had assembled their heavy machinery. They had brought some of their own men, including Tim Sullivan, with them, but the other labor was that of Peruvian Indians, with a native foreman, Serato, over them. There were engines, boilers, dynamos, motors, diamond drills, steam shovels and a miniature railway, with mules as the motive power. A small village had sprung up at the tunnel mouth, and there was a general store, besides many buildings for the sleeping and eating quarters of the laborers, as well as places where the white men could live. Their quarters were some distance from the native section. Powder, supplies, in fact everything save what game could be obtained in the forest, or what grains or fruits were brought in by natives living near by, had to be brought over the rough trail. But Titus Brothers had a large experience in engineering matters in wild and desolate countries, and they knew how to be as comfortable as possible. Mr. Damon learned that one of the districts whence his company had been in the habit of getting quinine was distant a day's journey over the mountain, so he decided to make the trip, with a native guide, and see if he could get at the bottom of the difficulty in forwarding shipments. This was a few days after the arrival of our friends. Meanwhile, Tom had been shown all through the tunnel by the Titus Brothers and had had his first sight of the hard cliff of rock which seemed to be a veritable stone wall in the way of progress--or at least such progress as was satisfactory to the contractors. "Well, we'll try what some of my explosive will do," said Tom, when he had finished the examination. "I don't claim it will be as successful as the sample blast we set off at Shopton, but we'll do our best." Holes were drilled in the face of the rock, and several charges of the new explosive tamped in. Wires were attached to the fuses, which were of a new kind, and warning was given to clear the tunnel. The wires ran out to the mouth of the horizontal shaft and Tom, holding the switch in his hand made ready to set off the blast. "Are they all out?" he asked Tim Sullivan, who had emerged, herding the Indian laborers before him. Tim insisted on being the last man to seek safety when an explosion was to take place. "All ready, sor," answered the foreman. "Here she goes!" cried Tom, as his fingers closed the circuit. Chapter XIV Mysterious Disappearances There was a dull, muffled report, a sort of rumbling that seemed to extend away down under the earth and then echo back again until the ground near the mouth of the tunnel, where the party was standing, appeared to rock and heave. There followed a cloud of yellow, heavy smoke which made one choke and gasp, and Tom, seeing it, cried: "Down! Down, everybody! There's a back draft, and if you breathe any of that powder vapor you'll have a fearful headache! Get down, until the smoke rises!" The tunnel contractors and their men understood the danger, for they had handled explosives before. It is a well-known fact that the fumes of dynamite and other giant powders will often produce severe headaches, and even illness. Tom's explosive contained a certain percentage of dynamite, and he knew its ill effects. Stretched prone, or crouching on the ground, there was little danger, as the fumes, being lighter than air, rose. The yellow haze soon drifted away, and it was safe to rise. "Well, I wonder how much rock your explosive tore loose for us, Tom," observed Job Titus, as he looked at the thin, yellowish cloud of smoke that was still lazily drifting from the tunnel. "Can't tell until we go in and take a look," replied the young inventor. "It won't be safe to go in for a while yet, though. That smoke will hang in there a long time. I didn't think there'd be a back draft." "There is, for we've often had the same trouble with our shots," Walter Titus said. "I can't account for it unless there is some opening in the shaft, connecting with the outer air, which admits a wind that drives the smoke out of the mouth, instead of forward into the blast hole. It's a queer thing and we haven't been able to get at the bottom of it." "That's right," agreed his brother. "We've looked for some opening, or natural shaft, but haven't been able to find it. Sometimes we shoot off a charge and everything goes well, the smoke disappears in a few minutes. Again it will all blow out this way and we lose half a day waiting for the air to clear. There's a hidden shaft, or natural chimney, I'm sure, but we can't find it." "Thot blast didn't make much racket," commented Tim Sullivan. "I doubt thot much rock come down. An' thot's not sayin' anythin' ag'in yer powder, lad," he went on to Tom. "Oh, that's all right," Tom Swift replied, with a laugh. "My explosive doesn't work by sound. It has lots of power, but it doesn't produce much concussion." "We've often made more noise with our blasts," confirmed Job Titus, "but I can't say much for our results." They were all anxious, Tom included, to hurry into the tunnel to see how much rock had been loosened by the blast, but it was not safe to venture in until the fumes had been allowed to disperse. In about an hour, however, Tim Sullivan, venturing part way in, sniffed the air and called: "It's all right, byes! Air's clear. Now come on!" They all hurried eagerly into the shaft, Mr. Damon stumbling along at Tom's side, as anxious as the lad himself. Before they reached the face of the cliff against which the bore had been driven, and which was as a solid wall of rock to further progress, they began to tread on fragments of stone. "Well, it blew some as far back as here," said Walter Titus. "That's a good sign." "I hope so," Tom remarked. There were still some fumes noticeable in the tunnel, and Mr. Damon complained of a slight feeling of illness, while Koku, who kept at Tom's side, murmured that it made his eyes smart. But the sensations soon passed. They came to a stop as the face of the cliff loomed into view in the glare of a searchlight which Job Titus switched on. Then a murmur of wonder came from every one, save from Tom Swift. He, modestly, kept silent. "Bless my breakfast orange!" cried Mr. Damon. "What a big hole!" There was a great gash blown in the hard rock which had acted as a bar to the further progress of the tunnel. A great heap of rock, broken into small fragments, was on the floor of the shaft, and there was a big hole filled with debris which would have to be removed before the extent of the blast could be seen. "That's doing the work!" cried Job Titus. "It beats any two blasts we ever set off," declared his brother. "Much fine!" muttered the Peruvian foreman, Serato. "It's a lalapaloosa, lad! Thot's what it is!" enthusiastically exclaimed Tim Sullivan. "Now the black beggars will have some rock to shovel! Come on there, Serato, git yer lazy imps t' work cartin' this stuff away. We've got a man on th' job now in this new powder of Tom Swift's. Git busy!" "Um!" grunted the Indian, and he called to his men who were soon busy with picks and shovels, loading the loosened rock and earth into the mule-hauled dump cars which took it to the mouth of the tunnel, whence it was shunted off on another small railroad to fill in a big gulch to save bridging it. Tom's first blast was very successful, and enough rock was loosed to keep the laborers busy for a week. The contractors were more than satisfied. "At this rate we'll finish ahead of time, and earn a premium," said Job to his brother. "That's right. You didn't make any mistake in appealing to Tom Swift. But I wonder if Blakeson & Grinder have given up trying to get the job away from us?" "I don't know. I'd never trust them. We must watch out for Waddington. That bomb on the vessel had a funny look, even if it was not meant to kill Tom or me. I won't relax any." "No, I guess it wouldn't be safe." But a week went by without any manifestation having been made by the rival tunnel contractors. During that week more of Tom's explosive arrived, and he busied himself getting ready another blast which could be set off as soon as the debris from the first should have been cleared away. Meanwhile, Professor Bumper, with his Indian guides and helpers, had made several trips into the mountain regions about Rimac, but each time that he returned to the tunnel camp to renew his supplies, he had only a story of failure to recite. "But I am positive that somewhere in this vicinity is the lost Peruvian city of Pelone," he said. "Every indication points to this as the region, and the more I study the plates of gold, and read their message, the more I am convinced that this is the place spoken of. "But we have been over many mountains, and in more valleys, without finding a trace of the ancient civilization I feel sure once flourished here. There are no relics of a lost race--not so much as an arrow or spear head. But, somehow or other, I feel that I shall find the lost city. And when I do I shall be famous!" "Mr. Damon and I will help you all we can," Tom said. "As soon as I get ready the next blast I'll have a little time to myself, and we will go with you on a trip or two." "I shall be very glad to have you," the bald-headed scientist remarked. Tom's second blast was even more successful than the first, and enough of the hard rock was loosed and pulverized to give the Indian laborers ten days' work in removing it from the tunnel. Then, as the services of the young inventor would not be needed for a week or more, he decided to go on a little trip with Professor Bumper. "I'll come too," said Mr. Damon. "One of the sub-contractors whose men are gathering the cinchona bark for our firm has his headquarters in the region where you are going, and I can go over there and see why he isn't up to the mark." Accordingly, preparations having been made to spend a week in camp in the forests of the Andes, Tom and his party set off one morning. Professor Bumper's Indian helpers would do the hard work, and, of course, Koku, who went wherever Tom went, would be on hand in case some feat of strength were needed. It was a blind search, this hunt for a lost city, and as much luck might be expected going in one direction as in another; so the party had no fixed point toward which to travel. Only Mr. Damon stipulated that he wanted to reach a certain village, and they planned to include that on their route. Tom Swift took his electric rifle with him, and with it he was able to bring down a couple of deer which formed a welcome addition to the camp fare. The rifle was a source of great wonder to the Peruvians. They were familiar with ordinary firearms, and some of them possessed old-fashioned guns. But Tom's electric weapon, which made not a sound, but killed with the swiftness of light, was awesome to them. The interpreter accompanying Professor Bumper confided privately to Tom that the other Indians regarded the young inventor as a devil who could, if he wished, slay by the mere winking of an eye. Mr. Damon located the quinine-gathering force he was anxious to see, and, through the interpreter, told the chief that more bark must be brought in to keep up to the terms of the contract. But something seemed to be the matter. The Indian chief was indifferent to the interpreted demands of Mr. Damon, and that gentleman, though he blessed any number of animate and inanimate objects, seemed to make no impression. "No got men to gather bark, him say," translated the interpreter. "Hasn't got any men!" exclaimed Mr. Damon. "Why, look at all the lazy beggars around the village." This was true enough, for there were any number of able-bodied Indians lolling in the shade. "Him say him no got," repeated the translator, doggedly. At that moment screams arose back of one the grass huts, and a child ran out into the open, followed by a savage dog which was snapping at the little one's bare legs. "Bless my rat trap!" gasped Mr. Damon. "A mad dog!" Shouts and cries arose from among the Indians. Women screamed, and those who had children gathered them up in their arms to run to shelter. The men threw all sorts of missiles at the infuriated animal, but seemed afraid to approach it to knock it over with a club, or to go to the relief of the frightened child which was now only a few feet ahead of the animal, running in a circle. "Me git him!" cried Koku, jumping forward. "No, Wait!" exclaimed Tom Swift. "You can kill the dog all right, Koku," he said, "but a scratch from his tooth might be fatal. I'll fix him!" Snatching his electric rifle from the Indian bearer who carried it, Tom took quick aim. There was no flash, no report and no puff of smoke, but the dog suddenly crumpled up in a heap, and, with a dying yelp, rolled to one side. The child was saved. The little one, aware that something had happened, turned and saw the stretched out form of its enemy. Then, sobbing and crying, it ran toward its mother who had just heard the news. While the mothers gathered about the child, and while the older boys and girls made a ring at a respectful distance from the dog, there was activity noticed among the men of the village. They began hurrying out along the forest paths. "Where are they going?" asked Tom. "Is there some trouble? Was that a sacred dog, and did I get in bad by killing it?" The interpreter and the native chief conversed rapidly for a moment and then the former, turning to Tom, said: "Men go git cinchona bark now. Plenty get for him," and he pointed to Mr. Damon. "They no like stay in village. T'ink yo' got lightning in yo' pocket," and he pointed to the electric rifle. "Oh, I see!" laughed Tom. "They think I'm a sort of wizard. Well, so I am. Tell them if they don't get lots of quinine bark I'll have to stay here until all the mad dogs are shot." The interpreter translated, and when the chief had ceased replying, Tom and the others were told: "Plenty bark git. Plenty much. Yo' go away with yo' lightning. All right now." "Well, it's a good thing I keeled over that dog," Tom said. "It was the best object lesson I could give them." And from then on there was no more trouble in this district about getting a supply of the medicinal bark. A week passed and Professor Bumper was no nearer finding the lost city than he had been at first. Reluctantly, he returned to the tunnel camp to get more provisions. "And then I'll start out again," he said. "We'll go with you some other time," promised Tom. "But now I expect I'll have to get another blast ready." He found the debris brought down by the second one all removed, and in a few days, preparations for exploding more of the powder were under way. Many holes had been drilled in the face of the cliff of hard rock, and the charges tamped in. Electric wires connected them, and they were run out to the tunnel mouth where the switch was located. This was done late one afternoon, and it was planned to set off the blast at the close of the working day, to allow all night for the fumes to be blown away by the current of air in the tunnel. "Get the men out, Tim," said Tom, when all was ready. "All right, sor," was the answer, and the Irish foreman went back toward the far end of the bore to tell the last shift of laborers to come out so the blast could be set off. But in a little while Tim came running back with a queer look on his face. "What's the matter?" asked Tom. "Why didn't you bring the men with you?" "Because, sor, they're not there!" "Not in the tunnel? Why, they were working there a little while ago, when I made the last connection!" "I know they were, but they've disappeared." "Disappeared?" "Yis sir. There's no way out except at this end an' you didn't see thim come out: did you?" "Then they've disappeared! That's all there is to it! Bad goin's on, thot's what it is, sor! Bad!" and Tim shook his head mournfully. Chapter XV Frightened Indians "There must be some mistake," said Tom, wondering if the Irish foreman were given to joking. Yet he did not seem that kind of man. "Mistake? How can there be a mistake, sor? I wint in there to tell th' black imps t' come out, but they're not there to tell!" "What's the trouble?" asked Job Titus, coming out of the office near the tunnel mouth. "What's wrong, Tom?" "Why, I sent Tim in to tell the men to come out, as I was going to set off a blast, but he says the men aren't in there. And I'm sure the last shift hasn't come out." By this time Koku, Mr. Damon and Walter Titus had come up to find out what the trouble was. "The min have disappeared--that's all there is to it!" Tim said. "Perhaps they have missed their way--the lights may have gone out, and they might have wandered into some abandoned cutting," suggested Tom. "There aren't any abandoned cuttin's," declared Tim. "It's a straight bore, not a shaft of any kind. I've looked everywhere, and th' min aren't there I tell ye!" "Are the lights going?" asked Job. "You might have missed them in the dark, Tim." "The lights are going all right, Mr. Titus," said the young man in charge of the electrical arrangements. "The dynamo hasn't been stopped to-day." "Come on, we'll have a look," proposed Walter Titus. "There must be some mistake. Hold back the blast, Tom." "All right," and the young inventor disconnected the electrical detonating switch. "I'll come along and have a look too," he added. "Don't let anybody meddle with the wires, Jack," he said to the young Englishman who was in charge of the dynamo. Into the dimly-lit tunnel advanced the party of investigators, with Tim Sullivan in the lead. "Not a man could I find!" he said, murmuring to himself. "Not a man! An' I mind th' time in Oireland whin th' little people made vanish a whole village like this, jist bekase ould Mike Maguire uprooted a bed of shamrocks." "That's enough of your superstitions, Tim," warned Job Titus. "If some of the other Indians hear you go on this way they'll desert as they did once before." "Did they do that?" asked Tom. "Yes, we had trouble that way when we first began the work. The place here was a howling wilderness then, and there were lots of pumas around. "A puma is a small sized lion, you know, not specially dangerous unless cornered. Well, some of the men had their families here with them, and a couple of children disappeared. The story got started that there was a big puma--the king of them all--carrying off the little ones, and my brother and I awoke one morning to find every laborer missing. They departed bag and baggage. Afraid of the pumas." "What did you do?" "Well, we organized ourselves and our white helpers into a hunting party and killed a lot of the beasts. There wasn't any big one though." "And what had become of the children?" "They weren't eaten at all. They had wandered off into the woods, and some natives found them and took care of them. Eventually, they got back home. But it was a long while before we could persuade the Indians to come back. Since then we haven't had any trouble, and I don't want Tim, with his superstitious fancies, to start any." "But the min are gone!" insisted the Irish foreman, who had listened to this story as he and the others walked along. "We'll find them," declared Mr. Titus. But though they looked all along the big shaft, and though the place was well lighted by extra lamps that were turned on when the investigation started, no trace could be found of the workmen, who had been left in the tunnel to finish tamping the blast charges. The party reached the rocky heading, in the face of which the powerful explosive had been placed, and not an Indian was in sight. Nor, as far as could be told, was there any side niche, or blind shaft, in which they could be hiding. Sometimes, when small blasts were set off, the men would go behind a projecting shoulder of rock to wait until the charge had been fired, but now none was in such a refuge. "It is queer," admitted Walter Titus. "Where can the men have gone?" "That's what I want to know!" exclaimed Tim. "Are you sure they didn't come out the mouth of the tunnel?" asked Job Titus. "Positive," asserted Tom. I was there all the while, rigging up the fires." "We'll call the roll, and check up," decided Job Titus. "Get Serato to help." The Indian foreman had not been in the tunnel with the last shift of men, having left them to Tim Sullivan to get out in time. The Indian foreman was called from his supper in the shack where he had his headquarters, and the roll of workmen was called. Ten men were missing, and when this fact became known there were uneasy looks among the others. "Well," said Mr. Titus, after a pause. "The men are either in the tunnel or out of it. If they're in we don't dare set off the blast, and if they're out they'll show up, sooner or later, for supper. I never knew any of 'em to miss a meal." "If such a thing were possible," said Walter Titus, "I would say that our rivals had a hand in this, and had induced our men to bolt in order to cripple our force. But we haven't seen any of Blakeson & Grinder's emissaries about, and, if they were, how could they get the ten men out of the tunnel without our seeing them? It's impossible!" "Well, what did happen then?" asked Tom. "I'm inclined to think that the men came out and neither you, nor any one else, saw them. They ran away for reasons of their own. We'll take another look in the morning, and then set off the blast." And this was done. There being no trace of the men in the tunnel it was deemed safe to explode the charges. This was done, a great amount of rock being loosened. The laborers hung back when the orders were given to go in and clean up. There were mutterings among them. "What's the matter?" asked Job Titus. "Them afraid," answered Serato. "Them say devil in tunnel eat um up! No go in." "They won't go in, eh?" cried Tim Sullivan. "Well, they will thot! If there's a divil inside there's a worse one outside, an' thot's me! Git in there now, ye black-livered spalapeens!" and catching up a big club the Irishman made a rush for the hesitating laborers. With a howl they rushed into the tunnel, and were soon loading rock into the dump cars. Chapter XVI On the Watch The mystery of the disappearance of the ten men--for mystery it was--remained, and as no side opening or passage could be found within the tunnel, it came to be the generally accepted explanation that the laborers had come out unobserved, and, for reasons of their own, had run away. This habit on the part of the Peruvian workers was not unusual. In fact, the Titus brothers had to maintain a sort of permanent employment agency in Lima to replace the deserters. But they were used to this. The difference was that the Indians used to vanish from camp at night, and invariably after pay-day. "And that's the only reason I have a slight doubt that they walked out of the tunnel," said Job Titus. "There was money due em." "They never came out of the front entrance of the tunnel," said Tom. "Of that I'm positive." But there was no way of proving his assertion. The third blast, while not as successful as the second in the amount of rock loosened, was better than the first, and made a big advance in the tunnel progress. Tom was beginning to understand the nature of the mountain into which the big shaft was being driven and he learned how better to apply the force of his explosive. That was the work which he had charge of--the placing of the giant powder so it would do the most effective work. Then, when the fumes from the blast had cleared away, in would surge the workmen to clear away the debris. Under the direction of Mr. Swift, left at Shopton to oversee the manufacture of the explosive, new shipments came on promptly to Lima, and were brought out to the tunnel on the backs of mules, or in the case of small quantities, on the llamas. But the latter brutes will not carry a heavy load, lying down and refusing to get up if they are overburdened, whereas one has yet to find a mule's limit. After his first success in getting the natives to take a more active interest in the gathering of the cinchona bark, Mr. Damon found it rather easy, for the story of Tom's electric rifle and how it had killed the mad dog spread among the tribes, and Mr. Damon had but to announce that the "lightning shooter," as Tom was called, was a friend of the drug concern to bring about the desired results. Mr. Damon, by paying a sort of bribe, disguised under the name "tax," secured the help of Peruvian officials so he had no trouble on that score. Koku was in his element. He liked a wild life and Peru was much more like the country of giants where Tom had found him, than any place the big man had since visited. Koku had great strength and wanted to use it, and after a week or so of idleness he persuaded Tom to let him go in the tunnel to work. The giant was made a sort of foreman under Tim, and the two became great friends. The only trouble with Koku was that he would do a thing himself instead of letting his men do it, as, of course, all proper foremen should do. If the giant saw two or three of the Indians trying to lift a big rock into the little dump cars, and failing because of its great weight, he would good-naturedly thrust them aside, pick up the big stone in his mighty arms, and deposit it in its place. And once when an unusually big load had been put in a car, and the mule attached found it impossible to pull it out to the tunnel mouth, Koku unhitched the creature and, slipping the harness around his waist, walked out, dragging the load as easily as if pulling a child on a sled. Professor Bumper kept on with his search for the lost city of Pelone. Back and forth he wandered among the wild Andes Mountains, now hopeful that he was on the right trail, and again in despair. Tom and Mr. Damon went with him once more for a week, and though they enjoyed the trip, for the professor was a delightful companion, there were no results. But the scientist would not give up. Tom Swift was kept busy looking after the shipments of the explosive, and arranging for the blasts. He had letters from Ned Newton in which news of Shopton was given, and Mr. Swift wrote occasionally. But the mails in the wilderness of the Andes were few and far between. Tom wrote a letter of explanation to Mr. Nestor, in addition to the wireless he had sent regarding the box labeled dynamite, but he got no answer. Nor were his letters to Mary answered. "I wonder what's wrong?" Tom mused. "It can't be that they think I did that on purpose. And even if Mr. Nestor is angry at me for something that wasn't my fault, Mary ought to write." But she did not, and Tom grew a bit despondent as the days went by and no word came. "I suppose they might be offended because I left Rad to do up that package instead of attending to it myself," thought Tom. "Well, I did make a mistake there, but I didn't mean to. I never thought about Eradicate's not reading. I'll make him go to night school as soon as I get back. But maybe I'll never get another chance to send Mary anything. If I do, I'll not let Rad deliver it--that's sure." The feeling of alarm engendered among the Indians by the disappearance of their ten fellow-workers seemed to have disappeared. There were rumors that some of the mysterious ten had been seen in distant villages and settlements, but the Titus brothers could not confirm this. "I don't think anything serious happened to them, anyhow," said Job Titus one day. "And I should hate to think our work was responsible for harm to any one." "Your rivals don't seem to be doing much to hamper you," observed Tom. "I guess Waddington gave up. "I won't be too sure of that," said Mr. Titus. "Why, what has happened?" Tom asked. "Well, nothing down here--that is, directly--but we are meeting with trouble on the financial end. The Peruvian government is holding back payments." "Why is that?" "They claim we are not as far advanced as we ought to be." "Aren't you?" "Practically, yes. There was no set limit of work to be done for the intermediate payments. We bonded ourselves to have the tunnel done at a certain date. "If we fail, we lose a large sum, and if we get it done ahead of time we get a big premium. There was no question as to completing a certain amount of footage before we received certain payments. But Senor Belasdo, the government representative, claims that we will not be done in time, and therefore he is holding back money due us. I'm sure the rival contractors have set him up to this, because he was always decent to us before. "Another matter, too, makes me suspicious. We have tried to raise money in New York to tide us over while the government is holding up our funds here. But our New York office is meeting with difficulties. They report there is a story current to the effect that we are going to fail, and while that isn't so, you know how hard it is to borrow money in the face of such rumors. We are doing all we can to fight them, of course, and maybe we'll beat out our rivals yet. "But that isn't all. I'm sure some one is on the ground here trying to make trouble among our workers. I never knew so many men to leave, one after another. It's keeping the employment agency in Lima busy supplying us with new workers. And so many of them are unskilled. They aren't able to do half the work of the old men, and poor Tim Sullivan is in despair." "You think some one here is causing dissensions and desertions among your men?" "I'm sure of it! I've tried to ferret out who it is, but the spy, for such he must be, keeps his identity well hidden." Tom thought for a moment. Then he said: "Mr. Titus, with your permission, I'll see if I can find out about this for you." "Find out what, Tom?" "What is causing the men to leave. I don't believe it's the scare about the ten missing ones." "Nor do I. That's past and gone. But how are you going to get at the bottom of it?" "By keeping watch. I've got nothing to do now for the next week. We've just set off a big blast, and I've got the powder for the following one all ready. The men will be busy for some time getting out the broken rock. Now what I propose to do is to go in the tunnel and work among them until I can learn something. "I can understand the language pretty well now, though I can't speak much of it. I'll go in the tunnel every day and find out what's going on." "But you'll be known, and if one of our men, or one who we suppose is one, turns out to be a spy, he'll be very cautious while you're in there." "He won't know me," Tom said. "This is how I'll work it. I'll go off with Professor Bumper the next time he starts on one of his weekly expeditions into the woods. But I won't go far until I turn around and come back. I'll adopt some sort of disguise, and I'll apply to you for work. You can tell Tim to put me on. You might let him into the secret, but no one else." A few days later Tom was seen departing with Professor Bumper into the interior, presumably to help look for the lost city. Mr. Damon was away from camp on business connected with the drug concern, and Koku, to his delight, had been given charge of a stationary hoisting engine outside the tunnel, so he would not come in contact with Tom. It was not thought wise to take the giant into the secret. Then one day, shortly after Professor Bumper and Tom had disappeared into the forest, a ragged and unkempt white man applied at the tunnel camp for work. There was just the barest wink as he accosted Mr. Titus, who winked in turn, and then the new man was handed over to Tim Sullivan, as a sort of helper. And so Tom Swift began his watch. Chapter XVII The Condor Left to himself, with only the rather silent gang of Peruvian Indians as company, Tom Swift looked about him. There was not much active work to be done, only to see that the Indians filled the dump cars evenly full, so none of the broken rock would spill over the side and litter the tramway. Then, too, he had to keep the Indians up to the mark working, for these men were no different from any other, and they were just as inclined to "loaf on the job" when the eye of the "boss" was turned away. They did not talk much, murmuring among themselves now and then, and little of what they said was intelligible to Tom. But he knew enough of the language to give them orders, the main one of which was: "Hurry up!" Now, having seen to it that the gang of which he was in temporary charge was busily engaged, Tom had a chance to look about him. The tunnel was not new to him. Much of his time in the past month had been spent in its black depths, illuminated, more or less, by the string of incandescent lights. "What I want to find," mused Tom, as he walked to and fro, "is the place where those Indians disappeared. For I'm positive they got away through some hole in this tunnel. They never came out the main entrance." Tom held to this view in spite of the fact that nearly every one else believed the contrary--that the men had left by the tunnel mouth, near which Tom happened to be alone at the time. Now, left to himself, with merely nominal duties, and so disguised that none of the workmen would know him for the trim young inventor who oversaw the preparing of the blast charges, Tom Swift walked to and fro, looking for some carefully hidden passage or shaft by means of which the men had got away. "For it must be well hidden to have escaped observation so long," Tom decided. "And it must be a natural shaft, or hole, for we are boring into native rock, and it isn't likely that these Indians ever tried to make a tunnel here. There must be some natural fissure communicating with the outside of the mountain, in a place where no one would see the men coming out." But though Tom believed this it was another matter to demonstrate his belief. In the intervals of seeing that the natives properly loaded the dump cars, and removed as much of the debris as possible, Tom looked carefully along the walls and roof of the tunnel thus far excavated. There were cracks and fissures, it is true, but they were all superficial ones, as Tom ascertained by poking a long pole up into them. "No getting out that way," he said, as he met with failure after failure. Once, while thus engaged, he saw Serato, the Indian foreman looking narrowly at him, and Serato said something in his own language which Tom could not understand. But just then along came Tim Sullivan, who, grasping the situation, exclaimed: "Thot's all roight, now, Serri, me lad!" for thus he contracted the Indian's name. "Thot's a new helper I have, a broth of a bye, an' yez kin kape yer hands off him. He's takin' orders from me!" "Um!" grunted the Indian. "Wha for he fish in tunnel roof?" for Tom's pole was one like those the Indians used when, on off days, they emulated Izaak Walton. "Fishin' is it!" exclaimed Tim. "Begorra 'tis flyin' fish he's after I'm thinkin'. Lave him alone though, Serri! I'm his boss!" "Um!" grunted the Indian again, as he moved off into the farther darkness. "Be careful, Tom," whispered the Irishman, when the native had gone. "These black imps is mighty suspicious. Maybe thot fellah had a hand in th' disappearances hisself." "Maybe," admitted Tom. "He may get a percentage on all new hands that are hired." Tom kept on with his search, always hoping he might find some hidden means of getting out of the tunnel. But as the days went by, and he discovered nothing, he began to despair. "The queer thing about it," mused Tom, "is what has become of the ten men. Even if they did find some secret means of leaving, what has become of them? They couldn't completely disappear, and they have families and relatives that would make some sort of fuss if they were out of sight completely this long. I wonder if any inquiries have been made about them?" When Tom came off duty he asked the Titus brothers whether or not any of the relatives of the missing men had come to seek news about them. None had. "Then," said Tom, "you can depend on it the men are all right, and their relatives know it. I wonder how it would do to make inquiries at that end? Question some of the relatives." "Bless my hat band!" exclaimed Mr. Damon, who was at the conference. "I never thought of that. I'll do it for you." The odd man had gotten his quinine gathering business well under way now, and he had some spare time. So, with an interpreter who could be trusted, he went to the native village whence had come nearly all of the ten missing men. But though Mr. Damon found some of their relatives, the latter, with shrugs of their shoulders, declared they had seen nothing of the ones sought. "And they didn't seem to worry much, either," reported Mr. Damon. "Then we can depend on it," remarked Tom, "that the men are all right and their relatives know it. There's some conspiracy here." So it seemed. But who was at the bottom of it? "I can't figure out where Blakeson & Grinder come in," said Job Titus. "They would have an object in crippling us, but they seem to be working from the financial end, trying to make us fail there. I haven't seen any of their sneaking agents around here lately, and as for Waddington he seems to have stayed up North." Tom resumed his vigil in the tunnel, poking here and there, but with little success. His week was about up, and he would soon have to resume his character as powder expert, for the debris was nearly all cleaned up, and another blast would have to be fired shortly. "Well, I'm stumped!" Tom admitted, the day when he was to come on duty for the last time as a pretended foreman. "I've hunted all over, and I can't find any secret passage." It was warm in the tunnel, and Tom, having seen one train of the dump cars loaded, sat down to rest on an elevated ledge of rock, where he had made a sort of easy chair for himself, with empty cement bags for cushions. The heat, his weariness and the monotonous clank-clank of a water pump near by, and the equally monotonous thump of the lumps of rocks in the cars made Tom drowsy. Almost before he knew it he was asleep. What suddenly awakened him he could not tell. Perhaps it was some influence on the brain cells, as when a vivid dream causes us to start up from slumber, or it may have been a voice. For certainly Tom heard a voice, he declared afterward. As he roused up he found himself staring at the rocky wall of the tunnel. And yet the wall seemed to have an opening in it and in the opening, as if it were in the frame of a picture, appeared the face Tom had seen at his library the day Job Titus called on him--the face of Waddington! Tom sat up so quickly that he hit his head sharply on a projecting rock spur, and, for the moment he "saw stars." And with the appearance of these twinkling points of light the face of Waddington seemed to fade away, as might a vision in a dream. "Bless my salt mackerel, as Mr. Damon would say!" cried Tom. "What have I discovered?" He rubbed his head where he had struck it, and then passed his hand before his eyes, to make sure he was awake. But the vision, if vision it was, had vanished, and he saw only the bare rock wall. However, the echo of the voice remained in his ears, and, looking down toward the tunnel floor Tom saw Serato, the Indian foreman. "Were you speaking to me?" asked Tom, for the man understood and spoke English fairly well. "No, sar. I not know you there!" and the foreman seemed startled at seeing Tom. Clearly he was in a fright. "You were speaking!" insisted Tom. "No, sar!" The man shook his head. "To some one up there!" went on the young inventor, waving his hand toward the spot where he had seen the face in the rock. "Me speak to roof? No, sar!" Serato laughed. Tom did not know what to believe. "You hear me tell um lazy man to much hurry," the Indian went on. "Me not know you sleep there, sar!" "Oh, all right," Tom said, recollecting that he must keep up his disguise. "Maybe I was dreaming." "Yes, sar," and the foreman hurried on, with a backward glance over his shoulder. "Now was I dreaming or not?" thought Tom. "I'm going to have a look at that place though, where I saw Waddington's face. Or did I imagine it?" He got a long pole and a powerful flash lamp, and when he had a chance, unobserved, he poked around in the vicinity where he had seen the face. But there was only solid rock. "It must have been a dream," Tom concluded. "I've been thinking too much about this business. I'll have to give up. I can't solve the mystery of the missing men." The next day, much disappointed, he resumed his own character as explosive expert, and prepared for another blast. The net result of his watch was that he became suspicious of Serato, and so informed the Titus Brothers. "Oh, but you're mistaken," said Job. "We have had him for years, on other contracts in Peru, and we trust him." "Well, I don't," Tom said, but he had to let it go at that. Another blast was set off, but it was not very successful. "The rock seems to be getting harder the farther in we go," commented Walter Titus. "We're not up to where we ought to be." "I'll have to look into it," answered Tom. "I may have to change the powder mixture. Guess I'll go up the mountain a way, and see if there are any outcroppings of rock there that would give me an idea of what lies underneath." Accordingly, while the men in the tunnel were clearing away the rock loosened by the blast, Tom, one day, taking his electric rifle with him, went up the mountain under which the big bore ran. He located, by computation, the spot beneath which the end of the tunnel then was, and began collecting samples of the outcropping ledge. He wanted to analyze these pieces of stone later. Koku was with him, and, giving the giant a bag of stones to carry, Tom walked on rather idly. It was a wild and desolate region in which he found himself on the side of the mountain. Beyond him stretched towering and snow-clad peaks, and high in the air were small specks, which he knew to be condors, watching with their eager eyes for their offal food. As Tom and Koku made their way along the mountain trail they came unexpectedly upon an Indian workman who was gathering herbs and bark, an industry by which many of the natives added to their scanty livelihood. The woman was familiar with the appearance of the white men, and nodded in friendly fashion. Tom passed on, thinking of many things, when he was suddenly startled by a scream from the woman. It was a scream of such terror and agony that, for the moment, Tom was stunned into inactivity. Then, as he turned, he saw a great condor sweeping down out of the air, the wind fairly whistling through the big, outstretched wings. "Jove!" ejaculated Tom. "Can the bird be going to attack the woman?" But this was not the object of the condor. It was aiming to strike, with its fierce talons, at a point some paces distant from where the woman stood, and in the intervals between her screams Tom heard her cry, in her native tongue: "My baby! My baby! The beast-bird will carry off my baby!" Then Tom understood. The woman herb-gatherer had brought her infant with her on her quest, and had laid it down on a bed of soft grass while she worked. And it was this infant, wrapped as Tom afterward saw in a piece of deer-skin, at which the condor was aiming. "Master shoot!" cried Koku, pointing to the down-sweeping bird. "You bet I'll shoot!" cried Tom. Throwing his electric rifle to his shoulder, Tom pressed the switch trigger. The unseen but powerful force shot straight at the condor. The outstretched wings fell limp, the great body seemed to shrivel up, and, with a crash, the bird fell into the underbrush, breaking the twigs and branches with its weight. The electric rifle, a full account of which was given in the volume entitled "Tom Swift and His Electric Rifle," had done its work well. With a scream, in which was mingled a cry of thanks, the woman threw herself on the sleeping child. The condor had fallen dead not three paces from it. Tom Swift had shot just in time. Chapter XVIII The Indian Strike Snatching up in her arms the now awakened child, the woman gazed for a moment into its face, which she covered with kisses. Then the herb-gatherer looked over to the dead, limp body of the great condor, and from thence to Tom. In another moment the woman had rushed forward, and knelt at the feet of the young inventor. Holding the baby in one arm, in her other hand the woman seized Tom's and kissed it fervently, at the same time pouring forth a torrent of impassioned language, of which Tom could only make out a word now and then. But he gathered that the woman was thanking him for having saved the child. "Oh, that's all right," Tom said, rather embarrassed by the hand-kissing. "It was an easy shot." An Indian came bursting through the bushes, evidently the woman's husband by the manner in which she greeted him, and Tom recognized the newcomer as one of the tunnel workers. There was some quick conversation between the husband and wife, in which the latter made all sorts of motions, including in their scope Tom, his rifle, the dead condor and the now smiling baby. The man took off his hat and approached Tom, genuflecting as he might have done in church. "She say you save baby from condor," the man said in his halting English. "She t'ank you--me, I t'ank you. Bird see babe in deer skin--t'ink um dead animal. Maybe so bird carry baby off, drop um on sharp stone, baby smile no more. You have our lives, senor! We do anyt'ing we can for you." "Thanks," said Tom, easily. "I'm glad I happened to be around. I supposed condors only went for things dead, but I reckon, as you say, it mistook the baby in the deer skin for a dead animal. And I guess it might have carried your little one off, or at least lifted it up, and then it might have dropped it far enough to have killed it. It sure is a big bird," and Tom strolled over to look at what he had bagged. The condor of the Andes is the largest bird of prey in existence. One in the Bronx Zoo, in New York, with his wings spread out, measured a little short of ten feet from tip to tip. Measure ten feet out on the ground and then imagine a bird with that wing stretch. This same condor in the park was made angry by a boy throwing a feather boa up into the air outside the cage. The condor raised himself from the ground, and hurled himself against the heavy wire netting so that the whole, big cage shook. And the breeze caused by the flapping wings blew off the hats of several spectators. So powerful was the air force from the condor's wings that it reminded one of the current caused when standing behind the propellers of an aeroplane in motion. The condor rarely attacks living persons or animals, though it has been known to carry off big sheep when driven by hunger. It was one of these animals Tom Swift had shot with his electric rifle. "We do anyt'ing you want," the man gratefully repeated. "Well, I've got about all I want," Tom said. "But if you could tell me where those ten missing men are, and how they got out of the tunnel, I'd be obliged to you." The woman did not seem to comprehend Tom's talk, but the man did. He started, and fear seemed to come over him. "Me--I--I can not tell," he murmured. "No, I don't suppose you can," said Tom, musingly. "Well, it doesn't matter, I guess I'll have to cross it off my books. I'll never find out." Again the Indian and his wife expressed their gratitude, and Tom, after letting the little brown baby cling to his finger, and patting its chubby cheek, went on his way with Koku. "Well, that was some excitement," mused Tom, who made little of the shot itself, for the condor was such a mark that he would have had to aim very badly indeed to miss it. And perhaps only the electric rifle could have killed quickly enough to prevent the baby's being injured in some way by the big bird, even though it was dying. "Master heap good shot!" exclaimed Koku, admiringly. The tunnel work went on, though not so well as when Tom's explosive was first used. The rock was indeed getting harder and was not so easily shattered. Tom made tests of the pieces he had obtained from the outcropping ledge on the mountain where he had shot the condor, and decided to make a change in the powder. Shipments were regularly received from Shopton, Mr. Swift keeping things in progress there. Mr. Damon's business was going on satisfactorily, and he lent what aid he could to Tom. As for Professor Bumper he kept on with his search for the lost city of Pelone, but with no success. The scientist wanted Tom and Mr. Damon to go on another trip with him, this time to a distant sierra, or fertile valley, where it was reported a race of Indians lived, different from others in that region. "It may be that they are descendants from the Pelonians," suggested the professor. Tom was too busy to go, but Mr. Damon went. The expedition had all sorts of trouble, losing its way and getting into a swamp from which escape was not easy. Then, too, the strange Indians proved hostile, and the professor and his party could not get nearer than the boundaries of the valley. "But the difficulties and the hostile attitude of these natives only makes me surer that I am on the right track," said Mr. Bumper. "I shall try again." Tom was busy over a problem in explosives one day when he saw Tim Sullivan hurrying into the office of the two brothers. The Irishman seemed excited. "I hope there hasn't been another premature blast," mused Tom. "But if there had been I think I'd have heard it." He hastened out to see Job and Walter Titus in excited conversation with Tim. "They didn't come out, an' thot's all there is to it," the foreman was saying. "I sint thim in mesilf, and they worked until it was time t' set off th' blast. I wint t' get th' fuse, an' I was goin' t' send th' black imps out of danger, whin--whist--they was gone whin I got back--fifteen of 'em this time!" "Do you mean that fifteen more of our men have vanished as the first ten did?" asked Job Titus. "That's what I mean," asserted the Irishman. "It can't be!" declared Walter. "Look for yersilf!" returned Tim. "They're not in th' tunnel!" "And they didn't come out?" "Ask th' time-keeper," and Tim motioned to a young Englishman who, since the other disappearance, had been stationed at the mouth of the tunnel to keep a record of who went in and came out. "No, sir! Nobody kime hout, sir!" the Englishman declared. "Hi 'aven't been away frim 'ere, sir, not since hi wint on duty, sir. An' no one kime out, no, sir!" "We've got to stop this!" declared Job Titus. "I should say so!" agreed his brother. With Tom and Tim the Titus brothers went into the tunnel. It was deserted, and not a trace of the men could be found. Their tools were where they had been dropped, but of the men not a sign. "There must be some secret way out," declared Tom. "Then we'll find it," asserted the brothers. Work on the tunnel was stopped for a day, and, keeping out all natives, the contractors, with Tom and such white men as they had in their employ, went over every foot of roof, sides and floor in the big shaft. But not a crack or fissure, large enough to permit the passage of a child, much less a man, could be found. "Well, I give up!" cried Walter Titus in despair. "There must be witchcraft at work here!" "Nonsense!" exclaimed his brother. "It's more likely the craft of Blakeson & Grinder, with Waddington helping them." "Well, if a human agency made these twenty-five men disappear, prove it!" insisted Walter. His brother did not know what to say. "Well, go on with the work," was Job's final conclusion. "We'll have one of the white men constantly in the tunnel after this whenever a gang is working. We won't leave the natives alone even long enough to go to get a fuse. They'll be under constant supervision." The tunnel was opened for work, but there were no workers. The morning after the investigation, when the starting whistle blew there was no line of Indians ready to file into the big, black hole. The huts where they slept were deserted. A strange silence brooded over the tunnel camp. "Where are the men, Serato?" asked Tom of the Indian foreman. "Men um gone. No work any more. What you call a hit." "You mean a strike?" asked Tom. "Sure--strike--hit--all um same. No more work--um 'fraid!" Chapter XIX A Woman Tells "Well, if this isn't the limit!" cried Tom Swift. "As if we didn't have trouble enough without a strike on our hands!" "I should say yes!" chimed in Job Titus. "Do you mean that the men won't work any more?" asked his brother of the native foreman. "Sure, no more work--um much 'fraid big devil in tunnel carry um off an' eat um." "Well, I don't know that I blame 'em for being a bit frightened," commented Job. "It is a queer proceeding how twenty-five men can disappear like that. Where have the men gone, Serato?" "Gone home. No more work. Go on hit--strike--same like white men." "They waited until pay day to go on strike," commented the bookkeeper, a youth about Tom's age. This was true. The men had been paid off the day before, and usually on such occasions many of them remained away, celebrating in the nearest village. But this time all had left, and evidently did not intend to come back. "We'll have to get a new gang," said Job. "And it's going to delay us just at the wrong time. Well, there's no help for it. Get busy, Serato. You and Tim go and see how many men you can gather. Tell them we'll give them a sol a week more if they do good work. (A sol is the standard silver coin of Peru, and is worth in United States gold about fifty cents.) "Half a dollar a day more will look mighty big to them," went on the contractor. "Get the men, Serato, and we'll raise your wages two sols a week." The eyes of the Indian gleamed, and he went off, saying. "Um try, but men much 'fraid." Whether Serato used his best arguments could not, of course, be learned, but he came back at the close of the day, unaccompanied by any workers, and he shook his head despondently. "Indians no come for one sol, mebby not for two," he said. "I no can git." "Then I'll try!" cried Job. "I'll get the workers. I'll make our old ones come back, for they'll be the best." Accompanied by his brother and Tom he went to the various Indian villages, including the one whence most of the men now on strike had come. The fifteen missing ones were not found, though, as before, their relatives, and, in some cases, their families, did not seem alarmed. But the men who had gone on strike were found lolling about their cabins and huts, smoking and taking their ease, and no amount of persuasion could induce them to return. Some of them said they had worked long enough and were tired, needing a rest. Others declared they had money enough and did not want more. Even two more sols a week would not induce them to return. And many were frankly afraid. They said so, declaring that if they went back to the tunnel some unknown devil might carry them off under the earth. Job Titus and his brother, who could speak the language fairly well, tried to argue against this. They declared the tunnel was perfectly safe. But one native worker, who had been the best in the gang, asked: "Where um men go?" The contractors could not answer. "It's a trick," declared Walter. "Our rivals have induced the men to go on strike in order to hamper us with the work so they'll get the job." But the closest inquiry failed to prove this statement. If Blakeson & Grinder, or any of their agents, had a hand in the strike they covered their operations well. Though diligent inquiry was made, no trace of Waddington, or any other tool, could be found. Tom, who had some sort of suspicion of the bearded man on the steamer, tried to find him, even taking a trip in to Lima, but without avail. The tunnel work was at a standstill, for there was little use in setting off blasts if there were no men to remove the resulting piles of debris. So, though Tom was ready with some specially powerful explosive, he could not use it. Efforts were made to get laborers from another section of the country, but without effect. The contractors heard of a big force of Italians who had finished work on a railroad about a hundred miles away, and they were offered places in the tunnel. But they would not come. "Well, we may as well give up," said Walter, despondently, to his brother one day. "We'll never get the tunnel done on time now." "We still have a margin of safety," declared job. "If we could get the men inside of a couple of weeks, and if Tom's new powder rips out more rock, we'll finish in time." "Yes, but there are too many ifs. We may as well admit we've failed." "I'll never do that!" "What will you do?" But Job did not know. "If we could git a gang of min from the ould sod--th' kind I used t' work wit in N'Yark," said Tim Sullivan, "I'd show yez whot could be done! We'd make th' rock fly!" But that efficient labor was out of the question now. The tunnel camp was a deserted place. "Come on, Koku, we'll go hunting," said Tom one day. "There's no use hanging around here, and some venison wouldn't go bad on the table." "I'll come, too," said Mr. Damon. "I haven't anything to do." The Titus brothers had gone to a distant village, on the forlorn hope of getting laborers, so Tom was left to his own devices, and he decided to go hunting with his electric rifle. The taruco, or native deer, had been plentiful in the vicinity of the tunnel until the presence of so many men and the frequent blasts had driven them farther off, and it was not until after a tramp of several miles that Tom saw one. Then, after stalking it a little way, he managed to kill it with the electric rifle. Koku hoisted the animal to his big shoulders, and, as this would provide meat enough for some time, Tom started back for camp. As he and Mr. Damon, with Koku in the rear, passed through a little clearing, they saw, on the far side, a native hut. And from it rushed a woman, who approached Tom, casting herself on her knees, while she pressed his free hand to her head. "Bless my scarf pin!" exclaimed Mr. Damon. "What does this mean, Tom?" "Oh, this is the mother of the child I saved from the condor," said Tom. "Every time she sees me she thanks me all over again. How is the baby?" he asked in the Indian tongue, for he was a fair master of it by now. "The baby is well. Will the mighty hunter permit himself to enter my miserable hovel and partake of some milk and cakes?" "What do you say, Mr. Damon?" Tom asked. "She's clean and neat, and she makes a drink of goat's milk that isn't bad. She bakes some kind of meal cakes that are good, too. I'm hungry." "All right, Tom, I'll do as you say." A little later they were partaking of a rude, but none the less welcome, lunch in the woman's hut, while the baby whose life Tom had saved cooed in the rough log cradle. "Say, Masni," asked Tom, addressing the woman by name, "don't you know where we can get some men to work the tunnel?" Of course Tom spoke the Indian language, and he had to adapt himself to the comprehension of Masni. "Men no work tunnel?" she inquired. "No, they've all skipped out--vamoosed. Afraid of some spirit." The woman looked around, as though in fear. Then she approached Tom closely and whispered: "No spirit in tunnel--bad man!" "What!" cried Tom, almost jumping off his stool. "What do you mean, Masni?" "Me tell mighty hunter," she went on, lowering her voice still more. "My man he no want to tell, he 'fraid, but I tell. Mighty hunter save Vashni," and she looked toward the baby. "Me help friends of mighty hunter. Bad man in tunnel--no spirit! "Men go. Spirit no take um--bad man take um." "Where are they now?" asked Tom. "Jove, if I could find them the secret would be solved!" The woman looked fearfully around the hut and then whispered: "You come--me show!" "Bless my toothbrush!" cried Mr. Damon. "What is going to happen, Tom Swift?" "I don't know," was the answer, "but something sure is in the wind. I guess I shot better than I knew when I killed that condor." Chapter XX Despair Calling to a girl of about thirteen years to look after her baby, Masni slipped along up a rough mountain trail, motioning to Tom, Mr. Damon and Koku to follow. Or rather, the woman gave the sign to Tom, ignoring the others, who, naturally, would not be left behind. Masni seemed to have eyes for no one but the young inventor, and the manner in which she looked at him showed the deep gratitude she felt toward him for having saved her baby from the great condor. "Come," she said, in her strange Indian tongue, which Tom could interpret well enough for himself now. "But where are we going, Masni?" he asked. "This isn't the way to the tunnel." "Me know. Not go to tunnel now," was her answer. "Me show you men." "But which men do you mean, Masni?" inquired Tom. "The lost men, or the bad ones, who are making trouble for us? Which men do you mean?" Masni only shook her head, and murmured: "Me show." Probably Tom's attempt to talk her language was not sufficiently clear to her. "My man--he good man," she said, coming to a pause on the rough trail after a climb which was not easy. "Yes, I know he is," Tom said. "But he went on a strike with the others, Masni. He no work. He go on a 'hit,' as Serato calls it," and Tom laughed. "My man he good man--but he 'fraid," said the wife. "He want to tell you of bad mans, but he 'fraid. You save my baby, I no 'fraid. I tell." "Oh, I see," said Tom. "Your husband would have given away the secret, only he's afraid of the bad men. He likes me, too?" "Sure!" Masni exclaimed. "He want tell, but 'fraid. He go 'way, I tell." Tom was not quite sure what it all meant, but it seemed that after his slaying of the condor both parents were so filled with gratitude that they wanted to reveal some secret about the tunnel, only Masni's husband was afraid. She, however, had been braver. "Something is going to happen," said Tom Swift. "I feel it in my bones!" "Bless my porous plaster!" cried Mr. Damon. "I hope it isn't anything serious." "We'll see," Tom went on. They resumed their journey up the mountain trail. It wound in and out in a region none of them had before visited. Though it could not be far from the tunnel, it was almost a strange country to Tom. Suddenly Masni stopped in a narrow gorge where the walls of rock rose high on either hand. She seemed looking for something. Her sharp, black eyes scanned the cliff and then with an exclamation of satisfaction she approached a certain place. With a quick motion she pulled aside a mass of tangled vines, and disclosed a path leading down through a V shaped crack in the cliff. "Mans down there," she said. "You go look." For a moment Tom hesitated. Was this a trap? If he and his friends entered this narrow and dark opening might not the Indian woman roll down some rock back of them, cutting off forever the way of escape? Tom turned and looked at Masni. Then he was ashamed of his suspicion, for the honest black face, smiling at him, showed no trace of guile. "You go--you see lost men," the woman urged. "Come on!" cried Tom. "I believe we're on the track of the mystery!" He led the way, followed by Mr. Damon, while Koku came next and then Masni. It could be no trap since she entered it herself. The path widened, but not much. There was only room for one to walk at a time. The trail twisted and turned, and Tom was wondering how far it led, when, from behind him, came the cry of the woman: "Watch now--no fall down." Tom halted around a sharp turn, and stood transfixed at the sight which met his gaze. He found himself looking out through a crack in the face of a sheer stone cliff that went straight down for a hundred feet or more to a green-carpeted valley. Tom was standing in a narrow cleft of rock--the same rock through which they had made their way. And at the foot of the cliff was a little encampment of Indians. There were a dozen huts, and wandering about them, or sitting in the shade, were a score or more of Indians. "There men from tunnel," said Masni, and, as he looked, wondering, Tom saw some of the workers he knew. One especially, was a laborer who walked with a peculiar limp. "The missing men!" gasped the young inventor. "Bless my almanac!" cried Mr. Damon. "Where?" "Here," answered Tom. "If you squeeze past me you can see them." Mr. Damon did so. "How did they get here?" asked the odd man, as he looked down in the little valley where the missing ones were sequestered. "That's what we've got to find out," Tom said. "At any rate here they are, and they seem to be enjoying life while we've been worrying as to what had become of them. How did they get here, Masni?" "Me show you. Come." "Wait until I take another look," said Tom. "Be careful they don't see you," cautioned Mr. Damon. "They can't very well. The cleft is screened by bushes." Tom looked down once more on the group of men who had so mysteriously disappeared. The little valley stretched out away from the face of the cliff, through which, by means of the crack, or cleft in it, Tom and the others had come. Tom looked down the wall of rock. It was as smooth as the side of a building, and offered no means of getting down or up. Doubtless there was an easier entrance to the valley on the other side. It was like looking down into some vast hall through an upper window or from a balcony. "And those men have been in hiding, or been hidden here, ever since they disappeared from the tunnel," said Mr. Damon. "It doesn't look as though they were detained by force," Tom remarked. "I think they are being paid to stay away. How did they get here, Masni?" "Me show you. Come!" They went back along the trail that led through the split in the rock, until they had come to the place where the natural curtain of vines concealed the entrance. Tom took particular notice of this place so he would know it again. Then Masni led them over the mountain, and this time Tom saw that they were approaching the tunnel. He recognized some places where he had taken samples of rock from the outcropping to test the strength of his explosive. Reaching a certain wild and desolate place, Masni made a signal of caution. She seemed to be listening intently. Then, as if satisfied there was no danger, she parted some bushes and glided in, motioning the others to follow. "Now I wonder what's up," Tom mused. He and the others were soon informed. Masni stopped in front of a pile of brush. With a few vigorous motions of her arms she swept it aside and revealed a smooth slab of rock. In the centre was what seemed to be a block of metal Masni placed her foot on this and pressed heavily. And those watching saw a strange thing. The slab of rock tilted to one side, as if on a pivot, revealing a square opening which seemed to lead through solid stone. And at the far end of the opening Tom Swift saw a glimmer of light. Stooping down, he looked through the hole thus strangely opened and what he saw caused him to cry out in wonder. "It's the tunnel!" he cried. "I can look right down into the tunnel. It's the incandescent lights I see. I can look right at the ledge of rock where I kept watch that day, and where I saw--where I saw the face of Waddington!" he cried. "It wasn't a dream after all. This is a shaft connecting with the tunnel. We didn't discover it because this rock fits right in the opening in the roof. It must have been there all the while, and some blast brought it to light. Is this how the men got out, or were taken out of the tunnel, Masni?" Tom asked. "This how," said the Indian woman. "See, here rope!" She pawed aside a mound of earth, and disclosed a rope buried there, a rope knotted at intervals. This, let down through the hole in the roof of the tunnel, provided a means of escape, and in such a manner that the disappearance of the men was most mysterious. "I see how it is!" cried Tom. "Some one interested, Waddington probably, who knew about this old secret shaft going down into the earth, used it as soon as our blasting was opened that far. They got the men out this way, and hid them in the secret valley." "But what for?" cried Mr. Damon. "To cripple us! To cause the strike by making our other workers afraid of some evil spirit! The men were taken away secretly, and, doubtless, have been kept in idleness ever since--paid to stay away so the mystery would be all the deeper. Our rivals finding they couldn't stop us in any other way have taken our laborers away from us." "Bless my meal ticket! It does look like that!" cried Mr. Damon. "Of course that's the secret!" cried Tom. "Blakeson & Grinder, or some of their tools--probably the bearded man or Waddington--found out about this shaft which led down into our tunnel. They induced the first ten men to quit, and when Tim went to get the fuse the rope was let down, and the men climbed up here, one after the other. Those Indians can climb like cats. Once the ten were out the shaft was closed with the rock, and the ten men taken off to the valley to be secreted there. "The same was done with the next fifteen, and, I suppose, if the strike hadn't come, more of our workers would have been induced to leave in this way. They're probably being better paid than when earning their wages; and their relatives must know where they are, and also be given a bonus to keep still. No wonder they didn't make a fuss. "And no wonder we couldn't find any opening in the tunnel roof. This rock must fit in as smoothly as a secret drawer in the kind of old desk where missing wills are found in stories." "You say you saw Waddington, or the bearded man?" asked Mr. Damon. "At the time," replied Tom, "I thought it was a dream. Now I know it wasn't. He must have opened the shaft just as I awakened from a doze. He saw me and closed it again. He may have been getting ready then to take off more of our men, so as to scare the others. Well, we've found out the trick." "And what are you going to do next?" asked Mr. Damon. "Get those missing men back. That will break the hoodoo, and the others will come back to work. Then we'll get on the trail of Waddington, or Blakeson & Grinder, and put a stop to this business. We know their secret now." "You mean to get the men out of the secret valley, Tom?" "Yes. There must be some other way into it than down the rock where we were. How about it, Masni?" and he inquired as to the valley. The Indian woman gave Tom to understand that there was another entrance. "Well, close up this shaft now before some one sees us at it--the bearded man, for example," Tom suggested. He took another look down into the tunnel, which was now deserted on account of the strike, and then Masni pressed on the mechanism that worked the stone. She showed Tom how to do it. "Just a counter-balanced rock operating on the same principle as does a window," Tom explained, after a brief examination. "Probably some of the old Indian tribes made this shaft for ceremonial purposes. They never dreamed we would drive a tunnel along at the bottom of it. The shaft probably opened into a cave, and one of our blasts made it part of the tunnel. Well, this is part of the secret, anyhow. Much obliged to you, Masni!" The Indian woman had indeed revealed valuable information. They covered the secret rock with brush, as it had been, hid the rope and came away. But Tom knew how to find the place again. Events moved rapidly from then on. The Titus brothers were more than astonished when Tom told them what he had learned. Masni had told him how to get into the secret valley by a round about, but easy trail, and thither Tom, the contractors, Mr. Damon and some of the white tunnel workers went the next day. The sequestered men, taken completely by surprise, tried to bolt when they saw that they were discovered, and then, shamefacedly enough, admitted their part in the trick. They would not, however, reveal who had helped them escape from the tunnel. Threats and promises of rewards were alike unavailing, but Tom and his employers knew well enough who it was. The tunnel workers seemed rather tired of living in comparative luxury and idleness, and agreed to come back to their labors. They packed up their few belongings, mostly cooking pots and pans, and marched out of the valley to the village at Rimac. And so the strike was broken. The reappearance of the missing men, in better health and spirits than when they went away, acted like magic. The other men, who had missed their wages, crowded back into the shaft, and the sounds of picks and shovels were heard again in the tunnel. Whether the missing ones told the real story, or whether they made up some tale to account for their absence, Tom and his friends could not learn. Nor did the bearded man (if he it were who had helped in the plot), nor any representative of Blakeson & Grinder appear. The work on the tunnel was resumed as if nothing had happened. But Tom arranged a bright light so it would reflect on the spot in the roof where the moving rock was, so that if the evil face of the bearded man, or of Waddington, appeared there again, it would quickly be seen. A search of the neighborhood, and diligent inquiries, failed to disclose the presence of any of the plotters. And then, as if Fate was not making it hard enough for the tunnel contractors, they encountered more trouble. It was after Tom had set off a big blast that Tim Sullivan, after inspecting what had happened, came out to ask. "I soy, Mr. Swift, why didn't yez use more powder?" "More powder!" cried Tom. "Why, this is the most I have ever set off." "Then somethin's wrong, sor. Fer there's only a little rock down. Come an' see fer yersilf." Tom hastened in. As the foreman had said, the effect of the blast was small indeed. Only a little rock had been shaled off. Tom picked up some of this and took it outside for examination. "Why, it's harder than the hardest flint we've found yet," he said. "The powder didn't make any impression on it at all. I'll have to use terrific charges." This was done, but with little better effect. The explosive, powerful as it was, ate only a little way into the rock. Blast after blast had the same poor effect. "This won't do," said Job Titus, despairingly, one day. "We aren't making any progress at all. There's a half mile of this rock, according to my calculations, and at this rate we'll be six months getting through it. By that time our limit will be up, and we'll be forced to give up the contract What can we do, Tom Swift?" Chapter XXI A New Explosive The young inventor was idly handling some pieces of the very hard rock that had cropped out in the tunnel cut. Tom had tested it, he had pulverized it (as well as he was able), he had examined it under the microscope, and he had taken great slabs of it and set off under it, or on top of it, charges of explosive of various power to note the effect. But the results had not been at all what he had hoped for. "What's to be done, Tom?" repeated the contractor. "Well, Mr. Titus," was the answer, "the only thing I see to do is to make a new explosive." "Can you do it, Tom?" The reply was characteristic. "I can try." And in the days that followed, Tom began work on a new line. He had brought from Shopton with him much of the needful apparatus, and he found he could obtain in Lima what he lacked. A message to his father brought the reply that the new ingredients Tom needed would be shipped. "The kind of explosive we need to rend that very hard rock," the young inventor explained to the Titus brothers, "is one that works slowly." "I thought all explosions had to be as quick as a flash," said Walter. "Well, in a sense, they do. Yet we have quick burning and slow-burning powders, the same as we have fuses. A quick-burning explosive is all right in soft rock, or in soil with rock and earth mingled. But in rock that is harder than flint if you use a quick explosive, only the outer surface of the rock will be scaled off. "If you take a hammer and bring it down with all your force on a hard rock you may chip off a lot of little pieces, or you may crack the rock, but you won't, under ordinary circumstances, pulverize it as we want to do in the tunnel. "On the other hand, if you take a smaller hammer, and keep tapping the rock with comparatively gentle blows, you will set up a series of vibrations, that, in time, will cause the hard rock to break up into any number of small pieces. "Now that is the kind of explosive I want--one that will deal a succession of constant blows at the hard rock instead of one great big blast." "Can you make it, Tom?" "Well, I don't know. I'll do the best I can." From then on Tom was busy with his experiments. Work on the tunnel did not cease while he was searching for a new explosive. There was plenty of the old explosive left and charges of this were set off as fast as holes could be drilled to receive it. But comparatively little was accomplished. Sometimes more rock would be loosed than at others, and the native laborers, now seemingly perfectly contented, would be kept busy. Again, when a heavy blast would be set off hardly a dozen dump cars could be filled. But the work must go on. Already the time limit was getting perilously close, and the contractors did not doubt that their rivals were only waiting for a chance to step in and take their places. Nothing more had been seen or heard of the bearded man, Waddington, or Blakeson & Grinder. But that the rival firm had not given up was evidenced by the efforts made in New York to cripple, financially, the firm in which Tom was interested. In fact, at one time the Titus brothers were so tied up that they could not get money enough to pay their men. But Tom cabled his father, who was quite wealthy, and Mr. Swift loaned the contractors enough to proceed with until they could dispose of some securities. It might be mentioned that Tom was to get a large sum if the tunnel were completed on time, so it was to his interest and his father's, to bring this about if he could. Tom kept on with his powder experiments. Mr. Damon helped him, for that gentleman had succeeded in putting the affairs of the wholesale drug business on a firm foundation, and there was no more trouble about getting the supplies of cinchona bark to market. The natives seemed to have taken kindly to the eccentric man, or perhaps it was the reputation of Tom Swift and his electric rifle that induced them to work hard. It must not be supposed that Professor Bumper was idle all this while. He came and went at odd times, accompanied by his little retinue of Indians, a guide and a native cook. He would come back to the tunnel camp, where he made his headquarters, travel stained, worn and weary, with disappointment showing on his face. "No luck," he would report. "The hidden city of Pelone is still lost." Then he would retire to his tent, to pour over his note-books, and make a new translation of the inscription on the golden plates. In a day or so, refreshed and rested, he would prepare for another start. "I'll find it this time, surely!" he would exclaim, as he marched off up the mountain trail. "I have heard of a new valley, never before visited by a white man, in which there are some old ruins. I'm sure they must be those of Pelone." But in a week or so he would come back, worn out and discouraged again. "The ruins were only those of a native village," he would say. "No trace of an ancient civilization there." The professor took little or no interest in the tunnel, though he expressed the hope that Tom and his friends would be successful. But industrial pursuits had no charm for the scientist. He only lived to find the hidden city which was to make him famous. He heard the story of the queer shaft leading down into the bore under the mountain, and, for a time, hoped that might be some clue to the lost Pelone. But, after an examination, he decided it was but the shaft to some ancient mine which had not panned out, and so had been abandoned after having been fitted with a balanced rocky door, perhaps for some heathen religious rite. There seemed to be no further trouble among the Indian tunnel workers. Those who had disappeared--who had, seemingly, gone willingly up the knotted rope to hide themselves in the valley--kept on with their work. If they told their fellows why and where they had gone, the others gave no sign. The evil spirits of the tunnel had been exorcised, and there was now peace, save for the blasts that were set off every so often. Tom tried combination after combination, testing them inside and outside the tunnel, always seeking for an explosive that would give a slow, rending effect instead of a quick blow, the power of which was soon lost. And at last he announced: "I think I have it!" "Have you? Good!" cried Job Titus. "Yes," Tom went on, "I've got a mixture here that seems to give just the effect I want. I tried it on some small pieces of rock, and now I want to test it on some large chunks. Have you brought any down lately?" "Yes, we have some big slabs in there." Some large pieces of the hard rock, which had been brought down in a recent blast, were taken outside the tunnel, and in them one afternoon Tom placed, in holes drilled to receive it, some of his new explosive. The rocks were set some distance away from the tunnel camp, and Tom attached the electric wires that were to detonate the charge. "Well, I guess we're ready," announced the young inventor, as he looked about him. The tunnel workers had been allowed to go for the day, and in a log shack, where they would be safe from flying pieces of rock, were Tom, Mr. Damon and the two Titus brothers. Tom held the electric switch in his hand, and was about to press it. "This explosive works differently from any other," he explained. "When the charge is fired there is not instantly a detonation and a bursting. The powder burns slowly and generates an immense amount of gas. It is this gas, accumulating in the cracks and crevices of the rock, that I hope will burst and disintegrate it. Of course, an explosion eventually follows, as you will see. Here she goes!" Tom pressed the switch and, as he did so, there was a cry of alarm from Mr. Damon. "Bless my safety match, Tom!" cried the old man. "Look! Koku!" For, as the charge was fired, the giant emerged from the woods and calmly took a seat on the rock that was about to be broken up into fragments by Tom's new explosive. Chapter XXII The Fight "Get off there, Koku!" "Stand up!" "Run!" "Get out of the way! That's going up!" Thus cried Tom and his friends to the big, good-natured, but somewhat stupid, giant who had sat down in the dangerous spot. Koku looked toward the hut, in front of which the young inventor and the others stood, waving their hands to him and shouting. "Get up! Get up!" cried Tom, frantically. The powder is going off, Koku!" "Can't you stop it?" asked Job Titus. "No!" answered Tom. "The electric current has already ignited the charge. Only that it's slow-burning it would have been fired long ago. Get up, Koku!" But the giant did not seem to understand. He waved his hand in friendly greeting to Tom and the others, who dared not approach closer to warn him, for the explosion would occur any second now. Then Mr. Damon had an inspiration. "Call him to come to you, Tom!" shouted the odd man. "He always comes to you in a hurry, you know. Call him!" Tom acted on the suggestion at once. "Here, Koku!" he cried. "Come here, I want you! Kelos!" This last was a word in the giant's own language, meaning "hurry." And Koku knew when Tom used that word that there was need of haste. So, though he had sat down, evidently to take his ease after a long tramp through the woods, Koku sprang up to obey his master's bidding. And, as he did so, something happened. The first spark from the fuse, ignited by the electric current, had reached the slow-burning powder. There was a crackle of flame, and a dull rumble. Koku sprang up from the big stone as though shot. What he saw and heard must have alarmed him, for he gave a mighty jump and started to run, at the same time shouting: "Me come, Master!" "You'd better!" cried the young inventor. Koku got away only just in time, for when he was half way between the group of his friends and the big rock, the utmost force of the explosion was felt. It was not so very loud, but the power of it made the earth tremble. The rock seemed to heave itself into the air, and when it settled back it was seen to be broken up into many pieces. Koku looked back over his shoulder and gave another tremendous leap, which carried him out of the way of the flying fragments, some of which rattled on the roof of the log hut. "There!" cried Tom. "I guess something happened that time! The rock is broken up finer than any like it we tried to shatter before. I think I've got the mixture just right!" "Bless my handkerchief!" cried Mr. Damon. "Think of what might have happened to Koku if he had been sitting there." "Well," said Tom, "he might not have been killed, for he would probably have been tossed well out of the way at the first slow explosion, but afterward--well, he might have been pretty well shaken up. He got away just in time." The giant looked thoughtfully back toward the place of the experimental blast. "Master, him do that?" he asked. "I did," Tom replied. "But I didn't think you'd walk out of the woods, just at the wrong time, and sit down on that rock." "Um," murmured the giant. "Koku--he--he--Oh, by golly!" he yelled. And then, as if realizing what he had escaped, and being incapable of expressing it, the giant with a yell ran into the tunnel and stayed there for some time. The experiment was pronounced a great success and, now that Tom had discovered the right kind of explosive to rend the very hard rock, he proceeded to have it made in sufficiently large quantities to be used in the tunnel. "We'll have to hustle," said Job Titus. "We haven't much of our contract time left, and I have reason to believe the Peruvian government will not give any extension. It is to their interest to have us fail, for they will profit by all the work we have done, even if they have to pay our rivals a higher price than we contracted for. It is our firm that will pocket the loss." "Well, we'll try not to have that happen," said Tom, with a smile. "If you're going to use bigger charges of this new explosive, Tom, won't more rock be brought down?" asked Walter Titus. "That's what I hope." "Then we'll need more laborers to bring it out of the tunnel." "Yes, we could use more I guess. The faster the blasted rock is removed, the quicker I can put in new charges." "I'll get more men," decided the contractor. "There won't be any trouble now that the hoodoo of the missing workers is solved. I'll tell Serato to scare up all his dusky brethren he can find, and we'll offer a bonus for good work." The Indian foreman readily agreed to get more laborers. "And get some big ones, Serato," urged Job Titus. "Get some fellows like Koku," for the giant did the work of three men in the tunnel, not because he was obliged to, but because his enormous strength must find an outlet in action. "Um want mans like him?" asked the Indian, nodding toward the giant. He and Koku were not on good terms, for once, when Koku was a hurry, he had picked up the Indian (no mean sized man himself) and had calmly set him to one side. Serato never forgave that. "Sure, get all the giants you can," Tom said. "But I guess there aren't any in Peru." Where Serato found his man, no one knew, and the foreman would not tell; but a day or so later he appeared at the tunnel camp with an Indian so large in size that he made the others look like pygmies, and many of them were above the average in height, too. "Say, he's a whopper all right!" exclaimed Tom. "But he isn't as big or as strong as Koku." "He comes pretty near it," said Job Titus. "With a dozen like him we'd finish the tunnel on time, thanks to your explosive." Lamos, the Indian giant, was not quite as large as Koku. That is, he was not as tall, but he was broader of shoulder. And as to the strength of the two, well, it was destined to be tried out in a startling fashion. In about a week Tom was ready with his first charges of the new explosive. The extra Indians were on hand, including Lamos, and great hopes of fast progress were held by the contractors. The charge was fired and a great mass of broken rock brought down inside the tunnel. "That's tearing it up!" cried Job Titus, when the fumes had blown away, the secret shaft having been opened to facilitate this. "A few more shots like that and we'll be through the strata of hard rock." The Indians, Koku and Lamos doing their share of the work, were rushed in to clear away the debris, so another charge might be fired as soon as possible. This would be in a day or so. The contract time was getting uncomfortably close. Blast after blast was set off, and good progress was made. But instead of half a mile of the extra hard rock the contractors found it would be nearer three quarters. "It's going to be touch and go, whether or not we finish on time," said Mr. Job Titus one afternoon, when a clearance had been made and the men had filed out to give the drillers a chance to make holes for a new blast. Tom was about to make a remark when Tim Sullivan came running out of the tunnel, his face showing fright and wonder. "What's up now, I wonder," said Mr. Titus. "More men missing?" "Quick! Come quick!" cried the Irishman. "Thim two giants is fightin' in there, an' they'll tear th' tunnel apart if we don't stop 'em. It's an awful fight! Awful!" Chapter XXIII A Great Blast Hardly comprehending what the Irish foreman had said, Tom Swift, the Titus brothers and Mr. Damon followed Tim Sullivan back into the tunnel. They had not gone far before they heard the murmur of many voices, and mingled with that were roarings like those of wild beasts. "That's thim!" cried Tim. "They're chawin' each other up!" "Koku and that Indian giant fighting!" cried Tom. "What's it all about?" "Don't ask me!" shouted Tim. "They've been on bad terms iver since they met." This was true enough, for one giant was jealous of the other's power, and they were continually trying feats of strength against one another. Probably this had culminated in a fight, Tom concluded. "And it will be some fight!" mused the young inventor. Hurrying on, Tom and his companions came upon a strange and not altogether pleasant sight. In an open place in the tunnel, where the lights were brightest, and in front of the rocky wall which offered a bar to further progress and which was soon to be blasted away, struggled the two giants. With their arms locked about one another, they swayed this way and that--a struggle between two Titans. Of nearly the same height and bigness, it was a wrestling match such as had never been seen before. Had it been merely a friendly test of strength it would have been good to look upon. But it needed only a glance into the faces of either giant to show that it was a struggle in deadly earnest. Back and forth they reeled over the rocky floor of the tunnel, bones and sinews cracking. One sought to throw the other, and first, as Koku would gain a slight advantage, his friends would call encouragement, while, when Lamos seemed about to triumph, the Indians favoring him would let out a yell of triumph. For a few minutes Tom and his friends watched, fascinated. Then they saw Koku slip, while Lamos bent him farther toward the earth. The Indian giant raised his big fist, and Tom saw in it a rock, which the big man was about to bring down on Koku's head. "Look out, Koku!" yelled Tom. Tom's giant slid to one side only just in time, for the blow descended, catching him on his muscular shoulder where it only raised a bruise. And then Koku gathered himself for a mighty effort. His face flamed with rage at the unfair trick. "Bless my bath sponge!" cried Mr. Damon. "This is awful!" "They must stop!" said Job Titus. "We can't have them fighting like this. It is bad for the others. If it were in fun it would be all right, but they are in deadly earnest. They must stop!" "Koku, stop!" called Tom. "You must not fight any more!" "No fight more!" gasped the giant, through his clenched teeth. "This end fight!" With a mighty effort he broke the hold of Lamos' arms. Then stooping suddenly he seized his rival about the middle, and with a tremendous heave, in which his muscles stood out in great bunches while his very bones seemed to crack, Koku raised Lamos high in the air. Up over his head he raised that mass of muscle, bone and flesh, squirming and wriggling, trying in vain to save itself. Up and up Koku raised Lamos as the murmur of those watching grew to a shout of amazement and terror. Never had the like been seen in that land for generations. Up and up one giant raised the other. Then calling out something in his native tongue Koku hurled the other from him, clear across the tunnel and up against the opposite rocky wall. The murmuring died to frightened whispers as Lamos fell in a shapeless heap on the floor. "Ah!" breathed Koku, stretching himself, and extending his brawny arms. "Fight all over, Master." "Yes, so it seems, Koku," said Tom, solemnly, "but you have killed him. Shame on you!" and he spoke bitterly. Job Titus had hurried over to the fallen giant. "He isn't dead," he called, "but I guess he won't wrestle or fight any more. He's badly crippled." "And him no more try to blow up tunnel, either," said Koku in his hoarse voice. "Me fix: him! No more him take powder, and make tunnel all bust." "What do you mean, Koku?" asked Tom. "Is that why you fought him? Did he try to wreck the tunnel?" "So him done, Master. But Koku see--Koku stop. Then um fight." "Be jabbers an' I wouldn't wonder but what he was right!" cried Tim Sullivan, excitedly. "I did see that beggar." and he pointed to Lamos, who was slowly crawling away, "at the chist where I kape th' powder, but I thought nothin' of it at th' time. What did he try t' do, Koku?" Then the giant explained in his own language, Tom Swift translating, for Koku spoke English but indifferently well. "Koku says," rendered Tom, "that he saw Lamos trying to put a big charge of powder up in the place where the balanced rock fits in the secret opening of the tunnel roof. The charge was all ready to fire, and if the giant had set it off he might have brought down the roof of the tunnel and so choked it up that we'd have been months cleaning it out. Koku saw him and stopped him, and then the fight began. We only saw the end." "Bless my shoe string!" gasped Mr. Damon. "And a terrible end it was. Will Lamos die?" "I don't think so," answered Job Titus. "But he will be a cripple for life. Not only would he have wrecked the tunnel, but he would have killed many of our men had he set off that blast. Koku saved them, though it seems too bad he had to fight to do it." An investigation showed that Koku spoke truly. The charge, all ready to set off, was found where he had knocked it from the hand of Lamos. And so Tom's giant saved the day. Lamos was sent back to his own village, a broken and humbled giant. And to this day, in that part of Peru, the great struggle between Koku and Lamos is spoken of with awe where Indians gather about their council fires, and they tell their children of the Titanic fight. "It was part of the plot," said Job Titus when the usual blast had been set off that day, with not very good results. "This giant was sent to us by our rivals. They wanted him to hamper our work, for they see we have a chance to finish on time. I think that foreman, Serato, is in the plot. He brought Lamos here. We'll fire him!" This was done, though the Indian protested his innocence. But he could not be trusted. "We can't take any chances," said Job Titus. "Our time is too nearly up. In fact I'm afraid we won't finish on time as it is. There is too much of that hard rock to cut through." "There's only one thing to do," said Tom, after an investigation. "As you say, there is more of that hard rock than we calculated on. To try to blast and take it out in the ordinary way will be useless. We must try desperate means." "What is that?" asked Walter Titus. "We must set off the biggest blast we can with safety. We'll bore a lot of extra holes, and put in double charges of the explosive. I'll add some ingredients to it that will make it stronger. It's our last chance. Either we'll blow the tunnel all to pieces, or we'll loosen enough rock to make sufficient progress so we can finish on time. What do you say? Shall we take the chance?" The Titus brothers looked at one another. Failure stared them in the face. Unless they completed the tunnel very soon they would lose all the money they had sunk in it. "Take the chance!" exclaimed Job. "It's sink or swim anyhow. Set off the big blast, Tom." "All right. We'll get ready for it as soon as we can." That day preparations were made for setting off a great charge of the powerful explosive. The work was hurried as fast as was consistent with safety, but even then progress was rather slow. Precautions had to be taken, and the guards about the tunnel were doubled. For it was feared that some word of what was about to be done would reach the rival firm, who might try desperate means to prevent the completion of the work. There was plenty of the explosive on hand, for Mr. Swift had sent Tom a large shipment. All this while no word had come from Mr. Nestor, and Tom was beginning to think that his prospective father-in-law was very angry with him. Nor had Mary written. Professor Bumper came and went as he pleased, but his quest was regarded as hopeless now. Tom and his friends had little time for the bald-headed scientist, for they were too much interested in the success of the big blast. "Well, we'll set her off to-morrow," Tom said one night, after a hard day's work. "The rocky wall is honeycombed with explosive. If all goes well we ought to bring down enough rock to keep the gangs busy night and day." Everything was in readiness. What would the morrow bring--success or failure? Chapter XXIV The Hidden City Gathered beyond the mouth of the tunnel, far enough away so that the wind of the great blast would not bowl them over like ten pins, stood Tom Swift and his friends. In his hand Tom held the battery box, the setting of the switch in which would complete the electrical circuit and set off the hundreds of pounds of explosive buried deep in the hard rock. "Are all the men out?" asked the young inventor of Tim Sullivan, who had charge of this important matter. Tim was in sole charge as foreman now, having picked up enough of the Indian language to get along without an interpreter. "All out, sor," Tim responded. "Yez kin fire whin ready, Mr. Swift." It was a portentous moment. No wonder Tom Swift hesitated. In a sense he and his friends, the contractors, had staked their all on a single throw. If this blast failed it was not likely that another would succeed, even if there should be time to prepare one. The time limit had almost expired, and there was still a half mile of hard rock between the last heading and the farther end of the big tunnel. If the blast succeeded enough rock might be brought down to enable the work to go on, by using a night and day shift of men. Then, too, there was the chance that the hard strata of rock would come to an end and softer stone, or easily-dug dirt, be encountered. "Well, we may as well have it over with," said Tom in a low voice. Every one was very quiet--tensely quiet. The young inventor looked up to see Professor Bumper observing him. "Why, Professor!" Tom exclaimed, "I thought you had gone off to the mountains again, looking for the lost city." "I am going, Tom, very soon. I thought I would stop and see the effect of your big blast. This is my last trip. If I do not find the hidden city of Pelone this time, I am going to give up." "Give up!" cried Mr. Damon. "Bless my fountain pen!" "Oh, not altogether," went on the bald-headed scientist. "I mean I will give up searching in this part of Peru, and go elsewhere. But I will never completely give up the search, for I am sure the hidden city exists somewhere under these mountains," and he looked off toward the snow-covered peaks of the Andes. Tom looked at the battery box. He drew a long breath, and said: "Here she goes!" There was a contraction of his hand as he pressed the switch over, and then, for perhaps a half second, nothing happened. Just for an instant Tom feared something had gone wrong that the electric current had failed, or that the wires had become disconnected--perhaps through some action of the plotting rivals. And then, gently at first, but with increasing intensity, the solid ground on which they were all standing seemed to rock and sway, to heave itself up, and then sink down. "Bless my--" began Mr. Damon, but he got no further, for a mighty gust of wind swept out of the tunnel, and blew off his hat. That gust was but a gentle breeze, though, compared to what followed. For there came such a rush of air that it almost blew over those standing near the opening of the great shaft driven under the mountain. There was a roar as of Niagara, a howling as in the Cave of the Winds, and they all bent to the blast. Then followed a dull, rumbling roar, not as loud as might have been expected, but awful in its intensity. Deep down under the very foundations of the earth it seemed to rumble. "Run! Run back!" cried Tom Swift. "There's a back-draft and the powder gas is poisonous. Stoop down and run back!" They understood what he meant. The vapor from the powder was deadly if breathed in a confined space. Even in the open it gave one a terrible headache. And Tom could see floating out of the tunnel the first wisps of smoke from the fired explosive. It was lighter than air, and would rise. Hence the necessity, as in a smoke-filled room, of keeping low down where the air is purer. They all rushed back, stooping low. Mr. Damon stumbled and fell, but Koku picked him up and, tucking him under one arm, as he might have done a child, the giant followed Tom to a place of safety. "Well, Tom, it went off all right," said Mr. Job Titus, as they stood among the shacks of the workmen and watched the smoke pouring out of the tunnel mouth. "Yes, it went off. But did it do the work? That's what we've got to find out." They waited impatiently for the deadly vapor to clear out of the tunnel. It was more than an hour before they dared venture in, and then it was with smarting eyes and puckered throats. But the atmosphere was quickly clearing. "Switch on the lights," cried Tom to Tim, for the illuminating current had been cut off when the blast was fired. "Let's see what we've brought down." Following the eager young inventor came the contractors, some of the white workers, Mr. Damon and Professor Bumper. The little scientist said he would like to see the effect of the big blast. Along they stumbled over pieces of rock, large and small. "Some force to it," observed Job Titus, as he observed pieces of rock close to the mouth of the tunnel. "If it only exerted the force the other way, against the face of the rock, as well as back this way, we'll be all right." "The greater force was in the opposite direction," Tom said. A big search-light had been got ready to flash on the place where the blast had been set off. This was to enable them to see how much rock had been torn away. And, as they reached the place where the flint-like wall had been, they saw a strange sight. "Bless my strawberry short-cake!" gasped Mr. Damon. "What a hole!" "It is a hole," admitted Tom, in a low voice. "A bigger hole than I dared hope for." For a great cave, seemingly, had been blown in the face of the rock wall that had hindered the progress of the tunnel. A great black void confronted them. "Shift the light over this way," called Tom to Walter Titus, who was operating it. "I can't see anything." The great beam of light flashed into the void, and then a murmur of awe came from every throat. For there, revealed in the powerful electrical rays, was what seemed to be a long tunnel, high and wide, as smooth as a paved street. And on either side of it were what appeared to be buildings, some low, others taller. And, branching off from the main tunnel, or street, were other passages, also lined with buildings, some of which had crumbled to ruins. "Bless my dictionary!" cried Mr. Damon. "What is it?" Professor Bumper had crawled forward over the mass of broken rock. He gazed as if fascinated at what the searchlight showed, and then he cried: "I have found it! I have found it! The hidden city of Pelone!" Chapter XXV Success Had it not been for Tom Swift, the excited professor would have rushed pellmell over the jagged pile of rocks into the great cave which had been opened by the blast, the cave in which the scientist declared was the lost city for which he had been searching. But the young inventor grasped Mr. Bumper by the arm. "Better wait a bit," Tom suggested. "There may be powder gas in there. Some of it must have blown forward." "I don't care!" excitedly cried the professor. "That is the hidden city! I'm sure of it! I have found it at last! I must go in and examine it!" "There'll be plenty of time," said Tom. "It isn't going to run away. Wait until I make a test Tim, hand me one of those torches." Some torches of a very inflammable wood were used to test for the presence of the deadly smoke-gas. Lighting one of these, Tom tossed it into the big excavation. It fell to the stone floor--to the stone street to be more exact--and, flaring up brightly, further revealed the rows of houses as they stood, silent and uninhabited. "It's all right," Tom announced. "There's no danger so long as the torch burns. You can go on, Professor." And Professor Bumper rushed forward, scrambling over the pile of blasted rock, followed by Tom and the others. Some of the debris from the explosion had fallen into the cave, and was scattered for some distance along the main street of what had been Pelone. But beyond that the way was clear. "Yes, it is Pelone," cried Professor Bumper. "See!" He pointed to inscriptions in queer characters over the doorway of some of the houses, but he alone could read them. "I have found Pelone!" he kept repeating over and over again. And that is just what had happened. That last great blast Tom Swift had set off had broken down the rock wall that hid the lost city from view. There it was, buried deep down under the mountain, where it had been covered from sight ages ago by some mighty earthquake or landslide; perhaps both. And the earth and rocks had fallen over the main portion of the city of Pelone in such a way--in such an arch formation--that the greater part of it was preserved from the pressure of the mountain above it. The outlying portions were crushed into dust by the awful pressure of the mountain--millions of tons of stone--but where the natural arch had formed the weight was kept off the buildings, most of which were as perfect as they had been before the cataclysm came. The buildings were of stone block construction, mostly only one story in height, though some were two. They were simply made, somewhat after the fashion of the Aztecs. A look into some of them by the light of portable electric lamps showed that the houses were furnished with some degree of taste and luxury. There were traces of an ancient civilization. But of the inhabitants, there was not a trace: either they had fled before the earthquake or the volcanic eruption had engulfed the city, or the countless centuries had turned their very bones to dust. "Oh, what a find! What a find!" murmured Professor Bumper. "I shall be famous! And so will you, Tom Swift. For it was your blast that revealed the lost city of Pelone. Your name will be honored by every archeological society in the world, and all will be eager to make you an honorary member." "That's all very nice," said Tom, "but what pleases me better is that this tunnel is a success." "Success!" cried Mr. Damon. "I should call it a failure, Tom Swift. Why, you've run smack into an old city, and you'll have either to curve the tunnel to one side, or start a new one." "Nothing of the sort!" laughed Tom. "Don't you see? The tunnel comes right up to the main street of Pelone. And the street is as straight as a die, and just the width and height of the tunnel. All we will have to do will be to keep on blasting away, where the main street comes to an end, and our tunnel will be finished. The street is over half a mile long, I should judge, and we'll save all that blasting. The tunnel will be finished in time!" "So it will!" cried Job Titus. "We can use the main street of the hidden city as part of the tunnel." "Use the street all you like," said Mr. Bumper, "but leave the houses to me. They are a perfect mine of ancient lore and information. At last I have found it! The ancient, hidden city of Pelone, spoken of on the Peruvian tablets, of gold." The story of the discoveries the scientist made in Pelone is an enthralling one. But this is a story of Tom Swift and his big tunnel, and no place for telling of the archeological discoveries. Suffice it to say that Professor Bumper, though he found no gold, for which the contractors hoped, made many curious finds in the ancient houses. He came upon traces of a strange civilization, though he could find no record of what had caused the burial of Pelone beneath the mountains. He wrote many books about his discovery, giving Tom Swift due credit for uncovering the place with the mighty blast. Other scientists came in flocks, and for a time Pelone was almost as busy a place as it had been originally. Even when the tunnel was completed and trains ran through it, the scientists kept on with their work of classifying what they found. An underground station was built on the main street of the old city, and visitors often wandered through the ancient houses, wherein was the bone-dust of the dead and gone people. But to go back to the story of Tom Swift. Tom's surmise was right. He and the contractors were able to use the main street of Pelone as part of their tunnel, and a good half mile of blasting through solid rock was saved. The flint came to an end at the extremity of Pelone, and the last part of the tunnel had only to be dug through sand-stone and soft dirt, an easy undertaking. So the big bore was finished on time--ahead of time in fact, and Titus Brothers received from Senor Belasdo, the Peruvian representative, a large bonus of money, in which Tom Swift shared. "So our rivals didn't balk us after all," said Walter Titus, "though they tried mighty hard." The big tunnel was finished--at least Tom Swift's work on it. All that remained to do was to clear away the debris and lay the connecting rails. Tom and Mr. Damon prepared to go back home. The latter's work was done. As for Professor Bumper, nothing could take him from Pelone. He said he was going to live there, and, practically, he did. Tom, Koku and Mr. Damon returned to Lima, thence to go to Callao to take the steamer for San Francisco. One day the manager of the hotel spoke to them. "You are Americans, are you not?" he asked. "Yes," answered Tom. "Why?" "Because there is another American here. He is friendless and alone, and he is dying. He has no friends, he says. Perhaps--" "Of course we'll do what we can for him," said Tom, impulsively. "Where is he?" With Mr. Damon he entered the room where the dying man lay. He had caught a fever, the hotel manager said, and could not recover. Tom, catching sight of the sufferer, cried: "The bearded man! Waddington!" He had recognized the mysterious person who had been on the Bellaconda, and the man whose face had stared at him through the secret shaft of the tunnel. "Yes, the 'bearded man' now," said the sufferer in a hoarse voice, "and some one else too. You are right. I am Waddington!" And so it proved. He had grown a beard to disguise himself so he might better follow Tom Swift and Mr. Titus. And he had followed them, seeking to prevent the completion of the tunnel. But he had not been successful. Waddington it was who had thrown the bomb, though he declared he only hoped to disable Tom and Mr. Titus, and not to injure them. He was fighting for delay. And it was Waddington, working in conjunction with the rascally foreman Serato, who had induced the tunnel workers to desert so mysteriously, hoping to scare the other Indians away. He nearly succeeded too, had it not been for the gratitude of the woman whose baby Tom had saved from the condor. Waddington had been an actor before he became involved with the rival contractors. He was smooth shaven when first he went to Shopton, to spy on Mr. Titus, whose movements he had been commanded to follow by Blakeson & Grinder. Then he disappeared after Mr. Titus chased him, only to reappear, in disguise, on board the Bellaconda, as Senor Pinto. Waddington, meanwhile, had grown a beard and this, with his knowledge of theatrical makeup, enabled him to deceive even Mr. Titus. Of course it was comparatively easy to deceive Tom, who had not known him. Waddington had really been ill when he called for help on the ship, and he had not noticed that it was Tom and Mr. Titus who came into his stateroom to his aid. When he did recognize them, he relied on his disguise to screen him from recognition, and he was successful. He had only pretended to be ill, though, the time he slipped out and threw the bomb. Reaching Peru he at once began his plotting. Serato told him about the secret shaft leading into the tunnel, and with the knotted rope, and with the aid of the faithless foreman, the men were got out of the tunnel and paid to hide away. Waddington was planning further disappearances when Tom saw him, but thought it a dream. Masni, the Indian woman, out herb-hunting one day, had seen Waddington, 'the bearded man' as he then was--working the secret stone. Hidden, she observed him and told her husband, who was afraid to reveal what he knew. But when Tom saved the baby the woman rewarded him in the only way possible. And it was Serato, who, at Waddington's suggestion, caused the "hit" among the men by working on their superstitious fears. Waddington, knowing that he was dying, confessed everything, and begged forgiveness from Tom and his friends, which was granted, in as much as no real harm had been done. Waddington was but a tool in the hands of the rival contractors, who deserted him in his hour of need. His last hours, however, were made as comfortable as possible by the generosity of Tom and Mr. Damon. No effort was made to bring Blakeson & Grinder to justice, as there was no evidence against them after Waddington died. And, as the tunnel was finished, the Titus brothers had no further cause for worry. "But if it had not been for Tom's big blast, and the discovery of the hidden city of Pelone just in the right place, we might be digging at that tunnel yet," said Job Titus. The day before the steamer was to sail, Tom Swift received a cable message. Its receipt seemed to fill him with delight, so that Mr. Damon asked: "Is it from your father, Tom?" "No it's from Mary Nestor. She says her father has forgiven me. They have been away, and Mary has been ill, which accounts for no letters up to now. But everything is all right now, and they feel that the dynamite trick wasn't my fault. But, all the same, I'm going to teach Eradicate to read," concluded Tom. "I think it would be a good idea," agreed Mr. Damon. Tom, Mr. Damon and Koku, bidding farewell to the friends they had made in Peru, went aboard the steamer, Job Titus and his brother coming to see them off. "Give us an option on all that explosive you make, Tom Swift!" begged Walter Titus. "We were so successful with this tunnel, thanks to you, that the government is going to have us dig another. Will you come down and help?" "Maybe," said Tom, with a smile. "But I'm going home first," and once more he read the message from Mary Nestor. And as Tom, on the deck of the steamer, waved his hands to Professor Bumper and his other friends whom he was leaving in Peru, we also, will say farewell. 
952	----	TOM SWIFT AND HIS AIR GLIDER or Seeking the Platinum Treasure By VICTOR APPLETON CONTENTS I A Breakdown II A Daring Project III The Hand of the Czar IV The Search V A Clew from Russia VI Rescuing Mr. Petrofsky VII The Air Glider VIII In a Great Gale IX The Spies X Off in the Airship XI A Storm at Sea XII An Accident XIII Seeking a Quarrel XIV Hurried Flight XV Pursued XVI The Nihilists XVII On to Siberia XVIII In a Russian Prison XIX Lost in a Salt Mine XX The Escape XXI The Rescue XXII In the Hurricane XXIII The Lost Mine XXIV The Leaking Tanks XXV Homeward Bound--Conclusion TOM SWIFT AND HIS AIR GLIDER CHAPTER I A BREAKDOWN "Well, Ned, are you ready?" "Oh, I suppose so, Tom. As ready as I ever shall be." "Why, Ned Newton, you're not getting afraid; are you? And after you've been on so many trips with me?" "No, it isn't exactly that, Tom. I'd go in a minute if you didn't have this new fangled thing on your airship. But how do you know how it's going to work--or whether it will work at all? We may come a cropper." "Bless my insurance policy!" exclaimed a man who was standing near the two lads who were conversing. "You'd better keep near the ground, Tom." "Oh, that's all right, Mr. Damon," answered Tom Swift. "There isn't any more danger than there ever was, but I guess Ned is nervous since our trip to the underground city of gold." "I am not!" indignantly exclaimed the other lad, with a look at the young inventor. "But you know yourself, Tom, that putting this new propeller on your airship, changing the wing tips, and re-gearing the motor has made an altogether different sort of a craft of it. You, yourself, said it wasn't as reliable as before, even though it does go faster." "Now look here, Ned!" burst out Tom. "That was last week that I said it wasn't reliable. It is now, for I've tried it out several times, and yet, when I ask you to take a trip with me, to act as ballast--" "Is that all you want me for, Tom, to act as ballast? Then you'd better take a bag of sand--or Mr. Damon here!" "Me? I guess not! Bless my diamond ring! My wife hasn't forgiven me for going off on that last trip with you, Tom, and I'm not going to take any more right away. But I don't blame Ned--" "Say, look here!" cried Tom, a little out of patience, "you know me better than that, Ned. Of course you're more than ballast--I want you to help me manage the craft since I made the changes on her. Now if you don't want to come, why say so, and I'll get Eradicate. I don't believe he'll be afraid, even if he--" "Hold on dar now, Massa Tom!" exclaimed an aged colored man, who was an all around helper at the Swift homestead, "was yo' referencin' t' me when yo' spoke?" "Yes, Rad, I was saying that if Ned wouldn't go up in the airship with me you would." "Well, now, Masa Tom, I shorely would laik t' 'blige yo', I shore would. But de fack ob de mattah am dat I has a mos' particular job ob white washin' t' do dish mornin', an' I 'spects I'd better be gittin' at it. It's a mos' particular job, an', only fo' dat, I'd be mos' pleased t' go up in de airship. But as it am, I mus' ax yo' t' 'scuse me, I really mus'," and the colored man shuffled off at a faster gait than he was in the habit of using. "Well, of all things!" gasped Tom. "I believe you're all afraid of the old airship, just because I made some changes in her. I'll go up alone, that's what I will." "No, I'll go with you," interposed Ned Newton who was Tom's most particular chum. "I only wanted to be sure it was all right, that was all." "Well, if you've fully made up your mind," went on the young inventor, a little mollified, "lend me a hand to get her in shape for a run. I expect to make faster time than I ever did before, and I'm going to head out Waterford way. You'd better come along, Mr. Damon, and I'll drop you off at your house." "Bless my feather bed!" gasped the man. "Drop me off! I like that, Tom Swift!" "Oh, I didn't mean it exactly that way," laughed Tom. "But will you come." "No, thanks, I'm going home by trolley," and then as the odd man went in the house to speak to Tom's father, the two lads busied themselves about the airship. This was a large aeroplane, one of the largest Tom Swift had ever constructed, and he was a lad who had invented many kinds of machinery besides crafts for navigating the upper regions. It was not as large as his combined aeroplane and dirigible balloon of which I have told you in other books, but it was of sufficient size to carry three persons besides other weight. Tom had built it some years before, and it had seemed good enough then. Later he constructed some of different models, besides the big combination affair, and he had gone on several trips in that. He and his chum Ned, together with Eradicate Sampson, the colored man, and Mr. Damon, had been to a wonderful underground city of gold in Mexico, and it was soon after their return from this perilous trip that Tom had begun the work of changing his old aeroplane into a speedier craft. This had occupied him most of the Winter, and now that Spring had come he had a chance to try what a re-built motor, changed propellers, and different wing tips would do for the machine. The time had come for the test and, as we have seen, Tom had some difficulty in persuading anyone to go along with him! But Ned finally got over his feeling of nervousness. "Understand, Tom," spoke Ned, "it isn't because I don't think you know how to work an aeroplane that I hesitated. I've been up in the air with you enough times to know that you're there with the goods, but I don't believe even you know what this machine is going to do." "I can pretty nearly tell. I'm sure my theory is right." "I don't doubt that. But will it work out in practice?" "She may not make all the speed I hope she will, and I may not be able to push her high into the air quicker than I used to before I made the changes," admitted Tom, "but I'm sure of one thing. She'll fly, and she won't come down until I'm ready to let her. So you needn't worry about getting hurt." "All right--if you say so. Now what do you want me to do, Tom?" "Go over the wire guys and stays for the first thing. There's going to be lots of vibration, with the re-built motor, and I want everything tight." "Aye, aye, sir!" answered Ned with a laugh. Then he set at his task, tightening the small nuts, and screwing up the turn-buckles, while Tom busied himself over the motor. There was some small trouble with the carburetor that needed eliminating before it would feed properly. "How about the tires?" asked Ned, when he had finished the wires. "You might pump them up. There, the motor is all right. I'm going to try it now, while you attend to the tires." Ned had pumped up one of the rubber circlets of the small bicycle wheels on which the aeroplane rested, and was beginning on the second, when a noise like a battery of machine guns going off next to his ear startled him so that he jumped, tripped over a stone and went down, the air pump thumping him in the back. "What in the world happened, Tom?" he yelled, for he had to use all his lung power to be heard above that racket. "Did it explode?" "Explode nothing!" shouted Tom. "That's the re-built motor in action." "In action! I should say it was in action. Is it always going to roar like that?" Indeed the motor was roaring away, spitting fire and burnt gases from the exhaust pipe, and enveloping the aeroplane in a whitish haze of choking smoke. No, I have the muffler cut out, and that's why she barks so. But she runs easier that way, and I want to get her smoothed out a bit. "Whew! That smoke!" gasped his chum. "Why don't you--whew--this is more than I can stand," and holding his hands to his smarting eyes, Ned, gasping and choking, staggered away to where the air was better. "It is sort of thick," admitted Tom. "But that's only because she's getting too much oil. She'll clear in a few minutes. Stick around and we'll go up." Despite the choking vapor, the young inventor stuck to his task of regulating the motor, and in a short while the smoke became less, while the big propeller blades whirled about more evenly. Then Tom adjusted the muffler, and most of the noise stopped. "Come on back, and finish pumping up the tires," he shouted to Ned. "I'm going to stop her now, and then I'll give her the pressure test, and we'll take a trip." Having cleared his eyes of smoke, Ned came back to his task, and this having been finished, Tom attached a heavy spring balance, or scales, to the rope that held the airship back from moving when her propellers were whirling about. "How much pressure do you want?" asked Ned. "I ought to get above twelve hundred with the way the motor is geared, but I'll go up with ten. Watch the needle for me." It may be explained that when aeroplanes are tested on the earth the propellers are set in motion. This of course would send a craft whizzing over the ground, eventually to rise in the air, but for the fact that a rope, attached to the craft, and to some stationary object, holds it back. Now if this rope is hooked to a spring balance, which in turn is made fast to the stationary object, the "thrust" of the propellers will be registered in pounds on the scale of the balance. Anywhere from five hundred to nine hundred pounds of thrust will take a monoplane or biplane up. But Tom wanted more than this. Once more the motor coughed and spluttered, and the big blades whirled about so fast that they seemed like solid pieces of wood. Tom stood on the ground near the levers which controlled the speed, and Ned watched the scale. "How much?" yelled the young inventor. "Eight hundred." Tom turned on a little more gasolene. "How much?" he cried again. "Ten hundred. That'll do!" "No, I'm going to try for more." Again he advanced the spark and gasolene levers, and the comparatively frail craft vibrated so that it seemed as if she would fly apart. "Now?" yelled Tom. "Eleven hundred and fifty!" cried Ned. "Good! That'll do it. She'll give more after she's been running a while. We'll go up." Ned scrambled to his seat, and Tom followed. He had an arrangement so that he could slip loose the retaining rope from his perch whenever he was ready. Waiting until the motor had run another minute, the young inventor pulled the rope that released them. Over the smooth starting ground that formed a part of the Swift homestead darted the aeroplane. Faster and faster she moved, Ned gripping the sides of his seat. "Here we go!" cried Tom, and the next instant they shot up into the air. Ned Newton had ridden many times with his chum Tom, and the sensation of gliding through the upper regions was not new to him. But this time there was something different. The propellers seemed to take hold of the air with a firmer grip. There was more power, and certainly the speed was terrific. "We're going fast!" yelled Ned into Tom's ear. "That's right," agreed the young inventor. "She'll beat anything but my Sky Racer, and she'd do that if she was the same size." Tom referred to a very small aeroplane he had made some time before. It was like some big bird, and very swift. Up and onward went the remodeled airship, faster and faster, until, when several miles had been covered, Ned realized that the young inventor had achieved another triumph. "It's great, Tom! Great!" he yelled. "Yes, I guess it will do, Ned. I'm satisfied. If there was an international meet now I'd capture some of the prizes. As it is--" Tom stopped suddenly. His voice which had been raised to overcome the noise of even the muffled motor, sounded unnaturally loud, and no wonder, for the engine had ceased working! "What's the matter?" gasped Ned. "I don't know--a breakdown of some kind." "Can you get it going again?" "I'm going to try." Tom was manipulating various levers, but with no effect. The aeroplane was shooting downward with frightful rapidity. "No use!" exclaimed the young inventor. "Something has broken." "But we're falling, Tom!" "I know it. We've done it before. I'm going to volplane to earth." This, it may be explained, is gliding downward from a height with the engine shut off. Aeroplanists often do it, and Tom was no novice at the art. They shot downward with less speed now, for the young inventor had thrown up his headplanes to act as a sort of brake. Then, a little later they made a good landing in a field near a small house, in a rather lonely stretch of country, about ten miles from Shopton, where Tom lived. "Now to see what the trouble is," remarked our hero, as he climbed out of his seat and began looking over the engine. He poked in among the numerous cogs, wheels and levers, and finally uttered an exclamation. "Find it?" asked Ned. "Yes, it's in the magneto. All the platinum bearings and contact surfaces have fused and crystallized. I never saw such poor platinum as I've been getting lately, and I pay the highest prices for it, too. The trouble is that the supply of platinum is giving out, and they'll have to find a substitute I guess." "Can't we go home in her?" asked Ned. "I'm afraid not. I've got to put in new platinum bearings and contacts before she'll spark. I only wish I could get hold of some of the better kind of metal." The magneto of an aeroplane performs a service similar to one in an automobile. It provides the spark that explodes the charge of gas in the cylinders, and platinum is a metal, more valuable now than gold, much used in the delicate parts of the magneto. "Well, I guess it's walk for ours," said Ned ruefully. "I'm afraid so," went on Tom. "If I only had some platinum, I could--" "Perhaps I could be of service to you," suddenly spoke a voice behind them, and turning, the youths saw a tall, bearded man, who had evidently come from the lonely house. "Did I hear you say you needed some platinum?" he asked. He spoke with a foreign accent, and Tom at once put him down for a Russian. "Yes, I need some for my magneto," began the young inventor. "If you will kindly step up to my house, perhaps I can give you what you want," went on the man. "My name is Ivan Petrofsky, and I have only lately come to live here." "I'm Tom Swift, of Shopton, and this is my chum, Ned Newton," replied the young inventor, completing the introductions. He was wondering why the man, who seemed a cultured gentleman, should live in such a lonely place, and he was wondering too how he happened to have some platinum. "Will that answer?" asked Mr. Petrofsky, when they had reached his house, and he had handed Tom several strips of the precious silverlike metal. "Do? I should say it would! My, but that is the best platinum I've seen in a long while!" exclaimed Tom, who was an expert judge of this metal. "Where did you get it, if I may ask?" "It came from a lost mine in Siberia," was the unexpected answer. "A lost mine?" gasped Tom. "In Siberia?" added Ned. Mr. Petrofsky slowly nodded his head, and smiled, but rather sadly. "A lost mine," he said slowly, "and if it could be found I would be the happiest man on earth for I would then be able to locate and save my brother, who is one of the Czar's exiles," and he seemed shaken by emotion. Tom and Ned stood looking at the bearded man, and then the young inventor glanced at the platinum strips in his hand while a strange and daring thought came to him. CHAPTER II A DARING PROJECT While Tom and his chum are in the house of the Russian, who so strangely produced the platinum just when it was most needed, I am going to take just a little time to tell you something about the hero of this story. Those who have read the previous books of this series need no introduction to him, but in justice to my new readers I must make a little explanation. Tom Swift was an inventor, as was his father before him. But Mr. Swift was getting too old, now, to do much, though he had a pet invention--that of a gyroscope--on which he worked from time to time. Tom lived with his father in the village of Shopton, in New York state. His mother was dead, but a housekeeper, named Mrs. Baggert, looked after the wants of the inventors, young and old. The first book of the series was called "Tom Swift and His Motor-Cycle," and in that I related how Tom bought the machine from a Mr. Wakefield Damon, of Waterford, after the odd gentleman had unintentionally started to climb a tree with it. That disgusted Mr. Damon with motor-cycling, and Tom had lots of fun on the machine, and not a few daring adventures. He and Mr. Damon became firm friends, and the oddity of the gentleman--mainly that of blessing everything he could think of--was no objection in Tom's mind. The young inventor and Ned Newton went on many trips together, Mr. Damon being one of the party. In Shopton lived Andy Foger, a bullying sort of a chap, who acted very meanly toward Tom at times. Another resident of the town was a Mr. Nestor, but Tom was more interested in his daughter Mary than in the head of the household. Add Eradicate Sampson, an eccentric colored man who said he got his name because he "eradicated" dirt, and his mule, Boomerang, and I think you have met the principal characters of these stories. After Tom had much enjoyment out of his motor-cycle, he got a motor boat, and one of his rivals on Lake Carlopa was this same Andy Foger, but our hero vanquished him. Then Tom built an airship, which had been the height of his ambition for some years. He had a stirring cruise in the Red Cloud, and then, deserting the air for the water, Tom and his father built a submarine, in which they went after sunken treasure. In the book, "Tom Swift and His Electric Runabout," I told how, in the speediest car on the road, Tom saved his father's bank from ruin, and in the book dealing with Tom's wireless message I related how he saved the Castaways of Earthquake Island. When Tom went among the diamond makers, at the request of Mr. Barco Jenks, and discovered the secret of phantom mountain the lad fancied that might be the end of his adventures, but there were more to follow. Going to the caves of ice, his airship was wrecked, but he and his friends managed to get back home, and then it was that the young inventor perfected his sky racer, in which he made the quickest flight on record. Most startling were his adventures in elephant land whither he went with his electric rifle, and he was the means of saving a missionary, Mr. Illingway and his wife, from the red pygmies. Tom had not been home from Africa long before he got a letter from this missionary, telling about an underground city in Mexico that was said to be filled with gold. Tom went there, and in the book, entitled, "Tom Swift in the City of Gold," I related his adventures. How he and his friends were followed by the Fogers, how they eluded them, made their way to the ruined temple in a small dirigible balloon, descended to the secret tunnel, managed to turn aside the underground river, and reach the city of gold with its wonderful gold statues--all this is told in the volume. Then, after pulling down, in the centre of the underground city, the big golden statue, the door of rock descended, and made our friends prisoners. They almost died, but Andy Foger and his father, in league with some rascally Mexicans and a tribe of head-hunters, finally made their way to the tunnel, and most unexpectedly, released Tom and his friends. There was a fight, but our hero's party escaped with considerable gold and safely reached Shopton. Now, after a winter spent in work, fixing over an old aeroplane, we again meet Tom. "Would you mind telling me something about where this platinum comes from, and if you can get any more of it?" asked Tom, after a pause, following the strange statement made by the Russian. "I will gladly tell you the story," spoke Mr. Petrofsky, "for I am much interested in inventions, and I formerly did something in that line myself, and I have even made a small aeroplane, so you see I know the need of platinum in a high power magneto." "But where did you get such pure metal?" asked Tom. "I have never seen it's equal." "There is none like it in all the world," went on the Russian, "and perhaps there never can be any more. I have only a small supply. But in Siberia--in the lost mine--there is a large quantity of it, as pure as this, needing only a little refining. "Can't we get some from there?" asked the young inventor eagerly. "I should think the Russian government would mine it, and export it." "They would--if they could find it," said Ivan Petrofsky dryly, "but they can't--no one can find it--and I have tried very hard--so hard, in fact, that it is the reason for my coming to this country--that and the desire to find and aid my brother, who is a Siberian exile." "This is getting interesting," remarked Ned to Tom in a low voice, and the young inventor nodded. "My brother Peter, who is younger than I by a few years, and I, are the last of our family," began Mr. Petrofsky, motioning Tom and Ned to take chairs. "We lived in St. Petersburg, and early in life, though we were of the nobility, we took up the cause of the common people." "Nihilists?" asked Ned eagerly, for he had read something of these desperate men. "No, and not anarchists," said Mr. Petrofsky with a sad smile. "Our party was opposed to violence, and we depended on education to aid our cause. Then, too, we did all we could in a quiet way to help the poor. My brother and I invented several life-saving and labor-saving machines and in this way we incurred the enmity of the rich contractors and government officials, who made more money the more people they could have working for them, for they made the people buy their food and supplies from them. "But my brother, and I persisted, with the result that we were both arrested, and, with a number of others were sent to Siberia. "Of the horrors we endured there I will say nothing. However, you have probably read much. In the country near which we were quartered there were many mines, some of salt and some of sulphur. Oh, the horrors of those mines! Many a poor exile has been lost in the windings of a salt mine, there to die miserably. And in the sulphur mines many die also, not from being lost so much as being overcome by stifling gases. It is terrible! And sometimes they are purposely abandoned by their guides, for the government wants to get rid of certain exiles. "But you are interested in platinum. One day my brother and I who had been sent to work in the salt mines, mistook a turning and wandered on and on for several miles, finally losing our way. We had food and water with us, or we would have perished, and, as it was, we nearly died before we finally found our way out of an abandoned opening. "We came out in the midst of a terrible snowstorm, and wandered about almost frozen. At last we were found by a serf who, in his sled, took us to his poor cottage. There we were warmed and fed back to life. "We knew we would be searched for, as naturally, our absence would lead to the suspicion that we had tried to escape. So as soon as we were able, we started back to the town where we were quartered. The serf wanted to take us in his sled, but we knew he might be suspected of having tried to aid us to get away, and he might be arrested. So we went alone. "As might have been expected, we became lost again, and wandered about for several days. But we had enough food to keep us alive. And it was during this wandering that I came upon the platinum mine. It was down in a valley, in the midst of a country densely wooded and very desolate. There was an outcropping of the ore, and rather idly I put some of it in my pockets. Then we wandered on, and finally after awful suffering in terrific storms, were found by a searching party and brought back to the barracks." "Did they think you had escaped?" asked Tom. "They did," replied the Russian, "and they punished us severely for it, in spite of our denials. In time I managed secretly to smelt the platinum ore, and I found I had some of the purest metal I had ever seen. I was wishing I could find the mine, or tell some of my friends about it, when one of the officers discovered the metal in my bed. "He demanded to know where I had gotten it, and knowing that refusal would only make it the worse for me I told him. There was considerable excitement, for the value of the discovery was recognized, and a search was at once made for the mine. "But, even with the aid we were able to give, it could not be located. Many expeditions went out to hunt for it but came back baffled. They could not penetrate that wild country." "They should have used an aeroplane," suggested Tom. "They did," replied the Russian quickly, "but it was of no use." "Why not?" the young inventor wanted to know. "Because of the terrific winds that almost continually sweep over that part of Siberia. They never seem to cease, and there are treacherous air currents and 'pockets' that engulfed more than one luckless aviator. Oh, you may be sure the Russian government spared no means of finding the lost platinum mine, but they could not locate it, or even get near the place where they supposed it to be. "Then, perhaps thinking that my brother and I were concealing something, they separated us. Where they sent him I do not know, but I was doomed to the sulphur mines. I was heartbroken, and I scarcely cared whether I lived or died. But an opportunity of escape came, and I took it. I wanted to save my brother, but I did not know where he was, and I thought if I could make my way to some civilized country, or to free America, I might later be able to save my brother. "I went to England, taking some of my precious platinum with me, and stayed there for two years. I learned your language, but my efforts to organize an expedition to search for the lost mine, and for my brother, failed. Then I came here, and--well, I am still trying." "My! That is certainly interesting!" exclaimed Ned, who had been all attention during the telling of the story. "And you certainly had a hard time," declared Tom. "I am much obliged for this platinum. Have you set a price on it? It is worth much more than the ordinary kind." "The price is nothing to you," replied the Russian, with a smile. "I am only too glad to help you fix your aeroplane. Will it take long? I should like to watch you." "Come along," invited Tom. "I can soon have it going again, and I'll give you a ride, if you like." "No, thank you, I'm hardly up to that yet, though I may be some day. The machine I made never flew well and I had several bad falls." Tom and Ned worked rapidly on the magneto, and soon had replaced the defective bits of platinum. "If the Russians had such a machine as this maybe they could have gotten to that mine," suggested Ned, who was very proud of Tom's craft. "It would be useless in the terrific winds, I fear," answered Ivan Petrofsky. "But now I care little for the mine. It is my brother whom I want to save. He must be in some of the Siberian mines, and if I had such a craft as this I might be able to rescue him." Tom Swift dropped the file he was using. A bright light sparkled in his eyes. He seemed strangely excited. "Mr. Petrofsky!" he cried, "would you let me have a try at finding your brother, and would you come with me?" "Would I?" asked the Russian eagerly. "I would be your debtor for life, and I would always pray for you, if you could help me to save my brother Peter." "Then we'll have a try at it!" cried Tom. "I've got a different airship than this--one in which I can travel three thousand miles without coming down. I haven't had any excitement since I got back from the city of gold. I'm going to Russia to help you rescue your brother from exile, and I'm also going to have a try for that lost platinum treasure!" "Thank heaven, there is some hope for poor Peter at last," murmured Mr. Petrofsky earnestly. "You never can get to the platinum mine," said Ned. "The winds will tear your airship to pieces." "Not the kind I'm going to make," declared Tom. "It's going to be an air glider, that will fairly live on high winds. Ho! for Siberia and the platinum mines. Will you come?" "I don't know what you mean by an air glider, Tom Swift, but I'll go to help rescue my brother," was the quick answer, and then, with the light of a daring resolve shining in his eyes, the young inventor proceeded to get his aeroplane in shape for the trip back to Shopton. CHAPTER III THE HAND OF THE CZAR "Then you won't take a ride with me to-day?" asked the young inventor, of the Russian, as he completed the repairs to the magneto. "I'd like to have you meet my father, and a friend of his, Mr. Damon. Most likely he'll go to Siberia with us, if his wife will let him. I'd like to talk some plans over with you." "I shall certainly call on you," answered Ivan Petrofsky, "but," he added with a smile, "I think I should prefer to take my first ride in your larger airship--the one that doesn't come down so often." "Well, perhaps it is a little easier on an amateur," admitted Tom. "If you'll come over to our house at any time I'll take you out in it, or I'll call for you." "I'll come over in a few days," answered the escaped exile. "Then I'll tell you all I know of the locality where the platinum mine is located, and we can make our plans. In the meanwhile don't say anything about what I have told you." "Why?" asked Ned quickly. Mr. Petrofsky approached closer to the lads, and in a low voice said: "I am not sure about it, but of late I think I have been shadowed. I have seen strange men in the village near here and they have eyed me rather suspiciously. Then, too, I have surprised several men around my house. I live here all alone, you know, and do most of my own work, a woman coming in occasionally to clean. But I don't like these suspicious characters hanging about. "Who do you think they are?" asked Tom. "I'm almost afraid to think, but from my past experience I think--nay, I fear--they may be spies, or agents of the Russian government." "Spies!" cried Ned. "Hush. Not so loud," cautioned Mr. Petrofsky. "They may even now be in hiding, especially since your aeroplane landed so near my house. They may see something suspicious even in that." "But why should the Russian government set spies on you?" asked Tom in a low voice. "For two reasons. I am an escaped exile, and I am not a citizen of the United States. Therefore I may be sent back to the sulphur mines. And another reason is that they may think I know the secret of the platinum treasure--the lost mine." "Say this is getting interesting!" exclaimed Tom. "If we are going to have a brush with some of the spies of the Russian government so much the better. I'm ready for 'em!" "So am I!" added Ned. "You don't know them," said Mr. Petrofsky, and he could not repress a shudder. "I hope they are not on my trail, but if they are--" he paused a moment, straightened himself up, and looked like what he was, a strong man--"if they are let them look out. I'd give my life to save my brother from the awful, living death to which he is consigned!" "And we're with you!" cried Tom, offering the Russian his hand. "We'll turn the trick yet. Now don't forget to come and see us. Come along, Ned. If I'm going to build an air glider I've got to get busy." And waving farewells to their new friend, the lads took their places in the aeroplane and were soon on their way to Shopton. "Well, what do you think of it?" asked Ned of his chum, as they sped along at a good elevation, the engine going at half speed to be less noisy and make talking easier. "Lots. I think we're in for a good time, an exciting one, anyhow, if what he says is true. But what in the world is an air glider, Tom?" "It's the last word in aeroplanes. You don't need a motor to make it go." "Don't need a motor?" "No, the wind does it all. It's a sort of aeroplane, but the motion comes from the wind, acting on different planes, and this is accomplished by shifting weights. In it you can stand still in a fierce gale, if you like." "How, by tying her fast on the ground?" "No, hovering in the air. It's all done by getting the proper balance. The harder the wind blows the better the air glider works, and that's why I think it will be just the thing for Siberia. I'm going to get right at work on it, and you'll help me; won't you?" "I sure will. Say, is platinum worth much?" "Worth much? I should say it was! It's got gold beat now, and the available supply is very small, and it's getting more scarce. Russia has several mines, and the metal is of good quality. I've used some Russian platinum, but the kind Mr. Petrofsky gave me to-day was better than the best I ever had. If we can only find that lost mine we'll be millionaires all right." "That's what we thought when we found the city of gold, but the gold wasn't of as fine a grade as we hoped." "Well, nothing like that can happen in this platinum deal. It sure is rich ore that Mr. Petrofsky and his brother found. Poor fellow! To think of being an exile in that awful country, not knowing where you may be sent next. No wonder Mr. Petrofsky wants to rescue him." "That's right. Well, here we are. I wonder what your father will say when he hears you're thinking of another expedition, Tom?" "Oh, he'll want me to go when he hears about the exile." "And I'm sure my folks will let me go. How about Mr. Damon?" "I don't believe we can hold him back. It will make a nice party, just you and I, and Mr. Damon and Mr. Petrofsky. That will leave room for the other Russian--if we can rescue him," and with that Tom shut off the engine and glided to earth. It may well be imagined that Mr. Swift was surprised when his son told him the latest news, but he did not offer any serious objection to the young inventor going to Siberia. "Only you must be careful," he said. "Those Russian officers are ugly when it comes to trying to take away any of their prisoners. And this air glider--I don't exactly know about that. It's a new machine, and you want to be sure it works before you trust yourself to it." "I will," promised Tom. "Say, I've got plenty of work ahead of me,--to get my big airship in shape, and build the glider. You'll have to help me, dad." "I will, son. Now tell me more about this Mr. Petrofsky." Which Tom did. The days that followed were indeed busy ones for Tom. The young inventor made a model air glider that sailed fairly well, but he knew it would have to work better to be successful, and he bent all his energies in that direction. Meanwhile Mr. Damon had been told of the prospective trip. "Bless my bank book! Of course I'll go," he said. "But don't say anything about it to my wife--that is, just yet. I'll bring her around to it gradually. She has always wanted a diamond ring set in platinum, and now I can get it for her. I know she'll let me go if I break it to her gently." It may be mentioned here that many valuable diamonds are now set in platinum instead of gold. "I want to keep busy," said Mr. Damon, so Tom set him, Ned and Eradicate at the task of getting the big airship in shape for the trip. This air craft has not figured in any of my previous stories, but as it is so nearly like the one that was crushed in the caves of ice, I will not give a description of it here. Those who care to may refer to the book telling of Tom's trip to the caves of ice for a detailed account of the craft. Sufficient to say that this latest airship, named the Falcon, was the largest Tom had ever built. It contained much room, many comforts, and could sail for several thousand miles without descending, except in case of accident. It was a combined dirigible balloon and aeroplane, and could be used as either, the necessary gas being made on board. It was large enough to enable the air glider to be taken on it in sections. It was about a week after their first meeting with him, that Ivan Petrofsky paid a visit to the Swift home. He was warmly welcomed by the aged inventor and Mr. Damon, and, closeted in the library of the house, he proceeded to go more into details of his own and his brother's exile to Siberia, and to tell about the supposed location of the lost platinum mine. "I don't believe we can start for several weeks yet," said Tom, after some discussion. "It will take me that long to make the glider." "And I, too, need a little time," said the Russian. "I will write to some friends in St. Petersburg and perhaps they can get some information for us, as to where my brother is. "That will be good," declared Mr. Damon. "Bless my icicle! But the more I think of this trip the better I like it!" It was arranged that the Russian should call again soon, when the plans would be nearer in shape, and in the meanwhile he must learn all he could from revolutionary friends in Siberia. It was a week after this, during which Tom, Ned and the others had been very busy, that Tom decided to take a trip to see their Russian friend. They had not heard from him since his visit, and Tom wanted to learn something about the strength of the Siberian winds. He and Ned went in one of the small airships and soon they were hovering over the grounds surrounding the lonely house where Ivan Petrofsky lived. "He doesn't seem to be at home," remarked Ned, as they descended and approached the dwelling. "No, and it looks quite deserted," agreed the young inventor. "Say, all the doors are open, too! He shouldn't go away and leave his house open like that--with the valuable platinum there." "Maybe he's asleep," suggested Ned. They knocked on the opened door, but there was no answer. Then they went inside. To their surprise the house was in confusion. Furniture was overturned, tables and chairs were broken, and papers were scattered about the room. "There's been a fight here!" cried Tom. "That's right," agreed Ned. "Maybe he's been hurt--maybe burglars came for the platinum!" "Come on!" cried Tom, making a dash for the stairs. "We'll see if he's here." The house was small, and it took but a moment to show that Mr. Petrofsky was not there. Upstairs, as below, was the same confusion--the overturned furniture and the papers scattered about. Tom stooped and picked up a scrap that looked like a piece torn from a letter. On top was a seal--the black seal of Russia--the imperial arms of the Czar! "Look!" cried Tom, holding out the paper. "What is it?" asked Ned. "The hand of the Czar!" answered his chum. "It has reached out from Russia, and taken Mr. Petrofsky away!" CHAPTER IV THE SEARCH For a moment Ned could scarcely understand what Tom meant. It scarcely seemed possible that such a thing could happen. That some one in far-off Russia--be it the Czar or one of the secret police--could operate from such a distance, seeking out a man in an obscure house in a little American village, and snatching him away. "It isn't possible!" declared Ned breathlessly. "What difference does that make?" asked Tom. "The thing has happened, and you can't get out of it. Look at all the evidence--there's been a fight, that's sure, and Mr. Petrofsky is gone." "But maybe he went away of his own accord," insisted Ned, who was sometimes hard to convince. "Nonsense! If a man went away of his own accord would he smash up his furniture, leave his papers scattered all about and go off leaving the doors and windows open for any one to walk in? I guess not." "Well, maybe you're right. But think of it! This isn't Russia!" "No, but he's a Russian subject, and, by his own confession an escaped exile. If he was arrested in the usual way he could be taken back, and our government couldn't interfere. He's been taken back all right. Poor man! Think of being doomed to those sulphur mines again, and as he escaped they'll probably make it all the harder for him!" "But I thought our government wouldn't help other nations to get back prisoners convicted of political crimes," suggested Ned. "That's all Mr. Petrofsky was guilty of--politics, trying to help the poor in his own country. It's a shame if our government stands for anything like that!" "That's just the point!" exclaimed Tom. "Probably the spies, secret police, or whoever the Russian agents were, didn't ask any help from our government. If they did there might be a chance for him. But likely they worked in secret. They came here, sneaked in on him, and took him away before he could get help. Jove! If he could only have gotten word to me I'd have come in the airship, and then there'd be a different ending to this." "I guess you're right, Tom. Well, that ends it I suppose." "Ends what?" "Our trip to the platinum mine." "Not a bit of it. I'm going to have a hunt for it." "But how can you when Mr. Petrofsky can't go along to show us the way? Besides, we wanted to help rescue his brother, and now we can't." "Well, I'm going to make a big try," declared the young inventor firmly. "And the first thing I'm going to do is to get our friend out of the clutches of the Russian police." "You are? How?" "I'm going to make a search for him. Look here, Ned, he must have been taken away some time to-day--perhaps only a few hours ago--and they can't have gone far with him." "How do you make that out?" Ned wanted to know. "Well, I guess I'm detective enough for that," and Tom smiled. "Look here, the doors and windows are open. Now it rained last night, and there was quite a wind. If the windows had been open in the storm there'd be some traces of moisture in the rooms. But there isn't a drop. Consequently the windows have been opened since last night." "Say, that's so!" cried Ned admiringly. "But that's not all," went on Tom. "Here's a bottle of milk on the table, and it's fresh," which he proved by tasting it. "Now that was left by the milkman either late last night or early this morning. I don't believe it's over twelve hours old." "Well, what does this mean?" asked Ned, who couldn't quite follow Tom's line of reasoning. "To my mind it means that the spies were here no later than this morning. Look at the table upset, the dishes on the floor. Here's one with oatmeal in it, and you know how hard and firm cooked oatmeal gets after it stands a bit. This is quite fresh, and soft, and--" "And that means--" interrupted Ned, who was in turn interrupted by Tom, who exclaimed: "It means that Mr. Petrofsky was at breakfast when they burst in on him, and took him away. They had hard work overpowering him, I'll wager, for he could put up a pretty good fight. And the broken furniture is evidence of that. Then the spies, after tying him up, or putting him in a carriage, searched the house for incriminating papers. That's as plain as the nose on your face. Then the police agents, or whoever they were, skipped out in a hurry, not taking the trouble to close the windows and doors." "I believe it did happen that way," agreed Ned, who clearly saw what Tom meant. "But what can we do? How can we find him?" "By getting on the trail," answered his chum quickly. "There may be more clews in the house, and I'm sure there'll be some out of doors, for they must have left footprints or the marks of carriage wheels. We'll take a look, and then we'll get right on the search. I'm not going to let them take Mr. Petrofsky to Russia if I can help it. I want to get after that platinum, and he's the only one who can pilot us anywhere near the place; and besides, there's his brother we've got to rescue. We'll make a search for the exile." "I'm with you!" cried Ned. "Jove! Wouldn't it be great if we could rescue him? They can't have gotten very far with him." "I'm afraid they have quite a start on us," admitted Tom with a dubious shake of his head, "but as long as they're in the United States we have a chance. If ever they get him on Russian soil it's all up with him." "Come on then!" cried Ned. "Let's get busy. What's the first thing to do?" "Look for clews," replied Tom. "We'll begin at the top of the house and work down. It's lucky we came when we did, for every minute counts." Then the two plucky lads began their search for the kidnapped Russian exile. Had those who took him away seen the mere youths who thus devoted themselves to the task, they might have laughed in contempt, but those who know Tom Swift and his sturdy chum, know that two more resourceful and brave lads would be hard to find. CHAPTER V A CLEW FROM RUSSIA "Nothing much up here," remarked Tom, when he and Ned had gone all over the second floor twice. "That scrap of paper, which put me on to the fact that some one from the Russian government had been here, is about all. They must have taken all the documents Mr. Petrofsky had." "Maybe he didn't have any," suggested Ned. "If he was wise he'd get rid of them when he knew he was being shadowed, as he told us. Perhaps that was why they broke up the furniture, searching for hidden papers, or they may have done it out of spite because they didn't find anything. But we might as well go downstairs and look there." But the first floor was equally unproductive of clews, save those already noted, which showed, at least so Tom believed, that Mr. Petrofsky had been surprised and overpowered while at breakfast. "Now for outside!" cried the young inventor. "We'll see if we can figure out how they got him away." There were plenty of marks in the soft ground and turf, which was still damp from the night's rain, though it was now afternoon. Unfortunately, however, in approaching the house after leaving the aeroplane, Ned and Tom had not thought to exercise caution, and, not suspecting anything wrong, they had stepped on a number of footprints left by the kidnappers. But for all that, they saw enough to convince them that several men had been at the lonely house, for there were many marks of shoes. It was out of the question, however, to tell which were those of Mr. Petrofsky and which those of his captors. "They might have carried him out to a carriage they had in waiting," suggested Ned. "Let's go out to the front gate and look in the road. They hardly would bring the carriage up to the door." "Good idea," commented Tom, and they hurried to the main thoroughfare that passed the Russian's house. "Here they are!" cried Ned, who was in the lead. "There's been a carriage here as sure as you're a foot high and it's a rubber-tired one too." "GOOD!" cried Tom admiringly. "You're coming right along in your detective training. How do you make that out?" "See here, where a piece of rubber has been broken or cut out of the tire. It makes a peculiar mark in the dirt every time the wheel goes around." "That's right, and it will be a good thing to trace the carriage by. Come on, we'll keep right after it." "Hold on a bit," suggested Ned, who, though not so quick as Tom Swift, frequently produced good results by his very slowness. "Are you going off and leave the airship here for some one to walk off with?" "Guess they wouldn't take it far," replied the young inventor, "but I'd better make it safe. I'll disconnect it so they can't start it, though if Andy Foger happens to come along he might slash the planes just out of spite. But I guess he won't show up." Tom took a connecting pin out of the electrical apparatus, making it impossible to start the aeroplane, and then, wheeling it out of sight behind a small barn, he and Ned went back to the carriage marks in the road. "Hurry!" urged Tom, as he started off in the direction of the village of Hurdtown, near where the cottage stood. "We will ask people living along the highway if they've seen a carriage pass." "But what makes you think they went off that way?" asked Ned. "I should think they'd head away from the village, so as not to be seen." "No, I don't agree with you. But wait, we'll look at the marks. Maybe that will help us." Peering carefully at the marks of horses' hoofs and the wheel impressions, Tom uttered a cry of discovery. "I have it!" he declared. "The carriage came from the village, and kept right on the other way. You're right, Ned. They didn't go back to town. "Are you sure?" "Of course. You can see for yourself; if the carriage had turned around the track would show, but it doesn't and, even if they turned on the grass, there'd be two lines of marks--one coming out here and one returning. As it is there is only a single set--just as if the carriage drove up here, took on its load, and continued on. This way, Ned." They hurried down the road, and soon came to a cluster of farm houses. Inquiries there, however, failed to bring anything to light, for either the occupants of the house had failed to notice passing vehicles, or there had been so many that any particular carriage was not recalled. And there were now so many impressions in the soft dirt of the highway--so many wheel tracks and hoof imprints--that it was impossible to pick out those of the carriage with the cut rubber tire. "Well, I guess it isn't of much use to go on any farther," spoke Ned, when they had traveled several miles and had learned nothing. "We'll try one more house, and then go back," agreed Tom. "We'll tell dad about what's happened, and see what he says." "Carriage?" repeated an old farmer to whom they next put the question. "Wa'al, now, come t' think of it, I did see one drivin' along here early this morning. It had rubber tires on too, for I recollect remarkin' t' myself that it didn't make much noise. Had t' talk t' myself," he added in explanation, "'cause nobody else in the family was up, 'ceptin' th' dog." "Did the carriage have some Russians in it?" asked Tom eagerly, "and was one a big bearded man?" "Wa'al, now you've got me," admitted the farmer frankly. "It was quite early you see, and I didn't take no particular notice. I got up early t' do my milkin' 'cause I have t' take it t' th' cheese factory. That's th' reason nobody was up but me. But I see this carriage comin' down th' road, and thinks I t' myself it was pretty middlin' early fer anybody t' be takin' a pleasure ride. I 'lowed it were a pleasure ride, 'cause it were one of them hacks that folks don't usually use 'ceptin' fer a weddin', or a funeral, an' it wa'n't no funeral." "Then you can't tell us anything more except that it passed?" asked Ned. "No, I couldn't see inside, 'cause it was rather dark at that hour, and then, too, I noticed that they had th' window shades down." "That's suspicious!" exclaimed Tom. "I believe they are the fellows we're after," and, without giving any particulars he said that they were looking for a friend who might have been taken away against his will. "Could you tell where they were going?" asked Tom, scarcely hoping to get an affirmative answer. "Wa'al, th' man on th' seat pulled up when he see me," spoke the farmer with exasperating slowness, "an' asked me how far it was t' th' Waterville station, an' I told him." "Why didn't you say so at first?" asked Tom quickly. "Why didn't you tell us they were heading for the railroad?" "You didn't ask me," replied the farmer. "What difference does it make." "Every minute counts!" exclaimed the young inventor. "We want to keep right after those fellows. Maybe the agent can tell us where they bought tickets to, and we can trace them that way. "Shouldn't wonder," commented the farmer. "There ain't many trains out from Waterville at that time of day, an' mighty few passengers. Shouldn't wonder but Jake Applesauer could put ye on th' trail." "Much obliged," called Tom. "Come on, Ned," and he started back in the direction of the house where the kidnapping had taken place. "That ain't th' way t' 'vaterville!" the farmer shouted after them. "I know it, we're going to get our airship," answered Tom, and then he heard the farmer mutter. "Plumb crazy! That's what they be! Plumb crazy! Going after their airship! Shouldn't wonder but they was escaped lunatics, and the other fellers was keepers after 'em. Hu! Wa'al, I've got my work to do. 'Tain't none of my affair." "Let him think what he likes," commented Ned as he and his chum hurried on. "We're on the trail all right." If Jake Applesauer, the agent at the Waterville station, was surprised at seeing two youths drop down out of an aeroplane, and begin questioning him about some suspicious strangers that had taken the morning train, he did not show it. Jake prided himself on not being surprised at anything, except once when he took a counterfeit dollar in return for a ticket, and had to make it good to the company. But, to the despair of Tom and Ned, he could not help them much. He had seen the party, of course. They had driven up in the hack, and one of the men seemed to be sick, or hurt, for his head was done up in bandages, and the others had to half carry him on the train. "That was Mr. Petrofsky all right," declared Ned. "Sure," assented Tom. "They must have hurt and drugged him. But you can't tell us for what station they bought tickets, Mr. Applesauer?" "No, for they didn't buy any. They must have had 'em, or else they paid on the train. One man drove off in the coach, and that's all I know." As Tom and Ned started back to Shopton in the aeroplane they discussed what could be done next. A hard task lay before them, and they realized that. "They could have gotten off at any station between here and New York, or even changed to another railroad at the junction," spoke Tom. "It's going to be a hard job." "Guess we'll have to get some regular detectives on it," suggested Ned. "And that's what I'll do," declared the young inventor. "They may be able to locate Mr. Petrofsky before those spies take him out of this country. If they don't--it will be too late. I'm going to talk to dad about it, and if he agrees I'll hire the best private detectives." Mr. Swift gave his consent when Tom had told the story, and, a day later, one of the best detectives of a well known agency called on Tom in Shopton and assumed charge of the case. The early reports from the detective were quite reassuring. He got on the trail of the men who had taken Mr. Petrofsky away, and confirmed the suspicion that they were agents of the Russian police. He trailed them as far as New York, and there the clews came to an end. "Whether they are in the big city, which might easily be, or in some of the nearby towns, will take some time to learn," the detective wrote, and Tom wired back telling him to keep on searching. But, as several weeks went by, and no word came, even Tom began to give up hope, though he did not stop work on the air glider, which was nearing completion. And then, most unexpectedly a clew came--a clew from far-off Russia. Tom got a letter one day--a letter in a strange hand, the stamp and postmark showing that it had come from the land of the Czar. "What do you suppose it contains?" asked Ned, who was with his chum when the communication was received. "Haven't the least idea; but I'll soon find out." "Maybe it's from the Russian police, telling you to keep away from Siberia." "Maybe," answered Tom absently, for he was reading the missive. "I say!" he suddenly cried. "This is great! A clew at last, and from St. Petersburg! Listen to this, Ned! "This letter is from the head of one of the secret societies over there, a society that works against the government. It says that Mr. Petrofsky is being detained a prisoner in a lonely hut on the Atlantic sea coast, not far from New York--Sandy Hook the letter says--and here are the very directions how to get there!" "No!" cried Ned, in disbelief. "How in the world could anybody in Russia know that." "It tells here," said Tom. "It's all explained. As soon as the secret police got Mr. Petrofsky they communicated with the head officials in St. Petersburg. You know nearly everyone is a spy over there, and the letter says that Mr. Petrofsky's friends there soon heard the news, and even about the exact place where he is being held." "What are they holding him for?" asked Ned. "That's explained, too. It seems they can't legally take him back until certain papers are received from his former prison in Siberia, and those are now on the way. His friends write to me to hasten and rescue him." "But how did they ever get your address?" "That's easy, though you wouldn't think so. It seems, so the letter explains, that as soon as Mr. Petrofsky got acquainted with us he wrote to friends in St. Petersburg, giving my address, and telling them, in case anything ever happened to him, to notify us. You see he suspected that something might, after he found he was being shadowed that way. "And it all worked out. As soon as his friends heard that he was caught, and learned where he was being held, they wrote to me. Hurrah, Ned! A clew at last! Now to wire the detective--no, hold on, we'll go there and rescue him ourselves! We'll go in the airship, and pick up Detective Trivett in New York." "That's the stuff! I'm with you!" "Bless my suspender buttons! So am I, whatever it is!" cried Mr. Damon, entering the room at that moment. CHAPTER VI RESCUING MR. PETROFSKY "We ought to be somewhere near the place now, Tom." "I think we are, Ned. But you know I'm not going too close in this airship." "Bless my silk hat!" exclaimed Mr. Damon. "I hope we don't have to walk very far in such a deserted country as this, Tom Swift." "We'll have to walk a little way, Mr. Damon," replied the young inventor. "If I go too close to the hut they'll see the airship, and as those spies probably know that Mr. Petrofsky has been dealing with me, They'd smell a rat at once, and run away, taking him with them, and we'd have all our work to do over again." "That's right," agreed Detective Trivett, who was one of the four in the airship that was now hovering over the Atlantic coast, about ten miles below the summer resorts of which Asbury Park was one. It was only a few hours after Tom had received the letter from Russia informing him of the whereabouts of the kidnapped Russian, and he had acted at once. His father sanctioned the plan of going to the rescue in one of Tom's several airships and, Mr. Damon, having been on hand, at once agreed to go. Of course Ned went along, and they had picked up the private detective in New York, where he was vainly seeking a clew to the whereabouts of Mr. Petrofsky. Now the young inventor and his friends were hovering over the sandy stretch of coast that extends from Sandy Hook down the Atlantic seaboard. They were looking for a small fishing hamlet on the outskirts of which, so the Russian letter stated, was situated the lonely hut in which Mr. Petrofsky was held a prisoner. "Do you think you can pick it out from a distance, Tom?" asked Mr. Damon, as the airship floated slowly along. It was not the big one they intended taking on their trip to Siberia, but it was sufficiently large to accommodate the four and leave room for Mr. Petrofsky, should they succeed in rescuing him. "I think so," answered the young inventor. In the letter from Russia a comparatively accurate description of the prisoner's hut had been given, and also some details about his guards. For there is little goes on in political circles in the realm of the Czar that is not known either to the spies of the government or those of the opposition, and the latter had furnished Tom with reliable information. "That looks like the place," said Tom at length, when, after peering steadily through a powerful telescope, during which time Ned steered the ship, the young inventor "picked up" a fishing settlement. "There is the big fish house, spoken of in the letter," he went on, "and the Russians know a lot about fish. That house makes a good landmark. We'll go down now, before they have a chance to see us." The others thought this a good idea, and a little later the airship sank to the ground amid a lonely stretch of sand dunes, about two miles from the hamlet on the outskirts of which the prison hut was said to be located. "Now," said Tom, "we've got to decide on a plan of campaign. It won't do for all of us to go to the hut and make the rescue. Some one has got to stay with the airship, to be ready to start it off as soon as we come back with Mr. Petrofsky--if we do come. "Then there's no use in me staying here," spoke Detective Trivett. "I don't know enough even to turn on the gasolene." "No, it's got to be Ned or me," said the young inventor. "I'll stay," volunteered Ned quickly, for though he would very much have liked to be in at the rescue, he realized that his place was in the airship, as Mr. Damon was not sufficiently familiar with the machinery to operate it. Accordingly, after looking to everything to see that it was in working order, Tom led the advance. It was just getting dusk, and they figured on getting to the hut after dark. "Have everything ready for a quick start," Tom said to Ned, "for we may come back running." "I will," was the prompt answer, and then, getting their bearings, the little party set off. They had to travel over a stretch of sandy waste that ran along the beach. Back in shore were a few scattered cottages, and not yet opened for the summer, and on the ocean side was the pounding surf. The hut, as Tom recalled the directions, lay just beyond a group of stunted hemlock trees that set a little way back from the ocean, on a bluff overlooking the sea. It was not near any other building. Slowly, and avoiding going any nearer the other houses than they could help, the little party made its way. They had to depend on their own judgement now, for the minor details of the location of the hut could not be given in the letter from Russia. In fact the spies themselves, in writing to their head officers about the matter, had not described the location in detail. "That looks like it over there," said Tom at last, when they had gone about a mile and a half, and saw a lonely hut with a light burning in it. Cautiously they approached and, as they drew nearer, they saw that the light came through the window of a small hut. "Looks like the place," commented the detective. "We'll have a look," remarked Tom. He crept up so he could glance in the window, and no sooner had he peered in, than he motioned for the others to approach. Looking under a partly-drawn curtain, Mr. Damon and Mr. Trivett saw the Russian whom they sought. He was seated at a table, his head bowed on his hands, and in the room were three men. A rifle stood in one corner, near one of the guards. "They're taking no chances," whispered Mr. Damon. "What shall we do, Tom?" "It's three to three," replied the young inventor. "But if we can get him away without a fight, so much the better. I think I have it. I'll go up to the door, knock and make quite a racket, and demand admittance in the name of the Czar. That will startle them, and they may all three rush to answer. Mr. Damon, you and the detective will stay by the window. As soon as you see the men rush for the door, smash in the window with a piece of driftwood and call to Mr. Petrofsky to jump out that way. Then you can run with him toward the airship, and I'll follow. It may work." "I don't see why it wouldn't," declared the detective. "Go ahead, Tom. We're ready." Looking in once more, to make sure that the guards were not aware of the presence of the rescuing party, Tom went to the front door of the hut. It was a small building, evidently one used by fishermen. Tom knocked loudly on the portal, at the same time crying out in a voice that he strove to make as deep and menacing as possible: "Open! Open in the name of the Czar!" Looking through the window, ready to act on the instant, Mr. Damon and the detective saw the three guards spring to their feet. One remained near Mr. Petrofsky, who also leaped up. "Now!" called the detective to his companion. "Smash the window!" The next instant a big piece of driftwood crashed through the casement, just as the two men were hurrying to the front door to answer Tom's summons. "Mr. Petrofsky! This way!" yelled Mr. Damon, sticking his head in through the broken sash. "Come out! We've come to save you! Bless my putty blower, but this is great! Come on!" For a moment the exile stared at the head thrust through the broken window, and he listened to Tom's emphatic knocks and demands. Then with a cry of delight the Russian sprang for the open casement, while the guard that had remained near him made a leap to catch him, crying out: "Betrayed! Betrayed! It's the Nihilists! Look out, comrades!" CHAPTER VII THE AIR GLIDER Mr. Damon continued to hammer away at the window sash with the piece of driftwood. There were splinters of the frame and jagged pieces of glass sticking out, making it dangerous for the exile to slip through. "Come on! Come on!" the eccentric man continued to call. "Bless my safety valve! We'll save you! Come on!" Mr. Petrofsky was leaping across the room, just ahead of the one guard. The other two were at the open door now, through which Tom could be seen. Then the spies, realizing in an instant that they had been deceived, made a dash after their comrade, who had his hand on the tails of the exile's coat. "Break away! Break loose!" cried Mr. Damon, who, by this time had cleared the window so a person could get through. "Don't let them hold you!" "I don't intend to!" retorted Mr. Petrofsky, and he swerved suddenly, tearing his coat, from the grasp of the guard. In another instant the exile was at the casement, and was being helped through by Mr. Damon, and there was need of it, for the three guards were there now, doing their best to keep their prisoner. "Pull away! Pull away!" cried Mr. Damon. "We'll help you!" shouted Tom, who, now that his trick had worked, had sped around to the other side of the hut. "Don't be afraid, we're with you!" exclaimed the detective, who was with the young inventor. "Grab him! Keep him! Hold him!" fairly screamed the rearmost of the three guards. "It is a plot of the Nihilists to rescue him. Shoot him, comrades. He must not get away!" "Don't you try any of your shooting games, or I'll take a hand in it!" shouted the detective, and, at the same moment he drew his revolver and fired harmlessly in the air. "A bomb! A bomb!", yelled the guards in terror. "Not yet, but there may be!" murmured Tom. The firing of the shot produced a good effect, for the three men who were trying to detain Ivan Petrofsky at once fell back from the window and gave him just the chance needed. He scrambled through, with the aid of Mr. Damon, and before the guards could again spring at him, which they did when the echoes of the shot had died away. They had realized, too late, that it was not a bomb, and that there was no immediate danger for them. "Come on!" cried Tom. "Make for the airship! We've got to get the start of them!" Leading the way, he sprinted toward the road that led to the place where the airship awaited them. He was followed by Mr. Damon and the detective, who had Mr. Petrofsky between them. "Are you all right?" Tom called back to the exile. "Are you hurt? Can you run?" "I'm all right," was the reassuring answer. "Go ahead; But they'll be right after us." "Maybe they'll stop when they see this," remarked the detective significantly, and he held his revolver so that the rays of the newly-risen moon glinted on it. "Here they come!" cried Tom a moment later, as three figures, one after the other, came around the corner of the house. They had not taken the shorter route through the window, as had Mr. Petrofsky, and this gained a little time for our friends. "Stop! Hold on!" cried one of the guards in fairly good English. "That is our prisoner." "Not any more!" the young inventor yelled back. "He's ours now." "Look out! They're going to shoot!" cried Mr. Damon. "Bless my gunpowder! can't you stop them some way or other, Mr. Detective?" "The only way is by firing first," answered Mr. Trivett, "and I don't want to hurt them. Guess I'll fire in the air again." He did, and the guards halted. They seemed to be holding a consultation, as Tom learned by glancing hastily back, and he caught the glisten of some weapon. But if the three men had any notion of firing they gave it up, and once more came on running. Doubtless they had orders to get their prisoner back to Russia alive, and did not want to take any chances of hitting him. "Leg it!" cried Tom. "Leg it!" He was well ahead, and wanted the others to catch up to him, but none of the men was a good runner, and Mr. Petrofsky, by reason of being rather heavily built, was worse than the other two, so they had to accommodate their pace to his. "I wonder if we can make it," mused Tom, as he realized that the airship was a good distance off yet the guards, though quite a way in the rear now were coming on fast. "It's going to be a close race," thought the young inventor. "I wish we'd brought the airship a little nearer." It was indeed a race now, for the guards, seeming to know that they would not be shot at, were coming on more confidently, and were rapidly lessening the distance that separated them from their recent prisoner. "We've got to go faster!" cried Tom. "Bless my shoe leather!" yelled Mr. Damon. "I can't go any faster." Still he did make the attempt, and so did the exile and the detective. Little was said now, for each of the parties was running a dogged race, and in silence. They had gone possibly half a mile, and the first advantage of Tom and his friends was rapidly being lost, when suddenly there sounded in the air above a curious throbbing noise. "Bless my gasolene! What's that?" cried Mr. Damon. "The airship! It's the airship!" yelled Tom, as he saw a great dark shape slowly approaching. "Ned is bringing her to meet us." "Good!" cried the detective. "We need it I'm about winded!" "This way, Ned! This way!" cried Tom, and, an instant later, they were in the midst of a brilliant glow, for Ned had turned the current into the great searchlight on the bow of the air craft, and the beams were focused on our friends. Ned could now see the refugees, and in a moment he sent the graceful craft down, bringing it to a halt on the ground near Tom. "In with you!" cried the lad. "She's all ready to start up again!" "Come on!" yelled Tom to the others. "We're all right now, if you hustle!" "Bless my pin cushion!" gasped Mr. Damon, making a final spurt. The three guards had halted in confusion on seeing the big, black bulk of the airship, and when they noted the gleaming of the searchlight they must have realized that their chances were gone. They made a rush, however, but it was too late. Over the side of the craft scrambled Tom, Mr. Damon, the detective and Ivan Petrofsky, and an instant later Ned had sent it aloft. The race was over, and the young inventor and his friends had won. "You're the stuff!" cried Tom to Ned, as he went with his chum to the pilot house to direct the progress of the airship. "It's lucky you came for us. We never could have made the distance. We left the ship too far off." "That's what I thought after you'd gone," replied his chum. "So I decided to come and meet you. I had to go slowly so as not to pass you in the darkness." They were speeding off now, and Ned, turning the beams of the great searchlight below them, picked up the three guards who were gazing helplessly aloft after their fast disappearing prisoner. "You're having your first ride in an airship, Mr. Petrofsky," remarked Tom, when they had gone on for some little distance. "How do you like it?" "I'm so excited I hardly know, but it's quite a sensation. But how in the world did you ever find me to rescue me?" Then they told the story of their search, and the unexpected clew from Russia. In turn the exile told how he had been attacked at the breakfast table one morning by the three spies--the very men who had been shadowing him--and taken away secretly, being drugged to prevent his calling for help. He had been kept a close prisoner in the lonely hut, and each day he had expected to be taken back to serve out his sentence in Siberia. "Another day would have been too late," he told Tom, when he had thanked the young inventor over and over again, "for the papers would have arrived, and the last obstacle to taking me back to Russia would have been removed. They dared not take me out of the United States without official documents, and they would have been forged ones, for they intended trumping up a criminal charge against me, the political one not being strong enough to allow them to extradite me." "Well I'm glad we got you," said Tom heartily. "We will soon be ready to start for Siberia." "In this kind of a craft?" "Yes, only much larger. You'll like it. I only hope my air glider works." By putting on speed, Tom was able to reach Shopton before midnight, and there was quite an informal celebration in the Swift homestead over the rescue of the exile. The detective, for whom there was no further need, was paid off, and Mr. Petrofsky was made a member of the household. "You'd better stay here until we are ready to start," Tom said, "and then we can keep an eye on you. We need you to show us as nearly as possible where the platinum field is." "All right," agreed the Russian with a laugh. "I'm sure I'll do all I can for you, and you are certainly treating me very nicely after what I suffered from my captors." Tom resumed work on his air glider the next day, and he had an additional helper, for Mr. Petrofsky proved to be a good mechanic. In brief, the air glider was like an aeroplane save that it had no motor. It was raised by a strong wind blowing against transverse planes, and once aloft was held there by the force of the air currents, just like a box kite is kept up. To make it progress either with or against the wind, there were horizontal and vertical rudders, and sliding weights, by which the equilibrium could be shifted so as to raise or lower it. While it could not exactly move directly against the wind it could progress in a direction contrary to which the gale was blowing, somewhat as a sailing ship "tacks." And, as has been explained, the harder the wind blew the better the air glider worked. In fact unless there was a strong gale it would not go up. "But it will be just what is needed out there in that part of Siberia," declared the exile, "for there the wind is never quiet. Often it blows a regular hurricane." "That's what we want!" cried Tom. He had made several models of the air glider, changing them as he found out his errors, and at last he had hit on the right shape and size. Midway of the big glider, on which work was now well started, there was to be an enclosed car for the carrying of passengers, their food and supplies. Tom figured on carrying five or six. For several weeks the work on the air glider progressed rapidly, and it was nearing completion. Meanwhile nothing more had been heard or seen of the Russian spies. "Well," announced Tom one night, after a day's hard work, "we'll be ready for a trial now, just as soon as there comes a good wind." "Is it all finished?" asked Ned. "No, but enough for a trial spin. What I want is a big wind now." CHAPTER VIII IN A GREAT GALE There was a humming in the air. The telegraph wires that ran along on high poles past the house of Tom Swift sung a song like that of an Aeolian harp. The very house seemed to tremble. "Jove! This is a wind!" cried Tom as he awakened on a morning a few days after his air glider was nearly completed. "I never saw it so strong. This ought to be just what I want I must telephone to Mr. Damon and to Ned." He hustled into his clothes, pausing now and then to look out of his window and note the effects of the gale. It was a tremendous wind, as was evidenced by the limbs of several trees being broken off, while in some cases frail trees themselves had been snapped in twain. "Coffee ready, Mrs. Baggert?" asked our hero as he went downstairs. "I haven't got time to eat much though." In spite of his haste Tom ate a good breakfast and then, having telephoned to his two friends, and receiving their promises to come right over, our hero went out to make a few adjustments to his air glider, to get it in shape for the trial. He was a little worried lest the wind die out, but when he got outside he noted with satisfaction that the gale was stronger than at first. In fact it did considerable damage in Shopton, as Tom learned later. It certainly was a strong wind. An ordinary aeroplane never could have sailed in it, and Tom was doubtful of the ability of even his big airship to navigate in it. But he was not going to try that. "And maybe my air glider won't work," he remarked to himself as he was on his way to the shed where it had been constructed. "The models went up all right, but maybe the big one isn't proportioned right. However, I'll soon see." He was busy adjusting the balancing weights when Ned Newton came in. "Great Scott!" exclaimed the lad, as he labored to close the shed door, "this is a blow all right, Tom! Do you think it's safe to go up?" "I can't go up without a gale, Ned." "Well, I'd think twice about it myself." "Why, I counted on you going up with me." "Burr-r-r-r!" and Ned pretended to shiver. "I haven't an accident insurance policy you know." "You won't need it, Ned. If we get up at all we'll be all right. Catch hold there, and shift that rear weight a little forward on the rod. I expect Mr. Damon soon." The eccentric man came in a little later, just as Tom and Ned had finished adjusting the mechanism. "Bless my socks!" cried Mr. Damon. "Do you really mean to go up to-day, Tom?" "I sure do! Why, aren't you going with me?" and Tom winked at Ned. "Bless my--" began Mr. Damon, and then, evidently realizing that he was being tested he exclaimed: "Well, I will go, Tom! If the air glider is any good it ought to hold me. I will go up." "Now, Ned, how about you?" asked the young inventor. "Well, I guess it's up to me to come along, but I sure do wish it was over with," and Ned glanced out of the window to see if the gale was dying out. But the wind was as high as ever. It was hard work getting the air glider out of the shed, and in position on top of a hill, about a quarter of a mile away, for Tom intended "taking off" from the mound, as he could not get a running start without a motor. The wind, however, he hoped, would raise him and the strange craft. In order to get it over the ground without having it capsize, or elevate before they were ready for it, drag ropes, attached to bags of sand were used, and once these were attached the four found that they could not wheel the air glider along on its bicycle wheels. "We'll have to get Eradicate and his mule, I guess," said Tom, after a vain endeavor to make progress against the wind. "When it's up in the air it will be all right, but until then I'll need help to move it. Ned, call Rad, will you?" The colored man, with Boomerang, his faithful mule, was soon on hand. The animal was hitched to the glider, and pulled it toward the hill. "Now to see what happens," remarked Tom as he wheeled his latest invention around where the wind would take it as soon as the restraining ropes were cast off, for it was now held in place by several heavy cables fastened to stakes driven in the ground. Tom gave a last careful look to the weights, planes and rudders. He glanced at a small anemometer or wind gage, on the craft, and noted that it registered sixty miles an hour. "That ought to do," he remarked. "Now who's going up with me? Will you take a chance, Mr. Petrofsky?" "I'd rather not--at first." "Come on then, Ned and Mr. Damon. Mr. Petrofsky and Rad can cast off the ropes." The wind, if anything, was stronger than ever. It was a terrific gale, and just what was needed. But how would the air glider act? That was what Tom wanted very much to know. "Cast off!" he cried to the Russian and Eradicate, and they slipped the ropes. The next moment, with a rush and whizzing roar, the air glider shot aloft on the wings of the wind. CHAPTER IX THE SPIES "We're certainly going up!" yelled Ned, as he sat beside Tom in the cabin of the air glider. "That's right!" agreed the young inventor rather proudly, as he grasped two levers, one of which steered the craft, the other being used to shift the weights. "We're going up. I was pretty sure of that. The next thing is to see if it will remain stationary in the air, and answer the rudder." "Bless my top knot!" cried Mr. Damon. "You don't mean to tell me you can stand still in a gale of wind, Tom Swift." "That's exactly what I do mean. You can't do it in an aeroplane, for that depends on motion to keep itself up in the air. But the glider is different. That's one of its specialties, remaining still, and that's why it will be valuable if we ever get to Siberia. We can hover over a certain spot in a gale of wind, and search about below with telescopes for a sign of the lost platinum mine. "How high are you going up?" demanded Ned, for the air glider was still mounting upward on a slant. If you ever scaled a flat piece of tin, or a stone, you'll remember how it seems to slide up a hill of air, when it was thrown at the right angle. It was just this way with the air glider--it was mounting upward on a slant. "I'm going up a couple of hundred feet at least," answered Tom, "and higher if the gale-strata is there. I want to give it a good test while I'm at it." Ned looked down through a heavy plate of glass in the floor of the cabin, and could see Mr. Petrofsky and Eradicate looking up at them. "Bless my handkerchief!" cried Mr. Damon, when his attention had been called to this. "It's just like an airship." "Except that we haven't a bit of machinery on board," said Tom. "These weights do everything," and he shifted them forward on the sliding rods, with the effect that the air glider dipped down with a startling lurch. "We're falling!" cried Ned. "Not a bit of it," answered Tom. "I only showed you how it worked. By sliding the weights back we go up." He demonstrated this at once, sending his craft sliding up another hill of air, until it reached an elevation of four hundred feet, as evidenced by the barograph. "I guess this is high enough," remarked Tom after a bit. "Now to see if she'll stand still." Slowly he moved the weights along, by means of the compound levers, until the air glider was on an "even keel" so to speak. It was still moving forward, with the wind now, for Tom had warped his wing tips. "The thing to do," said the young inventor, "is to get it exactly parallel with the wind-strata, so that the gale will blow through the two sets of planes, just as the wind blows through a box kite. Only we have no string to hold us from moving. We have to depend on the equalization of friction on the surfaces of the wings. I wonder if I can do it." It was a delicate operation, and Tom had not had much experience in that sort of thing, for his other airships and aeroplanes worked on an entirely different principle. But he moved the weights along, inch by inch, and flexed the tips, planes and rudders until finally Ned, who was looking down through the floor window, cried out: "We're stationary!" "Good!" exclaimed Tom. "Then it's a success." "And we can go to Siberia?" added Mr. Damon. "Sure," assented the young inventor. "And if we have luck we'll rescue Mr. Petrofsky's brother, and get a lot of platinum that will be more valuable than gold." It would not be true to say that the air glider was absolutely stationary. There was a slight forward motion, due to the fact that it was not yet perfected, and also because Tom was not expert enough in handling it. The friction on the plane surfaces was not equalized, and the gale forced the craft along slightly. But, compared to the terrific power of the wind, the air glider was practically at a standstill, and this was remarkable when one considers the force of the hurricane that was blowing above, below and through it. For actually that was what the hurricane was doing. It was as if an immense box kite was suspended in the air, without a string to hold it from moving, and as though a cabin was placed amidships to hold human beings. "This sure is great!" cried Ned. "Have you got her in control, Tom?" "I think so. I'll try and see how she works." By shifting the weights, changing the balance, and warping the wings, the young inventor sent the craft higher up, made it dip down almost to the earth, and then swoop upward like some great bird. Then he turned it completely about and though he developed no great speed in this test made it progress quarteringly against the wind. "It's almost perfect," declared Tom. "A few touches and she'll be all right." "Is it all right?" asked Ivan Petrofsky anxiously, as the three left the cabin, and Eradicate hitched his mule to the glider to take it back to the shed. "I see where it can be improved," he said, as they made ready to descend. "I'll soon have it in shape." "Then we can go to Siberia?" "In less than a month. The big airship needs some repairs, and then we'll be off." The Russian said nothing, but he looked his thanks to Tom, and the manner in which he grasped the hand of our hero showed his deep feelings. The glider was given several more trials, and each time it worked better. Tom decided to change some of the weights, and he devoted all his time to this alteration, while Ned, Mr. Damon, and the others labored to get the big airship in shape for the long trip to the land of the exiles. So anxious was Tom to get started, that he put in several nights working on the glider. Ned occasionally came over to help him, while Mr. Damon was on hand as often as his wife would allow. Mr. Petrofsky spent his nights writing to friends in Russia, hoping to get some clew as to the whereabouts of his brother. It was on one of these nights, when Tom and Ned were laboring hard, with Eradicate to help them that an incident occurred which worried them all not a little. Tom was adjusting some of the new weights on the sliding rods, and called to Ned: "I say, old man, hand me that big monkey wrench, will you. I can't loosen this nut with the small one. You'll find it on the bench by that back window." As Ned went to get the tool he looked from the casement. He started, stood staring through the glass for a moment into the outer darkness, and then cried out: "Tom, we're being watched! There are some spies outside!" "What?" exclaimed the young inventor "Where are they? Who are they?" "I don't know. Those Russian police, maybe out front, and maybe we can catch them!" Grabbing up the big monkey wrench, Ned made a dash for the large sliding doors, followed by Tom who had an iron bar, and Eradicate with a small pair of pliers. "By golly!" cried the colored man, "ef I gits 'em I'll pinch dere noses off!" CHAPTER X OFF IN THE AIRSHIP Going from the brightly lighted shop into the darkness of the night, illuminated as it was only by the stars, neither Tom, Ned, nor Eradicate, could see anything at first. They had to stand still for a moment to accustom their eyes to the gloom. "Can you see them?" cried Tom to his chum. "No, but I can hear them! Over this way!" yelled Ned, and then, being able to dimly make out objects, so he would not run into them, he started off, followed by the young inventor. Tom could hear several persons running away now, but he could see no one, and from the sound he judged that the spies, if such they were, were hurrying across the fields that surrounded the shop. It was almost a hopeless task to pursue them, but the two lads were not the kind that give up. They rushed forward, hoping to be able to grapple with those who had looked in the shop window, but it was not to be. The sound of the retreating footsteps became more and more faint, until finally they gave no clew to follow. "Better stop," advised Tom. "No telling where we'll end up if we keep on running. Besides it might be dangerous." "Dangerous; how?" panted Ned. "They might dodge around, and wait for us behind some tree or bush." "An' ef dat Foger feller am around he jest as soon as not fetch one ob us a whack in de head," commented Eradicate grimly. "Guess you're about right," admitted Ned. "There isn't much use keeping on. We'll go back." "What sort of fellows were they?" asked Tom, when, after a little further search, the hunt was given up. "Could you see them well, Ned?" "Not very good. Just as I went to get you that wrench I noticed two faces looking in the window. I must have taken them by surprise, for they dodged down in an instant. Then I yelled, and they ran off." "Did you see Andy Foger?" "No, I didn't notice him." "Was either of them one of the spies who had Mr. Petrofsky in the hut?" "I didn't see those fellows very well, you remember, so I couldn't say." "That's so, but I'll bet that's who they were." "What do you think they're after, Tom?" "One of two things. They either want to get our Russian friend into their clutches again, or they're after me--to try to stop me from going to Siberia." "Do you think they'd go to such length as that?" "I'm almost sure they would. Those Russian police are wrong, of course, but they think Mr. Petrofsky is an Anarchist or something like that, and they think they're justified in doing anything to get him back to the Siberian mines. And once the Russian government sets out to do a thing it generally does it--I'll give 'em credit for that." "But how do you suppose they know you're going to Russia?" "Say, those fellows have ways of getting information you and I would never dream of. Why, didn't you read the other day how some fellow who was supposed to be one of the worst Anarchists ever, high up in making bombs, plotting, and all that sort of thing--turned out to be a police spy? They get their information that way. I shouldn't be surprised but what some of the very people whom Mr. Petrofsky thinks are his friends are spies, and they send word to headquarters of every move he makes." "Why don't you warn him?" "He knows it as well as I do. The trouble is you can't tell who the spies are until it's too late. I'm glad I'm not mixed up in that sort of thing. If I can get to Siberia, help Mr. Petrofsky rescue his brother, and get hold of some of that platinum I'll be satisfied. Then I won't go back to the land of the Czar, once I get away from there." "That's right. Well, let's go back and work on the glider." "And we'll have Eradicate patrolling about the shop to make sure we're not spied on again." "By golly! Ef I sees any oh 'em, I suah will pinch 'em!" cried the colored man, as he clicked the pliers. But there was no further disturbance that night, and, when Tom and Ned ceased work, they had made good progress toward finishing the air glider. The big airship was almost ready to be given a trial flight, with her motors tuned up to give more power, and as soon as the Russian exile had a little more definite information as to the possible whereabouts of his brother, they could start. In the days that followed Tom and his friends worked hard. The air glider was made as nearly perfect as any machine is, and in a fairly stiff gale, that blew up about a week later, Tom did some things in it that made his friends open their eyes. The young inventor had it under nearly as good control as he had his dirigible balloons or aeroplanes. The big airship, too, was made ready for the long voyage, extra large storage tanks for gasolene being built in, as it was doubtful if they could get a supply in Siberia without arranging for it in advance, and this they did not want to do. Besides there was the long ocean flight to provide for. "But if worst comes to worst I can burn kerosene in my motor," Tom explained, for he had perfected an attachment to this end. "You can get kerosene almost anywhere in Russia." At last word was received from Russia, from some Revolutionist friends of the exile, stating that his brother was supposed to be working in a certain sulphur mine north of the Iablonnoi mountains, and half way between that range and the city of Iakutsk. "But it might be a salt mine, just as well," said Mr. Petrofsky, when he told the boys the news. "Information about the poor exiles is hard to get." "Well, we'll take a chance!" cried Tom determinedly. The preparations went on, and by strict watchfulness none of the spies secured admission to the shop where the air glider was being finished. The big airship was gotten in shape for the voyage, and then, after a final trial of the glider, it was taken apart and put aboard the Falcon, ready for use on the gale-swept plains of Siberia. The last of the stores, provisions and supplies were put in the big car of the airship, a route had been carefully mapped out, and Tom, after saying good-bye to Mary Nestor, his father, the housekeeper, and Eradicate, took his place in the pilot house of the airship one pleasant morning at the beginning of Summer. "Don't you wish you were going, Rad?" the young inventor asked, for the colored man had decided to stay at home. "No indeedy, Massa Tom," was the answer. "Dat's a mighty cold country in Shebeara, an' I laik warm wedder." "Well, take care of yourself and Boomerang," answered Tom with a laugh. Then he pulled the lever that sent a supply of gas into the big bag, and the ship began to rise. "I guess we've given those spies the slip," remarked Ned, as they rose from the ground calling good-byes to the friends they left behind. "I hope so," agreed Tom, but could he have seen two men, of sinister looks, peering at the slowly-moving airship from the shelter of a glove of trees, not far off, he might have changed his opinion, and so would Ned. Then, as the airship gathered momentum, it fairly sprang into the air, and a moment later, the big propellers began revolving. They were off on their long voyage to find the lost platinum mine, and rescue the exile of Siberia. CHAPTER XI A STORM AT SEA Tom had the choice of two routes in making his voyage to far-off Siberia. He could have crossed the United States, sailed over the Pacific ocean, and approached the land of the Czar from the western coast above Manchuria. But he preferred to take the Atlantic route, crossing Europe, and so sailing over Russia proper to get to his destination. There were several reasons for this. The water voyage was somewhat shorter, and this was an important consideration when there was no telling when he might have an accident that would compel him to descend. On the Atlantic he knew there would be more ships to render assistance if it was needed, although he hoped he would not have to ask for it. "Then, too," he said to Ned, when they were discussing the matter, "we will have a chance to see some civilized countries if we cross Europe, and we may land near Paris." "Paris!" cried Ned. "What for?" "To renew our supply of gasolene, for one thing," replied the young inventor. "Not that we will be out when we arrive, but if we take on more there we may not have to get any in Russia. Besides, they have a very good quality in France, so all told, I think the route over Europe to be the best." Ned agreed with him, and so did Mr. Petrofsky. As for Mr. Damon, he was so busy getting his sleeping room in order, and blessing everything he could think of, that he did not have time to talk much. So the eastern route was decided on, and as the big airship, carrying our friends, their supplies, and the wonderful air glider rose higher and higher, Tom gradually brought her around so that the pointed nose of the gas bag aimed straight across the Atlantic. They were over the ocean on the second day out, for Tom did not push the craft to her limit of speed, now they had time to consider matters at their leisure, for they had been rather hurried on leaving. The machinery was working as nearly to perfection as it could be brought, and Tom, after finding out that his craft would answer equally well as a dirigible balloon or an aeroplane, let it sail along as the latter. "For," he said, "we have a long trip ahead of us and we need to save all the elevating gas we can save. If worst comes to worst, and we can't navigate as an aeroplane any more, we can even drift along as a dirigible. But while we have the gasolene we might as well make speed and be an aeroplane." The others agreed with him, and so it was arranged. Tom, when he had seen to it that his craft was working well, let Ned take charge and devoted himself to seeing that all the stores and supplies were in order for quick use. Of course, until they were nearer the land of the Czar, and that part of Siberia where Mr. Petrofsky's brother was held as an exile, they could do little save make themselves as comfortable as possible in the airship. And this was not hard to do. Naturally, in a craft that had to carry a heavy load, and lift itself into the air, as well as propel itself along, not many things could be taken. Every ounce counted. Still our friends were not without their comforts. There was a well stocked kitchen, and Mr. Damon insisted on installing himself as cook. This had been Eradicate's work but the eccentric man knew how to do almost everything from making soup to roasting a chicken, and he liked it. So he was allowed free run of the galley. Tom and Ned spent much time in the steering tower or engine room, for, though all of the machinery was automatic, there was need of almost constant attention, though there was an arrangement whereby in case of emergency, the airship would steer herself in any set direction for a certain number of hours. There were ample sleeping quarters for six persons, a living room and a dining saloon. In short the Falcon was much like Tom's Red Cloud, only bigger and better. There was even a phonograph on board so that music, songs, and recitations could be enjoyed. "Bless my napkin! but this is great!" exclaimed Mr. Damon, about noon of the second day, when they had just finished dinner and looked down through the glass windows in the bottom of the cabin at the rolling ocean below them. "I don't believe many persons have such opportunities as we have." "I'm sure they do not," added Mr. Petrofsky. "I can hardly think it true, that I am on my way back to Siberia to rescue my dear brother." "And such good weather as we're having," spoke Ned. "I'm glad we didn't start off in a storm, for I don't exactly like them when we're over the water." "We may get one yet," said Tom. "I don't just like the way the barometer is acting. It's falling pretty fast." "Bless my mercury tube!" cried Mr. Damon. "I hope we have no bad luck on this trip." "Oh, we can't help a storm or two," answered Tom. "I guess it won't do any harm to prepare for it." So everything was made snug, and movable articles on the small exposed deck of the airship were lashed fast. Then, as night settled down, our friends gathered about in the cheerful cabin, in the light of the electric lamps, and talked of what lay before them. As Mr. Damon could steer as well as Tom or Ned, he shared in the night watch. But Mr. Petrofsky was not expert enough to accept this responsibility. It was when Mr. Damon finished his watch at midnight, and called Tom, that he remarked. "Bless my umbrella, Tom. But I don't like the looks of the weather." "Why, what's it doing?" "It isn't doing anything, but it's clouding up and the barometer is going down." "I was afraid we were in for it," answered the young inventor. "Well, we'll have to take what comes." The airship plunged on her way, while her young pilot looked at the various gages, noting that to hold her way against the wind that had risen he would have to increase the speed of the motor. "I don't like it," murmured Tom, "I don't like it," and he shook his head dubiously. With a suddenness that was almost terrifying, the storm broke over the ocean about three o'clock that morning. There was a terrific clap of thunder, a flash of lighting, and a deluge of rain that fairly made the staunch Falcon stagger, high in the air as she was. "Come on, Ned!" cried Tom, as he pressed the electric alarm bell connected with his chum's berth. "I need you, and Mr. Damon, too." "What's the matter?" cried Ned, awakened suddenly from a sound sleep. "We're in a bad storm," answered Tom, "and I'll have to have help. We need more gas, to try and rise above it." "Bless my hanging lamp!" cried Mr. Damon, "I hope nothing happens!" And he jumped from his berth as the Falcon plunged and staggered through the storm that was lashing the ocean below her into white billow of foam. CHAPTER XII AN ACCIDENT For a few moments it seemed as if the Falcon would surely turn turtle and plunge into the seething ocean. The storm had burst with such suddenness that Tom, who was piloting his air craft, was taken unawares. He had not been using much power or the airship would have been better able to weather the blast that burst with such fury over her. But as it was, merely drifting along, she was almost like a great sheet of paper. Down she was forced, until the high-flying spray from the waves actually wet the lower part of the car, and Ned, looking through one of the glass windows, saw, in the darkness, the phosphorescent gleam of the water so near to them. "Tom!" he cried in alarm. "We're sinking!" "Bless my bath sponge! Don't say that!" gasped Mr. Damon. "That's why I called you," yelled the young inventor. "We've got to rise above the storm if possible. Go to the gas machine, Ned, and turn it on full strength. I'll speed up the motor, and we may be able to cut up that way. But get the gas on as soon as you can. The bag is only about half full. Force in all you can! "Mr. Damon, can you take the wheel? It doesn't make any difference which way we go as long as you keep her before the wind, and yank back the elevating rudder as far as she'll go! We must head up." "All right, Tom," answered the eccentric man, as he fairly jumped to take the place of the young inventor at the helm. "Can I do anything?" asked the Russian, as Tom raced for the engine room, to speed the motor up to the last notch. "I guess not. Everything is covered, unless you want to help Mr. Damon. In this blow it will be hard to work the rudder levers." "All right," replied Ivan Petrofsky, and then there came another sickening roll of the airship, that threatened to turn her completely over. "Lively!" yelled Tom, clinging to various supports as he made his way to the engine room. "Lively, all hands, or we'll be awash in another minute!" And indeed it seemed that this might be so, for with the wind forcing her down, and the hungry waves leaping up, as if to clutch her to themselves, the Falcon was having anything but an easy time of it. It was the work of but an instant however, when Tom reached the engine room, to jerk the accelerator lever toward him, and the motor responded at once. With a low, humming whine the wheels and gears redoubled their speed, and the great propellers beat the air with fiercer strokes. At the same time Tom heard the hiss of the gas as it rushed into the envelope from the generating machine, as Ned opened the release valve. "Now we ought to go up," the young inventor murmured, as he anxiously watched the barograph, and noted the position of the swinging pendulum which told of the roll and dip of the air craft. For a moment she hung in the balance, neither the increased speed of the propellers, nor the force of the gas having any seeming effect. Mr. Damon and the Russian, clinging to the rudder levers, to avoid being dashed against the sides of the pilot house, held them as far back as they could, to gain the full power of the elevation planes. But even this seemed to do no good. The power of the gale was such, that, even with the motor and gas machine working to their limit, the Falcon only held her own. She swept along, barely missing the crests of the giant waves. "She's got to go up! She's got to go up!" cried Tom desperately, as if by very will power he could send her aloft. And then, when there came a lull in the fierce blowing of the wind, the elevation rudder took hold, and like a bird that sees the danger below, and flies toward the clouds, the airship shot up suddenly. "That's it!" cried Tom in relief, as he noted the needle of the barograph swinging over, indicating an ever-increasing height. "Now we're safe." They were not quite yet, but at last the power of machinery had prevailed over that of the elements. Through the pelting rain, and amid the glare of the lightning, and the thunder of heaven's artillery, the airship forced her way, up and up and up. Setting the motor controller to give the maximum power until he released it, Tom hastened to the gas-generating apparatus. He found Ned attending to it, so that it was now working satisfactorily. "How about it, Tom?" cried his chum anxiously. "All right now, Ned, but it was a close shave! I thought we were done for, platinum mine, rescue of exiles, and all." "So did I. Shall I keep on with the gas?" "Yes, until the indicator shows that the bag is full. I'm going to the pilot house." Running there, Tom found that Mr. Damon and the Russian had about all they could manage. The young inventor helped them and then, when the Falcon was well started on her upward course, Tom set the automatic steering machine, and they had a breathing spell. To get above the sweep of the blast was no easy task, for the wind strata seemed to be several miles high, and Tom did not want to risk an accident by going to such an elevation. So, when having gone up about a mile, he found a comparatively calm area he held to that, and the Falcon sped along with the occupants feeling fairly comfortable, for there was no longer that rolling and tumbling motion. The storm kept up all night, but the danger was practically over, unless something should happen to the machinery, and Tom and Ned kept careful watch to prevent this. In the morning they could look down on the storm-swept ocean below them, and there was a feeling of thankfulness in their hearts that they were not engulfed in it. "This is a pretty hard initiation for an amateur," remarked Mr. Petrofsky. "I never imagined I should be as brave as this in an airship in a storm." "Oh, you can get used to almost anything," commented Mr. Damon. It was three days before the storm blew itself out and then came pleasant weather, during which the Falcon flew rapidly along. Our friends busied themselves about many things, talked of what lay before them, and made such plans as they could. It was the evening of the fifth day, and they expected to sight the coast of France in the morning. Tom was in the pilot house, setting the course for the night run, and Ned had gone to the engine room to look after the oiling of the motor. Hardly had he reached the compartment than there was a loud report, a brilliant flash of fire, and the machinery stopped dead. "What is it?" cried Tom, as he came in on the run, for the indicators in the pilot house had told him something was wrong. "An accident!" cried Ned. "A breakdown, Tom! What shall we do?" CHAPTER XIII SEEKING A QUARREL There was an ominous silence in the engine room, following the flash and the report. The young inventor took in every bit of machinery in a quick glance, and he saw at once that the main dynamo and magneto had short-circuited, and gone out of commission. Almost instantly the airship began to sink, for the propellers had ceased revolving. "Bless my barograph!" cried Mr. Damon, appearing on the scene. "We're sinking, Tom!" "It's all right," answered our hero calmly. "It's a bad accident, and may delay us, but there's no danger. Ned, start up the gas machine," for they were progressing as an aeroplane then. "Start that up, and we'll drift along as a dirigible." "Of course! Why didn't I think of that!" exclaimed Ned, somewhat provoked at his own want of thought. The airship was going down rapidly, but it was the work of but a moment to start the generator, and then the earthward motion was checked. "We'll have to take our chance of being blown to France," remarked Tom, as he went over to look at the broken electrical machinery. "But we ought to fetch the coast by morning with this wind. Lucky it's blowing our way." "Then you can't use the propellers?" asked Mr. Petrofsky. "No," replied Tom, "but if we get to France I can easily repair this break. It's the platinum bearings again. I do hope we'll locate that lost mine, for I need a supply of good reliable metal. "Then we'll have to land in France?" asked the Russian, and he seemed a trifle uneasy. "Yes," answered Tom. "Don't you want to?" "Well, I was thinking of our safety." "Bless my silk hat!" cried Mr. Damon. "Where is the danger of landing there? I rather hoped we could spend some time in Paris." "There is no particular danger, unless it becomes known that I am an escaped exile, and that we are on our way to Siberia to rescue another one, and try to find the platinum mine. Then we would be in danger." "But how are they to know it?" asked Ned, who had come back from the gas machine. "France, especially in Paris and the larger cities, is a hot-bed of political spies," answered Mr. Petrofsky. "Russia has many there on the secret police, and while the objectors to the Czar's government are also there, they could do little to help us." "I guess they won't find out about us unless we give it away," was Tom's opinion. "I'm afraid they will," was the reply of the Russian. "Undoubtedly word has been cabled by the spies who annoyed us in Shopton, that we are on our way over here. Of course they can't tell where we might land, but as soon as we do land the news will be flashed all over, and the word will come back that we are enemies of Russia. You can guess the rest." "Then let's go somewhere else," suggested Mr. Damon. "It would be the same anywhere in Europe," replied Ivan Petrofsky. "There are spies in all the large centres." "Well, I've got to go to Paris, or some large city to get the parts I need," said Tom. "Unfortunately I didn't bring any along for the dynamo and magneto, as I should have done, and I can't get the necessary pieces in a small town. I'll have to depend on some big machine shop. But we might land in some little-frequented place, and I could go in to town alone." "That might answer," spoke the Russian, and it was decided to try that. Meanwhile it was somewhat doubtful whether they would reach France, for they were dependent on the wind. But it seemed to be blowing steadily in the desired direction, and Tom noted with satisfaction that their progress was comparatively fast. He tried to repair the broken machinery but found that he could not, though he spent much of the night over it. "Hurrah!" cried Ned when morning came, and he had taken an observation. "There's some kind of land over there." The wind freshened while they were at breakfast and using more gas so as to raise them higher Tom directed the course of his airship as best he could. He wanted to get high enough so that if they passed over a city they would not be observed. At noon it could be seen through the glass that they were over the outskirts of some large place, and after the Russian had taken an observation he exclaimed: "The environs of Paris! We must not land there!" "We won't, if the wind holds out," remarked Tom and this good fortune came to them. They succeeded in landing in a field not far from a small village, and though several farmers wondered much as the sight of the big airship, it was thought by the platinum-seekers that they would be comparatively safe. "Now to get the first train for Paris and get the things I need," exclaimed Tom. He set to work taking off the broken pieces that they might be duplicated, and then, having inquired at an inn for the nearest railroad station, and having hired a rig, the young inventor set off. "Can you speak French?" asked Mr. Petrofsky. "If not I might be of service, but if I go to Paris I might be----" "Never mind," interrupted Tom. "I guess I can parley enough to get along with." He had a small knowledge of the tongue, and with that, and knowing that English was spoken in many places, he felt that he could make out. And indeed he had no trouble. He easily found his way about the gay capital, and located a machine shop where a specialty was made of parts for automobile and airship motors. The proprietor, knowing the broken pieces belonged to an aeroplane, questioned Tom about his craft but the young inventor knew better than to give any clew that might make trouble, so he returned evasive answers. It was nearly night when he got back to the place where he had left the Falcon, and he found a curious crowd of rustics grouped about it. "Has anything happened?" he asked of his friends. "No, everything is quiet, I'm glad to say," replied Mr. Petrofsky. "I don't think our presence will create stir enough so that the news of it will reach the spies in Paris. Still I will feel easier when we're in the air again." "It will take a day to make the repairs," said Tom, "and put in the new pieces of platinum. But I'll work as fast as I can." He and Ned labored far into the night, and were at it again the next morning. Mr. Damon and the Russian were of no service for they did not understand the machinery well enough. It was while Tom was outside the craft, filing a piece of platinum in an improvised vise, that a poorly-clothed man sauntered up and watched him curiously. Tom glanced at him, and was at once struck by a difference between the man's attire and his person. For, though he was tattered and torn, the man's face showed a certain refinement, and his hands were not those of a farmer or laborer in which character he obviously posed. "Monsieur has a fine airship there," he remarked to Tom. "Oh, yes, it'll do." Tom did not want to encourage conversation. "Doubtless from America it comes?" The man spoke English but with an accent, and certain peculiarities. "Maybe so," replied the young inventor. "Is it permit to inspect the interior?" "No, it isn't," came from Tom shortly. He had hurt his finger with the file, and he was not in the best of humor. "Ah, there are secrets then?" persisted the stranger. "Yes!" said Tom shortly. "I wish you wouldn't bother me. I'm busy, can't you see." "Ah, does monsieur mean that I have poor eyesight?" The question was snapped out so suddenly, and with such a menacing tone that Tom glanced up quickly. He was surprised at the look in the man's eyes. "Just as you choose to take it," was the cool answer. "I don't know anything about your eyes, but I know I've got work to do." "Monsieur is insulting!" rasped out the seeming farmer. "He is not polite. He is not a Frenchman." "Now that'll do!" cried Tom, thoroughly aroused. "I don't want to be too short with you, but I've really got to get this done. One side, if you please," and having finished what he was doing, he started toward the airship. Whether in his haste Tom did not notice where he was going, or whether the man deliberately got in his way I cannot say, but at any rate they collided and the seeming farmer went spinning to one side, falling down. "Monsieur has struck me! I am insulted! You shall pay for this!" he cried, jumping to his feet, and making a rush for our hero. "All right. It was your own fault for bothering me but if you want anything I'll give it to you!" cried Tom, striking a position of defense. The man was about to rush at him, and there would have been a fight in another minute, had not Mr. Petrofsky, stepping to the open window of the pilot house, called out: "Tom! Tom! Come here, quick. Never mind him!" Swinging away from the man, the young inventor rushed toward the airship. As he entered the pilot house he noticed that his late questioner was racing off in the direction of the village. "What is it? What's the matter?" he asked of the Russian. "Is something more wrong with the airship?" "No, I just wanted to get you away from that man. "Oh, I could take care of myself." "I know that, but don't you see what his game was? I listened to him. He was seeking a quarrel with you." "A quarrel?" "Yes. He is a police spy. He wanted to get you into a fight and then he and you would be arrested by the local authorities. They'd clap you into jail, and hold us all here. It's a game! They suspect us, Tom! The Russian spies have had some word of our presence! We must get away as quickly as we can!" CHAPTER XIV HURRIED FLIGHT The announcement of Ivan Petrofsky came to Tom with startling suddenness. He could say nothing for a moment, and then, as he realized what it meant, and as he recalled the strange appearance and actions of the man, he understood the danger. "Was he a spy?" he asked. "I'm almost sure he was," came the answer. "He isn't one of the villagers, that's sure, and he isn't a tourist. No one else would be in this little out-of-the-way place but a police official. He is in disguise, that is certain." "I believe so," agreed Tom. "But what was his game?" "We are suspected," replied the Russian. "I was afraid a big airship couldn't land anywhere, in France without it becoming known. Word must have been sent to Paris in the night, and this spy came out directly." "But what will happen now?" "Didn't you see where he headed for? The village. He has gone to send word that his trick failed. There will be more spies soon, and we may be detained or thrown into jail on some pretext or other. They may claim that we have no license, or some such flimsy thing as that. Anything to detain us. They are after me, of course, and I'm sorry that I made you run such danger. Perhaps I'd better leave you, and--" "No, you don't!" cried Tom heartily. "We'll all hang together or we'll hang separately', as Benjamin Franklin or some of those old chaps once remarked. I'm not the kind to desert a friend in the face of danger." "Bless my revolver! I should say not!" cried Mr. Damon. "What's it all about? Where's the danger?" They told him as briefly as possible, and Ned, who had been working in the motor room, was also informed. "Well, what's to be done?" asked Tom. "Had we better get out our ammunition, or shall I take out a French license." "Neither would do any good," answered the Russian. "I appreciate your sticking by me, and if you are resolved on that the only thing to do is to complete the repairs as soon as possible and get away from here." "That's it!" cried Ned. "A quick flight. We can get more gasolene here, for lots of autos pass along the road through the village. I found that out. Then we needn't stop until we hit the trail for the mine in Siberia!" "Hush!" cautioned the Russian. "You can't tell who may be sneaking around to listen. But we ought to leave as soon as we can." "And we will," said Tom. "I've got the magneto almost fixed!" "Let's get a hustle on then!" urged Ned. "That fellow meant business from his looks. The nerve of him to try to pick a quarrel that way." "I might have told by his manner that something was wrong," commented Tom, "but I thought he was a fresh tramp and I didn't take any pains in answering him. But come on, Ned, get busy." They did, with such good effect that by noon the machinery was in running shape again, and so far there had been no evidence of the return of the spy. Doubtless he was waiting for instructions, and something might happen any minute. "Now, Ned, if you'll see to having some gasolene brought out here, and the tanks filled, I'll tinker with the dynamo and get that in running shape," said Tom. "It only needs a little adjustment of the brushes. Then we'll be off." Ned started for the village where there was a gasolene depot. He fancied the villagers regarded him rather curiously, but he did not stop to ask what it meant. Another odd fact was that the usual crowd of curious rustics about the airship was missing. It was as though they suspected trouble might come, and they did not want to be mixed up in it. Never, Ned thought, had he seen a man so slow at getting ready the supply of gasolene. He was to take it out in a wagon, but first he mislaid the funnel, then the straining cloth, and finally he discovered a break in the harness that needed mending. "I believe he's doing it on purpose to delay us," thought the youth, "but it won't do to say anything. Something is in the wind." He helped the man all he could, and urged him in every way he knew, but the fellow seemed to have grown suddenly stupid, and answered only in French, though previously he had spoken some English. But at last Ned, by dint of hard work, got him started, and rode on the gasolene wagon with him. Once at the anchored airship, Tom and the others filled the reserve tanks themselves, though the man tried to help. However he did more harm than good, spilling several gallons of the fluid. "Oh, get away, and let us do it!" cried Tom at last. "I know what you--" "Easy!" cautioned Mr. Petrofsky, with a warning look, and Tom subsided. Finally the tanks were full, the man was paid, and he started to drive away. "Now to make a quick flight!" cried Tom, as he took his place in the pilot house, while Ned went to the engine room. "Full speed, Ned!" "Yes, and we'll need it, too," said the Russian. "Why?" asked Tom. "Look!" was the answer, and Ivan Petrofsky pointed across the field over which, headed toward the airship, came the man who had sought a quarrel with Tom. And with the spy were several policemen in uniform, their short swords dangling at their sides. "They're after us!" cried Mr. Damon. "Bless my chronometer they're after us!" "Start the motor, Ned! Start the motor!" cried Tom, and a moment later the hum of machinery was heard, while the police and the spy broke into a run, shouting and waving their hands. CHAPTER XV PURSUED Slowly the airship arose, almost too slowly to suit those on board who anxiously watched the oncoming officers. The latter had drawn their short swords, and at the sight of them Mr. Damon cried out: "Bless my football! If they jab them into the gas bag, Tom, we're done for!" "They won't get the chance," answered the young inventor, and he spoke truly, for a moment later, as the big propellers took hold of the air, the Falcon went up with a rush, and was far beyond the reach of the men. In a rage the spy shook his fist at the fast receding craft, and one of the policemen drew his revolver. "They're going to fire!" cried Ned. "They can't do much damage," answered Tom coolly. "A bullet hole in the bag is easily repaired, and anywhere else it won't amount to anything." The officer was aiming his revolver at the airship, now high above his head, but with a quick motion the spy pulled down his companion's arm, and they seemed to be disputing among themselves. "I wonder what that means?" mused Mr. Damon. "Probably they didn't want to risk getting into trouble," replied the Russian. "There are strict laws in France about using firearms, and as yet we are accused of no crime. We are only suspected, and I suppose the spy didn't want to get into trouble. He is on foreign ground, and there might be international complications." "Then you really think he was a spy?" asked Tom. "No doubt of it, and I'm afraid this is only the beginning of our trouble." "In what way?" "Well, of course word will be sent on ahead about us, and every where we go they'll be on the watch for us. They have our movements pretty well covered." "We won't make a descent until we get to Siberia," said Tom, "and I guess there it will be so lonesome that we won't be troubled much." "Perhaps," admitted the Russian, "but we will have to be on our guard. Of course keeping up in the air will be an advantage but they may--" He stopped suddenly and shrugged his shoulders. "What were you going to say?" inquired Ned. "Oh, it's just something that might happen, but it's too remote a possibility to work about. We're leaving those fellows nicely behind," he added quickly, as though anxious to change the subject. "Yes, at this rate we'll soon be out of France," observed Tom, as he speeded the ship along still more. The young inventor wondered what Mr. Petrofsky had been going to say, but soon after this, some of the repaired machinery in the motor room needed adjusting, and the young inventor was kept so busy that the matter passed from his mind. The dynamo and magneto were doing much more efficient work since Tom had put the new platinum in, and the Falcon was making better time than ever before. They were flying at a moderate height, and could see wondering men, women and children rush out from their houses, to gaze aloft at the strange sight. Paris was now far behind, and that night they were approaching the borders of Prussia, as Mr. Petrofsky informed them, for he knew every part of Europe. The route, as laid down by Tom and the Russian, would send the airship skirting the southern coast of the Baltic sea, then north-west, to pass to one side of St. Petersburg, and then, after getting far enough to the north, so as to avoid the big cities, they would head due east for Siberia. "In that way I think we'll avoid any danger from the Russian police," remarked the exile. For the next few days they flew steadily on at no remarkable speed, as the extra effort used more gasolene than Tom cared to expend in the motor. He realized that he would need all he had, and he did not want to have to buy any more until he was homeward bound, for the purchase of it would lead to questions, and might cause their detention. Mr. Damon gave his friends good meals and they enjoyed their trip very much, though naturally there was some anxiety about whether it would have a successful conclusion. "Well, if we don't find the platinum mine we'll rescue your brother, if there's a possible chance!" exclaimed Tom one day, as he sat in the pilot house with the exile. "Jove! it will be great to drop down, pick him up, and fly away with him before those Cossacks, or whoever has him, know what's up." "I'm afraid we can't make such a sensational rescue as that," replied Mr. Petrofsky. "We'll have to go at it diplomatically. That's the only way to get an exile out of Siberia. We must get word to him somehow, after we locate him, that we are waiting to help him, and then we can plan for his escape. Poor Peter! I do hope we can find him, for if he is in the salt or sulphur mines it is a living death!" and he shuddered at the memory of his own exile. "How do you expect to get definite information as to where he might be?" asked Tom. "I think the only thing to do is to get in touch with some of the revolutionists," answered the Russian. "They have ways and means of finding out even state secrets. I think our best plan will be to land near some small town, when we get to the edge of Siberia. If we can conceal the airship, so much the better. Then I can disguise myself and go to the village." "Will it be safe?" inquired the young inventor. "I'll have to take that chance. It's the only way, as I am the only one in our party who can speak Russian." "That's right," admitted Tom with a laugh. "I'm afraid I could never master that tongue. It's as hard as Chinese." "Not quite," replied his friend, "but it is not an easy language for an American." They talked at some length, and then Tom noticing, by one of the automatic gages on the wall of the pilot house, that some of the machinery needed attention, went to attend to it. He was rather surprised, on emerging from the motor compartment, to see Mr. Damon standing on the open after deck of the Falcon gazing earnestly toward the rear. "Star-gazing in the day time?" asked Tom with a laugh. "Bless my individuality!" exclaimed the odd man. "How you startled me, Tom! No, I'm not looking at stars, but I've been noticing a black speck in the sky for some time, and I was wondering whether it was my eyesight, or whether it really is something." "Where is it?" "Straight to the rear," answered Mr. Damon, "and it seems to be about a mile up. It's been hanging in the same place this ten minutes." "Oh, I see," spoke Tom, when the speck had been pointed out to him. "It's there all right, but I guess it's a bird, an eagle perhaps. Wait, I'll get a glass and we'll take a look." As he was taking the telescope down from its rack in the pilot house, Mr. Petrofsky saw him. "What's up?" asked the Russian, and the youth told him. "Must be a pretty big bird to be seen at such a distance as it is," remarked Tom. "Maybe it isn't a bird," suggested Ivan Petrofsky. "I'll take a look myself," and, showing something of alarm in his manner, he followed Tom to where Mr. Damon awaited them. Ned also came out on deck. Quickly adjusting the glass, Tom focused it on the black speck. It seemed to have grown larger. He peered at it steadily for several seconds. "Is it a bird?" asked Mr. Damon. "Jove! It's another airship--a big biplane!" cried Tom, "and there seems to be three men in her." "An aeroplane!" gasped Ned. "Bless my deflecting rudder!" cried Mr. Damon. "An airship in this out-of-the-way place?" for they were flying over a desolate country. "And they're coming right after us," added Tom, as he continued to gaze. "I thought so," was the quiet comment of Mr. Petrofsky. "That is what I started to say a few days ago," he went on, "when I stopped, as I hardly believed it possible. I thought they might possibly send an aeroplane after us, as both the French and Russian armies have a number of fast ones. So they are pursuing us. I'm afraid my presence will bring you no end of trouble." "Let it come!" cried Tom. "If they can catch up to us they've got a good machine. Come on, Ned, let's speed her up, and make them take more of our star dust." "Wait a minute," advised the Russian, as he took the telescope from Tom, and viewed the ever-increasing speck behind them. "Are you sure of the speed of this craft?" he asked a moment later. "I never saw the one yet I couldn't pull away from, even after giving them a start," answered the young inventor proudly. "That is all but my little sky racer. I could let them get within speaking distance, and then pull out like the Congressional Limited passing a slow freight." "Then wait a few minutes," suggested Mr. Petrofsky. "That is an aeroplane all right, but I can't make out from what country. I'd like a better view, and if it's safe we can come closer." "Oh, it's safe enough," declared Tom. "I'll get things in shape for a quick move," and he hurried back to the machine room, while the others took turns looking at the oncoming aeroplane. And it was coming on rapidly, showing that it had tremendous power, for it was a very large one, carrying three men. "How do you suppose they got on our track?" asked Ned. "Oh, we must have been reported from time to time, as we flew over cities or towns," replied Mr. Petrofsky. "You know we're rather large, and can be seen from a good distance. Then too, the whole Russian secret police force is at the service of our enemies." "But we're not over Russia yet," said Mr. Damon. Ivan Petrofsky took the telescope and peered down toward the earth. They were not a great way above it, and at that moment they were passing a small village. "Can you tell where we are?" asked the odd man. "We are just over the border of the land of the Czar," was the quiet answer. "The imperial flag is flying from a staff in front of one of the buildings down there. We are over Russia." "And here comes that airship," called Ned suddenly. They gazed back with alarm, and saw that it was indeed so. The big aeroplane had come on wonderfully fast in the last few minutes. "Tom! Tom!" cried his chum. "Better get ready to make a sprint." "I'm all ready," calmly answered our hero. "Shall I go now?" "If you can give us a few seconds longer I may be able to tell who is after us," remarked Mr. Petrofsky, turning his telescope on the craft behind them. "I can let them get almost up to us, and get away," replied Tom. The Russian did not answer. He was gazing earnestly at the approaching aeroplane. A moment later he took the glass down from his eye. "It's our spy again," he said. "There are two others with him. That is one of the aeroplanes owned by the secret police. They are stationed all over Europe, ready for instant service, and they're on our trail." The pursuing craft was so near that the occupants could easily be made out with the naked eye, but it needed the glass to distinguish their features, and Mr. Petrofsky had done this. "Shall I speed up?" cried Tom. "Yes, get away as fast as you can!" shouted the Russian. "No telling what they may do," and then, with a hum and a roar the motor of the Falcon increased its speed, and the big airship shot ahead. CHAPTER XVI THE NIHILISTS From the pursuing aircraft came a series of sharp explosions that fairly rattled through the clear air. "Look out for bombs!" yelled Ned. "Bless my safety match!" cried Mr. Damon. "Are they anarchists?" "It's only their motor back-firing," cried Tom. "It's all right, They're done for now, we'll leave them behind." He was a true prophet, for with a continued rush and a roar the airship of our friends opened up a big gap between her rear rudders and the forward planes of the craft that was chasing her. The three men were working frantically to get their motor in shape, but it was a useless task. A little later, finding that they were losing speed, the three police agents, or spies, whatever they might be, had to volplane to earth and there was no need for the Falcon to maintain the terrific pace, to which Tom had pushed her. The pursuit was over. "Well, we got out of that luckily," remarked Ned, as he looked down to where the spies were making a landing. "I guess they won't try that trick again." "I'm afraid they will," predicted Mr. Petrofsky. "You don't know these government agents as I do. They never give up. They'll fix their engine, and get on our trail again." "Then we'll make them work for what they get," put in Tom, who, having set the automatic speed accelerator, had rejoined his companions. "We'll try a high flight and if they can pick up a trail in the air, and come up to us, they're good ones!" He ran to the pilot house, and set the elevation rudder at its limit. Meanwhile the spies were working frantically over their motor, trying to get it in shape for the pursuit. But soon they realized that this was out of the question, for the Falcon was far away, every moment going higher and higher, until she was lost to sight beyond the clouds. "I guess they'll have their own troubles now," remarked Ned. "We've seen the last of them." "Don't be too sure," spoke the Russian. "We may have them after us again. We're over the land of the Czar now, and they'll have everything their own way. They'll want to stop me at any cost." "Do you think they suspect that we're after the platinum?" asked Tom. "They may, for they know my brother and I were the only ones who ever located it, though unless I get in the exact neighborhood I'd have trouble myself picking it out. I remember some of the landmarks, but my brother is better at that sort of work than I am. But I think what they are mostly afraid of is that I have some designs on the life of, say one of the Grand Dukes, or some high official. But I am totally opposed to violent measures," went on Mr. Petrofsky. "I believe in a campaign of education, to gain for the down-trodden people what are their rights." "Do you think they know you are coming to rescue your brother?" asked Tom. "I don't believe so. And I hope not, for once they suspected that, they would remove him to some place where I never could locate him." Calmer feelings succeeded the excitement caused by the pursuit, and our friends, speculating on the matter, came to the conclusion that the aeroplane must have started from some Prussian town, as Mr. Petrofsky said there were a number of Russian secret police in that country. The Falcon was now speeding along at a considerable height, and after running for a number of miles, sufficient to preclude the possibility that they could be picked up by the pursuing aeroplane, Tom sent his craft down, as the rarefied atmosphere made breathing difficult. It was about three days after the chase when, having carefully studied the map and made several observations through the telescope of the Country over which they were traveling, that Ivan Petrofsky said: "If it can be managed, Tom, I think we ought to go down about here. There is a Russian town not far away, and I know a few friends there, There is a large stretch of woodland, and the airship can be easily concealed there. "All right," agreed the young inventor, "down we go, and I hope you get the information you want." Flying high so as to keep out of the observation of the inhabitants of the Russian town, the young inventor sent his craft in a circle about it, and, having seen a clearing in the forest, he made a landing there, the Falcon having come to rest a second time since leaving Shopton, now several thousand miles away. "We'll hide here for a few days," observed Tom, "and you can spend as much time in town as you like, Mr. Petrofsky." The Russian, disguising himself by trimming his beard, and putting on a pair of dark spectacles, went to the village that afternoon. While he was gone Tom, Ned and Mr. Damon busied themselves about the airship, making a few repairs that could not very well be done while it was in motion. As night came on, and the exile did not return, Tom began to get a little worried, and he had some notion of going to seek him, but he knew it would not be safe. "He'll come all right," declared Ned, as they sat down to supper. All about them was an almost impenetrable forest, cut here and there by paths along which, as Mr. Petrofsky had told them, the wood cutters drove their wagons. It was quite a surprise therefor, when, as they were leaving the table, a knock was heard on the cabin door. "Bless my electric bell!" cried Mr. Damon. "Who can that be?" "Mr. Petrofsky of course," answered Ned. "He wouldn't knock--he'd walk right in," spoke Tom, as he went to the door. As he opened it he saw several dark-bearded men standing there, and in their midst Mr. Petrofsky. For one moment our hero feared that his friend had been arrested and that the police had come to take the rest of them into custody. But a word from the exile reassured him. "These are some of my friends," said Mr. Petrofsky simply. "They are Nihilists which I am not, but--" "Nihilists yes! Always!" exclaimed one who spoke English. "Death to the Czar and the Grand Dukes! Annihilation to the government!" "Gently my friend, gently," spoke Mr. Petrofsky. "I am opposed to violence you know." And then, while his new friends gazed wonderingly at the strange craft, he led them inside. Tom and the others were hardly able to comprehend what was about to take place. CHAPTER XVII ON TO SIBERIA "Has anything happened?" asked Tom. "Are we suspected? Have they come to warn us?" "No, everything is all right, so far," answered Ivan Petrofsky. "I didn't have the success I hoped for, and we may have to wait here for a few days to get news of my brother. But these men have been very kind to me," he went on, "and they have ways of getting information that I have not. So they are going to aid me." "That's right!" exclaimed the one who had first spoken. "We will yet win you to our cause, Brother Petrofsky. Death to the Czar and the Grand Dukes!" "Never!" exclaimed the exile firmly. "Peaceful measures will succeed. But I am grateful for what you can do for me. They heard me describe your wonderful airship," he explained to Tom, "and wanted to see for themselves." The Nihilists were made welcome after Mr. Petrofsky had introduced them. They had strange and almost unpronounceable names for the ears of our friends, and I will not trouble you with them, save to say that the one who spoke English fairly well, and who was the leader, was called Nicolas Androwsky. There was much jabbering in the Russian tongue, when Mr. Petrofsky and Mr. Androwsky took the others about the craft, explaining how it worked. "I can't show you the air glider," said Tom, who naturally acted as guide, "as it would take too long to put together, and besides there is not enough wind here to make it operate." "Then you need much wind?" asked Nicolas Androwsky. "The harder the gale the better she flies," answered Tom proudly. "Bless my sand bag, but that's right!" exclaimed Mr. Damon, who, up to now had not taken much part in the conversation. He followed the party about the airship, keeping in the rear, and he eyed the Nihilists as if he thought that each one had one or more dynamite bombs concealed on his person. "Ha!" exclaimed Mr. Androwsky, turning suddenly to the odd man. "Are you not one of us? Do you not believe that this terrible kingdom should be destroyed--made as nothing, and a new one built from its ashes? Are you not one of us?" and with a quick gesture he reached into his pocket. "No! No!" exclaimed Mr. Damon, starting back. "Bless my election ticket! No! Never could I throw a bomb. Please don't give me one." Mr. Damon started to run away. "A bomb!" exclaimed the Nihilist, and then he drew from his pocket some pamphlets printed in Russian. "I have no bombs. Here are some of the tracts we distribute to convert unbelievers to our cause," he went on. "Read them and you will understand what we are striving for. They will convert you, I am sure." He went on, following the rest of the party, while Mr. Damon dropped back with Ned. "Bless my gas meter!" gasped the odd man, as he stared at the queerly-printed documents in his hand. "I thought he was going to give me a bomb to throw!" "I don't blame you," said Ned in a low voice. "They look like desperate men, but probably they have suffered many hardships, and they think their way of righting a wrong is the only way. I suppose you'll read those tracts," he added with a smile. "Hum! I'm afraid not," answered Mr. Damon. "I might just as well try to translate a Chinese laundry check. But I'll save 'em for souvenirs," and he carefully put them in his pocket, as if he feared they might unexpectedly turn into a bomb and blow up the airship. The tour of the craft was completed and the Nihilists returned to the comfortable cabin where, much to their surprise, they were served with a little lunch, Mr. Damon bustling proudly about from the table to the galley, and serving tea as nearly like the Russians drink it as possible. "Well, you certainly have a wonderful craft here--wonderful," spoke Mr. Androwsky. "If we had some of these in our group now, we could start from here, hover over the palace of the Czar, or one of the Grand Dukes, drop a bomb, utterly destroy it, and come back before any of the hated police would be any the wiser." "I'm afraid I can't lend it to you," said Tom, and he could scarcely repress a shudder at the terrible ideas of the Nihilists. "It would never do," agreed Ivan Petrofsky. "The campaign of education is the only way." There were gutteral objections on the part of the other Russians, and they turned to more cheerful subjects of talk. "What are your plans?" asked Tom of the exile. "You say you can get no trace here of your brother?" "No, he seems to have totally disappeared from sight. Usually we enemies of the government can get some news of a prisoner, but poor Peter is either dead, or in some obscure mine, which is hidden away in the forests or mountains." "Maybe he is in the lost platinum mine," suggested Ned. "No, that has not been discovered," declared the exile, "or my friends here would have heard of it. That is still to be found." "And we'll do it, in the air glider," declared Tom. "By the way, Mr. Petrofsky, would it not be a good plan to ask your friends the location of the place where the winds constantly blow with such force. It occurs to me that in some such way we might locate the mine." "It would be of use if there was only one place of the gales," replied the exile. "But Siberia has many such spots in the mountain fastnesses--places which, by the peculiar formation of the land, have constant eddys of air over them. No, the only way is for us to go as nearly as possible to the place where my brother and I were imprisoned, and search there." "But what is that you said about us having to stay here, to get some news of your brother?" asked Tom. "I had hoped to get some information here," resumed Mr. Petrofsky, "but my friends here are without news. However, they are going to make inquiries, and we will have to stay here until they have an answer. It will be safe, they think, as there are not many police in town, and the local authorities are not very efficient. So the airship will remain here, and, from time to time I will go to the village, disguised, and see if any word has come." "And we will bring you news as soon as we get it," promised Mr. Androwsky. "You are not exactly one of us, but you are against the government, and, therefor, a brother. But you will be one of us in time." "Never," replied the exile with a smile. "My only hope now is to get my brother safely away, and then we will go and live in free America. But, Tom, I hope I won't put you out by delaying here." "Not a bit of it. More than half the object of our trip is to rescue your brother. We must do that first. Now as to details," and they fell to discussing plans. It was late that night when the Nihilists left the airship, first having made a careful inspection to see that they were not spied upon. They promised at once to set to work their secret methods of getting information. For several days the airship remained in the vicinity of the Russian town. Our friends were undisturbed by visitors, as they were in a forest where the villagers seldom came and the nearest wood-road was nearly half a mile off. Every day either Mr. Petrofsky went in to town to see the Nihilists or some of them came out to the Falcon, usually at night. "Well, have you any word yet?" asked Tom, after about a week had passed. "Nothing yet," answered the exile, and his tone was a bit hopeless. "But we have not given up. All the most likely places have been tried, but he is not there. We have had traces of him, but they are not fresh ones. He seems to have been moved from one mine to another. Probably they feared I would make an attempt to rescue him. But I have not given up. He is somewhere in Siberia." "And we'll find him!" cried Tom with enthusiasm. For three days more they lingered, and then, one night, when they were just getting ready to retire, there was a knock on the cabin door. Mr. Petrofsky had been to the village that day, and had received no news. He had only returned about an hour before. "Some one's knocking," announced Ned, as if there could be any doubt of it. "Bless my burglar alarm!" gasped Mr. Damon. "I'll see who it is," volunteered Mr. Petrofsky, and Tom looked toward the rack of loaded rifles, for that day a man, seemingly a wood cutter had passed close to the airship, and had hurried off as if he had seen a ghost. The knock was repeated. It might be their friends, and it might be-- But Mr. Petrofsky solved the riddle by throwing back the portal, and there stood the Nihilist, Nicolas Androwsky. "Is there anything the matter?" asked the exile quickly. "We have news," was the cautious answer, as the Nihilist slipped in, and closed the door behind him. "News of my brother?" "Of your brother! He is in a sulphur mine in the Altai Mountains, near the city of Abakansk." "Where's that?" asked Tom for he had forgotten most of his Russian geography. "The Altai Mountains are a range about the middle of Siberia," explained Mr. Petrofsky. "They begin at the Kirghiz Steppes, and run west. It is a wild and desolate place. I hope we can find poor Peter alive." "And this city of Abakansk?" went on the young inventor. "It is many miles from here, but I can give you a good map," said the Nihilist. "Some of our friends are there," he added with a half-growl. "I wish we could rescue all of them." "We'd like to," spoke Tom. "But I fear it is impossible. But now that we have a clew, come on! Let's start at once! It may be dangerous to stay here. On to Siberia!" CHAPTER XVIII IN A RUSSIAN PRISON The news they had waited for had come at last. It might be a false clew, but it was something to work on, and Tom was tired of inaction. Then, too, even after they had started, the prisoner might be moved and they would have to trace him again. "But that is the latest information we could get," said Mr. Androwsky. "It came through some of our Anarchist friends, and I believe is reliable. Can you soon make a thousand miles in your airship?" "Yes," answered Tom, "if I push her to the limit." "Then do so," advised the Nihilist, "for there is need of haste. In making inquiries our friends might incur suspicions and Peter Petrofsky may be exiled to some other place." "Oh, we'll get there," cried Tom. "Ned, see to the gas machine. Mr. Damon, you can help me in the pilot house." "Here is a map of the best route," said the Nihilist, as he handed one to Mr. Petrofsky. "It will take you there the shortest way. But how can you steer when high in the air?" "By compass," explained Tom. "We'll get there, never fear, and we're grateful for your clew." "I never can thank you enough!" exclaimed the exile, as he shook hands with Mr. Androwsky. The Nihilist left, after announcing that, in the event of the success of Tom and his friends, and the rescue of the exile from the sulphur mine, it would probably become known to them, as such news came through the Revolutionary channels, slowly but surely. "Here we go!" cried the young inventor gaily, as he turned the starting lever in the pilot house, and silently, in the darkness of the night, the Falcon shot upward. There was not a light on board, for, though small signal lamps had been kept burning when the craft was in the forest, to guide the Nihilists to her, now that she was up in the air, and in motion, it was feared that her presence would become known to the authorities of the town, so even these had been extinguished. "After we get well away we can turn on the electrics," remarked Tom, "and if they see us at a distance they may take us for a meteor. But, so close as this, they'd get wise in a minute." Mr. Damon, who had done all that Tom needed in the starting of the craft, went to the forward port rail, and idly looked down on the black forest they were leaving. He could just make out the clearing where they had rested for over a week, and he was startled to see lights bobbing in it. "I say, Mr. Petrofsky!" he called. "Did we leave any of our lanterns behind us?" "I don't believe so," answered the exile. "I'll ask Tom." "Lanterns? No," answered the young inventor. "Before we started I took down the only one we had out. I'll take a look." Setting the automatic steering apparatus, he joined Mr. Damon and the Russian. The lights were now dimly visible, moving about in the forest clearing. "It's just as if they were looking for something," said Tom. "Can it be that any of your Nihilist friends, Mr. Petrofsky are--" "Friends--no friends--enemies!" cried the Russian. "I understand now! We got away just in time. Those are police agents who are looking for us! They must have received word about our being there. Androwsky and the others never carry lights when they go about. They know the country too well, and then, too, it leads to detection. No, those are police spies. A few minutes later, and we would have been discovered." "As it is we're right over their heads, and they don't know it," chuckled Tom. The airship was moving silently along before a good breeze, the propellers not having been started, and Tom let her drift for several miles, as he did not want to give the police spies a clew by the noise of the motor. The twinkling lights in the forest clearing disappeared from sight, and the seekers went on in the darkness. "Well, we've got the hardest part of our work yet ahead of us," remarked Tom several hours later when, the lights having been set aglow, they were gathered in the main cabin. There was no danger of being seen now, for they were quite high. "We've done pretty well, so far," commented Ned. "I think we will have easier work rescuing Mr. Petrofsky's brother than in locating the mine. "I don't know about that," answered the Russian. "It is almost impossible to rescue a person from Siberia. Of course it is not going to be easy to locate the lost mine, but as for that we can keep on searching, that is if the air glider works, but there are so many forces to fight against in rescuing a prisoner." They had a long journey ahead of them, and not an easy route to follow, but as the days passed, and they came nearer and nearer to their goal, they became more and more eager. They were passing over a desolate country, for they avoided the vicinity of large towns and cities. "I wonder when we'll strike Siberia?" mused Tom one afternoon, as they sat on the outer deck, enjoying the air. "At this rate of progress, very soon," answered the exile, after glancing at the map. "We should be at the foot of the Ural mountains in a few hours, and across them in the night. Then we will be in Siberia." And he was right, for just as supper was being served, Ned, who had been making observations with a telescope, exclaimed: "These must be the Urals!" Mr. Petrofsky seized the glass. "They are," he announced. "We will cross between Orsk and Iroitsk. A safe place. In the morning we will be in Siberia--the land of the exiles." And they were, morning seeing them flying over a most desolate stretch of landscape. Onward they flew, covering verst after verst of loneliness. "I'm going to put on a little more speed," announced Tom, after a visit to the storeroom, where were kept the reserve tanks of gasolene. "I've got more fluid than I thought I had, and as we're on the ground now I want to hurry things. I'm going to make better time," and he yanked over the lever of the accelerator, sending the Falcon ahead at a rapid rate. All day this was kept up, and they were just making an observation to determine their position, along toward supper time, when there came the sound of another explosion from the motor room. "Bless my safety valve!" cried Mr. Damon. "Something has gone wrong again." Tom ran to the motor, and, at the same time the Falcon which was being used as an aeroplane and not as a dirigible, began to sink. "We're going down!" cried Ned. "Well, you know what to do!" shouted his chum. "The gas bag! Turn on the generator!" Ned ran to it, but, in spite of his quick action, the craft continued to slide downward. "She won't work!" he cried. "Then the intake pipe must be stopped!" answered the young inventor. "Never mind, I'll volplane to earth and we can make repairs. That magneto has gone out of business again." "Don't land here!" cried Ivan Petrofsky. "Why not?" "Because we are approaching a large town--Owbinsk I think it is--the police there will be there to get us. Keep on to the forest again!" "I can't!" cried Tom. "We've got to go down, police or no police." Running to the pilot house, he guided the craft so that it would safely volplane to earth. They could all see that now they were approaching a fairly large town, and would probably land on its outskirts. Through the glass Ned could make out people staring up at the strange sight. "They'll be ready to receive us," he announced grimly. "I hope they have no dynamite bombs for us," murmured Mr. Damon. "Bless my watch chain! I must get rid of that Nihilist literature I have about me, or they'll take me for one," and he tore up the tracts, and scattered them in the air. Meanwhile the Falcon continued to descend. "Maybe I can make quick repairs, and get away before they realize who we are," said Tom, as he got ready for the landing. They came down in a big field, and, almost before the bicycle wheels had ceased revolving, under the application of the brakes, several men came running toward them. "Here they come!" cried Mr. Damon. "They are only farmers," said the exile. He had donned his dark glasses again, and looked like anything but a Russian. "Lively, Ned!" cried Tom. "Let's see if we can't make repairs and get off again." The two lads frantically began work, and they soon had the magneto in running order. They could have gone up as an aeroplane, leaving the repairs to the gas bag to be made later but, just as they were ready to start, there came galloping out a troop of Cossack soldiers. Their commander called something to them. "What is he saying?" cried Tom to Mr. Petrofsky. "He is telling them to surround us so that we can not get a running start, such as we need to go up. Evidently he understands aeroplanes." "Well, I'm going to have a try," declared the young inventor. He jumped to the pilot house, yelling to Ned to start the motor, but it was too late. They were hemmed in by a cordon of cavalry, and it would have been madness to have rushed the Falcon into them, for she would have been wrecked, even if Tom could have succeeded in sending her through the lines. "I guess it's all up with us," groaned Ned. And it seemed to; for, a moment later, an officer and several aides galloped forward, calling out something in Russian. "What is it?" asked Tom. "He says we are under arrest," translated the exile. "What for?" demanded the young inventor. Ivan Petrofsky shrugged his shoulders. "It is of little use to ask--now," he answered. "It may be we have violated some local law, and can pay a fine and go, or we may be taken for just what we are, or foreign spies, which we are not. It is best to keep quiet, and go with them." "Go where?" cried Tom. "To prison, I suppose," answered the exile. "Keep quiet, and leave it to me. I will do all I can. I don't believe they will recognize me. "Bless my search warrant!" cried Mr. Damon. "In a Russian prison! That is terrible!" A few minutes later, expostulations having been useless, our friends were led away between guards who carried ugly looking rifles, and who looked more ugly and menacing themselves. Then the doors of the Russian prison of Owbinsk closed on Tom and his friends, while their airship was left at the mercy of their enemies. CHAPTER XIX LOST IN A SALT MINE The blow had descended so suddenly that it was paralyzing. Tom and his friends did not know what to do, but they saw the wisdom of the course of leaving everything to Ivan Petrofsky. He was a Russian, and he knew the Russian police ways--to his sorrow. "I'm not afraid," said Tom, when they had been locked in a large prison room, evidently set apart for the use of political, rather than criminal, offenders. "We're United States citizens, and once our counsel hears of this--as he will--there'll be some merry doings in Oskwaski, or whatever they call this place. But I am worried about what they may do to the Falcon." "Have no fears on that score," said the Russian exile. "They know the value of a good airship, and they won't destroy her." "What will they do then?" asked Tom. "Keep her for their own use, perhaps." "Never!" cried Tom. "I'll destroy her first!" "If you get the chance!" interposed the exile. "But we're American citizens!" cried Tom, "and--" "You forget that I am not," interrupted Mr. Petrofsky. "I can't claim the protection of your flag, and that is why I wish to remain unknown. We must act quietly. The more trouble we make, the more important they will know us to be. If we hope to accomplish anything we must act cautiously." "But my airship!" cried Tom. "They won't do anything to that right away," declared the Russian in a whisper for he knew sometimes the police listened to the talk of prisoners. "I think, from what I overheard when they arrested us, that we either trespassed on the grounds of some one in authority, who had us taken in out of spite, or they fear we may be English or French spies, seeking to find out Russian secrets." They were served with food in their prison, but to all inquiries made by Ivan Petrofsky, evasive answers were returned. He spoke in poor, broken Russian, so that he would not be taken for a native of that country. Had he been, he would have at once been in great danger of being accused as an escaped exile. Finally a man who, the exile whispered to his Companions, was the local governor, came to their prison. He eagerly asked questions as to their mission, and Mr. Petrofsky answered them diplomatically. "I don't think he'll make much out of what I told him," said the exile when the governor had gone. "I let him think we were scientists, or pleasure seekers, airshipping for our amusement. He tried to tangle me up politically, but I knew enough to keep out of such traps." "What's going to become of us?" asked Ned. "We will be detained a few days--until they find out more about us. Their spies are busy, I have no doubt, and they are telegraphing all over Europe about us." "What about my airship?" asked Tom. "I spoke of that," answered the exile. "I said you were a well-known inventor of the United States, and that if any harm came to the craft the Russian Government would not only be held responsible, but that the governor himself would be liable, and I said that it cost much money. That touched him, for, in spite of their power, these Russians are miserably paid. He didn't want to have to make good, and if it developed that he had made a mistake in arresting us, his superiors would disclaim all responsibility, and let him shoulder the blame. Oh, all is not lost yet, though I don't like the looks of things." Indeed it began to seem rather black for our friends, for, that night they were taken from the fairly comfortable, large, prison room, and confined in small stone cells down in a basement. They were separated, but as the cells adjoined on a corridor they could talk to each other. With some coarse food, and a little water, Tom and his friends were left alone. "Say I don't like this!" cried our hero, after a pause. "Me either," chimed in Ned. "Bless my burglar alarm!" exclaimed Mr. Damon. "It's an awful disgrace! If my wife ever heard of me being in jail--" "She may never hear of it!" interposed Tom. "Bless my heart!" cried the odd man. "Don't say such things." They discussed their plight at length, but nothing could be done, and they settled themselves to uneasy slumber. For two days they were thus imprisoned, and all of Mr. Petrofsky's demands that they be given a fair trial, and allowed to know the nature of the charge against them, went for naught. No one came to see them but a villainous looking guard, who brought them their poor meals. The governor ignored them, and Mr. Petrofsky did not know what to think. "Well, I'm getting sick of this!" exclaimed Tom--"I wish I knew where my airship was." "I fancy it's in the same place," replied the exile. "From the way the governor acted I think he'd be afraid to have it moved. It might be damaged. If I could only get word to some of my Revolutionary friends it might do some good, but I guess I can't. We'll just have to wait." Another day passed, and nothing happened. But that night, when the guard came to bring their suppers, something did occur. "Hello! we've got a new one!" exclaimed Tom, as he noted the man. "Not so bad looking, either." The man peered into his cell, and said something in Russian. "Nothing doing," remarked the young inventor with a short laugh. "Nixy on that jabbering." But, no sooner had the man's words penetrated to the cell of Ivan Petrofsky, that the exile called out something. The guard started, hastened to that cell door, and for a few seconds there was an excited dialogue in Russian. "Boys! Mr. Damon! We're saved!" suddenly cried out Mr. Petrofsky. "Bless my door knob! You don't say so!" gasped the odd man. "How? Has the Czar sent orders to release us." "No, but somehow my Revolutionary friends have heard about my arrest, and they have arranged for our release--secretly of course. This guard is affiliated with the Nihilist group that got on the trail of my brother. He bribed the other guard to let him take his place for to-night, and now--" "Yes! What is it?" cried Tom. "He's going to open the cell doors and let us out!" "But how can we get past the other guards, upstairs?" asked Ned. "We're not going that way," explained Mr. Petrofsky. "There is a secret exit from this corridor, through a tunnel that connects with a large salt mine. Once we are in there we can make our way out. We'll soon be free." "Ask him if he's heard anything of my airship?" asked Tom. Mr. Petrofsky put the question rapidly in Russian and then translated the answer. "It's in the same place." "Hurray!" cried Tom. Working rapidly, the Nihilist guard soon had the cell doors open, for he had the keys, and our friends stepped out into the corridor. "This way," called Ivan Petrofsky, as he followed their liberator, who spoke in whispers. "He says he will lead us to the salt mine, tell us how to get out and then he must make his own escape." "Then he isn't coming with us?" asked Ned. "No, it would not be safe. But he will tell us how to get out. It seems that years ago some prisoners escaped this way, and the authorities closed up the tunnel. But a cave-in of the salt mine opened a way into it again." They followed their queer guide, who led them down the corridor. He paused at the end, and then, diving in behind a pile of rubbish, he pulled away some boards. A black opening, barely large enough for a man to walk in upright, was disclosed. "In there?" cried Tom. "In there," answered Mr. Petrofsky. He and the guard murmured their good-byes, and then, with a lighted candle the faithful Nihilist had provided, and with several others in reserve, our friends stepped into the blackness. They could hear the board being pulled back into place behind them. "Forward!" cried the exile, and forward they went. It was not a pleasant journey, being through an uneven tunnel in the darkness. Half a mile later they emerged into a large salt mine, that seemed to be directly beneath the town. Work in this part had been abandoned long ago, all the salt there was left being in the shape of large pillars, that supported the roof. It sparkled dully in the candle light. "Now let me see if I remember the turnings," murmured Mr. Petrofsky. "He said to keep on for half an hour, and we would come out in a little woods not far from where our airship was anchored." Twisting and turning, here and there in the semi-darkness, stumbling, and sometimes falling over the uneven floor, the little party went on. "Did you say half an hour?" asked Tom, after a while. "Yes," replied the Russian. "We've been longer than that," announced the young inventor, after a look at his watch. "It's over an hour." "Bless my timetable!" cried Mr. Damon. "Are you sure?" asked Mr. Petrofsky. "Yes," answered Tom in a low voice. The Russian looked about him, flashing the candle on several turnings and tunnels. Suddenly Ned uttered a cry. "Why, we passed this place a little while before!" he said. "I remember this pillar that looks like two men wrestling!" It was true. They all remembered it when they saw it again. "Back in the same place!" mused the Russian. "Then we have doubled on our tracks. I'm afraid we're lost!" "Lost in a Russian salt mine!" gasped Tom, and his words sounded ominous in that gloomy place. CHAPTER XX THE ESCAPE For a space of several seconds no one moved or spoke. In the flickering light of the candle they looked at one another, and then at the fantastic pillars of salt all about them. Then Mr. Damon started forward. "Bless my trolley car!" he exclaimed. "It isn't possible! There must be some mistake. If we'll keep on we'll come out all right. You know your way about, don't you, Mr. Petrofsky?" "I thought I did, from what the guard told us, but it seems I must have taken a wrong turning." "Then it's easily remedied," suggested Tom "All we'll have to do will be to go to the place where we started, and begin over again." "Of course," agreed Ned, and they all seemed more cheerful. "And if we start out once more, and get lost again, then what?" asked Mr. Damon. "Well, if worst comes to worst, we can go, back in the tunnel, go to our cells and ask the guard to come with us and show us the way went on Tom. "Never!" cried the exile. "It would be the most dangerous thing in the world to go back to the prison. Our escape has probably been discovered by this time, and to return would only be to put our heads in the noose. We must keep on at any cost!" "But if we can't get out," suggested Tom, "and if we haven't anything to eat or drink, we--" He did not finish, but they all knew what he meant. "Oh, we'll get out!" declared Ned, who was something of an optimist. "You've been in salt mines before, haven't you, Mr. Petrofsky?" "Yes, I was condemned to one once, but it was not in this part of the country, and it was not an abandoned one. I imagine this was only an isolated mine, and that there are no others near it, so when they abandoned it, after all the salt was taken out, most people forgot about it. I remember once a party of prisoners were lost in a large salt mine, and were missed for several days." "What happened to them?" asked Tom. "I don't like to talk about it," replied the Russian with a shudder. "Bless my soul! Was it as bad as that?" asked Mr. Damon. "It was," replied the exile. "But now let's see if we can find our way back, and start afresh. I'll be more careful next time, and watch the turns more closely." But he did not get the chance. They could not find the tunnel whence they had started. Turn after turn they took, down passage after passage sometimes in such small ones that they almost had to crawl. But it was of no use. They could not find their way back to the starting place, and they could not find the opening of the mine. They had used two of the slow burning candles and they had only half a dozen or so left. When these were gone-- But they did not like to think of that, and stumbled on and on. They did not talk much, for they were too worried. Finally Ned gasped: "I'd give a good deal for a drink of water." "So would I," added his chum. "But what's the use of wishing? If there was a spring down here it would be salt water. But I know what I would do--if I could." "What?" asked Mr. Damon. "Go back to the prison. At least we wouldn't starve there, and we'd have something to drink. If they kept us we know we could get free--sometime." "Perhaps never!" exclaimed Ivan Petrofsky. "It is better to keep on here, and, as for me, I would rather die here than go back to a Russian prison. We must--we shall get out!" But it was idle talk. Gradually they lost track of time as they staggered on, and they hardly knew whether a day had passed or whether it was but a few hours since they had been lost. Of their sufferings in that salt mine I shall not go into details. There are enough unpleasant things in this world without telling about that. They must have wandered around for at least a day and a half, and in all that while they had not a drop of water, and not a thing to eat. Wait, though, at last in their desperation they did gnaw the tallow candles, and that served to keep them alive, and, in a measure, alleviate their awful sufferings from thirst. Back and forth they wandered, up and down in the galleries of the old salt mine. They were merely hoping against hope. "It's worse than the underground city of gold," said Ned in hollow tones, as he staggered on. "Worse--much worse." His head was feeling light. No one answered him. It was, as they learned later, just about two days after the time when they entered the mine that they managed to get out. Forty-eight hours, most of them of intense suffering. They were burning their last candle, and when that was out they knew they would have the horrors of darkness to fight against, as well as those of hunger and thirst. But fate was kind to them. How they managed to hit on the right gallery they did not know, but, as they made a turn around an immense pillar of salt Tom, who was walking weakly in advance, suddenly stopped. "Look! Look!" he whispered. "Another candle! Someone--someone is searching for us! We are saved!" "It may be the police!" said Ned. "That is not a candle," spoke the Russian in hollow tones as he looked to where Tom pointed, to a little glimmer of light. "It is a star. Friends, we are saved, and by Providence! That is a star, shining through the opening of the mine. We are saved!" Eagerly they pressed forward, and they had not gone far before they knew that the exile was right. They felt the cool night wind on their hot cheeks. "Thank heaven!" gasped Tom, as he pushed on. A moment later, climbing over the rusted rails on which the mine cars had run with their loads of salt, they staggered into the open. They were free--under the silent stars! "And now, if we can only find the airship," said Tom faintly, "we can--" "Look there!" whispered Ned, pointing to a patch of deeper blackness that the surrounding night. "What's that." "The Falcon!" gasped Tom. He started toward her, for she was but a short distance from a little clump of trees into which they had emerged from the opening of the salt mine. There, on the same little plane where they had landed in her was the airship. She had not been moved. "Wait!" cautioned Ivan Petrofsky. "She may be guarded." Hardly had he spoken than there walked into the faint starlight on the side of the ship nearest them, a Cossack soldier with his rifle over his shoulder. "We can't get her!" gasped Ned. "We've got to get her!" declared Tom. "We'll die if we don't!" "But the guards! They'll arrest us!" said the exile. An instant later a second soldier joined the first, and they could be seen conversing. They then resumed their pacing around the anchored craft. Evidently they were waiting for the escaped prisoners to come up when they would give the alarm and apprehend them. "What can we do?" asked Mr. Damon. "I have a plan," said Tom weakly. "It's the only chance, for we're not strong enough to tackle them. Every time they go around on the far side of the airship we must creep forward. When they come on this side we'll lie down. I doubt if they can see us. Once we are on hoard we can cut the ropes, and start off. Everything is all ready for a start if they haven't monkeyed with her, and I don't think they have. We've got room enough to run along as an aeroplane and mount upward. It's our only hope." The others agreed, and they put the plan into operation. When the Cossack guards were out of sight the escaped prisoners crawled forward, and when the soldiers came into view our friends waited in silence. It took several minutes of alternate creeping and waiting to do this, but it was accomplished at last and unseen they managed to slip aboard. Then it was the work of but a moment to cut the restraining ropes. Silently Tom crept to the motor room. He had to work in absolute darkness, for the gleam of a light would have drawn the fire of the guards. But the youth knew every inch of his invention. The only worriment was whether or not the motor would start up after the breakdown, not having been run since it was so hastily repaired. Still he could only try. He looked out, and saw the guards pacing back and forth. They did not know that the much-sought prisoners were within a few feet of them. Ned was in the pilot house. He could see a clear field in front of him. Suddenly Tom pulled the starting lever. There was a little clicking, followed by silence. Was the motor going to revolve? It answered the next moment with a whizz and a roar. "Here we go!" cried the young inventor, as the big machine shot forward on her flight. "Now let them stop us!" Forward she went until Ned, knowing by the speed that she had momentum enough, tilted the elevation rudder, and up she shot, while behind, on the ground, wildly running to and fro, and firing their rifles, were the two amazed guards. CHAPTER XXI THE RESCUE "Have we--have we time to get a drink?" gasped Ned, when the aeroplane, now on a level keel, had been shooting forward about three minutes. Already it was beyond the reach of the rifles. "Yes, but take only a little," cautioned Tom. "Oh! it doesn't seem possible that we are free!" He switched on a few interior lights, and by their glow the faint and starving platinum-seekers found water and food. Their craft had, apparently, not been touched in their absence, and the machinery ran well. Cautiously they ate and drank, feeling their strength come back to them, and then they removed the traces of their terrible imprisonment, and set about in ease and comfort, talking of what they had suffered. Onward sped the aeroplane, onward through the night, and then Tom, having set the automatic steering gear, all fell into heavy slumbers that lasted until far into the next day. When the young inventor awoke he looked below and could see nothing--nothing but a sea of mist. "What's this?" he cried. "Are we above the clouds, or in a fog over some inland sea?" He was quite worried, until Ivan Petrofsky informed him that they were in the midst of a dense fog, which was common over that part of Siberia. "But where are we?" asked Ned. "About over the province of Irtutsk," was the answer. "We are heading north," he went on, as he looked at the compass, "and I think about right to land somewhere near where my brother is confined in the sulphur mine." "That's so; we've got to drop," said Tom. "I must get the gas pipe repaired. I wish we could see over what soft of a place we were so as to know whether it would be safe to land. I wish the mist would clear away." It did, about noon, and they noted that they were over a desolate stretch of country, in which it would be safe to make a landing. Bringing the aeroplane down on as smooth a spot as he could pick out, Tom and Ned were soon at work clearing out the clogged pipe of the gas generator. They had to take it out in the open air, as the fumes were unpleasant, and it was while working over it that they saw a shadow thrown on the ground in front of them. Startled they looked up, to see a burly Russian staring at them. The sudden appearance of a man in that lonely spot, his calm regard of the lads, his stealthy approach, which had made it possible for him to be almost upon them before they were aware of his presence, all this made them suspicious of danger. Tom gave a quick glance about, however, and saw no others--no Cossack soldiers, and as he looked a second time at the man he noted that he was poorly dressed, that his shoes were ragged, his whole appearance denoting that he had traveled far, and was weary and ill. "What do you make of this, Ned?" asked Tom, in a low voice. "I don't know what to make of it. He can't be an officer, in that rig, and he has no one with him. I guess we haven't anything to be afraid of. I'm going to ask him what he wants." Which Tom did in his plainest English. At once the man broke into a stream of confused Russian, and he kept it up until Tom held up his hand for silence. "I'm sorry, but I can't understand you," said the young inventor. "I'll call some one who can, though," and, raising his voice, he summoned Ivan Petrofsky who, with Mr. Damon, was inside the airship doing some small repairs. "There's a Russian out here, Mr. Petrofsky," said Tom, "and what he wants I can't make out." The exile was quickly on the scene and, after a first glance at the man, hurried up to him, grasped him by the hand and at once the two were talking such a torrent of hard-sounding words that Tom and Ned looked at each other helplessly, while Mr. Damon, who had come out, exclaimed: "Bless my dictionary! they must know each other." For several minutes the two Russians kept up their rapid-fire talk and then Mr. Petrofsky, evidently realizing that his friends must wonder at it, turned to them and said: "This is a very strange thing. This man is an escaped convict, as I once was. I recognized him by certain signs as soon as I saw him, though I had never met him before. There are certain marks by which a Siberian exile can never be forgotten," he added significantly. "He made his escape from the mines some time ago, and has suffered great hardships since. The revolutionists help him when they can, but he has to keep in concealment and travels from town to town as best he may. He has heard of our airship, I suppose from inquiries the revolutionists have been making in our behalf, and when he unexpectedly came upon us just now he was not frightened, as an ordinary peasant would have been. But he did not know I was aboard." "And does he know you?" asked Tom. "Does he know you are trying to rescue your brother?" "No, but I will tell him." There was another exchange of the Russian language, and it seemed to have a surprising result. For, no sooner had Ivan Petrofsky mentioned his brother, than the other, whose name was Alexis Borious seemed greatly excited. Mr. Petrofsky was equally so at the reply his new acquaintance made, and fairly shouted to Tom, Ned and Mr. Damon. "Friends, I have unexpected good news! It is well that we met this man or we would have gone many miles out of our way. My brother has been moved to another mine since the revolutionists located him for me. He is in a lonely district many miles from here. This man was in the same mine with him, until my brother was transferred, and then Mr. Borious escaped. We will have to change our plans." "And where are we to head for now?" asked Tom. "Near to the town of Haskaski, where my poor brother is working in a sulphur mine!" "Then let's get a move on!" cried Tom with enthusiasm. "Do you think this man will come with us, Mr. Petrofsky, to help in the rescue, and show us the place?" "He says he will," translated the exile, "though he is much afraid of our strange craft. Still he knows that to trust himself to it is better than being captured, and sent back to the mines to starve to death!" "Good!" cried Tom. "And if he wants to, and all goes well, we'll take him out of Russia with us. Now get busy, Ned, and we'll have this machine in shape again soon." While Ivan Petrofsky took his new friend inside, and explained to him about the workings of the Falcon, Tom and Ned labored over the gas machine with such good effect that by night it was capable of being used. Then they went aloft, and making a change in their route, as suggested by Mr. Borious, they headed for the desolate sulphur region. For several days they sailed on, and gradually a plan of rescue was worked out. According to the information of the newcomer, the best way to save Mr. Petrofsky's brother was to make the attempt when the prisoners were marched back from the mines to the barracks where they were confined. "It will be dark then," said Mr. Borious, "and if you can hover in your airship near at hand, and if Mr. Petrofsky can call out to his brother to run to him, we can take him up with us and get away before the guards know what we are doing." "But aren't the prisoners chained?" asked Tom. "No, they depend on guards to prevent escapes." "Then we'll try that way," decided the young inventor. On and on they sailed, the Falcon working admirably. Verst after verst was covered, and finally, one morning, Mr. Borious, who knew the country well, from having once been a prisoner there, said: "We are now near the place. If we go any closer we may be observed. We had better remain hidden in some grove of trees so that at nightfall we can go forth to the rescue." "But how can we find it after dark?" asked Ned. "You can easily tell by the lights in the barracks," was the answer. "I can stand in the pilot house to direct you, for nearly all these exile prisons are alike. The prisoners will march in a long line from the mine. Then for the rescue." It was tedious waiting that day, but it had to be done, and to Tom, who was anxious to effect the rescue, and proceed to the place of the winds to try his air glider, it seemed as if dusk would never come as they remained in concealment. But night finally approached and then the great airship went silently aloft, ready to hover over the prison ground. Fortunately there was little wind; and she could be used as a balloon, thus avoiding the noise of the motor. "The next thing I do, when I get home," remarked Tom, as they drifted along. "Will be to make a silent airship. I think they would be very useful." With Mr. Borious in the pilot house, to point out the way, Tom steered through the fast-gathering darkness. The Russian had soon become used to the airship, and was not at all afraid. "Can you go just where you want to, as a balloon?" asked the new guide. "No, but almost," replied Tom. "At the last moment I've got to take a chance and start the motor to send us just where we want to go. That's why I think a silent airship would be a great thing. You could get up on the enemy before he knew it." "There are the prison barracks," said the guide a little later, his talk being translated by Mr. Petrofsky. Below and a little ahead of them could been seen a cluster of lights. "Yes, that looks like a line of prisoners," remarked Ned, who was peering through a pair of night glasses. "Where?" asked Tom eagerly, and they were pointed out to him. He took an observation, and exclaimed: "There they are, sure enough. Now if your brother is only among them, Mr. Petrofsky, we'll soon have him on board." "Heaven grant that he may be there!" said the exile in a low voice. A moment later, the Falcon, meanwhile having been allowed to drift as close as possible to the dimly-seen line of prisoners, Tom set in motion the great motor, the propeller blades heating the air fiercely. At the sound there was a shout on the ground below, but before the excitement had time to spread, or before any of the guards could form a notion of what was about to take place, Tom had sent his craft to earth on a sharp slant, closer to the line of prisoners than he had dared to hope. Mr. Petrofsky sprang out on deck, and in a loud voice called in Russian: "Peter! Peter! If you are there, come here! Come quickly! It is I, your brother Ivan who speaks. I have come to save you--save you in the wonderful airship of Tom Swift! Come quickly and we will take you away! Peter Petrofsky!" For a moment there was silence, and then the sound of some one running rapidly was borne to the ears of the waiting ones. It was followed, a moment later, by angry shouts from the guards. "Quick! Quick, Peter!" cried the brother, "over this way!" For an instant only the exile showed a single electric flash light, that his brother might see in which direction to run. The echo of the approaching footsteps came nearer, the shouts of the guards redoubled, and then came the sound of many men running in pursuit. "Hurry, Peter, hurry!" cried Mr. Petrofsky, and, as he spoke in Russian the guards, of course, understood. Suddenly a rifle shot rang out, but the weapon seemed to have been fired in the air. A moment later a dark figure clambered aboard the airship. "Peter, is it you?" cried Ivan Petrofsky, hoarsely. "Yes, brother! But get away quickly or the whole guard will be swarming about here!" "Praise the dear Lord you are saved!" "Is it all right?" cried Tom, who wanted to make sure they were saving the right man. "Yes! Yes, Tom! Go quickly!" called Ivan Petrofsky, as he folded his brother in his arms. A moment later, with a roar, the Falcon shot away from the earth, while below sounded angry cries, confused shouts and many orders, for the guards and their officers had never known of such a daring rescue as this. CHAPTER XXII IN THE HURRICANE There was a volley of shots from the prison guards, and the flashes of the rifles cut bright slivers of flame in the darkness, but, so rapidly did the airship go up, veering off on a wide slant, under the skillful guidance of Tom that the shots did no harm. "Bless my bullet pouch!" cried Mr. Damon. "They must be quite excited." "Shouldn't wonder," calmly observed Ned, as he went to help his chum in managing the airship. "But it won't do them any good. We've got our man." "And right from under their noses, too," added Ivan Petrofsky exultingly. "This rescue of an exile will go down in the history of Russia." The two exile brothers were gazing fondly at each other, for now that the Falcon was so high, Tom ventured to turn on the lights. A moment later the three Russians were excitedly conversing, while Tom and Ned managed the craft, and Mr. Damon, after listening a moment to the rapid flow of the strange language, which quite fascinated him, hurried to the galley to prepare a meal for the rescued one, who had been taken away before he had had a chance to get his supper. His wonder at his startling and unexpected rescue may well be imagined, but the joy at being reunited to his brother overshadowed everything for the time being. But when he had a chance to look about, and see what a strange craft he was in, his amazement knew no bounds, and he was like a child. He asked countless questions, and Ivan Petrofsky and Mr. Borious took turns in answering them. And from now on, I shall give the conversation of the two new Russians just as if they spoke English, though of course it had to be translated by Ivan Petrofsky, Peter's brother. If Peter was amazed at being rescued in an airship, his wonder grew when he was served with a well-cooked meal, while high in the air, and while flying along at the rate of fifty miles an hour. He could not talk enough about it. By degrees the story of how Tom and his friends had started for Russia was told, and there was added the detail of how Mr. Borious came to be picked up. "But brother Ivan, you did not come all that distance to rescue me; did you?" asked Peter. "Yes, partly, and partly to find the platinum mine." "What? The lost mine that you and I stumbled upon in that terrible storm?" "That is the one, Peter." "Then, Tom Swift may as well return. I doubt if we can even locate the district where it was, and if we did find it, the winds blow so that even this magnificent ship could not weather the gales." "I guess he doesn't understand about my air glider," said Tom with a smile, when this was translated to him. "I wish I had a chance to put it together, and show him how it works." "Oh, it will work all right," replied Ned, who was very proud of his friend's inventive ability. "Now, what is the next thing to be done?" asked Tom, a little later that evening, when, supper having been served, they were sitting in the main cabin, talking over the events of the past few days. "I'd like to get on the track of that platinum treasure." "And we will do all in our power to aid you," said Ivan Petrofsky. "My brother and I owe much to you--in fact Peter owes you his life; do you not?" and he turned to him. "I do," was the firm answer. "Oh, nonsense!" exclaimed Tom, who did not like to be praised. "I didn't do much." "Much! You do not call taking me away from that place--that sulphur mine--that horrible prison barrack with the cruel guards--you do not call that much? My friend," spoke the Russian solemnly, "no one on earth has done so much for me as you have, and if it is the power of man to show you where that lost mine is, my brother and I will do so!" "Agreed," spoke Ivan quietly. "Then what plans shall we make?" asked Tom, after a little more talk. "Are we to go about indiscriminately, or is there any possible way of getting on the trail?" "My brother and I will try and decide on a definite route," spoke Ivan Petrofsky. "It is some time since I have seen him, and longer since we accidently found the mine together, but we will consult each other, and, if possible make some sort of a map." This was done the next day, the present maps aboard the Falcon being consulted, and the brothers comparing notes. They began to lay out a stretch of country in which it was most likely the lost mine lay. It took several days to do this, for sometimes one brother would forget some point, and again the other would. But at last they agreed on certain facts. "This is the nearest we can come to it," said Ivan Petrofsky to Tom. "The lost platinum mine lies somewhere between the city of Iakutsk and the first range of the Iablonnoi mountains. Those are the northern and southern boundaries. As for the western one, it is most likely the Lena river, and the eastern one the Amaga river. So you see you have quite a large stretch of country to search, Tom Swift." "Yes, I should say I had," agreed the young inventor. "But I have had harder tasks. Now that I know where to head for I'll get there as soon as possible." "And what will you do when you arrive?" asked Ned. "Fly about in the Falcon, in ever-widening circles, starting as near the centre of that area as possible," replied Tom. "And as soon as I run into a steady hurricane I'll know that I'm at the place of the big winds, and I'll get out my glider, for I'll be pretty sure to be near the place." "Bless my gas meter!" cried Mr. Damon. "That's the talk!" Tom put his plan into operation at once, by heading the nose of his craft for the desolate region mapped out by the Russian brothers. The days that followed were filled with weary searching. It was like the time when they had sought for the plain of the great ruined Temple in Mexico, that they might locate the underground city of gold. Only in this case they had no such landmark as a great Aztec ruin to guide them. What they were seeking for was something unseen, but which could be felt--a mysterious wind--a wind that might be encountered any time, and which might send the Falcon to the earth a wreck. The Russian brothers, staggering about in the storm, had seen the mine under different conditions from what it would be viewed now. Then it was winter in Siberia. Now it was summer, though it was not very warm. On and on sailed the Falcon. The weather could not have been better, but for once Tom wanted bad weather. He wanted a blow--the harder the better--and all eyes anxiously watched the anemometer, or wind gage. But ever it revolved lazily about in the gentle breeze. "Oh, for a hurricane!" cried Tom. He got his wish sooner than he anticipated. It was about two days after this, when they were going about in a great circle, about two hundred miles from the imaginary centre of the district in which the mine lay, that, as Mr. Damon was getting dinner a dish he was carrying to the table was suddenly whisked out of his hand. "I say, what's the matter?" he cried. "Bless my--" But he had no time to say more. The airship fairly stood on end, and then, turning completely about, was rapidly driven in the opposite direction, though her propellers were working rapidly. "What's up?" yelled Ned. "We are capsizing!" shouted Ivan Petrofsky, and indeed it seemed so, for the airship was being forced over. "I guess we've struck what we want!" cried Tom. "We're in a hurricane all right! This is the place of the big wind! Now for my air glider, if I can get the airship to earth without being wrecked! Ned, lend a hand! We've got our work cut out for us now!" CHAPTER XXIII THE LOST MINE For several moments it seemed as if disaster would overtake the little band of platinum-hunters. In spite of all that Tom and Ned could do, the Falcon was whipped about like a feather in the wind. Sometimes she was pointing her nose to the clouds, and again earthward. Again she would be whirling about in the grip of the hurricane, like some fantastic dancer, and again she would roll dangerously. Had she turned turtle it probably would have been the last of her and of all on board. "Yank that deflecting lever as far down as it will go!" yelled Tom to his chum. "I am. She won't go any farther." "All right, hold her so. Mr. Damon, let all the gas out of the bag. I want to be as heavy as possible, and get to earth as soon as we can." "Bless my comb and brush!" cried the odd man. "I don't know what's going to become of us." "You will know, pretty soon, if the gas isn't let out!" retorted Tom grimly, and then Mr. Damon hastened to the generator compartment, and opened the emergency outlet. Finally, by crowding on all the possible power, so that the propellers and deflecting rudders forced the craft down, Tom was able to get out of the grip of the hurricane, and landed just beyond the zone of it on the ground. "Whew! That was a narrow squeak!" cried Ned, as he got out. "How'd you do it, Tom?" "I hardly know myself. But it's evident that we're on the right spot now." "But the wind has stopped blowing," said Mr. Damon. "It was only a gust." "It was the worst kind of a gust I ever want to see," declared the young inventor. "My air glider ought to work to perfection in that. If you think the wind has died out, Mr. Damon, just walk in that direction," and Tom pointed off to the left. "Bless my umbrella, I will," was the reply and the odd man started off. He had not gone far, before he was seen to put his hand to his cap. Still he kept on. "He's getting into the blow-zone," said Tom in a low voice. The next moment Mr. Damon was seen to stagger and fall, while his cap was whisked from his head, and sent high into the air, almost instantly disappearing from sight. "Some wind that," murmured Ned, in rather awe-struck tones. "That's so," agreed his chum. "But we'd better help Mr. Damon," for that gentleman was slowly crawling back, not caring to trust himself on his feet, for the wind had actually carried him down by its force. "Bless my anemometer!" he gasped, when Tom and Ned had given him a hand up. "What happened?" "It was the great wind," explained Tom. "It blows only in a certain zone, like a draft down a chimney. It is like a cyclone, only that goes in a circle. This is a straight wind, but the path of it seems to be as sharply marked as a trail through the forest. I guess we're here all right. Does this location look familiar to you?" he asked of the Russian brothers. "I can't say that it does," answered Ivan. "But then it was winter when we were here." "And, another thing," put in Peter. "That wind zone is quite wide. The mine may be in the middle, or near the other edge." "That's so," agreed Tom. "We'll soon see what we can do. Come on, Ned, let's get the air glider out and put her together. She'll have a test as is a test, now." I shall not describe the tedious work of re-assembling Tom Swift's latest invention in the air craft line--his glider. Sufficient to say that it was taken out from where it had been stored in separate pieces on board the Falcon, and put together on the plain that marked the beginning of the wind zone. It was a curious fact that twenty feet away from the path of the wind scarcely a breeze could be felt, while to advance a little way into it meant that one would at once be almost carried off his feet. Tom tested the speed of it one day with a special anemometer, and found that only a few hundred feet inside the zone the wind blew nearly one hundred miles an hour. "What is it like inside, I wonder?" asked Ned. "It must be terrific," was his chum's opinion. "Dare you risk it, Tom?" "Of course. The harder it blows the better the glider works. In fact I can't make much speed in a hundred-mile wind for with us all on board the craft will be heavy, and you must remember that I depend on the wind alone to give me motion." "What do you think causes the wind to blow so peculiarly here Tom?" went on Ned. "Oh, it must be caused by high mountain ranges on either side, or the effects of heat and cold, the air being evaporated over a certain area because of great heat, say a volcano, or something like that; though I don't know that they have volcanoes here. That creates a vacuum, and other air rushes in to fill the vacant space. That's all wind is, anyhow, air rushing in to fill a vacuum, or low pressure zone, for you remember that nature abhors a vacuum." It took nearly a week to assemble the Vulture, as Tom had named his latest craft, from the fact that it could hover in the air motionless, like that great bird. At last it was completed and then, weights being taken aboard to steady it, all was ready for the test. Tom would have liked to have taken all his passengers in the glider, for it would work better then, but the three Russians were timid, though they promised to get aboard after the trial. The test came off early one morning, Tom, Ned and Mr. Damon being the only ones aboard. Bags of sand represented the others. The glider was wheeled to the edge of the wind zone and they took their places in the car. It was hard work for the gale, that had never ceased blowing for an instant since they found its zone, was very strong. But the glider remained motionless in it, for the wing planes, the rudders, and equalizing weights had been adjusted to make the strain of the wind neutral. "All ready?" asked Tom, when his chum and his friend were in the enclosed car of the glider. "As ready as I ever shall be," answered Ned. "Bless my suspenders! Let her go, Tom, and have it over with!" cried the odd man. The young inventor pulled a lever, and almost instantly the glider darted forward. A moment later it soared aloft, and the three Russians cheered. But their voices were lost in the roar of the hurricane, as Tom sent his craft higher and higher. It worked perfectly, and he could direct it almost anywhere. The wind acted as the motive power, the bending and warping wings, and the rudders and weights controlling its force. "I'm going higher, and see if I can remain stationary!" yelled Tom in Ned's ear. His chum only nodded. Mr. Damon was seated on a bench, clinging to the sides of it as if he feared he would fall off. Higher and higher went the Vulture, ever higher, until, all at once, Tom pulled on another lever and she was still. There she hung in the air, the wind rushing through her planes, but the glider herself as still and quiet as though she rested on the ground in a calm. She hardly moved a foot in either direction, and yet the wind, as evidenced by the anemometer was howling along at a hundred and twenty miles an hour! "Success!" cried Tom. "Success! Now we can lie stationary in any spot, and spy out the land through our telescope. Now we will find the lost platinum mine!" "Well, I'm not deaf," responded Ned with a smile, for Tom had fairly yelled as he had at the start, and there was no need of this now, for though the wind blew harder than ever it was not opposed to any of the weights or planes, and there was only a gentle humming sound as it rushed through the open spaces of the queer craft. Tom gave his glider other and more severe tests, and she answered every one. Then he came to earth. "Now we'll begin the search," he said, and preparations were made to that end. The Russians, now that they had seen how well the craft worked, were not afraid to trust themselves in her. As I have explained, there was an enclosed car, capable of holding six. In this were stores, supplies and food sufficient for several days. Tom's plan was to leave the airship anchored on the edge of the wind zone, as a sort of base of supplies or headquarters. From there he intended to go off from time to time in the wind-swept area to look for the lost mine. There were weary days that followed. Hour after hour was spent in the air in the glider, the whole party being aboard. Observation after observation was taken, sometimes a certain strata of wind enabling them to get close enough to the earth to use their eyes, while again they had to use the telescopes. They covered a wide section but as day after day passed, and they were no nearer their goal, even Tom optimistic as he usually was, began to have a tired and discouraged look. "Don't you see anything like the place where you found the mine?" he asked of the exile brothers. They could only shake their heads. Indeed their task was not easy, for to recognize the place again was difficult. More than a week passed. They had been back and forth to their base of supplies at the airship, often staying away over night, once remaining aloft all through the dark hours in the glider, in a fierce gale which prevented a landing. They ate and slept on board, and seldom descended unless at or near the place where they had left the Falcon. Once they completely crossed the zone of wind, and came to a calm place on the other side. It was as wild and desolate as the other edge. Nearly two weeks had passed, and Tom was almost ready to give up and go back home. He had at least accomplished part of his desire, to rescue the exile, and he had even done better than originally intended, for there was Mr. Borious who had also been saved, and it was the intention of the young inventor to take him to the United States. "But the platinum treasure has me beat, I guess," said Tom grimly. "We can't seem to get a trace of it." Night was coming on, and he had half determined to head back for the airship. Ivan Petrofsky was peering anxiously down at the desolate land, over which they were gliding. He and his brother took turns at this. They were not far above the earth, but landmarks, such as had to be depended on to locate the mine, could not readily be observed without the glass. Mr. Damon, with a pair of ordinary field glasses, was doing all he could to pick out likely spots, though it was doubtful if he would know the place if he saw it. However, as chance willed it, he was instrumental in bringing the quest to a close, and most unexpectedly. Peter Petrofsky was relieving his brother at the telescope, when the odd man, who had not taken his eyes from the field glasses, suddenly uttered an exclamation. "Bless my tooth-brush!" he cried. "That's a most desolate place down there. A lot of trees blown down around a lake that looks as black as ink." "What's that!" cried Ivan Petrofsky. "A lake as black as ink? Where?" "We just passed it!" replied Mr. Damon. "Then put back there, as soon as you can, Tom!" called the Russian. "I want to look at that place." With a long, graceful sweep the young inventor sent the glider back over the course. Ivan Petrofsky glued his eyes to the telescope. He picked out the spot Mr. Damon had referred to, and a moment later cried: "That's it! That's near the lost platinum mine! We've found it again, Tom--everybody! Don't you remember, Peter," he said turning to his brother, "when we were lost in the snow we crawled in among a tangle of trees to get out of the blast. There was a sheet of white snow near them, and you broke through into water. I pulled you out. That must have been a lake, though it was lightly frozen over then. I believe this is the lost mine. Go down, Tom! Go down!" "I certainly will!" cried the youth, and pulling on the descending lever he shunted the glider to earth. CHAPTER XXIV THE LEAKING TANKS Like a bird descending from some dizzy height, the Vulture landed close to the pool of black water. It was a small lake and the darkness must have been caused by its depth, for later when they took some out in a glass it was as clear as a crystal. Then, too, there might have been black rocks on the bottom. "Can it be possible that we are here at last?" cried Tom, above the noise of the gale, for the wind was blowing at a terrific rate. But our friends knew better now how to adjust themselves to it, and the lake was down in a valley, the sides of which cut off the power of the gale. As for the glider it was only necessary to equalize the balance and it would remain stationary in any wind. "This is the place! This is the place!" cried Ivan Petrofsky. "Don't you remember, Peter?" "Indeed I do! I have good cause to! This is where we found the platinum!" "Bless my soul!" cried Mr. Damon. "Where is it, in the lake?" "The mine itself is just beyond that barrier of broken and twisted trees," replied the elder Russian brother. "It is an irregular opening in the ground, as though once, centuries ago, an ancient people tried to get out the precious metal. We will go to it at once." "But it is getting late," objected Ned. "No matter," said Tom. "If we find any platinum we'll stay here all night, and longer if necessary to get a good supply. This is better than the city of gold, for we're in the open." "I should say we were," observed Mr. Damon, as he bent to the blast, which was strong, sheltered even as they were. "Will it be safe to remain all night?" asked Mr. Borious, with a glance about the desolate country. "We have plenty of food," replied Tom, "and a good place to stay, in the car of the glider. I don't believe we'll be attacked." "No, not here," said the elder Petrofsky. "But we still have to go back across Siberia to escape." "We'll do it!" cried Tom. "Now for the platinum treasure!" They went forward, and it was no easy work. For the wind still blew with tremendous force though nothing like what it did higher up. And the ground was uneven. They had to cling to each other and it was very evident that no airship, not even the powerful Falcon, could have reached the place. Only an air glider would answer. It took them half an hour to get to the opening of the ancient mine, and by that time it was nearly dark. But Tom had thought to bring electric torches, such as he had used in the underground city of gold, and they dispelled the gloom of the small cavern. "Will you go in?" asked Ivan Petrofsky, when they had come to the place. He looked at Tom. "Go in? Of course I'll go in!" cried our hero, stepping forward. The others followed. For some time they went on, and saw no traces of the precious metal. Then Ned uttered a cry, as he saw some dull, grayish particles imbedded in the earth walls of the shaft. "Look!" he cried. Tom was at his chum's side in a moment. "That's platinum!" cried the young inventor. "And of the very highest grade! But the lumps are very small." "There are larger ones beyond," said the younger Russian brother. Forward they pressed, and a moment later coming around a turn in the cavern where some earth had fallen away, evidently recently, Tom could not repress a cry of joy. For there, in plain sight, were many large lumps of the valuable metal, in as pure a state as it is ever found. For it is always mixed with other metals or chemicals. "Look at that!" cried Tom. "Look at that! Lumps as large as an egg!" and he dug some out with a small pick he had brought along, and stuffed them into his pocket. "Bless my check book!" cried Mr. Damon, "and that stuff is as valuable as gold!" "More so!" cried Tom enthusiastically. "Oh, here's a whopping big one!" cried Ned. "I'll bet it weighs ten pounds." "More than that!" cried Tom, as he ran over and began digging it out, and they found later that it did. Platinum is usually found in small granules, but there are records of chunks being found weighing twenty pounds while others, the size of pigeons' eggs, are not uncommon. "Say, this is great!" yelled Ned, discovering another large piece, and digging it out. "I am glad we could lead you to it," said the elder Russian brother. "It is a small return for what you did for us!" "Nonsense!" cried Tom. "These must be a king's ransom here. Everybody dig it out! Get all you can." They were all busy, but the light of the two torches Tom had brought was not sufficient for good and efficient work, so after getting several thousand dollars worth of the precious metal, they decided to postpone operations until morning, and come with more lights. They were at the work soon after breakfast, the night in the air glider having passed without incident. The treasure of platinum proved even richer than the Russians had thought, and it was no wonder the Imperial government had tried so hard to locate it, or get on the trail of those who sought it. "And it's all good stuff!" cried Tom eagerly. "Not like that low-grade gold of the underground city. I can make my own terms when I sell this." For three days our friends dug and dug in that platinum mine, so many years lost to man, and when they got ready to leave they had indeed a king's ransom with them. But it was to be equally divided. Tom insisted on this, as his Russian friends had been instrumental in finding it. Toward the end of the excavation large pieces were scarce, and it was evident that the mine was what is called a "lode." "Well, shall we go back now?" asked Tom one day, after the finish of their mining operations. The work was comparatively simple, as the platinum lumps had merely to be dug out of the sides of the cave. But the loneliness and dreariness of the place was telling on them all. "Can't we carry any more?" asked Ned. "We could, but it might not be safe. I don't want to take on too much weight, as my glider isn't as stable as the airship. But we have plenty of the metal. "Indeed we have," agreed Ivan Petrofsky. "Much of mine and my brother's will go toward helping relieve the sufferings of the Siberian exiles," he added. "And mine, too," said Alexis Borious. They started back early the next morning in a more terrific gale than in any the glider had yet flown. But she proved herself a stanch craft, and soon they were at the place where they had left the airship. It was undisturbed. Four days were spent in taking apart the glider and packing it on board the Falcon. Then, with the platinum safely stored away Tom, with a last look at the desolate land that had been so kind to them, sent his craft on her homeward way. It was when they were near the city of Pirtchina, on the Obi river, that what might have proved a disastrous accident occurred. They were flying along high, and at great speed, for Tom wanted to make all the distance he could, to get out of Siberia the more quickly. They had had a fair passage so far, and were congratulating themselves that they would soon be in civilization again. Suddenly, Mr. Damon, who had been on the after deck, taking observations through a telescope, came running forward, crying out: "Tom! Tom! What is that water dripping from the back part of the airship?" "Water?" exclaimed Tom. "No water is dripping from there." "Come and look," advised Mr. Damon. The young inventor raced back with him. He saw a thin, white stream trickling down from the lower part of the craft. Tom sniffed the air suspiciously. "Gasolene! It's gasolene!" he cried. "We must have a leak in the supply tanks!" He dashed toward the reserve storeroom, and at that moment, with a suddenness that was startling, the motor stopped and the Falcon lurched toward the earth. CHAPTER XXV HOMEWARD BOUND--CONCLUSION "All right!" yelled Ned, as soon as he heard Tom's cry. "I've got her under control. We'll volplane down." "Is it dangerous? Are we in danger?" asked Peter Petrofsky of his brother, in Russian. "I guess there's no danger, where Tom Swift's concerned," was the answer. "I have not volplaned much, but it will be all right I think." And it was, for with Ned Newton to guide the craft, while Tom did his best to stop the leak, the craft came gently to earth on the outskirts of a fairly large Siberian city. Almost instantly the Falcon was surrounded by a curious throng. "You had better keep inside," said Ivan Petrofsky to his brother and Mr. Borious. "Descriptions of you are probably out broadcast by now, but I am still sufficiently disguised, I think." "But what is to be done?" demanded the younger Russian brother. "If the gasolene is gone, how can we leave here?" "Trust Tom Swift for that," was the reply. "Keep out of sight now, there is a large crowd outside." Tom came from the tank room. There was a despondent look on his face. "It's all gone--every drop," he said. "That's what made the motor stop." "What's gone?" asked Mr. Damon. "The gasolene. We sprung a leak in the main tank, somehow, and it all flowed out while we were flying along." "Haven't you any more?" "Not a bit. I was drawing on the reserve tank, hoping to get to civilization before I needed more. But its too late now. We will have to--" "Bless my snow shoes!" cried Mr. Damon. "Don't say we'll have to stay here--in Siberia! Don't say that. My wife--" "No, we won't have to stay here if we can get a supply of kerosene," interrupted Tom. "The motor will burn that. The only trouble is that we may be detained. The authorities probably know us by this time, and are on the watch." "Then get it before they know we are here," advised Ned. "I'll try," said Tom, and he at once conferred with the elder Petrofsky. The latter said he was sure kerosene could be had in town, and, rather than risk going in themselves, they hired a wagoner who agreed, for liberal pay, to go and return with a quantity. Until then there was nothing to do but wait. Meanwhile the crowd of curiosity seekers grew. They thronged around the airship, some of them meddling with various devices, until Tom had to order them away with gestures. One particularly inquisitive man insisted on pulling or twisting everything, until he happened to touch a couple of live wires, giving himself quite a shock, and then he ran away howling. But still the crowd increased, and at last Mr. Petrofsky said: "I don't like this, Tom?" "Why not?" They were all inside the craft, looking out and waiting for the return of the man with the kerosene. The leak in the tank had proved to be a small one, and had quickly been soldered. It had been open a long time, which accounted for the large amount of gasolene escaping. "What don't you like, Mr. Petrofsky?" "So many men surrounding us. I believe some of them are officers dressed in civilians' clothes, and a Russian officer never does that unless he has some object." "And you think the object is--?" "To capture us." "If it was that, wouldn't they have done it long ago--when we first came down?" "No, they are evidently waiting for something perhaps for some high official, without whose orders they dare do nothing. Russia is overrun with officialdom." And a little later Ivan Petrofsky's suspicion proved true. There arrived a man in uniform, who spoke fairly good English, and who politely asked Tom if he would not delay the start of the airship, again, until the governor could arrive from his country place to see it. "We know you are going to leave us," said the Russian with a smile, "for you have sent for kerosene. But please wait." "If your governor comes soon we'll wait," replied Tom. "But we are in a hurry. I wish that kerosene fellow would get a move on," he murmured. "Oh, he will doubtless be here soon," said the officer. "Might I be permitted to come aboard and wait for my chief?" "Sorry, but it's not allowed," replied our hero, straining his eyes down the road for a sight of the wagoner. At last he came, and Tom breathed easier. But the crowd was bigger, and some of the men, though poorly dressed, seemed to be persons in authority. Tom had no doubt but what there was a plot afoot to detain him, and arrest the exiles, and that there were disguised soldiers in the throng. But they could not act without the governor's orders, and he was probably on his way with all haste. "Lively now, get that kerosene in the tanks!" cried Tom to the man, motioning in lieu of using Russian. The youth was not going to meet the governor if he could help it. Now it was a curious thing, but the more that wagoner and his helpers seemed to try to hurry, and pour the oil from the cans into the tank-opening of the airship, the slower they worked. They got in each others' way, dropped some cans, spilled others, and in general made such poor work at it that Tom saw there was something in the wind. "Ned!" he exclaimed, "they're doing all they can to detain us. We've got to put that oil in ourselves. Just as we did the gasolene in France. It's the same sort of a delay game." "Right, Tom! I'm with you." "And I'll warn the crowd back, by telling them we are likely to blow up any minute!" added Ivan Petrofsky, which warning he shouted in Russian a moment later. Backward leaped the throng, as though a bomb bad been thrown into their midst, even the supposed officers joining in the retreat. The oil wagon was now easy of access, and Tom and Ned, with Mr. Damon to aid them, hastened toward it. Then the work of filling the tanks went on in something like good old, United States fashion. The last gallon of kerosene had been put aboard, and Tom and Ned with Mr. Damon, had climbed on deck, when the gaily uniformed officer, who had requested the delay, came riding up furiously. "Hold! Hold! If you please!" he cried. "The governor has come. He wants to see you." "Too late!" answered Tom. "Give him our best regards and ask him to come to the United States if he wants to see us. Sorry we haven't cards handy. Ned, take the pilot house, and shoot her up sharp when you get the signal. I'm going to run the motor. I don't know just how she'll behave on the kerosene." "You must remain!" angrily cried the officer. "The United States doesn't take 'must' from anybody, from the Czar down!" cried Tom as he disappeared into the motor room. The window was open, and the youth turned on the power the official cried again to him: "Halt! Here comes the governor! I declared you arrested by his orders, and in the name of the Czar!" "Nothing doing!" yelled Tom, and then, looking from the window, he saw approaching a troop of Cossacks, in the midst of whom rode a man in a brilliant uniform--evidently the governor. "Stop! Stop!" cried the official. "Here we go, Ned!" yelled Tom, and turning on more power the Falcon arose swiftly, before the very eyes of the angry governor, and his staff of Cossack soldiers. Up and up she went, faster and faster, the motors working well on the kerosene. Higher and higher. The governor and his soldiers were directly below her now. "Stop! Stop! You must stop. The Imperial governor orders it!" yelled the officer, evidently his Excellency's aide-de-camp. "We can't hear you!" shouted Tom, waving his hand from the motor room window, and then, turning on still more power he flew over the city, taking his friends and the valuable supply of platinum with him. So surprised were the soldiers that they did not fire a shot, but had they done so it is doubtful if much damage could have been done. "And now for home!" cried Tom, and homeward hound the Falcon was after a perilous trip through two storms. But she weathered them well. In due season they reached Paris again, and now, having no reason for concealment, they flew boldly down, to change what remained of the kerosene for gasolene, as the motor worked better on that. The secret police learned that the exiles were aboard, but they could do nothing, as the offenses were political ones, and so Tom kept his friends safe. Then they started on the long voyage across the Atlantic, and though they had one bad experience in a storm over that mighty ocean, they got safely home to Shopton in due season. There is little more to tell. The platinum proved to be even more valuable than Tom had expected. He could have sold it all for a large sum, but he preferred to keep most of what he had for his inventive work, and he used considerable of it in his machinery. Ned disposed of his, selling Tom some at a lower price than market quotations, and the Russians got a good price for theirs, turning the money into the fund to help their fellow exiles. Mr. Damon also made a good donation to the cause, as did Tom and Ned. Mr. Petrofsky and his brother, with the other exile, joined friends in New York, and promised to come and see Tom when they could. "Well, I suppose you'll take a long vacation now," said Mary Nestor, to Tom, when he called on her one evening to present her a unique ring, with the stones set in some of the platinum he had dug in the Siberian mine. "Vacation? I have no time for vacations!" said the young inventor. "I'm soon going to work on my silent airship, and on some other things I have in mind. I want more adventures." "Oh, you greedy boy!" exclaimed Mary with a laugh. And what adventures Tom had next will be found in the next book of this series, which will be entitled, "Tom Swift in Captivity; Or, a Daring Escape by Airship." Tom had several offers to give exhibitions in his air glider, from aviation committees at various meets, but he declined. "I haven't time," he declared. "I'm too busy." "You ought to rest," his chum Ned advised him. "'Bless my alarm clock!' as Mr. Damon would say," exclaimed Tom. "The best rest is new work," and then he began sketching his ideas for a silent motor craft, during which we will take leave of him for a while. 
954	----	TOM SWIFT AND HIS WAR TANK or Doing His Bit For Uncle Sam By VICTOR APPLETON CONTENTS I Past Memories II Tom's Indifference III Ned is Worried IV Queer Doings V "Is He a Slacker?" VI Seeing Things VII Up a Tree VIII Detective Rad IX A Night Test X A Runaway Giant XI Tom's Tank XII Bridging a Gap XIII Into a Trench XIV The Ruined Factory XV Across Country XVI The Old Barn XVII Veiled Threats XVIII Ready for France XIX Tom Is Missing XX The Search XXI A Prisoner XXII Rescued XXIII Gone XXIV Camouflaged XXV Foiled Chapter I Past Memories Ceasing his restless walk up and down the room, Tom Swift strode to the window and gazed across the field toward the many buildings, where machines were turning out the products evolved from the brains of his father and himself. There was a worried look on the face of the young inventor, and he seemed preoccupied, as though thinking of something far removed from whatever it was his eyes gazed upon. "Well, I'll do it!" suddenly exclaimed Tom. "I don't want to, but I will. It's in the line of 'doing my bit,' I suppose; but I'd rather it was something else. I wonder--" "Ha! Up to your old tricks, I see, Tom!" exclaimed a voice, in which energy and friendliness mingled pleasingly. "Up to your old tricks!" "Oh, hello, Mr. Damon!" cried Tom, turning to shake hands with an elderly gentleman--that is, elderly in appearance but not in action, for he crossed the room with the springing step of a lad, and there was the enthusiasm of youth on his face. "What do you mean--my old tricks?" "Talking to yourself, Tom. And when you do that it means there is something in the wind. I hope, as a sort of side remark, it isn't rain that's in the wind, for the soldiers over at camp have had enough water to set up a rival establishment with Mr. Noah. But there's something going on, isn't there? Bless my memorandum book, but don't tell me there isn't, or I shall begin to believe I have lost all my deductive powers of reasoning! I come in here, after knocking two or three times, to which you pay not the least attention, and find you mysteriously murmuring to yourself. "The last time that happened, Tom, was just before you started to dig the big tunnel--No, I'm wrong. It was just before you started for the Land of Wonders, as we decided it ought to be called. You were talking to yourself then, when I walked in on you, and--Say, Tom!" suddenly exclaimed Mr. Damon eagerly, "don't tell me you're going off on another wild journey like that--don't!" "Why?" asked Tom, smiling at the energy of his caller. "Because if you are, I'll want to go with you, of course, and if I go it means I'll have to start in as soon as I can to bring my wife around to my way of thinking. The last time I went it took me two weeks to get her to consent, and then she didn't like it. So if--" "No, Mr. Damon," interrupted Tom, "I don't count on going on any sort of a trip--that is, any long one. I was just getting ready to take a little spin in the Hawk, and if you'd like to come along--" "You mean that saucy little airship of yours, Tom, that's always trying to sit down on her tail, or tickle herself with one wing?" "That's the Hawk!" laughed Tom; "though that tickling business you speak of is when I spiral. Don't you like it?" "Can't say I do," observed Mr. Damon dryly. "Well, I'll promise not to try any stunts if you come along," Tom went on. "Where are you going?" asked his friend. "Oh, no place in particular. As you surmised, I've been doing a bit of thinking, and--" "Serious thinking, too, Tom!" interrupted Mr. Damon. "Excuse me, but I couldn't help overhearing what you said. It was something about going to do something though you didn't want to, and that it was part of your 'bit'. That sounds like soldier talk. Are you going to enlist, Tom?" "No." "Um! Well, then--" "It's something I can't talk about, Mr. Damon, even to you, as yet," Tom said, and there was a new quality in his voice, at which his friend looked up in some surprise. "Oh, of course, Tom, if it's a secret--" "Well, it hasn't even got that far, as yet. It's all up in the air, so to speak. I'll tell you in due season. But, speaking of the air, let's go for a spin. It may drive some of the cobwebs out of my brain. Did I hear you say you thought it would rain?" "No, it's as clear as a bell. I said I hoped it wouldn't rain for the sake of the soldiers in camp. They've had their share of wet weather, and, goodness knows, they'll get more when they get to Flanders. It seems to do nothing but rain in France." "It is damp," agreed Tom. "And, come to think of it, they are going to have some airship contests over at camp to-day--for the men who are being trained to be aviators, you know. It just occurred to me that we might fly over there and watch them." "Fine!" cried Mr. Damon. "That's the very thing I should like. I'll take a chance in your Hawk, Tom, if you'll promise not to try any spiral stunts." "I promise, Mr. Damon. Come on! I'll have Koku run the machine out and get her ready for a flight to Camp. It's a good day for a jaunt in the air." "Get out the Hawk, Koku," ordered the young inventor, as he motioned to a big man--a veritable giant--who nodded to show he understood. Koku was really a giant, one of a race of strange beings, and Tom Swift had brought the big man with him when he escaped from captivity, as those will remember who have read that book. "Going far, Tom?" asked an aged man, coming to the door of one of the many buildings of which the shed where the airship was kept formed one. "Not very far, Father," answered the young inventor. "Mr. Damon and I are going for a little spin over to Camp Grant, to see some aircraft contests among the army birdmen." "Oh, all right, Tom. I just wanted to tell you that I think I've gotten over that difficulty you found with the big carburetor you were working on. You didn't say what you wanted it for, except that it was for a heavy duty gasolene engine, and you couldn't get the needle valve to work as you'd like. I think I've found a way." "Good, Dad! I'll look at it when I come back. That carburetor did bother me, and if I can get that to work--well, maybe we'll have something soon that will--" But Tom did not finish his sentence, for Koku was getting the aircraft in operation and Mr. Damon was already taking his place behind the pilot's seat, which would be occupied by Tom. "All ready, are you, Koku?" asked the young inventor. "All ready, Master," answered the giant. There was a roar like that of a machine gun as the Hawk's engine spun the propeller, and then, after a little run across the sod, it mounted into the air, carrying Tom and Mr. Damon with it. "Mind you, Tom, no stunts!" called the visitor to the young inventor through the speaking tube apparatus, which enabled a conversation to be carried on, even above the roar of the powerful engine. "Bless my overshoes! if you try, looping the loop with me--" "I won't do anything like that!" promised Tom. Away they soared, swift as a veritable hawk, and soon, after there had unrolled below their eyes a succession of fields and forest, there came into view rows and rows of small brown objects, among which beings, like ants, seemed crawling about. "There's the Camp!" exclaimed Tom. "I see," and Mr. Damon nodded. As they approached, they saw, starting up from a green space amid the brown tents, what appeared to be big bugs of a dirty white color splotched with green. "The aircraft--and they have camouflage paint on," said Tom. "We can watch 'em from up here!" Mr. Damon nodded, though Tom could not see him, sitting in front of his friend as he was. Up and up circled the army aircraft, and they seemed to bow and nod a greeting to the Hawk, which was soon in the midst of them. Tom and Mr. Damon, flying high, though at no great speed, looked at the maneuvers of the veterans and the learners--many of whom might soon be engaging the Boches in far-off France. "Some of 'em are pretty good!" called Tom, through the tube. "That one fellow did the loop as prettily as I've ever seen it done," and Tom Swift had a right to speak as one of authority. Tom and his friend watched the aircraft for some time, and then started off in a long flight, attaining a high speed, which, at first, made Mr. Damon gasp, until he became used to it. He was no novice at flying, and had even operated aeroplanes himself, though at no great height. Suddenly the Hawk seemed to falter, almost as does a bird stricken by a hunter's gun. The craft seemed to hang in the air, losing motion as though about to plunge to earth unguided. "What's the matter?" cried Mr. Damon. "One of the control wires broken!" was Tom's laconic answer. "I'll have to volplane down. Sit tight, there's no danger!" Mr. Damon knew that with so competent a pilot as Tom Swift in the forward seat this was true, but, nevertheless, he was a bit nervous until he felt the smooth, gliding motion, with now and then an upward tilt, which showed that Tom was coming down from the upper regions in a series of long glides. The engine had stopped, and the cessation of the thundering noise made it possible for Tom and his passenger to talk without the use of the speaking tube. "All right?" asked Mr. Damon. "All right," Tom answered, and a little later the machine was rolling gently over the turf of a large field, a mile or so from the camp. Before Tom and Mr. Damon could get out of their seats, a man, seemingly springing up from some hollow in the ground, walked toward them. "Had an accident?" he asked, in what he evidently meant for a friendly voice. "A little one, easily mended," Tom answered. He was about to take off his goggles, but at sight of the man's face a change came over the countenance of Tom Swift, and he replaced the eye protectors. Then Tom turned to Mr. Damon, as if to ask a question, but the stranger came so close, evidently curious to see the aircraft at close quarters, that the young inventor could not speak without being overheard. Tom got out his kit of tools to repair the broken control, and the man watched him curiously. As he tinkered away, something was stirring among the past memories of the inventor. A question he asked himself over and over again was: "Where have I seen this man before? His face is familiar, but I can't place him. He is associated with something unpleasant. But where have I seen this man before?" Chapter II Tom's Indifference "Did you make this machine yourself?" asked the stranger of Tom, as the young inventor worked at the damaged part of his craft. Mr. Damon had also alighted, taken off his goggles, and was looking aloft, where the army aircraft were going through various evolutions, and down below, where the young soldiers were drilling under such conditions, as far as possible, as they might meet with when some of their number went "over the top." Mr. Damon was murmuring to himself such remarks as: "Bless my fountain pen! look at that chap turning upside down! Bless my inkwell!" "I beg your pardon," remarked Tom Swift, following the remark of the man, whose face he was trying to recall. It was not that Tom had not heard the question, but he was trying to gain time before answering. "I asked if you made this machine yourself," went on the man, as he peered about at the Hawk. "It isn't like any I've ever seen before, and I know something about airships. It has some new wrinkles on it, and I thought you might have evolved them yourself. Not that it's an amateur affair, by any means!" he added hastily, as if fearing the young inventor might resent the implication that his machine was a home-made product. "Yes, I originated this," answered Tom, as he put a new turn-buckle in place; "but I didn't actually construct it--that is, except for some small parts. It was made in the shop--" "Over at the army construction plant, I presume," interrupted the man quickly, as he motioned toward the big factory, not far from Shopton, where aircraft for Uncle Sam's Army were being turned out by the hundreds. "Might as well let him think that," mused Tom; "at least until I can figure out who he is and what he wants." "This is different from most of those up there," and the stranger pointed toward the circling craft on high. "A bit more speedy, I guess, isn't it?" "Well, yes, in a way," agreed Tom, who was bending over his craft. He stole a side look at the man. The face was becoming more and more familiar, yet something about it puzzled Tom Swift. "I've seen him before, and yet he didn't look like that," thought the young inventor. "It's different, somehow. Now why should my memory play me a trick like this? Who in the world can he be?" Tom straightened up, and tossed a monkey wrench into the tool box. "Get everything fixed?" asked the stranger. "I think so," and the young inventor tried to make his answer pleasant. "It was only a small break, easily fixed." "Then you'll be on your way again?" "Yes. Are you ready?" called Tom to Mr. Damon. "Bless my timetable, yes! I didn't think you'd start back again so soon. There's one young fellow up there who has looped the loop three times, and I expect him to fall any minute." "Oh, I guess he knows his business," Tom said easily. "We'll be getting back now." "One moment!" called the man. "I beg your pardon for troubling you, but you seem to be a mechanic, and that's just the sort of man I'm looking for. Are you open to an offer to do some inventive and constructive work?" Tom was on his guard instantly. "Well, I can't say that I am," he answered. "I am pretty busy--" "This would pay well," went on the man eagerly. "I am a stranger around here, but I can furnish satisfactory references. I am in need of a good mechanic, an inventor as well, who can do what you seem to have done so well. I had hopes of getting some one at the army plant." "I guess they're not letting any of their men go," said Tom, as Mr. Damon climbed to his seat in the Hawk. "No, I soon found that out. But I thought perhaps you--" Tom shook his head. "I'm sorry," he answered, "but I'm otherwise engaged, and very busy." "One moment!" called the man, as he saw Tom about to start "Is the Swift Company plant far from here?" Tom felt something like a thrill go through him. There was an unexpected note in the man's voice. The face of the young inventor lightened, and the doubts melted away. "No, it isn't far," Tom answered, shouting to be heard above the crackling bangs of the motor. And then, as the craft soared into the air, he cried exultingly: "I have it! I know who he is! The scoundrel! His beard fooled me, and he probably didn't know me with these goggles on. But now I know him!" "Bless my calendar!" cried Mr. Damon. "What are you talking about?" But Tom did not answer, for the reason that just then the Hawk fell into an "air pocket," and needed all his attention to straighten her out and get her on a level course again. And while Tom Swift is thus engaged in speeding his aircraft along the upper regions toward his home, it will take but a few moments to acquaint my new readers with something of the history of the young inventor. Those who have read the previous books in this series need be told nothing about our hero. Tom Swift was an inventor of note, as was his father. Mr. Swift was now quite aged and not in robust health, but he was active at times and often aided Tom when some knotty point came up. Tom and his father lived on the outskirts of the town of Shopton, and near their home were various buildings in which the different machines and appliances were made. Tom's mother was dead, but Mrs. Baggert, the housekeeper, was as careful in looking after Tom and his father as any woman could be. In addition to these three, the household consisted of Eradicate Sampson, an aged colored servant, and, it might almost be added, his mule Boomerang; but Boomerang had manners that, at times, did not make him a welcome addition to any household. Then there was the giant Koku, one of two big men Tom had brought back with him from the land where the young inventor had been held captive for a time. The first book of this series is called "Tom Swift and His Motor Cycle," and it was in acquiring possession of that machine that Tom met his friend Mr. Wakefield Damon, who lived in a neighboring town. Mr. Damon owned the motor cycle originally, but when it attempted to climb a tree with him he sold it to Tom. Tom had many adventures on the machine, and it started him on his inventive career. From then on he had had a series of surprising adventures. He had traveled in his motor boat, in an airship, and then had taken to a submarine. In his electric runabout he showed what the speediest car on the road could do, and when he sent his wireless message, the details of which can be found set down in the volume of that name, Tom saved the castaways of Earthquake Island. Tom Swift had many other thrilling escapes, one from among the diamond makers, and another from the caves of ice; and he made the quickest flight on record in his sky racer. Tom's wizard camera, his great searchlight, his giant cannon, his photo telephone, his aerial warship and the big tunnel he helped to dig, brought him credit, fame, and not a little money. He had not long been back from an expedition to Honduras, dubbed "the land of wonders," when he was again busy on some of his many ideas. And it was to get some relief from his thoughts that he had taken the flight with Mr. Damon on the day the present story opens. "What are you so excited about, Tom?" asked his friend, as the Hawk alighted near the shed Back of the young inventor's home. "Bless my scarf pin! but any one would think you'd just discovered the true method of squaring the circle." "Well, it's almost as good as that, and more practical," Tom said, with a smile, as he motioned to Koku to put away the aircraft "I know who that man is, now." "What man, Tom?" "The one who was questioning me when I was fixing the airship. I kept puzzling and puzzling as to his identity, and, all at once, it came to me. Do you know who he is, Mr. Damon?" "No, I can't say that I do, Tom. But, as you say, there was something vaguely familiar about him. It seemed as if I must have seen him before, and yet--" "That's just the way it struck me. What would you say if I told you that man was Blakeson, of Blakeson and Grinder, the rival tunnel contractors who made such trouble for us?" "You mean down in Peru, Tom?" "Yes." Mr. Damon started in surprise, and then exclaimed: "Bless my ear mufflers, Tom, but you're right! That was Blakeson! I didn't know him with his beard, but that was Blakeson, all right! Bless my foot-warmer! What do you suppose he is doing around here?" "I don't know, Mr. Damon, but I'd give a good deal to know. It isn't any good, I'll wager on that. He didn't seem to know me or you, either--unless he did and didn't let on. I suppose it was because of my goggles--and you were gazing up in the air most of the time. I don't think he knew either of us." "It didn't seem so, Tom. But what is he doing here? Do you think he is working at the army camp, or helping make Liberty Motors for the aircraft that are going to beat the Germans?" "Hardly. He didn't seem to be connected with the camp. He wanted a mechanic, and hinted that I might do. Jove! if he really didn't know who I was, and finds out, say! won't he be surprised?" "Rather," agreed Mr Damon. "Well, Tom, I had a nice little ride. And now I must be getting back. But if you contemplate a trip anywhere, don't forget to let me know." "I don't count on going anywhere soon," Tom answered. "I have something on hand that will occupy all my time, though I don't just like it. However, I'm going to do my best," and he waved good-bye to Mr. Damon, who went off blessing various parts of his anatomy or clothing, an odd habit he had. As Tom turned to go into the house, the unsettled look still on his face, some one hailed him. "I say, Tom. Hello! Wait a minute! I've got something to show you!" "Oh, hello, Ned Newton!" Called back the young inventor. "Well, if it's Liberty Bonds, you don't need to show me any, for dad and I will buy all we can without seeing them." "I know that, Tom, and it was a dandy subscription you gave me. I didn't come about that, though I may be around the next time Uncle Sam wants the people to dig down in their socks. This is something different," and Ned Newton, a young banker of Shopton and a lifelong friend of Tom's, drew a paper from his pocket as he advanced across the lawn. "There, Tom Swift!" he cried, flipping out an illustrated page, evidently from some illustrated newspaper. "There's the very latest from the other side. A London banker friend of mine sent it to me, and it got past the censor all right. It's the first authentic photograph of the newest and biggest British tank. Isn't that a wonder?" Ned held up the paper which had in it a fullpage photograph of a monster tank--those weird machines traveling on endless steel belts of caterpillar construction, armored, riveted and plated, with machine guns bristling here and there. "Isn't that great, Tom? Can you beat it? It's the most wonderful machine of the age, even counting some of yours. Can you beat it?" Tom took the paper indifferently, and his manner surprised his chum. "Well, what's the matter, Tom?" asked Ned. "Don't you think that great? Why don't you say something? You don't mean to say you've seen that picture before?" "No, Ned." "Then what's the matter with you? Isn't that wonderful?" Chapter III Ned is Worried Tom Swift did not answer for several seconds. He stood holding the paper Ned had given him, the sun slanting on the picture of the big British tank. But the young inventor did not appear to see it. Instead, his eyes were as though contemplating something afar off. "Well, this gets me!" cried Ned, his voice showing impatience. "Here I go and get a picture of the latest machine the British armies are smashing up the Boches with, and bring it to you fresh from the mail--I even quit my Liberty Bond business to do it, and I know some dandy prospects, too--and here you look at it like a--like a fish!" burst out Ned. "Say, old man, I guess that's right!" admitted Tom. "I wasn't thinking about it, to tell you the truth." "Why not?" Ned demanded. "Isn't it great, Tom? Did you ever see anything like it?" "Yes." "You did?" Cried Ned, in surprise. "Where? Say, Tom Swift, are you keeping something from me?" "I mean no, Ned. I never have seen a British tank." "Well, did you ever see a picture like this before?" Ned persisted. "No, not exactly like that But--" "Well, what do you think of it?" cried the young banker, who was giving much of his time to selling bonds for the Government. "Isn't it great?" Tom considered a moment before replying. Then he said slowly: "Well, yes, Ned, it is a pretty good machine. But--" "'But!' Howling tomcats! Say, what's the 'matter with you, anyhow, Tom? This is great! 'But!' 'But me no buts!' This is, without exception, the greatest thing out since an airship. It will win the war for us and the Allies, too, and don't you forget it! Fritz's barbed wire and dugouts and machine gun emplacements can't stand for a minute against these tanks! Why, Tom, they can crawl on their back as well as any other way, and they don't mind a shower of shrapnel or a burst of machine gun lead, any more than an alligator minds a swarm of gnats. The only thing that makes 'em hesitate a bit is a Jack Johnson or a Bertha shell, and it's got to be a pretty big one, and in the right place, to do much damage. These tanks are great, and there's nothing like 'em." "Oh, yes there is, Ned!" "There is!" cried Ned. "What do you mean?" "I mean there may be something like them--soon." "There may? Say, Tom--" "Now don't ask me a lot of questions, Ned, for I can't answer them. When I say there may be something like them, I mean it isn't beyond the realms of possibility that some one--perhaps the Germans--may turn out even bigger and better tanks." "Oh!" And Ned's voice showed his disappointment. "I thought maybe you were in on that game yourself, Tom. Say, couldn't you get up something almost as good as this?" and he indicated the picture in the paper. "Isn't that wonderful?" "Oh, well, it's good, Ned, but there are others. Yes, Dad, I'm coming," he called, as he saw his father beckoning to him from a distant building. "Well, I've got to get along," said Ned. "But I certainly am disappointed, Tom. I thought you'd go into a fit over this picture--it's one of the first allowed to get out of England, my London friend said. And instead of enthusing you're as cold as a clam;" and Ned shook his head in puzzled and disappointed fashion as he walked slowly along beside the young inventor. They passed a new building, one of the largest in the group of the many comprising the Swift plant. Ned looked at the door which bore a notice to the effect that no one was admitted unless bearing a special permit, or accompanied by Mr. Swift or Tom. "What's this, Tom?" asked Ned. "Some new wrinkle?" "Yes, an invention I'm working on. It isn't in shape yet to be seen." "It must be something big, Tom," observed Ned, as he viewed the large building. "It is." "And say, what a whopping big fence you've got around the back yard!" went on the young banker. "Looks like a baseball field, but it would take some scrambling on the part of a back-lots kid to get over it." "That's what it's for--to keep people out." "I see! Well, I've got to get along. I'm a bit back in my day's quota of selling Liberty Bonds, and I've got to hustle. I'm sorry I bothered you about that tank picture, Tom." "Oh, it wasn't a bother--don't think that for a minute, Ned! I was glad to see it." "Well, he didn't seem so, and his manner was certainly queer," mused Ned, as he walked away, and turned in time to see Tom enter the new building, which had such a high fence all around it. "I never saw him more indifferent. I wonder if Tom isn't interested in seeing Uncle Sam help win this war? That's the way it struck me. I thought surely Tom would go up in the air, and say this was a dandy," and Ned unfolded the paper and took another look at the British tank photograph. "If there's anything can beat that I'd like to see it," he mused. "But I suppose Tom has discovered some new kind of air stabilizer, or a different kind of carburetor that will vaporize kerosene as well as gasolene. If he has, why doesn't he offer it to Uncle Sam? I wonder if Tom is pro-German? No, of Course he can't be!" and Ned laughed at his own idea. "At the same time, it is queer," he mused on. "There is something wrong with Tom Swift." Once more Ned looked at the picture. It was a representation of one of the newest and largest of the British tanks. In appearance these are not unlike great tanks, though they are neither round nor square, being shaped, in fact, like two wedges with the broad ends put together, and the sharper ends sticking out, though there is no sharpness to a tank, the "noses" both being blunt. Around each outer edge runs an endless belt of steel plates, hinged together, with ridges at the joints, and these broad belts of steel plates, like the platforms of some moving stairways used in department stores, moving around, give motion to the tank. Inside, well protected from the fire of enemy guns by steel plates, are the engines for driving the belts, or caterpillar wheels, as they are called. There is also the steering apparatus, and the guns that fire on the enemy. There are cramped living and sleeping quarters for the tank's crew, more limited than those of a submarine. The tank is ponderous, the smallest of them, which were those first constructed, weighing forty-two tons, or about as much as a good-sized railroad freight car. And it is this ponderosity, with its slow but resistless movement, that gives the tank its power. The tank, by means of the endless belts of steel plates, can travel over the roughest country. It can butt into a tree, a stone wall, or a house, knock over the obstruction, mount it, crawl over it, and slide down into a hole on the other side and crawl out again, on the level, or at an angle. Even if overturned, the tanks can sometimes right themselves and keep on. At the rear are trailer wheels, partly used in steering and partly for reaching over gaps or getting out of holes. The tanks can turn in their own length, by moving one belt in one direction and the other oppositely. Inside there is nothing much but machinery of the gasolene type, and the machine guns. The tank is closed except for small openings out of which the guns project, and slots through which the men inside look out to guide themselves or direct their fire. Such, in brief, is a British tank, one of the most powerful and effective weapons yet loosed against the Germans. They are useful in tearing down the barbed-wire entanglements on the Boche side of No Man's Land, and they can clear the way up to and past the trenches, which they can straddle and wriggle across like some giant worm. "And to think that Tom Swift didn't enthuse over these!" murmured Ned. "I wonder what's the matter with him!" Chapter IV Queer Doings There was a subdued air of activity about the Swift plant. Subdued, owing to the fact that it was mostly confined to one building--the new, large one, about which stretched a high and strong fence, made with tongue-and-groove boards so that no prying eyes might find a crack, even, through which to peer. In and out of the other buildings the workmen went as they pleased, though there were not many of them, for Tom and his father were devoting most of their time and energies to what was taking place in the big, new structure. But here there was an entirely different procedure. Workmen went in and out, to be sure, but each time they emerged they were scrutinized carefully, and when they went in they had to exhibit their passes to a man on guard at the single entrance; and the passes were not scrutinized perfunctorily, either. Near the building, about which there seemed to be an air of mystery, one day, a week after the events narrated in the opening chapters, strolled the giant Koku. Not far away, raking up a pile of refuse, was Eradicate Sampson, the aged colored man of all work. Eradicate approached nearer and nearer the entrance to the building, pursuing his task of gathering up leaves, dirt and sticks with the teeth of his rake. Then Koku, who had been lounging on a bench in the shade of a tree, Called: "No more, Eradicate!" "No mo' whut?" asked the negro quickly. "I didn't axt yo' fo' nuffin yit!" "No more come here!" said the giant, pointing to the building and speaking English with an evident effort. "Master say no one come too close." "Huh! He didn't go fo' t' mean me!" exclaimed Eradicate. "I kin go anywheres; I kin!" "Not here!" and Koku interposed his giant frame between the old man and the first step leading into the secret building. "You no come in here." "Who say so?" "Me--I say so! I on guard. I what you call special policeman--detectiff--no let enemies in!" "Huh! You's a hot deteckertiff, yo' is!" snorted Eradicate. "Anyhow, dem orders don't mean me! I kin go anywhere, I kin!" "Not here!" said Koku firmly. "Master Tom say let nobody come near but workmen who have got writing-paper. You no got!" "No, but I kin git one, an' I's gwine t' hab it soon! I'll see Massa Tom, dat's whut I will. I guess yo' ain't de only deteckertiff on de place. I kin go on guard, too!" and Eradicate, dropping his rake, strolled away in his temper to seek the young inventor. "Well, Rad, what is it?" asked Tom, as he met the colored man. The young inventor was on his way to the mysterious shop. "What is troubling you?" "It's dat dar giant. He done says as how he's on guard--a deteckertiff--an' I can't go nigh dat buildin' t' sweep up de refuse." "Well, that's right, Rad. I'd prefer that you keep away. I'm doing some special work in there and it's--" "Am it dangerous, Massa Tom? I ain't askeered! Anybody whut kin drive mah mule Boomerang--" "I know, Eradicate, but this isn't so dangerous. It's just secret, and I don't want too many people about. You can go anywhere else except there. Koku is on guard." "Den can't I be, Massa Tom?" asked the colored man eagerly. "I kin guard an' detect same as dat low-down, good-fo'-nuffin white trash Koku!" Tom hesitated. "I suppose I could get you a sort of officer's badge," he mused, half aloud. "Dat's whut I want!" eagerly exclaimed Eradicate. "I ain't gwine hab dat Koku--dat cocoanut--crowin' ober me! I kin guard an' detect as good's anybody!" And the upshot of it was that Eradicate was given a badge, and put on a special post, far enough from Koku to keep the two from quarreling, and where, even if he failed in keeping a proper lookout, the old servant could do no harm by his oversight. "It'll please him, and won't hurt us," said Tom to his father. "Koku will keep out any prying persons." "I suppose you are doing well to keep it a secret, Tom," said Mr. Swift, "but it seems as if you might announce it soon." "Perhaps we may, Dad, if all goes well. I've given her a partial shop-tryout, and she works well. But there is still plenty to do. Did I tell you about meeting Blakeson?" "Yes, and I can't understand why he should be in this vicinity. Do you think he has had any intimation of what you are doing?" "It's hard to say, and yet I would not be surprised. When Uncle Sam couldn't keep secret the fact of our first soldiers sailing for France. How can I expect to keep this secret? But they won't get any details until I'm ready, I'm sure of that." "Koku is a good discourager," said Mr. Swift, with a chuckle. "You couldn't have a better guard, Tom." "No, and if I can keep him and Eradicate from trying to pull off rival detective stunts, or 'deteckertiff,' as Rad calls it, I'll be all right. Now let's have another go at that carburetor. There's our weak point, for it's getting harder and harder all the while to get high-grade gasolene, and we'll have to come to alcohol of low proof, or kerosene, I'm thinking." "I wouldn't be surprised, Tom. Well, perhaps we can get up a new style of carburetor that will do the trick. Now look at this needle valve; I've given it a new turn," and father and son went into technical details connected with their latest invention. These were busy days at the Swift plant. Men came and went--men with queerly shaped parcels frequently--and they were admitted to the big new building after first passing Eradicate and then Koku, and it would be hard to say which guard was the more careful. Only, of course, Koku had the final decision, and more than one person was turned back after Eradicate had passed him, much to the disgust of the negro. "Pooh! Dat giant don't know a workman when he sees 'im!" snorted Eradicate. "He so lazy his own se'f dat he don't know a workman! Ef I sees a spy, Massa Tom, or a crook, I's gwine git him, suah pop!" "I hope you do, Rad. We can't afford to let this secret get out," said the young inventor. It was one evening, when taking a short cut to his home, that Mr. Nestor, the father of Mary Nestor, in whom Tom was more than ordinarily interested, passed not far from the big enclosure which was guarded, on the factory side, day and night. Inside, though out of sight and hidden by the high fence, were other guards. As Mr. Nestor passed along the fence, rather vaguely wondering why it was so high, tight and strong, he felt the ground trembling beneath his feet. It rumbled and shook as though a distant train were passing, and yet there was none due now, for Mr. Nestor had just left one, and another would not arrive for an hour. "That's queer," mused Mary's father. "If I didn't know to the contrary, I'd say that sounded like heavy guns being fired from a distance, or else blasting. It seems to come from the Swift place," he went on. "I wonder what they're up to in there." Suddenly the rumbling became more pronounced, and mingled with it, in the dusk of the evening, were the shouts of men. "Look out!" some one cried. "She's going for the fence!" A second later there was a cracking and straining of boards, and the fence near Mr. Nestor bulged out as though something big, powerful and mighty were pressing it from the inner side. But the fence held, or else the pressure was removed, for the bulge went back into place, though some of the boards were splintered. "Have to patch that up in the morning," called another voice, and Mr. Nestor recognized it as that of Tom Swift. "What queer doings are going on here?" mused Mary's father. "Have they got a wild bull shut up in there, and is he trying to get out? Lucky for me he didn't," and he hurried on, the rumbling noise become fainter until it died away altogether. That night, after his supper and while reading the paper and smoking a cigar, Mr. Nestor spoke to his daughter. "Mary, have you seen anything of Tom Swift lately?" "Why, yes, Father. He was over for a little while the other night, but he didn't stay long. Why do you ask?" "Oh, nothing special. I just came past his place and I heard some queer noises, that's all. He's up to some more of his tricks, I guess. Has be enlisted yet?" "No. "Is he going to?" "I don't know," and Mary seemed a bit put out by this simple question. "What do you mean by his tricks?" she asked, and a close observer might have thought she was anxious to get away from the subject of Tom's enlistment. "Oh, like that one when he sent you something in a box labeled 'dynamite,' and gave us all a scare. You can't tell what Tom Swift is going to do next. He's up to something now, I'll wager, and I don't believe any good will come of it." "You didn't think so after he sent his wireless message, and saved us from Earthquake Island," said Mary, smiling. "Hum! Well, that was different," snapped Mr. Nestor. "This time I'm sure he's up to some nonsense! The idea of crashing down a fence! Why doesn't he enlist like the other chaps, or sell Liberty Bonds like Ned Newton?" and Mr. Nestor looked sharply at his daughter. "Ned gave up a big salary as the Swifts financial man--a place he had held for a year--to go back to the bank for less, just so he could help the Government in the financial end of this war. Is Tom doing as much for his country?" "I'm sure I don't know," answered Mary; and soon after, with averted face, she left the room. "Hum! Queer goings on," mused Mr. Nestor. "Tom Swift may be all right, but he's got an unbalanced streak in him that will bear looking out for, that's what I think!" And having settled this matter, at least to his own satisfaction, Mr. Nestor resumed his smoking and reading. A little later the bell rang. There was a murmur of voices in the hall, and Mr. Nestor, half listening, heard a voice he knew. "There's Tom Swift now!" he exclaimed. "I'm going to find out why he doesn't enlist!" Chapter V "Is He a Slacker?" Mr. Nestor, whatever else he was, proved to be a prudent father. He did not immediately go into the front room, whither Mary and Tom hastened, their voices mingling in talk and laughter. Mr. Nestor, after leaving the young folks alone for a while, with a loud "Ahem!" and a rattling of his paper as he laid it aside, started for the parlor. "Good-evening, Mr. Nestor!" said Tom, rising to shake hands with the father of his young and pretty hostess. "Hello, Tom!" was the cordial greeting, in return. "What's going on up at your place?" went on Mr. Nestor, as he took a chair. "Oh, nothing very special," Tom answered. "We're turning out different kinds of machines as usual, and dad and I are experimenting, also as usual." "I suppose so. But what nearly broke the fence to-night?" Tom started, and looked quickly at his host. "Were you there?" he asked quickly. "Well, I happened to be passing--took a short cut home--and I heard some queer goings on at your place. I was speaking to Mary about them, and wondering--" "Father, perhaps Tom doesn't want to talk about his inventions," interrupted Mary. "You know some of them are secret--" "Oh, I wasn't exactly asking for information!" exclaimed Mr. Nestor quickly. "I just happened to hear the fence crash, and I was wondering if something was coming out at me. Didn't know but what that giant of yours was on a rampage, Tom," and he laughed. "No, it wasn't anything like that," and Tom's voice was more sober than the occasion seemed to warrant. "It was one of our new machines, and it didn't act just right. No great damage was done, though. How do you find business, Mr. Nestor, since the war spirit has grown stronger?" asked Tom, and it seemed to both Mary and her father that the young inventor deliberately changed the subject. "Well, it isn't all it might be," said the other. "It's hard to get good help. A lot of our boys enlisted, and some were taken in the draft. By the way, Tom, have they called on you yet?" "No. Not yet." "You didn't enlist?" "Ned Newton tried to," broke in Mary, "but the quota for this locality was filled, and they told him he'd better wait for the draft. He wouldn't do that and tried again. Then the bank people heard about it and had him exempted. They said he was too valuable to them, and he has been doing remarkably well in selling Liberty Bonds!" and Mary's eyes sparkled with her emotions. "Yes, Ned is a crackerjack salesman!" agreed Tom, no less enthusiastically. "He's sold more bonds, in proportion, for his bank, than any other in this county. Dad and I both took some, and have promised him more. I am glad now that we let him go, although we valued his services highly. We hope to have him back later." "He can put me down for more bonds too!" said Mr. Nestor. "I'm going to see Germany beaten if it takes every last dollar I have!" "That's what I say!" Cried Mary. "I took out all my savings, except a little I'm keeping to buy a wedding present for Jennie Morse. Did you know she was going to get married, Tom?" she asked. "I heard so." "Well, all but what I want for a wedding present to her has gone into Liberty Bonds. Isn't this a history-making time, Tom?" "Indeed it is, Mary!" "Everybody who has a part in it--whether he fights as a soldier or only knits like the Red Cross girls--will be telling about it for years after," went on the girl, and she looked at Tom eagerly. "Yes," he agreed. "These are queer times. We don't know exactly where we're at. A lot of our men have been called. We tried to have some of them exempted, and did manage it in a few cases." "You did?" cried Mr. Nestor, as if in surprise. "You stopped men from going to war!" "Only so they could work on airship motors for the Government," Tom quietly explained. "Oh! Well, of course, that's part of the game," agreed Mary's father. "A lot more of our boys are going off next week. Doesn't it make you thrill, Tom, when you see them marching off, even if they haven't their uniforms yet? Jove, if I wasn't too old, I'd go in a minute!" "Father!" cried Mary. "Yes, I would!" he declared. "The German government has got to be beaten, and we've got to do our bit; everybody has--man, woman and child!" "Yes," agreed Tom, in a low voice, "that's very true. But every one, in a sense, has to judge for himself what the 'bit' is. We can't all do the same." There was a little silence, and then Mary went over to the piano and played. It was a rather welcome relief, under the circumstances, from the conversation. "Mary, what do you think of Tom?" asked Mr. Nestor, when the visitor had gone. "What do I think of him?" And she blushed. "I mean about his not enlisting. Do you think he's a slacker?" "A slacker? Why, Father!" "Oh, I don't mean he's afraid. We've seen proof enough of his courage, and all that. But I mean don't you think he wants stirring up a bit?" "He is going to Washington to-morrow, Father. He told me so to-night. And it may be--" "Oh, well, then maybe it's all right," hastily said Mr. Nestor. "He may be going to get a commission in the engineer corps. It isn't like Tom Swift to hang back, and yet it does begin to look as though he cared more for his queer inventions--machines that butt down fences than for helping Uncle Sam. But I'll reserve judgment." "You'd better, Father!" and Mary laughed--a little. Yet there was a worried look on her face. During the next few nights Mr. Nestor made it a habit to take the short cut from the railroad station, coming past the big fence that enclosed one particular building of the Swift plant. "I wonder if there's a hole where I could look through," said Mr. Nestor to himself. "Of course I don't believe in spying on what another man is doing, and yet I'm too good a friend of Tom's to want to see him make a fool of himself. He ought to be in the army, or helping Uncle Sam in some way. And yet if he spends all his time on some foolish contraption, like a new kind of traction plow, what good is that? If I could get a glimpse of it, I might drop a friendly hint in his ear." But there were no cracks in the fence, or, if there were, it was too dark to see them, and also too dark to behold anything on the other side of the barrier. So Mr. Nestor, wondering much, kept on his way. It was a day or so after this that Ned Newton paid a visit to the Swift home. Mr. Swift was not in the house, being out in one of the various buildings, Mrs. Baggert said. "Where's Tom?" asked the bond salesman. "Oh, he hasn't come back from Washington yet," answered the housekeeper. "He is making a long stay." "Yes, he went about a week ago on some business. But we expect him back to-day." "Well, then I'll see him. I called to ask if Mr. Swift didn't want to take a few more bonds. We want to double our allotment for Shopton, and beat out some of the other towns in this section. I'll go to see Mr. Swift." On his way to find Tom's father Ned passed the big building in front of which Eradicate and Koku were on guard. They nodded to Ned, who passed them, wondering much as to what it was Tom was so secretive about. "It's the first time I remember when he worked on an invention without telling me something about it," mused Ned. "Well, I suppose it will all come out in good time. Anything new, Rad?" "No, Massa Ned, nuffin much. I'm detectin' around heah; keepin' Dutchmen spies away!" "And Koku is helping you, I suppose?" "Whut, him? Dat big, good-fo'-nuffin white trash? No, sah! I's detectin' by mahse'f, dat's whut I is!" and Eradicate strutted proudly up and down on his allotted part of the beat, being careful not to approach the building too closely, for that was Koku's ground. Ned smiled, and passed on. He found Mr. Swift, secured his subscription to more bonds, and was about to leave when he heard a call down the road and saw Tom coming in his small racing car, which had been taken to the depot by one of the workmen. "Hello, old man!" cried Ned affectionately, as his chum alighted with a jump. "Where have you been?" "Down to Washington. Had a bit of a chat with the President and gave him some of my views." "About the war, I suppose?" laughed Ned. "Yes." "Did you get your commission?" "Commission?" And there was a wondering look on Tom's face. "Yes. Mary Nestor said she thought maybe you were going to Washington to take an examination for the engineering corps or something like that. Did you get made an officer?" "No," answered Tom slowly. "I went to Washington to get exempted." "Exempted?" Cried Ned, and his voice sounded strained. Chapter VI Seeing Things For a moment Tom Swift looked at his chum. Then something of what was passing in the mind of the young bond salesman must have been reflected to Tom, for he said, "Look here, old man; I know it may seem a bit strange to go to all that trouble to get exempted from the draft, to which I am eligible, but, believe me, there's a reason. I can't say anything now, but I'll tell you as soon as I can--tell everybody, in fact. Just now it isn't in shape to talk about." "Oh, that's all right, Tom," and Ned tried to make his voice sound natural. "I was just wondering, that's all. I wanted to go to the front the worst way, but they wouldn't let me. I was sort of hoping you could, and come back to tell me about it." "I may yet, Ned." "You may? Why, I thought--" "Oh, I'm only exempted for a time. I've got certain things to do, and I couldn't do 'em if I enlisted or was drafted. So I've been excused for a time. Now I've got a pile of work to do. What are you up to Ned? Same old story?" "Liberty Bonds--yes. Your father just took some more." "And so will I, Ned. I can do that, anyhow, even if I don't enlist. Put me down for another two thousand dollars' worth." "Say, Tom, that's fine! That will make my share bigger than I counted on. Shopton will beat the record." "That's good. We ought to pull strong and hearty for our home town. How's everything else?" "Oh, so-so. I see Koku and Eradicate trying to outdo one another in guarding that part of your plant," and Ned nodded toward the big new building. "Yes, I had to let Rad play detective. Not that he can do anything--he's too old. But it keeps him and Koku from quarreling all the while. I've got to be pretty careful about that shop. It's got a secret in it that--Well, the less said about it the better." "You're getting my curiosity aroused, Tom," remarked Ned. "It'll have to go unsatisfied for a while. Wait a bit and I'll give you a ride. I've got to go over to Sackett on business, and if you're going that way I'll take you." "What in?" "The Hawk." "That's me!" cried Ned. "I haven't been in an aircraft for some time." "Tell Miles to run her out," requested Tom. "I've got to go in and say hello to dad a minute, and then I'll be with you." "Seems like something was in the wind, Tom--big doings?" hinted Ned. "Yes, maybe there is. It all depends on how she turns out." "You might be speaking of the Hawk or--Mary Nestor!" said Ned, with a sidelong look at his chum. "As it happens, it's neither one," said Tom, and then he hastened away, to return shortly and guide his fleet little airship, the Hawk, on her aerial journey. From then on, at least for some time, neither Tom nor Ned mentioned the matters they had been discussing--Tom's failure to enlist, his exemption, and what was being built in the closely guarded shop. Tom's business in Sackett did not take him long, and then he and Ned went for a little ride in the air. "It's like old times!" exclaimed Ned, his eyes shining, though Tom could not see them for two reasons. One was that Ned was sitting behind him, and the other was that Ned wore heavy goggles, as did the young pilot. Also, they had to carry on their talk through the speaking tube arrangement. "Yes, it is a bit like old times," agreed Tom. "We've had some great old experiences together, Ned, haven't we?" "We surely have! I wonder if we'll have any more? When we were in the submarine, and in your big airship. Say, that big one is the one I always liked! I like big things." "Do you?" asked Tom. "Well, maybe, when I get--" But Tom did not finish, for the Hawk unexpectedly poked her nose into an empty pocket in the air just then, and needed a firm hand on the controls. Furthermore, Tom decided against making the confidence that was on the tip of his tongue. At last the aircraft was straightened out and the pilot guided her on toward the army encampment. "That's the place I'd like to be," called Ned through the tube as the faint, sweet notes of a bugle floated up from the parade ground. "Yes, it would be great," admitted Tom. "But there are other things to do for Uncle Sam besides wearing khaki." "Tom's up to some game," mused Ned. "I mustn't judge him too hastily, or I might make a mistake. And Mary mustn't, either. I'll tell her so." For Mary Nestor had spoken to Ned concerning Tom, and the curiously secretive air about certain of his activities. And the girl, moreover, had spoken rather coldly of her friend. Ned did not like this. It was not like Mary and Tom to be at odds. Once more the Hawk came to the ground, this time near the airship sheds adjoining the Swift works. Just as Tom and Ned alighted, one of the workmen summoned the young inventor toward the shop, which was so closely guarded by Koku and Eradicate on the outside. "I'll have to leave you, Ned," remarked Tom, as he turned away from his chum. "There's a conference on about a new invention." "Oh, that's all right. Business is business, you know. I've got some bond calls to make myself. I'll see you later." "Oh, by the way, Ned!" exclaimed Tom, turning back for a moment, "I met an old friend the other day; or rather an old enemy." "Hum! When you spoke first, I thought you might mean Professor Swyington Bumper, that delightful scientist," remarked Ned. "But he surely was no enemy." "No; but I meant some one I met about the same time. I met Blakeson, one of the rival contractors when I helped dig the big tunnel." "Is that so? Where'd you meet him?" "Right around here. It was certainly a surprise, and at first I couldn't place him. Then the memory of his face came back to me," and Tom related the incident which had taken place the day he and Mr. Damon were out in the Hawk. "What's he doing around here?" asked Ned. "That's more than I can say," Tom answered. "Up to no good, I'll wager!" "I agree with you," came from Tom. "But I'm on the watch." "That's wise, Tom. Well, I'll see you later." During the week which followed this talk Ned was very busy on Liberty Bond work, and, he made no doubt, his chum was engaged also. This prevented them from meeting, but finally Ned, one evening, decided to walk over to the Swift home. "I'll pay Tom a bit of a call," he mused. "Maybe he'll feel more like talking now. Some of the boys are asking why he doesn't enlist, and maybe if I tell him that he'll make some explanation that will quiet things down a bit. It's a shame that Tom should be talked about." With this intention in view, Ned kept on toward his chum's house, and he was about to turn in through a small grove of trees, which would lead to a path across the fields, when the young bond salesman was surprised to hear some one running toward him. He could see no one, for the path wound in and out among the trees, but the noise was plain. "Some one in a hurry," mused Ned. A moment later he caught sight of a small lad named Harry Telford running toward him. The boy had his hat in his hand, and was speeding through the fast-gathering darkness as though some one were after him. "What's the rush?" asked Ned. "Playing cops and robbers?" That was a game Tom and Ned had enjoyed in their younger days. "I--I'm runnin' away!" panted Harry. "I--I seen something!" "You saw something?" repeated Ned. "What was it--a ghost?" and he laughed, thinking the boy would do the same. "No, it wasn't no ghost!" declared Harry, casting a look over his shoulder. "It was a wild elephant that I saw, and it's down in a big yard with a fence around it." "Where's that?" asked Ned. "The circus hasn't come to town this evening, has it?" "No," answered Harry, "it wasn't no circus. I saw this elephant down in the big yard back of one of Mr. Swift's factories." "Oh, down there, was it!" exclaimed Ned. "What was it like?" "Well, I was walking along the top of the hill," explained Harry, "and there's one place where, if you climb a tree, you can look right down in the big fenced-in yard. I guess I'm about the only one that knows about it." "I don't believe Tom does," mused Ned, "or he'd have had that tree cut down. He doesn't want any spying, I take it. Well, what'd you see?" he asked Harry aloud. "Saw an elephant, I tell you!", insisted the younger boy. "I was in the tree, looking down, for a lot of us kids has tried to peek through the fence and couldn't I wanted to see what was there." "And did you?" asked Ned. "I sure did! And it scared me, too," admitted Harry. "All at once, when I was lookin', I saw the big doors at the back of the shed open, and the elephant waddled out." "Are you sure you weren't 'seeing things,' like the little boy in the story?" asked Ned. "Well, I sure did see something!" insisted Harry. "It was a great big gray thing, bigger'n any elephant I ever saw in any circus. It didn't seem to have any tail or trunk, or even legs, but it went slow, just like an elephant does, and it shook the ground, it stepped so hard!" "Nonsense!" cried Ned. "Sure I saw it!" cried Harry. "Anyhow," he added, after a moment's thought, "it was as big as an elephant, though not like any I ever saw." "What did it do?" asked Ned. "Well, it moved around and then it started for the fence nearest me, where I was up in the tree. I thought it might have seen me, even though it was gettin' dark, and it might bust through; so I ran!" "Hum! Well, you surely were seeing things," murmured Ned, but, while he made light of what the boy told him, the young bank clerk was thinking: "What is Tom up to now?" Chapter VII Up a Tree "Want to come and have a look?" asked Harry, as Ned paused in the patch of woods, which were in deeper darkness than the rest of the countryside, for night was fast falling. "Have a look at what?" asked Ned, who was thinking many thoughts just then. "At the elephant I saw back of the Swift factory. I wouldn't be skeered if you came along." "Well, I'm going over to see Tom Swift, anyhow," answered Ned, "so I'll walk that way. You can come if you like. I don't care about spying on other people's property--" "I wasn't spyin'!" exclaimed Harry quickly. "I just happened to look. And then I seen something." "Well, come on," suggested Ned. "If there's anything there, we'll have a peep at it." His idea was not to try to see what Tom was evidently endeavoring to conceal, but it was to observe whence Harry had made his observation, and be in a position to tell Tom to guard against unexpected lookers-on from that direction. During the walk back along the course over which Harry had run so rapidly a little while before, Ned and the boy talked of what the latter had seen. "Do you think it could be some new kind of elephant?" asked Harry. "You know Tom Swift brought back a big giant from one of his trips, and maybe he's got a bigger elephant than any one ever saw before." "Nonsense!" laughed Ned. "In the first place, Tom hasn't been on any trip, of late, except to Washington, and the only kind of elephants there are white ones." "Really?" asked Harry. "No, that was a joke," explained Ned. "Anyhow, Tom hasn't any giant elephants concealed up his sleeve, I'm sure of that." "But what could this be?" asked Harry. "It moved just like some big animal." "Probably some piece of machinery Tom was having carted from one shop to another," went on the young bank clerk. "Most likely he had it covered with a big piece of canvas to keep off the dew, and it was that you saw." "No, it wasn't!" insisted Harry, but he could not give any further details of what he had seen so that Ned could recognize it. They kept on until they reached the hill, at the bottom of which was the Swift home and the grounds on which the various shops were erected. "Here's the place where you can look down right into the yard with the high fence around it," explained Harry, as he indicated the spot. "I can't see anything." "You have to climb up the tree," Harry went on. "Here, this is the one, and he indicated a stunted and gnarled pine, the green branches of which would effectually screen any one who once got in it a few feet above the ground. "Well, I may as well have a look," decided Ned. "It can't do Tom any harm, and it may be of some service to him. Here goes!" Up into the tree he scrambled, not without some difficulty, for the branches were close together and stiff, and Ned tore his coat in the effort. But he finally got a position where, to his surprise, he could look down into the very enclosure from which Tom was so particular to keep prying eyes. "You can see right down in it!" Ned exclaimed. "I told you so," returned Harry. "But do you see--it?" Ned looked long and carefully. It was lighter, now that they were out of the clump of woods, and he had the advantage of having the last glow of the sunset at his back. Even with that it was difficult to make out objects on the surface of the enclosed field some hundred or more feet below. "Do you see anything?" asked Harry again. "No, I can't say I do," Ned answered. "The place seems to be deserted." "Well, there was something there," insisted Harry. "Maybe you aren't lookin' at the right place." "Have a look yourself, then," suggested Ned, as he got down, a task no more to his liking than the climb upward had been. Harry made easier work of it, being smaller and more used to climbing trees, a luxury Ned had, perforce, denied himself since going to work in the bank. Harry peered about, and then, with a sigh that had in it somewhat of disappointment, said: "No; there's nothing there now. But I did see something." "Are you sure?" asked Ned. "Positive!" asserted the other. "Well, whatever it was--some bit of machinery he was moving, I fancy--Tom has taken it in now," remarked Ned. "Better not say anything about this, Harry. Tom mightn't like it known." "No, I won't." "And don't come here again to look. I know you like to see strange things, but if you'll wait I'll ask Tom, as soon as it's ready, to let you have a closer view of whatever it was you saw. Better keep away from this tree." "I will," promised the younger lad. "But I'd like to know what it was--if it really was a giant elephant Say! if a fellow had a troop of them he could have a lot of fun with 'em, couldn't he?" "How?" asked Ned, hardly conscious of what his companion was saying. "Why, he could dress 'em up in coats of mail, like the old knights used to wear, and turn 'em loose against the Germans. Think of a regiment of elephants, wearin' armor plates like a battleship, carryin' on their backs a lot of soldiers with machine guns and chargin' against Fritz! Cracky, that would be a sight!" "I should say so!" agreed Ned, with a laugh. "There's nothing the matter with your imagination, Harry, my boy!" "And maybe that's what Tom's doin'!" "What do you mean?" "I mean maybe he is trainin' elephants to fight in the war. You know he made an aerial warship, so why couldn't he have a lot of armor plated elephants?" "Oh, I suppose he could if he wanted to," admitted Ned. "But I guess he isn't doing that. Don't get to going too fast in high speed, Harry, or you may have nightmare. Well, I'm going down to see Tom." "And you won't tell him I was peekin'?" "Not if you don't do it again. I'll advise him to have that tree cut down, though. It's too good a vantage spot." Harry turned and went in the direction of his home, while Ned kept on down the hill toward the house of his chum. The young bond salesman was thinking of many things as he tramped, along, and among them was the information Harry had just given. But Ned did not pay a visit to his chum that evening. When he reached the house he found that Tom had gone out, leaving no word as to when he would be back. "Oh, well, I can tell him to-morrow," thought Ned. It was not, however, until two days later that Ned found the time to visit Tom again. On this occasion, as before, he took the road through the clump of woods where he had seen Harry running. "And while I'm about it," mused Ned, "I may as well go on to the place where the tree stands and make sure, by daylight, what I only partially surmised in the evening--that Tom's place can be looked down on from that vantage point." Sauntering slowly along, for he was in no special hurry, having the remainder of the day to himself, Ned approached the hill where the tree stood from which Harry had said he had seen what he took to be a giant elephant, perhaps in armor. "It's a good clear day," observed Ned, "and fine for seeing. I wonder if I'll be able to see anything." It was necessary first to ascend the hill to a point where it overhung, in a measure, the Swift property, though the holdings of Tom and his father were some distance beyond the eminence. The tree from which Ned and Harry had made their observations was on a knob of the hill, the stunted pine standing out from among others like it. "Well, here goes for another torn coat," grimly observed Ned, as he prepared to climb. "But I'll be more careful. First, though, let's see if I can see anything without getting up." He paused a little way from the pine, and peered down the hill. Nothing could be seen of the big enclosed field back of the building about which Tom was so careful. "You have to be up to see anything," mused Ned. "It's up a tree for me! Well, here goes!" As Ned started to work his way up among the thick, green branches, he became aware, suddenly and somewhat to his surprise, that he was not the only person who knew about the observation spot. For Ned saw, a yard above his head, as he started to climb, two feet, encased in well-made boots, standing on a limb near the trunk of the tree. "Oh, ho!" mused Ned. "Some one here before me! Where there are feet there must be legs, and where there are legs, most likely a body. And it isn't Harry, either! The feet are too big for that. I wonder--" But Ned's musings were suddenly cut short, for the person up the tree ahead of him moved quickly and stepped on Ned's fingers, with no light tread. "Ouch!" exclaimed the young bank clerk involuntarily, and, letting go his hold of the limb, he dropped to the ground, while there came a startled exclamation from the screen of pine branches above him. Chapter VIII Detective Rad "Who's there?" came the demand from the unseen person in the tree. "I might ask you the same thing," was Ned's sharp retort, as he nursed his skinned and bruised fingers. "What are you doing up there?" There was no answer, but a sound among the branches indicated that the person up the tree was coming down. In another moment a man leaped to the ground lightly and stood beside Ned. The lad observed that the stranger was clean shaven, except for a small moustache which curled up at the ends slightly. "For all the world like a small edition of the Kaiser's," Ned described it afterward. "What are you doing here?" demanded the man, and his voice had in it the ring of authority. It was this very quality that made Ned bristle up and "get on his ear," as he said later. The young clerk did not object to being spoken to authoritatively by those who had the right, but from a stranger it was different. "I might ask you the same thing," retorted Ned. "I have as much right here as you, I fancy, and I can climb trees, too, but I don't care to have my fingers stepped on," and he looked at the scarified members of his left hand. "I beg your pardon. I'm sorry if I hurt you. I didn't mean to. And of course this is a public place, in a way, and you have a right here. I was just climbing the tree to--er--to get a fishing pole!" Ned had all he could do to keep from laughing. The idea of getting a fishing pole from a gnarled and stunted pine struck him as being altogether novel and absurd. Yet it was not time to make fun of the man. The latter looked too serious for that. "Rather a good view to be had from up where you were, eh?" asked Ned suggestively. "A good view?" exclaimed the other. "I don't know what you mean!" "Oh, then you didn't see anything," Ned went on. "Perhaps it's just as well. Are you fond of fishing?" "Very. I have--But I forget, I do not know you nor you me. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Mr. Walter Simpson, and I am here on a visit I just happened to walk out this way, and, seeing a small stream, thought I should like to fish. I usually carry lines and hooks, and all I needed was the pole. I was looking for it when I heard you, and--" "I felt you!" interrupted Ned, with a short laugh. He told his own name, but that was all, and seemed about to pass on. "Are there any locomotive shops around here?" asked Mr. Simpson. "Locomotive shops?" queried Ned. "None that I know of. Why?" "Well, I heard heavy machinery being used down there;" and he waved his hand toward Tom's shops, "and I thought--" "Oh, you mean Shopton!" exclaimed Ned. "That's the Swift plant. No, they don't make locomotives, though they could if they wanted to, for they turn out airships, submarines, tunnel diggers, and I don't know what." "Do they make munitions there--for the Allies?" asked Mr. Simpson, and there was an eager look on his face. "No, I don't believe so," Ned answered; "though, in fact, I don't know enough of the place to be in a position to give you any information about it," he told the man, not deeming it wise to go into particulars. Perhaps the man felt this, as he did not press for an answer. The two stood looking at one another for some little time, and then the man, with a bow that had in it something of insolence, as well as politeness, turned and went down the path up which Ned had come. The young bank clerk waited a little while, and then turned his attention to the tree which seemed to have suddenly assumed an importance altogether out of proportion to its size. "Well, since I'm here I'll have a look up that tree," decided Ned. Favoring his bruised hand, Ned essayed the ascent of the tree more successfully this time. As he rose up among the branches he found he could look down directly into the yard with the high fence about it. He Could see only a portion, good as his vantage point was, and that portion had in it a few workmen--nothing else. "No elephants there," said Ned, with a smile, as he remembered Harry's excitement. "Still it's just as well for Tom to know that his place can be looked down on. I'll go and tell him." As Ned descended the tree he caught a glimpse, off to one side among some bushes, of something moving. "I wonder if that's my Simp friend, playing I spy?" mused Ned. "Guess I'd better have a look." He worked his way carefully close to the spot where he had seen the movement. Proceeding then with more caution, watching each step and parting the bushes with a careful hand, Ned beheld what he expected. There was the late occupant of the pine tree the man who had stepped on Ned's fingers, applying a small telescope to his eye and gazing in the direction of Tom Swift's home. The man stood concealed in a screen of bushes with his back toward Ned, and seemed oblivious to his surroundings. He moved the glass to and fro, and seemed eagerly intent on discovering something. "Though what he can see of Tom's place from there isn't much," mused Ned. "I've tried it myself, and I know; you have to be on an elevation to look down. Still it shows he's after something, all right. Guess I'll throw a little scare into him." As yet, Ned believed himself unobserved, and that his presence was not suspected was proved a moment later when he shouted: "Hey! What are you doing there?" He had his eye on the partially concealed man, and the latter, as Ned said afterward, jumped fully two feet in the air, dropping his telescope as he did so, and turning to face the lad. "Oh, it's you, is it?" he faltered. "No one else;" and Ned grinned. "Looking for a good place to fish, I presume?" Then, at least for once, the man's suave manner dropped from him as if it had been a mask. He bared his teeth in a snarl as he answered: "Mind your own business!" "Something I'd advise you also to do," replied Ned smoothly. "You can't see anything from there," he went on. "Better go back to the tree and--cut a fishing pole!" With this parting shot Ned sauntered down the hill, and swung around to make his way toward Tom's home. He paid no further attention to the man, save to determine, by listening, that the fellow was searching among the bushes for the dropped telescope. The young inventor was at home, taking a hasty lunch which Mrs. Baggert had set out for him, the while he poured over some blueprint drawings that, to Ned's unaccustomed eyes, looked like the mazes of some intricate puzzle. "Well, where have you been keeping yourself, old man?" asked Tom Swift, after he had greeted his friend. "I might ask the same of you," retorted Ned, with a smile. "I've been trying to find you to give you some important information, and I made up my mind, after what happened to-day, to write it and leave it for you if I didn't see you." "What happened to-day?" asked Tom, and there was a serious look on his face. "You are being spied upon--at least, that part of your works enclosed in the new fence is," replied Ned. "You don't mean it!" Cried Tom. "This accounts for some of it, then." "For some of what?" asked Ned. "For some of the actions of that Blakeson. He's been hanging around here, I understand, asking too many questions about things that I'm trying to keep secret--even from my best friends," and as Tom said this Ned fancied there was a note of regret in his voice. "Yes, you are keeping some things secret, Tom," said Ned, determined "to take the bull by the horns," as it were. "I'm sorry, but it has to be," went on Tom. "In a little while--" "Oh, don't think that I'm at all anxious to know things!" broke in Ned. "I was thinking of some one else, Tom--another of your friends." "Do you mean Mary?" Ned nodded. "She feels rather keenly your lack of explanations," went on the young bank clerk. "If you could only give her a hint--" "I'm sorry, but it can't be done," and Tom spoke firmly. "But you haven't told me all that happened. You say I am being spied upon." "Yes," and Ned related what had taken place in the tree. "Whew!" whistled Tom. "That's going some with a vengeance! I must have that tree down in a jiffy. I didn't imagine there was a spot where the yard could be overlooked. But I evidently skipped that tree. Fortunately it's on land owned by a concern with which I have some connection, and I can have it chopped down without any trouble. Much obliged to you, Ned. I shan't forget this in a hurry. I'll go right away and--" Tom's further remark was interrupted by the hurried entrance of Eradicate Sampson. The old man was smiling in pleased anticipation, evidently, at the same time, trying hard not to give way to too much emotion. "I's done it, Massa Tom!" he cried exultingly. "Done what?" asked the young inventor. "I hope you and Koku haven't had another row." "No, sah! I don't want nuffin t' do wif dat ornery, low-down white trash! But I's gone an' done whut I said I'd do!" "What's that, Rad? Come on, tell us! Don't keep us in suspense." "I's done some deteckertiff wuk, lest laik I said I'd do, an' I's cotched him! By golly, Massa Tom! I's cotched him black-handed, as it says!" "Caught him? Whom have you caught, Rad?" cried Tom. "Do you suppose he means he's caught the man you saw up the tree, Ned? The man you think is a German spy?" "It couldn't be. I left him only a little while ago hunting for his telescope." "Then whom have you caught, Rad?" cried Tom. "Come on, I'll give you credit for it. Tell us!" "I's cotched dat Dutch Sauerkrauter, dat's who I's cotched, Massa Tom! By golly, I's cotched him!" "But who, Rad? Who is he?" "I don't know his name, Massa Tom, but he's a Sauerkrauter, all right. Dat's whut he eats for lunch, an' dat's why I calls him dat. I's cotched him, an' he's locked up in de stable wif mah mule Boomerang. An' ef he tries t' git out Boomerang'll jest natchully kick him into little pieces--dat's whut Boomerang will do, by golly!" Chapter IX A Night Test "Come on, Ned," said Tom, after a moment or two of silent contemplation of Eradicate. "I don't know what this cheerful camouflager of mine is talking about, but we'll have to go to see, I suppose. You say you have shut some one up in Boomerang's stable, Rad?" "Yes, sah, Massa Tom, dat's whut I's gone an done." "And you say he's a German?" "I don't know as to dat, Massa Tom, but he suah done eat sauerkraut 'mostest ebery meal. Dat's whut I call him--a Sauerkrauter! An' he suah was spyin'." "How do you know that, Rad?" "'Cause he done went from his own shop on annuder man's ticket into de secret shop, dat's whut he went an' done!" "Do you mean to tell me, Rad," went on Tom, "that one of the workmen from another shop entered Number Thirteen on the pass issued in the name of one of the men regularly employed in my new shop?" "Dat's whut he done, Massa Tom." "How do you know?" "'Cause I detected him doin' it. Yo'-all done made me a deteckertiff, an' I detected." "Go on, Rad." "Well, sah, Massa Tom, I seen dish yeah Dutchman git a ticket-pass offen one ob de reg'lar men. Den he went in de unlucky place an' stayed fo' a long time. When he come out I jest natchully nabbed him, dat's whut I done, an' I took him to Boomerang's stable." "How'd you get him to go with you?" asked Ned, for the old colored man was feeble, and most of the men employed at Tom's plant were of a robust type. "I done fooled him. I said as how I'd jest brought from town in mah mule cart some new sauerkraut, an' he could sample it if he liked. So he went wif me, an' when I got him to de stable I pushed him in and locked de door!" "Come on!" cried Tom to his chum. "Rad may be right, after all, and one of my workmen may be a German spy, though I've tried to weed them all out. "However, no matter about that, if he was employed in another shop, he had no right to go into Number Thirteen. That's a violation of rules. But if he's in Rad's ramshackle stable he can easily get out." "No, sah, dat's whut he can't do!" insisted the colored man. "Why not?" asked Tom. "'Cause Boomerang's on guard, an' yo'-all knows how dat mule of mine can use his heels!" "I know, Rad," went on Tom; "but this fellow will find a way of keeping out of their way. We must hurry." "Oh, he's safe enough," declared the colored man. "I done tole Koku to stan' guard, too! Dat low-down white trash ob a giant is all right fo' guardin', but he ain't wuff shucks at detectin'!" said Eradicate, with pardonable pride. "By golly, maybe I's too old t' put on guard, but I kin detect, all right!" "If this proves true, I'll begin to believe you can," replied Tom. "Hop along, Ned!" Followed by the shuffling and chuckling negro, Tom and Ned went to the rather insecure stable where the mule Boomerang was kept. That is, the stable was insecure from the standpoint of a jail. But the sight of the giant Koku marching up and down in front of the place, armed with a big club, reassured Tom. "Is he in there, Koku?" asked the young inventor. "Yes, Master! He try once come out, but he approach his head very close my defense weapon and he go back again." "I should think he would," laughed Ned, as he noted the giant's club. "Well, Rad, let's have a look at your prisoner. Open the door, Koku," commanded Tom. "Better look out," advised Ned. "He may be armed." "We'll have to take a chance. Besides, I don't believe he is, or he'd have fired at Koku. There isn't much to fear with the giant ready for emergencies. Now we'll see who he is. I can't imagine one of my men turning traitor." The door was opened and a rather miserable-looking man shuffled out. There was a bloody rag on his head, and he seemed to have made more of an effort to escape than Koku described, for he appeared to have suffered in the ensuing fight. "Carl Schwen!" exclaimed Tom. "So it was you, was it?" The German, for such he was, did not answer for a moment. He appeared downcast, and as if suffering. Then a change came over him. He straightened up, saluted as a soldier might have done, and a sneering look came into his face. It was succeeded by one of pride as the man exclaimed: "Yes, it is I! And I tried to do what I tried to do for the Fatherland! I have failed. Now you will have me shot as a spy, I suppose!" he added bitterly. Tom did not answer directly. He looked keenly at the man, and at last said: "I am sorry to see this. I knew you were a German, Schwen, but I kept you employed at work that could not, by any possibility, be considered as used against your country. You are a good machinist, and I needed you. But if what I hear about you is true, it is the end." "It is the end," said the man simply. "I tried and failed. If it had not been for Eradicate--Well, he's smarter than I gave him credit for, that's all!" The man spoke very good English, with hardly a trace of German accent, but there was no doubt as to his character. "What will you do with him, Tom?" asked Ned. "I don't know. I'll have to do a little investigating first. But he must be locked up. Schwen," went on the young inventor, "I'm sorry about this, but I shall have to give you into the custody of a United States marshal. You are not a naturalized citizen, are you?" The man muttered something in German to the effect that he was not naturalized and was glad of it. "Then you come under the head of an enemy alien," decided Tom, who understood what was said, "and will have to be interned. I had hoped to avoid this, but it seems it cannot be. I am sorry to lose you, but there are more important matters. Now let's get at the bottom of this." Schwen was, after a little delay, taken in charge by the proper officer, and then a search was made of his room, for, in common with some of the other workmen, he lived in a boarding house not far from the plant. There, by a perusal of his papers, enough was revealed to show Tom the danger he had escaped. "And yet I don't know that I have altogether escaped it," he said to Ned, as they talked it over. "There's no telling how long this spy work may have been going on. If he has discovered all the secrets of Shop Thirteen it may be a bad thing for the Allies and--" "Look out!" warned Ned, with a laugh. "You'll be saying things you don't want to, Tom and not at all in keeping with your former silence." "That's so," agreed the young inventor, with a sigh. "But if things go right I'll not have to keep silent much longer. I may be able to tell you everything." "Don't tell me--tell Mary," advised his chum. "She feels your silence more than I do. I know how such things are." "Well, I'll be able to tell her, too," decided Tom. "That is, if Schwen hasn't spoiled everything. Look here, Ned, these papers show he's been in correspondence with Blakeson and Grinder." "What about, Tom?" "I can't tell. The letters are evidently written in code, and I can't translate it offhand. But I'll make another attempt at it. And here's one from a person who signs himself Walter Simpson, but the writing is in German." "Walter Simpson!" cried Ned. "That's my friend of the tree!" "It is?" cried Tom. "Then things begin to fit themselves together. Simpson is a spy, and he was probably trying to communicate with Schwen. But the latter didn't get the information he wanted, or, if he did get it, he wasn't able to pass it on to the man in the tree. Eradicate nipped him just in time." And, so it seemed, the colored man had done. By accident he had discovered that Schwen had prevailed on one of the workmen in Shop 13 to change passes with him. This enabled the German spy to gain admittance to the secret place, which Tom thought was so well guarded. The man who let Schwen take the pass was in the game, too, it appeared, and he was also placed under arrest. But he was a mere tool in the pay of the others, and had no chance to gain valuable information. A hasty search of Shop 13 did not reveal anything missing, and it was surmised (for Schwen would not talk) that he had not found time to go about and get all that he was after. Soon after Schwen's arrest the "Spy Tree," as Tom called it, was cut down. "Eradicate certainly did better than I ever expected he would," declared Tom. "Well, if all goes well, there won't be so much need for secrecy after a day or so. We're going to give her a test, and then--" "Give who a test?" asked Ned, with a smile. "You'll soon see," answered Tom, with an answering grin. "I hereby invite you and Mr. Damon to come over to Shop Thirteen day after to-morrow night and then--Well, you'll see what you'll see." With this Ned had to be content, and he waited anxiously for the appointed time to come. "I surely will be glad when Tom is more like himself," he mused, as he left his chum. "And I guess Mary will be, too. I wonder if he's going to ask her to the exhibition?" It developed that Tom had done so, a fact which Ned learned on the morning of the day set for the test. "Come over about nine o'clock," Tom said to his chum. "I guess it will be dark enough then." Meanwhile Schwen and Otto Kuhn, the other man involved, had been locked up, and all their papers given into the charge of the United States authorities. A closer guard than ever was kept over No. 13 shop, and some of the workmen, against whom there was a slight suspicion, were transferred. "Well, we'll see what we shall see," mused Ned on the appointed evening, when a telephone message from Mr. Damon informed the young bank clerk that the eccentric man was coming to call for him before going on to the Swift place. Chapter X A Runaway Giant "What do you think it's all about, Mr. Damon?" "I'm sure I don't know, Ned." The two were at the home of the young bank clerk, preparing to start for the Swift place, it being nearly nine o'clock on the evening named by the youthful inventor. "Bless my hat-rack!" went on the eccentric man, "but Tom isn't at all like himself of late. He's working on some invention, I know that, but it's all I do know. He hasn't given me a hint of it." "Nor me, nor any of his friends," added Ned. "And he acts so oddly about enlisting--doesn't want even to speak of it. How he got exempted I don't know, but I do know one thing, and that is Tom Swift is for Uncle Sam first, last and always!" "Oh, of course!" agreed Mr. Damon. "Well, we'll soon know, I guess. We'd better start, Ned." "It's useless to try to guess what it is Tom is up to. He has kept his secret well. The nearest any one has come to it was when Harry figured out that Tom had a band of giant elephants which he was fitting with coats of steel armor to go against the Germans," observed Ned, when he and Mr. Damon were on their way. "Well, that mightn't be so bad," agreed Mr. Damon. "But--um--elephants--and wild giant ones, too! Bless my circus ticket, Ned! do you think we'd better go in that case?" "Oh, Tom hasn't anything like that!" laughed Ned. "That was only Harry's crazy notion after he saw something big and ungainly careening about the enclosed yard of Shop Thirteen. Hello, there go Mary Nestor and her father!" and Ned pointed to the opposite side of the street where the girl and Mr. Nestor could be seen in the light of a street lamp. "They're going out to see Tom's secret," said Mr. Damon. "There's plenty of room in my car. Let's ask them to go with us." "Surely," agreed Ned, and a moment later he and Mary were in the rear seat while Mr. Damon and Mr. Nestor were in the front, Mr. Damon at the wheel, and they were soon speeding down the road. "I do hope everything will go all right," observed Mary. "What do you mean?" asked Ned. "I mean Tom is a little bit anxious about this test." "Did he tell you what it was to be?" "No; but when he called to invite father and me to be present he seemed worried. I guess it's a big thing, for he never has acted this way before--not talking about his work." "That's right," assented Ned. "But the secret will soon be disclosed, I fancy. But how is it you aren't going to the dance with Lieutenant Martin? He told me you had half accepted for to-night." "I had." And if it had been light enough Ned would have seen Mary blushing. "I was going with him. It's a dance for the benefit of the Red Cross to get money for comfort kits for the soldiers. But when Tom sent word that he'd like to have me present to-night, why--" "Oh, I see!" broke in Ned, with a little laugh. "'Nough said!" Mary's blushes were deeper, but the kindly night hid them. Then they conversed on matters connected with the big war--the selling of Liberty Bonds, the Red Cross work and the Surgical Dressings Committee, in which Mary was the head of a junior league. "Everybody in Shopton seems to be doing something to help win the war," said Mary, and as there was just then a lull in the talk between her father and Mr. Damon her words sounded clearly. "Yes, everybody--that is, all but a few," said Mr. Nestor, "and they ought to get busy. There are some young fellows in this town that ought to be wearing khaki, and I don't mean you, Ned Newton. You're doing your bit, all right." "And so is Tom Swift!" exclaimed Mr. Damon, as if there had been an implied accusation against the young inventor. "I heard, only to-day, that one of his inventions--a gas helmet that he planned--is in use on the Western front in Europe. Tom gave his patents to the government, and even made a lot of the helmets free to show other factories how to turn them out to advantage." "He did?" cried Mr. Nestor. "That's what he did. Talk about doing your bit--" "I didn't know that," observed Mary's father slowly. "Do you suppose it's a test of another gas helmet that Tom has asked us out to see to-night?" "I hardly think so," said Ned. "He wouldn't wait until after dark for that. This is something big, and Tom must intend to have it out in the open. He probably waited until after sunset so the neighbors wouldn't come out in flocks. There's been a lot of talk about what is going on in Shop Thirteen, especially since the arrest of the German spies, and the least hint that a test is under way would bring out a big crowd." "I suppose so," agreed Mr. Nestor. "Well, I'm glad to know that Tom is doing something for Uncle Sam, even if it's only helping with gas helmets. Those Germans are barbarians, if ever there were any, and we've got to fight them the same way they fight us! That's the only way to end the war! Now if I had my way, I'd take every German I could lay my hands on--" "Father, pretzels!" exclaimed Mary. "Eh? What's that, my dear?" "I said pretzels!" "Oh!" and Mr. Nestor's voice lost its sharpness. "That's my way of quieting father down when he gets too strenuous in his talk about the war," explained Mary. "We agreed that whenever he got excited I was to say 'pretzels' to him, and that would make him remember. We made up our little scheme after he got into an argument with a man on the train and was carried past his station." "That's right," admitted Mr. Nestor, with a laugh. "But that fellow was the most obstinate, pig-headed Dutchman that ever tackled a plate of pig's knuckles and sauerkraut, and if he had the least grain of common sense he'd--" "Pretzels!" cried Mary. "Eh? Oh, yes, my dear. I was forgetting again." There was a moment of merriment, and then, after the talk had run for a while in other and safer channels, Mr. Damon made the announcement: "I think we're about there. We'll be at Tom's place when we make the turn and--" He was interrupted by a low, heavy rumbling. "What's that?" asked Mr. Nestor. "It's getting louder--the noise," remarked Mary. "It sounds as if some big body were approaching down the road--the tramp of many feet. Can it be that troops are marching away?" "Bless my spark plug!" suddenly cried Mr. Damon. "Look!" They gazed ahead, and there, seen in the glare of the automobile headlights, was an immense, dark body approaching them from across a level field. The rumble and roar became more pronounced and the ground shook as though from an earthquake. A glaring light shone out from the ponderous moving body, and above the roar and rattle a voice called: "Out out of the way! We've lost control! Look out!" "Bless my steering wheel!" gasped Mr. Damon, "that was Tom Swift's voice! But what is he doing in that--thing?" "It must be his new invention!" exclaimed Ned. "What is it?" asked Mr. Nestor. "A giant," ventured Ned. "It's a giant machine of some sort and--" "And it's running away!" cried Mr. Damon, as he quickly steered his car to one side--and not a moment too soon! An instant later in a cloud of dust, and with a rumble and a roar as of a dozen express trains fused into one, the runaway giant--of what nature they could only guess--flashed and lumbered by, Tom Swift leaning from an opening in the thick steel side, and shouting something to his friends. Chapter XI Tom's Tank "What was it?" gasped Mary, and, to her surprise, she found herself close to Ned, clutching his arm. "I have an idea, but I'd rather let Tom tell you," he answered. "But where's it going?" asked Mr. Nestor. "What in the world does Tom Swift mean by inviting us out here to witness a test, and then nearly running us down under a Juggernaut?" "Oh, there must be some mistake, I'm sure," returned his daughter. "Tom didn't intend this." "But, bless my insurance policy, look at that thing go! What in the world is it?" cried Mr. Damon. The "thing" was certainly going. It had careened from the road, tilted itself down into a ditch and gone on across the fields, lights shooting from it in eccentric fashion. "Maybe we'd better take after it," suggested Mr. Nestor. "If Tom is--" "There, it's stopping!" cried Ned. "Come on!" He sprang from the automobile, helped Mary to get out, and then the two, followed by Mr. Damon and Mr. Nestor, made their way across the fields toward the big object where it had come to a stop, the rumbling and roaring ceasing. Before the little party reached the strange machine--the "runaway giant," as they dubbed it in their excitement--a bright light flashed from it, a light that illuminated their path right up to the monster. And in the glare of this light they saw Tom Swift stepping out through a steel door in the side of the affair. "Are you all right?" he called to his friends, as they approached. "All right, as nearly as we can be when we've been almost scared to death, Tom," said Mr. Nestor. "I'm surely sorry for what happened," Tom answered, with a relieved laugh. "Part of the steering gear broke and I had to guide it by operating the two motors alternately. It can be worked that way, but it takes a little practice to become expert." "I should say so!" cried Mr. Damon. "But what in the world does it all mean, Tom Swift? You invite us out to see something--" "And there she is!" interrupted the young inventor. "You saw her a little before I meant you to, and not under exactly the circumstances I had planned. But there she is!" And he turned as though introducing the metallic monster to his friends. "What is she, Tom?" asked Ned. "Name it!" "My latest invention, or rather the invention of my father and myself," answered Tom, and his voice showed the love and reverence he felt for his parent. "Perhaps I should say adaptation instead of invention," Tom went on, "since that is what it is. But, at any rate, it's my latest--dad's and mine--and it's the newest, biggest, most improved and powerful fighting tank that's been turned out of any shop, as far as I can learn. "Ladies--I mean lady and gentlemen--allow me to present to you War Tank A, and may she rumble till the pride of the Boche is brought low and humble!" cried Tom. "Hurray! That's what I say!" cheered Ned. "That's what I have been at work on lately. I'll give you a little history of it, and then you may come inside and have a ride home." "In that?" cried Mr. Damon. "Yes. I can't promise to move as speedily as your car, but I can make better time than the British tanks. They go about six miles an hour, I understand, and I've got mine geared to ten. That's one improvement dad and I have made." "Ride in that!" cried Mr. Nestor. "Tom, I like you, and I'm glad to see I've been mistaken about you. You have been doing your bit, after all; but--" "Oh, I've only begun!" laughed Tom Swift. "Well, no matter about that. However much I like you," went on Mr. Nestor, "I'd as soon ride on the wings of a thunderbolt as in Tank A, Tom Swift." "Oh, it isn't as bad as that!" laughed the young scientist. "But neither is it a limousine. However, come inside, anyhow, and I'll tell you something about it. Then I guess we can guide it back. The men are repairing the break." The visitors entered the great craft through the door by which Tom had emerged. At first all they saw was a small compartment, with walls of heavy steel, some shelves of the same and a seat which folded up against the wall made of like powerful material. "This is supposed to be the captain's room, where he stays when he directs matters." Tom explained. "The machinery is below and beyond here." "How'd you come to evolve this?" asked Ned. "I haven't seen half enough of the outside, to say nothing of the inside." "You'll have time enough," Tom said. "This is my first completed tank. There are some improvements to be made before we send it to the other side to be copied. "Then they'll make them in England as well as here, and from here we'll ship them in sections." "I don't see how you ever thought of it!" exclaimed the girl, in wonder. "Well, I didn't all at once," Tom answered, with a laugh. "It came by degrees. I first got the idea when I heard of the British tanks. "When I had read how they went into action and what they accomplished against the barbed wire entanglements, and how they crossed the trenches, I concluded that a bigger tank, one capable of more speed, say ten or twelve miles an hour, and one that could cross bigger excavations--the English tanks up to this time can cross a ditch of twelve feet--I thought that, with one made on such specifications, more effective work could be done against the Germans." "And will yours do that?" asked Ned. "I mean will it do ten miles an hour, and straddle over a wider ditch than twelve feet?" "It'll do both," promptly answered Tom. "We did a little better than eleven miles an hour a while ago when I yelled to you to get out of the way just now. It's true we weren't under good control, but the speed had nothing to do with that. And as for going over a big ditch, I think we straddled one about fourteen feet across back there, and we can do better when I get my grippers to working." "Grippers!" exclaimed Mary. "What kind of trench slang is that, Tom Swift?" asked Mr. Damon. "Well, that's a new idea I'm going to try out It's something like this," and while from a distant part of the interior of Tank A came the sound of hammering, the young inventor rapidly drew a rough pencil sketch. It showed the tank in outline, much as appear the pictures of tanks already in service--the former simile of two wedge-shaped pieces of metal put together broad end to broad end, still holding good. From one end of the tank, as Tom drew it, there extended two long arms of latticed steel construction. "The idea is," said Tom, "to lay these down in front of the tank, by means of cams and levers operated from inside. If we get to a ditch which we can't climb down into and out again, or bridge with the belt caterpillar wheels, we'll use the grippers. They'll be laid down, taking a grip on the far side of the trench, and we'll slide across on them." "And leave them there?" asked Mr. Damon. "No, we won't leave them. We'll pick them up after we have passed over them and use them in front again as we need them. A couple of extra pairs of grippers may be carried for emergencies, but I plan to use the same ones over and over again." "But what makes it go?" asked Mary. "I don't want all the details, Tom," she said, with a smile, "but I'd like to know what makes your tank move." "I'll be able to show you in a little while," he answered. "But it may be enough now if I tell you that the main power consists of two big gasolene engines, one on either side. They can be geared to operate together or separately. And these engines turn the endless belts made of broad, steel plates, on which the tank travels. The belts pass along the outer edges of the tank longitudinally, and go around cogged wheels at either end of the blunt noses. "When both belts travel at the same rate of speed the tank goes in a straight line, though it can be steered from side to side by means of a trailer wheel in the rear. Making one belt--one set of caterpillar wheels, you know--go faster than the other will make the tank travel to one side or the other, the turn being in the direction of the slowest moving belt. In this way we can steer when the trailer wheels are broken." "And what does your tank do except travel along, not minding a hail of bullets?" asked Mr. Nestor. "Well," answered Tom, "it can do anything any other tank can do, and then some more. It can demolish a good-sized house or heavy wall, break down big trees, and chew up barbed-wire fences as if they were toothpicks. I'll show you all that in due time. Just now, if the repairs are finished, we can get back on the road--" At that moment a door leading into the compartment where Tom and his friends were talking opened, and one of the workmen said: "A man outside asking to see you, Mr. Swift." "Pardon me, but I won't keep you a moment," interrupted a suave voice. "I happened to observe your tank, and I took the liberty of entering to see--" "Simpson!" cried Ned Newton, as he recognized the man who had been up the tree. "It's that spy, Simpson, Tom!" Chapter XII Bridging a Gap Such surprise showed both on the face of Ned Newton and that of the man who called himself Walter Simpson that it would be hard to say which was in the greater degree. For a moment the newcomer stood as if he had received all electric shock, and was incapable of motion. Then, as the echoes of Ned's voice died away and the young bank clerk, being the first to recover from the shock, made a motion toward the unwelcome and uninvited intruder, Simpson exclaimed. "I will not bother now. Some other time will do as well." Then, with a haste that could be called nothing less than precipitate, he made a turn and fairly shot out of the door by which he had entered the tank. "There he goes!" cried Mr. Damon. "Bless my speedometer, but there he goes!" "I'll stop him!" cried Ned. "We've got to find out more about him! I'll get him, Tom!" Tom Swift was not one to let a friend rush alone into what might be danger. He realized immediately what his chum meant when he called out the identity of the intruder, and, wishing to clear up some of the mystery of which he became aware when Schwen was arrested and the paper showing a correspondence with this Simpson were found, Tom darted out to try to assist in the capture. "He went this way!" cried Ned, who was visible in the glare of the searchlight that still played its powerful beams over the stern of the tank, if such an ungainly machine can be said to have a bow and stern. "Over this way!" "I'm with you!" cried Tom. "See if you can pick up that man who just ran out of here!" he cried to the operator of the searchlight in the elevated observation section of what corresponded to the conning tower of a submarine. This was a sort of lookout box on top of the tank, containing, among other machines, the searchlight. "Pick him up!" cried Tom. The operator flashed the intense white beam, like a finger of light, around in eccentric circles, but though this brought into vivid relief the configuration of the field and road near which the tank was stalled, it showed no running fugitive. Tom and Ned were observed--shadows of black in the glare--by Mary and her friends in the tank, but there was no one else. "Come on!" cried Ned. "We can find him, Tom!" But this was easier said than done. Even though they were aided by the bright light, they caught no glimpse of the man who called himself Simpson. "Guess he got away," said Tom, when he and Ned had circled about and investigated many clumps of bushes, trees, stumps and other barriers that might conceal the fugitive. "I guess so," agreed Ned. "Unless he's hiding in what we might call a shell crater." "Hardly that," and Tom smiled. "Though if all goes well the men who operate this tank later may be searching for men in real shell holes." "Is this one going to the other side?" asked Ned, as the two walked back toward the tank. "I hope it will be the first of my new machines on the Western front," Tom answered. "But I've still got to perfect it in some details and then take it apart. After that, if it comes up to expectations, we'll begin making them in quantities." "Did you get him?" asked Mr. Damon eagerly, as the two young men came back to join Mary and her friends. "No, he got away," Tom answered. "Did he try to blow up the tank?" asked Mr. Nestor, who had an abnormal fear of explosives. "Was he a German spy?" "I think he's that, all right," said Ned grimly. "As to his endeavoring to blow up Tom's tank, I believe him capable of it, though he didn't try it to-night--unless he's planted a time bomb somewhere about, Tom." "Hardly, I guess," answered the young inventor. "He didn't have a chance to do that. Anyhow we won't remain here long. Now, Ned, what about this chap? Is he really the one you saw up in the tree?" "I not only saw him but I felt him," answered Ned, with a rueful look at his fingers. "He stepped right on me. And when he came inside the tank to-night I knew him at once. I guess he was as surprised to see me as I was to see him." "But what was his object?" asked Mr. Nestor. "He must have some connection with my old enemy, Blakeson," answered Tom, "and we know he's mixed up with Schwen. From the looks of him I should say that this Simpson, as he calls himself, is the directing head of the whole business. He looks to be the moneyed man, and the brains of the plotters. Blakeson is smart, in a mechanical way, and Schwen is one of the best machinists I've ever employed. But this Simpson strikes me as being the slick one of the trio." "But what made him come here, and what did he want?" asked Mary. "Dear me! it's like one of those moving picture plots, only I never saw one with a tank in it before--I mean a tank like yours, Tom." "Yes, it is a bit like moving picture--especially chasing Simpson by searchlight," agreed the young inventor. "As to what he wanted, I suppose he came to spy out some of my secret inventions--dad's and mine. He's probably been hiding and sneaking around the works ever since we arrested Schwen. Some of my men have reported seeing strangers about, but I have kept Shop Thirteen well guarded. "However, this fellow may have been waiting outside, and he may have followed the tank when we started off a little while ago for the night test. Then, when he saw our mishap and noticed that we were stalled, he came in, boldly enough, thinking, I suppose, that, as I had never seen him, he would take a chance on getting as much information as he could in a hurry." "But he didn't count on Ned's being here!" chuckled Mr. Damon. "No; that's where he slipped a cog," remarked Mr. Nestor. "Well, Tom, I like your tank, what I've seen of her, but it's getting late and I think Mary and I had better be getting back home." "We'll be ready to start in a little while," Tom said, after a brief consultation with one of his men. "Still, perhaps it would be just as well if you didn't ride back with me. She may go all right, and then, again, she may not. And as it's dark, and we're in a rough part of the field, you might be a bit shaken up. Not that the tank minds it!" the young inventor hastened to add "She's got to do her bit over worse places than this--much worse--but I want to get her in a little better working shape first. So if you don't mind, Mary, I'll postpone your initial trip." "Oh, I don't mind, Tom! I'm so glad you've made this! I want to see the war ended, and I think machines like this will help." "I'll ride back with you, Tom, if you don't mind," put in Ned. "I guess a little shaking up won't hurt me." "All right--stick. We're going to start very soon." "Well, I'm coming over to-morrow to have a look at it by daylight," said Mr. Damon, as he started toward his car. "So am I," added Mary. "Please call for me, Mr. Damon." "I will," he promised. Mr. Nestor, his daughter, and Mr. Damon went back to the automobile, while Ned remained with Tom. In a little while those in the car heard once more the rumbling and roaring sound and felt the earth tremble. Then, with a flashing of lights, the big, ungainly shape of the tank lifted herself out of the little ditch in which she had come to a halt, and began to climb back to the road. Ned Newton stood beside Tom in the control tower of the great tank as she started on her homeward way. "Isn't it wonderful!" murmured Mary, as she saw Tank A lumbering along toward the road. "Oh, and to think that human beings made that. To think that Tom should know how to build such a wonderful machine!" "And run it, too, Mary! That's the point! Make it run!" cried her father. "I tell you, that Tom Swift is a wonder!" "Bless my dictionary, he sure is!" agreed Mr. Damon. Along the road, back toward the shop whence it had emerged, rumbled the tank. The noise brought to their doors inhabitants along the country thoroughfare, and some of them were frightened when they saw Tom Swift's latest war machine, the details of which they could only guess at in the darkness. "She'll butt over a house if it gets in her path, knock down trees, chew up barbed-wire, and climb down into ravines and out again, and go over a good-sized stream without a whimper," said Tom, as he steered the great machine. There was little chance then for Ned to see much of the inside mechanism of the tank. He observed that Tom, standing in the forward tower, steered it very easily by a small wheel or by a lever, alternately, and that he communicated with the engine room by means of electric signals. "And she steers by electricity, too," Tom told his friend. "That was one difficulty with the first tanks. They had to be steered by brute force, so to speak, and it was a terrific strain on the man in the tower. Now I can guide this in two ways: by the electric mechanism which swings the trailer wheels to either side, or by varying the speed of the two motors that work the caterpillar belts. So if one breaks down, I have the other." "Got any guns aboard her--I mean machine guns?" asked Ned. "Not yet. But I'm going to install some. I wanted to get the tank in proper working order first. The guns are only incidental, though of course they're vitally necessary when she goes into action. I've got 'em all ready to put in. But first I'm going to try the grippers." "Oh, you mean the gap-bridgers?" asked Ned. "That's it," answered Tom. "Look out, we're going over a rough spot now." And they did. Ned was greatly shaken up, and fairly tossed from side to side of the steering tower. For the tank contained no springs, except such as were installed around the most delicate machinery, and it was like riding in a dump cart over a very rough road. "However, that's part of the game," Tom observed. Tank A reached her "harbor" safely--in other words, the machine shop enclosed by the high fence, inside of which she had been built. Tom and Ned made some inquiries of Koku and Eradicate as to whether or not there had been any unusual sights or sounds about the place. They feared Simpson might have come to the shop to try to get possession of important drawings or data. But all had been quiet, Koku reported. Nor had Eradicate seen or heard anything out of the ordinary. "Then I guess we'll lock up and turn in," decided Tom. "Come over to-morrow, Ned." "I will," promised the young bank clerk. "I want to see more of what makes the wheels go round." And he laughed at his own ingenuousness. The next day Tom showed his friends as much as they cared to see about the workings of the tank. They inspected the powerful gasolene engines, saw how they worked the endless belts made of plates of jointed steel, which, running over sprocket wheels, really gave the tank its power by providing great tractive force. Any self-propelled vehicle depends for its power, either to move itself or to push or to pull, on its tractive force--that is, the grip it can get on the ground. In the case of a bicycle little tractive power is needed, and this is provided by the rubber tires, which grip the ground. A locomotive depends for its tractive power on its weight pressing on its driving wheels, and the more driving wheels there are and the heavier the locomotive, the more it can pull, though in that case speed is lost. This is why freight locomotives are so heavy and have so many large driving wheels. They pull the engine along, and the cars also, by their weight pressing on the rails. The endless steel belts of a tank are, the same as the wheels of a locomotive. And the belts, being very broad, which gives them a large surface with which to press on the ground, and the tank being very heavy, great power to advance is thus obtained, though at the sacrifice of speed. However, Tom Swift had made his tank so that it would do about ten miles and more an hour, nearly double the progress obtained up to that time by the British machines. His visitors saw the great motors, they inspected the compact but not very attractive living quarters of the crew, for provision had to be made for the men to stay in the tank if, perchance, it became stalled in No Man's Land, surrounded by the enemy. The tank was powerfully armored and would be armed. There were a number of machine guns to be installed, quick-firers of various types, and in addition the tank could carry a number of riflemen. It was upon the crushing power of the tank, though, that most reliance was placed. Thus it could lead the way for an infantry advance through the enemy's lines, making nothing of barbed wire that would take an artillery fire of several days to cut to pieces. "And now, Ned," said Tom, about a week after the night test of the tank, "I'm going to try what she'll do in bridging a gap." "Have you got her in shape again?" "Yes, everything is all right. I've taken out the weak part in the steering gear that nearly caused us to run you down, and we're safe in that respect now. And I've got the grippers made. It only remains to see whether they're strong enough to bear the weight of my little baby," and Tom affectionately patted the steel sides of Tank A. While his men were getting the machine ready for a test out on the road, and for a journey across a small stream not far away, Tom told his chum about conceiving the idea for the tank and carrying it out secretly with the aid of his father and certain workmen. "That's the reason the government exempted me from enlisting," Tom said. "They wanted me to finish this tank. I didn't exactly want to, but I considered it my 'bit.' After this I'm going into the army, Ned." "Glad to hear it, old man. Maybe by that time I'll have this Liberty Bond work finished, and I'll go with you. We'll have great times together! Have you heard anything more of Simpson, Blakeson and Scoundrels?" And Ned laughed as he named this "firm." "No," answered Tom. "I guess we scared off that slick German spy." Once more the tank lumbered out along the road. It was a mighty engine of war, and inside her rode Tom and Ned. Mary and her father had been invited, but the girl could not quite get her courage to the point of accepting, nor did Mr. Nestor care to go. Mr. Damon, however, as might be guessed, was there. "Bless my monkey wrench, Tom!" cried the eccentric man, as he noted their advance over some rough ground, "are you really going to make this machine cross Tinkle Creek on a bridge of steel you carry with you?" "I'm going to try, Mr. Damon." A little later, after a successful test up and down a small gully, Tank A arrived at the edge of Tinkle Creek, a small stream about twenty feet wide, not far from Tom's home. At the point selected for the test the banks were high and steep. "If she bridges that gap she'll do anything," murmured Ned, as the tank came to a stop on the edge. Chapter XIII Into a Trench Tom cast a hasty glance over the mechanism of the machine before he started to cross the stream by the additional aid of the grippers, or spanners, as he sometimes called this latest device. Along each side, in a row of sockets, were two long girders of steel, latticed like the main supports of a bridge. They were of peculiar triangular construction, designed to support heavy weights, and each end was broadly flanged to prevent its sinking too deeply into the earth on either side of a gully or a stream. The grippers also had a sort of clawlike arrangement on either end, working on the principle of an "orange-peel" shovel, and these claws were designed to grip the earth to prevent slipping. The spanners would be pulled out from their sockets on the side of the tank by means of steel cables, which were operated from within. They would be run out across the gap and fastened in place. The tank was designed to travel along them to the other side of the gap, and, once there, to pick up the girders, slip them back into place on the sides, and the engine of war would travel on. "You are mightily excited, Tom. "I admit it, Ned. You see, I have not tried the grippers out except on a small model. They worked there, but whether they will work in practice remains to be seen. Of course, at this stage, I'm willing to stake my all on the results, but there is always a half-question until the final try-out under practical conditions." "Well, we'll soon see," said one of the workmen. "Are you ready, Mr. Swift?" "All ready," answered Tom. Tank A, as she was officially known, had come to a stop, as has been said, on the very edge of Tinkle Creek. The banks were fairly solid here, and descended precipitously to the water ten feet below. The shores were about twenty feet apart. "Suppose the spanners break when you're halfway over, Tom?" asked his chum. "I don't like to suppose anything of the sort. But if they do, we're going down!" "Can you get up again?" "That remains to be seen," was the non-committal reply. "Well, here goes, anyhow!" Going up into the observation tower, which was only slightly raised above the roof of the highest part of the tank, Tom gave the signal for the motors to start. There was a trembling throughout the whole of the vast structure. Tom threw back a lever and Ned, peering from a side observation slot, beheld a strange sight. Like the main arm of some great steam shovel, two long, latticed girders of steel shot out from the sides of the tank. They gave a half turn, as they were pulled forward by the steel ropes, so that they lay with their broader surfaces uppermost. Straight across the stream they were pulled, their clawlike ends coming to a rest on the opposite bank. Then they were tightened into place by a backward pull on the operating cables, and Tom, with a sigh of relief, announced: "Well, so far so good!" "Do we go over now?" inquired Ned. "Over the top--yes, I hope," answered Tom, with a laugh. "How about you down there?" he called to the engine room through a telephone which could only be used when the machinery was not in action, there being too much noise to permit the use of any but visual signals after that. "All right," came back the answer. "We're ready when you are." "Then here we go!" said Tom. "Hold fast, Ned! Of course there's no real telling what will happen, though I believe we'll come out of it alive." "Cheerful prospect," murmured Ned. The grippers were now in place. It only remained for the tank to propel herself over them, pick them up on the other side of Tinkle Creek, and proceed on her course. Tom Swift hesitated a moment, one hand on the starting lever and the other on the steering wheel. Then, with a glance at Ned, half whimsical and half resolute, Tom started Tank A on what might prove to be her last journey. Slowly the ponderous caterpillar belts moved around on the sprocket wheels. They ground with a clash of steel on the surface of the spanners. So long was the tank that the forward end, or the "nose," was halfway across the stream before the bottom part of the endless belts gripped the latticed bridge. "If we fall, we'll span the creek, not fall into it," murmured Ned, as he looked from the observation slot. "That's what I counted on," Tom said. "We'll get out, even if we do fall." But Tank A was not destined to fall. In another moment her entire weight rested on the novel and transportable bridge Tom Swift had evolved. Then, as the gripping ends of the girders sank farther into the soil, the tank went on her way. Slowly, at half speed, she crawled over the steel beams, making progress over the creek and as safely above the water as though on a regularly constructed bridge. On and on she went. Now her entire weight was over the middle of the temporary structures. If they were going to give way at all, it would be at this point. But they did not give. The latticed and triangular steel, than which there is no stronger form of construction, held up the immense weight of Tank A, and on this novel bridge she propelled herself across Tinkle Creek. "Well, the worst is over," remarked Ned, as he saw the nose of the tank project beyond the farthermost bank. "Yes, even if they collapse now nothing much can happen," Tom answered. "It won't be any worse than wallowing down into a trench and out again. But I think the spanners will hold." And hold they did! They held, giving way not a fraction of an inch, until the tank was safely across, and then, after a little delay, due to a jamming of one of the recovery cables, the spanners were picked up, slid into the receiving sockets, and the great war engine was ready to proceed again. "Hurrah!" cried Ned. "She did it, Tom, old man!" and he clapped his chum resoundingly on the back. "She certainly did!" was the answer. "But you needn't knock me apart telling me that. Go easy!" "Bless my apple pie!" cried Mr. Damon, who was as much pleased as either of the boys, "this is what I call great!" "Yes, she did all that I could have hoped for," said Tom. "Now for the next test." "Bless my collar button! is there another?" "Just down into a trench and out again." Tom said. "This is comparatively simple. It's only what she'll have to do every day in Flanders." The tank waddled on. A duck's sidewise walk is about the only kind of motion that can be compared to it. The going was easier now, for it was across a big field, and Tom told his friends that at the other end was a deep, steep and rocky ravine in which he had decided to give the tank another test. "We'll imagine that ravine is a trench," he said, "and that we've got to get on the other side of it. Of course, we won't be under fire, as the tanks will be at the front, but aside from that the test will be just as severe." A little later Tank A brought her occupants to the edge of the "trench." "Now, little girl," cried Tom exultingly, patting the rough steel side of his tank, "show them what you can do!" "Bless my plum pudding!" cried Mr. Damon, "are you really going down there, Tom Swift?" "I am," answered the young inventor. "It won't be dangerous. We'll crawl down and crawl out. Hold fast!" He steered the machine straight for the edge of the ravine, and as the nose slipped over and the broad steel belts bit into the earth the tank tilted downward at a sickening angle. She appeared to be making the descent safely, when there was a sudden change. The earth seemed to slip out from under the broad caterpillar belts, and then the tank moved more rapidly. "Tom, we're turning over!" shouted Ned. "We're capsizing!" Chapter XIV The Ruined Factory Only too true were the words Ned Newton shouted to his chum. Tank A was really capsizing. She had advanced to the edge of the gully and started down it, moving slowly on the caterpillar bands of steel. Then had come a sudden lurch, caused, as they learned afterward, by the slipping off of a great quantity of shale from an underlying shelf of rock. This made unstable footing for the tank. One side sank lower than the other, and before Tom could neutralize this by speeding up one motor and slowing down the other the tank slowly turned over on its side. "But she isn't going to stop here!" cried Ned, as he found himself thrown about like a pill in a box. "We're going all the way over!" "Let her go over!" cried Tom, not that he could stop the tank now. "It won't hurt her. She's built for just this sort of thing!" And over Tank A did go. Over and over she rolled, sidewise, tumbling and sliding down the shale sides of the great gully. "Hold fast! Grab the rings!" cried Tom to his two companions in the tower with him. "That's what they're for!" Ned and Mr. Damon understood. In fact, the latter had already done as Tom suggested. The young inventor had read that the British tanks frequently turned turtle, and he had this in mind when he made provision in his own for the safety of passengers and crew. As soon as he felt the tank careening, Tom had pressed the signal ordering the motors stopped, and now only the force of gravity was operating. But that was sufficient to carry the big machine to the bottom of the gulch, whither she slid with a great cloud of sand, shale and dust. "Bless my--bless my--" Mr. Damon was murmuring, but he was so flopped about, tossed from one side to the other, and it took so much of his attention and strength to hold on to the safety ring, that he could not properly give vent; to one of his favorite expressions. But there comes an end to all things, even to the descent of a tank, and Tom's big machine soon stopped rolling, sliding, and turning improvised somersaults, and rested in a pile of soft shale at the bottom of the gully. And the tank was resting on her back! "We've turned turtle!" cried Ned, as he noted that he was standing on what, before, had been the ceiling of the observation tower. But as everything was of steel, and as there was no movable furniture, no great harm was done. In fact, one could as well walk on the ceiling of the tank as on the floor. "But how are you going to get her right side up?" asked Mr. Damon. "Oh, turning upside down is only one of the stunts of the game. I can right her," was the answer. "How?" asked Ned. "Well, she'll right herself if there's ground enough for the steel belts to get a grip on. "But can the motors work upside down?" "They surely can!" responded Tom. "I made 'em that way on purpose. The gasolene feeds by air pressure, and that works standing on its head, as well as any other way. It's going to be a bit awkward for the men to operate the controls, but we won't be this way long. Before I start to right her, though, I want to make sure nothing is broken." Tom signaled to the engine room, and, as the power was off and the speaking tube could be used, he called through it: "How are you down there?" "Right-o!" came back the answer from a little Englishman Tom had hired because he knew something about the British tanks. "'Twas a bit of nastiness for a while, but it won't take us long to get up ag'in." "That's good!" commented Tom. "I'll come down and have a look at you." It was no easy matter, with the tank capsized, to get to the main engine room, but Tom Swift managed it. To his delight, aside from a small break in one of the minor machines, which would not interfere with the operation or motive force of the monster war engine, everything was in good shape. There was no leak from the gasolene tanks, which was one of the contingencies Tom feared, and, as he had said, the motors would work upside down as well as right side up, a fact he had proved more than once in his Hawk. "Well, we'll make a start," he told his chief engineer. "Stand by when I give the signal, and we'll try to crawl out of this right side up." "How are you going to do it?" asked Ned, as his chum crawled back into the observation tower. "Well, I'm going to run her part way up the very steepest part of the ravine I can find--the side of a house would do as well if it could stand the strain. I'm going to stand the tank right up on her nose, so to speak, and tip her over so she'll come right again." Slowly the tank started off, while Tom and his friends in the observation tower anxiously awaited the result of the novel progress. Ned and Mr. Damon clung to the safety rings. Tom put his arm through one and hung on grimly, while he used both hands on the steering apparatus and the controls. Of course the trailer wheels were useless in a case of this kind, and the tank had to be guided by the two belts run at varying speeds. "Here we go!" cried Tom, and the tank started. It was a queer sensation to be moving upside down, but it did not last very long. Tom steered the tank straight at the opposite wall of the ravine, where it rose steeply. One of the broad belts ran up on that side. The other was revolved in the opposite direction. Up and up, at a sickening angle, went Tank A. Slowly the tank careened, turning completely over on her longer axis, until, as Tom shut off the power, he and his friends once more found themselves standing where they belonged--on the floor of the observation tower. "Right side up with care!" quoted Ned, with a laugh. "Well, that was some stunt--believe me!" "Bless my corn plaster, I should say so!" cried Mr. Damon. "Well, I'm glad it happened," commented Tom. "It showed what she can do when she's put to it. Now we'll get out of this ditch." Slowly the tank lumbered along, proper side up now, the men in the motor room reporting that everything was all right, and that with the exception of a slight unimportant break, no damage had been done. Straight for the opposite steep side of the gully Tom directed his strange craft, and at a point where the wall of the gulch gave a good footing for the steel belts, Tank A pulled herself out and up to level ground. "Well, I'm glad that's over," remarked Ned, with a sigh of relief, as the tank waddled along a straight stretch. "And to think of having to do that same thing under heavy fire!" "That's part of the game," remarked Tom. "And don't forget that we can fire, too--or we'll be able to when I get the guns in place. They'll help to balance the machine better, too, and render her less likely to overturn." Tom considered the test a satisfactory one and, a little later, guided his tank back to the shop, where men were set to work repairing the little damage done and making some adjustments. "What's next on the program?" asked Ned of his chum one day about a week later. "Any more tests in view?" "Yes," answered Tom. "I've got the machine guns in place now. We are going to try them out and also endeavor to demolish a building and some barbed wire. Like to come along?" "I would!" cried Ned. A little later the tank was making her way over a field. Tom pointed toward a deserted factory, which had long been partly in ruins, but some of the walls of which still stood. "I'm going to bombard that," he announced, and then try to batter it down and roll over it like a Juggernaut. Are you game?" "Do your worst!" laughed Ned. "Let me man one of the machine guns!" "All right," agreed Tom. "Concentrate your fire. Make believe you're going against the Germans!" Slowly, but with resistless energy, the tank approached the ruined factory. "Are you sure there's no one in it, Tom?" "Sure! Blaze away!" Chapter XV Across Country Ned Newton sighted his machine gun. Tom had showed him how to work it, and indeed the young bank clerk had had some practice with a weapon like this, erected on a stationary tripod. But this was the first time Ned had attempted to fire from the tank while it was moving, and he found it an altogether different matter. "Say, it sure is hard to aim where you want to!" he shouted across to Tom, it being necessary, even in the conning tower, where this one gun was mounted, to speak loudly to make one's self heard above the hum, the roar and rattle of the machinery in the interior of Tank A, and below and to the rear of the two young men. "Well, that's part of the game," Tom answered. "I'm sending her along over as smooth ground as I can pick out, but it's rough at best. Still this is nothing to what you'll get in Flanders." "If I get there!" exclaimed Ned grimly. "Well, here goes!" and once more he tried to aim the machine gun at the middle of the brick wall of the ruined factory. A moment later there was a rattle and a roar as the quick-firing mechanism started, and a veritable hail of bullets swept out at the masonry. Tom and Ned could see where they struck, knocking off bits of stone, brick and cement. "Sweep it, Ned! Sweep it!" cried Tom. "Imagine a crowd of Germans are charging out at you, and sweep 'em out of the way!" Obeying this command, the young man moved the barrel of the machine gun from side to side and slightly up and down. The effect was at once apparent. The wall showed spatter-marks of the bullets over a wider area, and had a body of Teutons been before the factory, or even inside it, many of them would have been accounted for, since there were several holes in the wall through which Ned's bullets sped, carrying potential death with them. "That's better!" shouted Tom. "That'll do the business! Now I'm going to open her up, Ned!" "Open her up?" cried the young bank clerk, as he ceased firing. "Yes; crack the wall of that factory as I would a nut! Watch me take it on high--that is, if the old tank doesn't go back on me!" "You mean you're going to ride right over that building, Tom?" "I mean I'm going to try! If Tank A does as I expect her to, she'll butt into that wall, crush it down by force and weight, and then waddle over the ruins. Watch!" Tom sent some signals to the motor room. At once there was noticed an increase in the vibrations of the ponderous machine. "They're giving her more speed," said Tom. "And I guess we'll need it." Straight for the old factory went Tank A. In spite of its ruined condition, some of the walls were still firm, and seemed to offer a big obstacle to even so powerful an engine of war as this monstrous tank. "Get ready now, Ned," Tom advised. "And when I crack her open for you cut loose with the machine gun again. This gun is supposed to fire straight ahead and a little to either side. There are other guns at left and right, amidships, as I might say, and there's also one in the stern, to take care of any attack from that direction. "The men in charge of them will fire at the same time you do, and it will be as near like a real attack as we can make it--with the exception of not being fired back at. And I wouldn't mind if such were the case, for I don't believe anything, outside of heavy artillery, will have any effect on this tank." Tank A was now almost at her maximum speed as she approached closer to the deserted factory. Ned and Tom, in the conning tower, saw the largest of the remaining walls looming before them. Straight at it rushed the ponderous machine, and the next moment there came a shock which almost threw Ned away from his gun and back against the steel wall behind him. "Hold fast!" cried Tom. "Here we go! Fire. Ned! Fire!" There was a crash as the blunt nose of the great war tank hit the wall and crumpled it up. A great hole was made in the masonry, and what was not crushed under the caterpillar belts of the tank fell in a shower of bricks, stone and cement on top of the machine. Like a great hail storm the broken masonry pelted the steel sides and top of the tank. But she felt them no more than does an alligator the attacks of a colony of ants. Right on through the dust the tank crushed her way. Added to the noise of the falling walls was that of the machine guns, which were barking away like a kennel of angry hounds eager to be unleashed at the quarry. Ned kept his gun going until the heat of it warned him to stop and let the barrel cool, or he knew he would jam some of the mechanism. The other guns were firing, too, and the bullets sent up little spatter points of dust as they hit. "Great jumping hoptoads!" yelled Ned above the riot of racket outside and inside. "Feel her go, Tom!" "Yes, she's just chewing it up, all right!" cried the young inventor, his eyes shining with delight. The tank had actually burst her way through the solid wall of the old factory, permission to complete the demolition of which Tom had secured from the owners. Then the great machine kept right on. She fairly "walked" over the piles of masonry, dipped down into what had been a basement, now partly filled with debris, and kept on toward another wall. "I'm going through that, too!" cried Tom. And he did, knocking it down and sending his tank over the piled-up ruins, while the machine guns barked, coughed and spluttered, as Ned and the others inside the tank held back the firing levers. Right through the opposite wall, as through the one she had already demolished, the tank careened on her way, to emerge, rather battered and dust-covered, on the other side of what was left of the factory. And there was not much of it left. Tank A had well-nigh completed its demolition. "If there'd been a nest of Germans in there," said Tom, as he brought the machine to a stop in a field beyond the factory, "they'd have gotten out in a hurry." "Or taken the consequences," added Ned, as he wiped the sweat from his powder-blackened and oil-smeared face. "I certainly kept my gun going." "Yes, and so did the others," reported one of the mechanics, as he emerged from the "cubby hole," where the great motors had now ceased their hum and roar. "How'd she stand it?" asked Tom. "All right inside," answered the man. "I was wondering how she looks from the outside." "Oh, it would take more than that to damage her," said Tom, with pardonable pride. "That was pie for her! Solid concrete, which she may have to chew up on the Western front, may present another kind of problem, but I guess she'll be able to master that too. Well, let's have a look." He and Ned, with some of the crew and gunners, went outside the tank. She was a sorry-looking sight, very different from the trim appearance she had presented when she first left the shop. Bricks, bits of stone, and piles of broken cement in chunks and dust lay thick on her broad back. But no real damage had been done, as a hasty examination showed. "Well, are you satisfied, Tom?" asked his chum. "Yes, and more," was the answer. "Of course this wasn't the hardest test to which she could have been submitted, but it will do to show what punishment she can stand. Being shot at from big guns is another matter. I'll have to wait until she gets to Flanders to see what effect that will have. But I know the kind of armor skin she has, and that doesn't worry me. There's one thing more I want to do while I have her out now." "What's that?" asked Ned. "Take her for a long trip cross country, and then shove her through some extra heavy barbed wire. I'm certain she'll chew that up, but I want to see it actually done. So now, if you want to come along, Ned, we'll go cross country." "I'm with you!" "Get inside then. We'll let the dust and masonry blow and rattle off as we go along." The tank started off across the fields, which stretched for many miles on either side of the deserted factory, when suddenly Ned, who was again at his post in the observation tower, called: "Look, Tom!" "What at?" "That corner of the factory which is still standing. Look at those men coming out and running away!" Ned pointed, and his chum, leaning over from the steering wheel and controls, gave a start of surprise as he saw three figures clambering down over the broken debris and making their way out of what had once been a doorway. "Did they come out of the factory, Ned?" "They surely did! And unless I miss my guess they were in it, or around it, when we went through like a fellow carrying the football over the line for a touchdown." "In there when the tank broke open things?" "I think so. I didn't see them before, but they certainly ran out as we started away." "This has got to be looked into!" decided Tom. "Come on, Ned! It may be more of that spy business!" Tom Swift stopped the tank and prepared to get out. Chapter XVI The Old Barn "There's no use chasing after 'em, Tom," observed Ned, as the two chums stood side by side outside the tank and gazed after the three men running off across the fields as fast as they could go. "They've got too much a start of us." "I guess you're right, Ned," agreed Tom. "And we can't very well pursue them in the tank. She goes a bit faster than anything of her build, but a running man is more than a match for her in a short distance. If I had the Hawk here, there'd be a different story to tell." "Well, seeing that you haven't," replied Ned, "suppose we let them go--which we'll have to, whether we want to or not--and see where they were hiding and if they left any traces behind." "That's a good idea," returned Tom. The place whence the men had emerged was a portion of the old factory farthest removed from the walls the tank had crunched its way through. Consequently, that part was the least damaged. Tom and Ned came to what seemed to have been the office of the building when the factory was in operation. A door, from which most of the glass had been broken, hung on one hinge, and, pushing this open, the two chums found themselves in a room that bore evidences of having been the bookkeeper's department. There were the remains of cabinet files, and a broken letter press, while in one corner stood a safe. "Maybe they were cracking that," said Ned. "They were wasting their time if they were," observed Tom, "for the combination is broken--any one can open it," and he demonstrated this by swinging back one of the heavy doors. A quantity of papers fell out, or what had been papers, for they were now torn and the edges charred, as if by some recent fire. "They were burning these!" cried Ned. "You can smell the smoke yet. They came here to destroy some papers, and we surprised them!" "I believe you're right," agreed Tom. "The ashes are still warm." And he tested them with his hand. "They wanted to destroy something, and when they found we were here they clapped the blazing stuff into the safe, thinking it would burn there. "But the closing of the doors cut off the supply of air and the fire smouldered and went out. It burned enough so that it didn't leave us very much in the way of evidence, though," went on Tom ruefully, as he poked among the charred scraps. "Maybe you can read some of 'em," suggested Ned. "Part of the writing is in German," Tom said, as he looked over the mass. "I don't believe it would be worth while to try it. Still, I can save it. Here, I'll sweep the stuff into a box, and if we get a chance we can try to patch it together," and finding a broken box in what had been the factory office the young inventor managed to get into it the charred remains of the papers. A further search failed to reveal anything that would be useful in the way of evidence to determine what object the three men could have had in hiding in the ruins, and Tom and Ned returned to the tank. "What do you think about them, Tom?" asked Ned, as they were about to start off once more for the cross-country test. "Well, it seems like a silly thing to say--as if I imagined my tank was all there was in this part of the country to make trouble--but I believe those men had some connection with Simpson and with that spy Schwen!" "I agree with you!" exclaimed Ned. "And I think if we could get head or tail of those burned papers we'd find that there was some correspondence there between the man I saw up the tree and the workman you had arrested." "Too bad we weren't a bit quicker," commented Tom. "They must have been in the factory when we charged it--probably came there to be in seclusion while they talked, plotted and planned. They must have been afraid to go out when the tank was walking through the walls." "I guess that's it," agreed Ned. "Did you recognize any of the men, Tom?" "No, I didn't see 'em as soon as you did, and when they were running they had their backs toward me. Was Simpson one?" "I can't be sure. If one was, I guess he'll think we are keeping pretty closely after him, and he may give this part of the country a wide berth." "I hope he does," returned Tom. "Do you know, Ned, I have an idea that these fellows--Schwen Simpson, and those back of them, including Blakeson--are trying to get hold of the secret of my tank for the Germans." "I shouldn't be surprised. But you've got it finished now, haven't you? They can't get your patents away from you." "No, it isn't that," said Tom. "There are certain secrets about the mechanism of the tank--the way I've increased the speed and power, the use of the spanners, and things like that--which would be useful for the Germans to know. I wouldn't want them to find out these secrets, and they could do that if they were in the tank a while, or had her in their possession." "They couldn't do that, Tom--get possession of her--could they?" "There's no telling. I'm going to be doubly on the watch. That fellow Blakeson is in the pay of the plotters, I believe. He has a big machine shop, and he might try to duplicate my tank if he knew how she was made inside." "I see! That's why he was inquiring about a good machinist, I suppose, though he'll be mightily surprised when he learns it was you he was talking to the time your Hawk met with the little mishap." "Yes, I guess maybe he will be a bit startled," agreed Tom. "But I haven't seen him around lately, and maybe he has given up." "Don't trust to that!" warned Ned. The tank was now progressing easily along over fields, hesitating not at small or big ditches, flow going uphill and now down, across a stretch of country thinly settled, where even fences were a rarity. When they came to wooden ones Tom had the workmen get out and take down the bars. Of course the tank could have crushed them like toothpicks, but Tom was mindful of the rights of farmers, and a broken fence might mean strayed cows, or the letting of cattle into a field of grain or corn, to the damage of both cattle and fodder. "There's a barbed-wire fence," observed Ned, as he pointed to one off some distance across the field. "Why don't you try demolishing that?" "Oh, it would be too easy! Besides, I don't want the bother of putting it up again. When I make the barbed-wire test I want some set up on heavy posts, and with many strands, as it is in Flanders. Even that won't stop the tank, but I'm anxious to see how she breaks up the wire and supports--just what sort of a breach she makes. But I have a different plan in mind now. "I'm going to try to find a wooden building we can charge as we did the masonry factory. I want to smash up a barn, and I'll have to pick out an old one for choice, for in these war days we must conserve all we can, even old barns." "What's the idea of using a barn, Tom?" "Well, I want to test the tank under all sorts of conditions--the same conditions she'll meet with on the Western front. We've proved that a brick and stone factory is no obstacle." "Then how could a flimsy wooden barn be?" "Well, that's just it. I don't think that it will, but it may be that a barn when smashed will get tangled up in the endless steel belts, and clog them so they'll jam. That's the reason I want to try a wooden structure next." "Do you know where to find one?" "Yes; about a mile from here is one I've had my eyes on ever since I began constructing the tank. I don't know who owns it, but it's such a ramshackle affair that he can't object to having it knocked into kindling wood for him. If he does holler, I can pay him for the damage done. So now for a barn, Ned, unless you're getting tired and want to go back?" "I should say not! Speaking of barns, I'm with you till the cows come home! Want any more machine gun work?" "No, I guess not. This barn isn't particularly isolated, and the shooting might scare horses and cattle. We can smash things up without the guns." The tank was going on smoothly when suddenly there was a lurch to one side, and the great machine quickly swung about in a circle. "Hello!" cried Ned. "What's up now? Some new stunt?" "Must be something wrong," answered the young inventor. "One of the belts has stopped working. That's why we're going in a circle." He shut off the power and hastened down to the motor room. There he found his men gathered about one of the machines. "What's wrong?" asked Tom quickly. "Just a little accident," replied the head machinist. "One of the boys dropped his monkey wrench and it smashed some spark plugs. That caused a short circuit and the left hand motor went out of business. We'll have her fixed in a jiffy." Tom looked relieved, and the machinist was as good as his word. In a few minutes the tank was moving forward again. It crossed out to the road, to the great astonishment of some farmers, and the fright of their horses, and then Tom once more swung her into the fields. "There's the old barn I spoke of," he remarked to Ned. "It's almost as bad a ruin as the factory was. But we'll have a go at it." "Going to smash it?" asked Ned. "I'm going right through it!" Tom cried. Chapter XVII Veiled Threats Like some prehistoric monster about to charge down upon another of its kind, Tank A, under the guidance of Tom Swift, reeled and bumped her way over the uneven fields toward the old barn. Within the monster of steel and iron were raucous noises: the clang and clatter of the powerful gasolene motors; the rattle of the wheels and gears; all making so much noise that, in the engine room proper, not a word could be heard. Every order had to be given by signs, and Tom sent his electric signals from the conning tower in the same way. When running at full speed, it was almost impossible, even in the tower, which was some distance removed from the engine room, to hear voices unless the words were shouted. "Why don't you go at it?" cried Ned to his "friend, who was peering through the observation slot in the tower." "I'm getting in good position," Tom answered. "Or rather, the worst position I can find. I want to give the tank a good try-out, and I'm going at the barn on the assumption that this is in enemy country and that I can't pick and choose my advance. "So I want to come up through that gully, and go at the barn from the long way. That will be the worst possible way I could do it, and if old Tank A stands the gaff I'll know she's a little bit nearer all right." "I think she's all right as she is!" asserted Ned in a yell, for just then Tom signaled for more speed, and the consequent increase in the rattling and banging noises made it correspondingly difficult for talk to be heard. The big machine now tipped into the little gully spoken of by Tom. This meant a dip downward, and then a climb out again and an attack on the barn going uphill and at an angle. But, as the young inventor had said, it would make a severe test and that was what he wanted to give his ponderous machine. Ned grasped one of the safety rings, as, with a reel to one side, almost as if it were going to capsize, the tank rumbled on. Tom cast a half-amused smile at his chum, and then threw over the guiding lever. The tank rolled down into the gully. It was rough and filled with stones and boulders, some of considerable size. But Tank A made less than nothing even of the largest rocks. Some she crushed beneath her steel belts. Others she simply "walked" over, smashing them down into the soil. Now the big machine reached the bottom of the gulch and started up the sides, which, though not as steep as the trench in which she had capsized, still were not easy going. "Now for it!" cried Tom, as he signaled for full speed. Up climbed the tank. Now she was halfway. A moment later, and she was at the top, and then a forward careening motion told that she had passed over the summit and was ready for the attack proper. Ned gave a quick glance through the slot nearest him. He had a glimpse of the barn, and then he saw something else. This was the sight of a man running away from the dilapidated structure--a man who glanced toward the tank with a face that showed great fright. "Stop! Stop!" yelled Ned. "There may be folks in there, Tom! I just saw a man run out!" "All right!" Tom cried, though Ned could hardly hear him. "Tell me when we get on the other side! We're going through now!" "But," shouted Ned, "don't you understand? I saw a man come out of there! Maybe there's more inside! Wait, Tom, and--" But it was too late. The next instant there was a smashing, grinding, splintering crash, a noise as of a thunder-clap, and Tank A fairly ate her way through the old barn as a rat might eat his way into a soft cheese, only infinitely more quickly. On and on and through and through went the tank, knocking beams, boards, rafters and timbers hither and thither. Minding not at all the weight of great beams on her back, caring nothing for those that got in the way of her steel belts, heeding not the wall of wood that reared itself before her in a barrier of splinters and slivers, Tank A went on and on until finally, with another grinding crash, as she smashed her way through the farthermost wall, the great engine of war emerged on the other side and came panting into the field, dragging with her a part of the structure clinging to her steel sides. "Well," cried Tom, with a laugh, as he signaled for the power to be shut off, thereby making it possible for ordinary conversation to be heard, "I guess we didn't do a thing to that barn!" "Not much left of it, for a fact, Tom," agreed Ned, as he looked through the after observation slots at the ruin in the rear. "But didn't you hear what I was saying?" "I heard you yelling something to me, but I was too anxious to go at it as fast as I could. I didn't want to stop then. What was the trouble?" "That's what I'm afraid of, Tom--there may be trouble. Just before you tackled the barn for a knockdown, instead of a touchdown, as we might say, I saw a man running out of it. I thought if there was one there, perhaps there might be more. That's why I yelled to you." "A man running from the old barn!" cried Tom. "Whew!" he whistled. "I wish I had seen him. But, Ned, if one ran out of harm's way, any others who might possibly be in there would do the same thing, wouldn't they?" "I hope so," returned Ned doubtfully. "Great Scott!" cried Tom, as the possibility was borne home to him. "If anything has happened--" He sprang for the door of the tower and threw over the catch, springing out, followed by Ned. From the engine room of the armored tank the men came, smiles of gratification on their faces. "We certainly busted her wide open, Mr. Swift!" called the chief mechanician. "Yes," assented the young inventor; but there was not as much gratification in his voice as there should have been. "There isn't much of a barn left, but Ned thinks he saw some one run out, and if there was one man there may have been more. We'd better have a look around, I guess." The engineering force exchanged glances. Then Hank Baldwin, who was in charge of the motors, said: "Well, if there was anybody in that barn when we chewed her up I wouldn't give much for his hide, German or not." "Let us hope no one was in there," murmured Tom. They turned to go back to the demolished structure, fear and worry in their hearts. No more complete ruin could be imagined. If a cyclone had swept over the barn it could not have more certainly leveled it. And, not only was it leveled, crushed down in the center by the great weight of the tank, but the boards and beams were broken into small pieces. Parts of them clung in long, grotesque splinters to the endless steel belts. "I don't see how we're going to find anybody if he's in there," remarked Hank. "We'll have to," insisted Tom. "We can look about and call. If any one is there he may have been off to one side or to one end, and be protected under the debris. I wish I had heard you call, Ned." "I wish you had, Tom. I yelled for all I was worth." "I know you did. I was too eager to go on, and, at the same time, I really couldn't stop well on that hill. I had to keep on going. Well, now to learn the worst!" They walked back toward the demolished barn. But they had not reached it when from around the corner swung a big automobile. In it were several men, but chief, in vision at least, among them, was a burly farmer who had a long, old-fashioned gun in his hands. On his bearded face was a grim look as he leaped out before the machine had fairly stopped, and called: "Hold on, there! I guess you've done damage enough! Now you can pay for it or take the consequences!" And he motioned to Tom, Ned, and the others to halt. Chapter XVIII Ready for France Such was the reaction following the crashing through of the barn, coupled with the sudden appearance of the men in the automobile and the threat of the farmer, that, for the moment, Tom, Ned, or their companions from the tank could say nothing. They just stood staring at the farmer with the gun, while he grimly regarded them. It was Tom who spoke first. "What's the idea?" asked the young inventor. "Why don't you want us to look through the ruins?" "You'll learn soon enough!" was the grim answer. But Tom was not to be put off with undecided talk. "If there's been an accident," he said, "we're sorry for it. But delay may be dangerous. If some one is hurt--" "You'll be hurt, if I have my way about it!" snapped the farmer, "and hurt in a place where it always tells. I mean your pocketbook! That's the kind of a man I am--practical." "He means if we've killed or injured any one we'll have to pay damages," whispered Ned to Tom. "But don't agree to anything until you see your lawyer. That's a hot one, though, trying to claim damages before he knows who's hurt!" "I've got to find out more about this," Tom answered. He started to walk on. "No you don't!" cried the farmer, with a snarl. "As I said, you folks has done damage enough with your threshing machine, or whatever you call it. Now you've got to pay!" "We are willing to," said Tom, as courteously as he could. "But first we want to know who has been hurt, or possibly killed. Don't you think it best to get them to a doctor, and then talk about money damages later?" "Doctor? Hurt?" cried the farmer, the other men in the auto saying nothing. "Who said anything about that?" "I thought," began Tom, "that you--" "I'm talkin' about damages to my barn!" cried the farmer. "You had no right to go smashing it up this way, and you've got to pay for it, or my name ain't Amos Kanker!" "Oh!" and there was great relief in Tom's voice. "Then we haven't killed any one?" "I don't know what you've done," answered the farmer, and his voice was not a pleasant one. "I'm sure I can't keep track of all your ructions. All I know is that you've ruined my barn, and you've got to pay for it, and pay good, too!" "For that old ramshackle?" cried Ned. "Hush!" begged Tom, in a low voice. "I'm willing to pay, Ned, for the sake of having proved what my tank could do. I'm only too glad to learn no one was hurt. Was there?" he asked, turning to the farmer. "Was there what?" "Was there anybody in your barn?" "Not as I knows on," was the grouchy answer. "A man who saw your machine coming thought she was headed for my building, and he run and told me. Then some friends of mine brought me here in their machine. I tell you I've got all the evidence I need ag'in you, an' I'm going to have damages! That barn was worth three thousand dollars if it was worth a cent, and--" "This matter can easily be settled," said Tom, trying to keep his temper. "My name is Swift, and--" "Don't get swift with me, that's all I ask!" and the farmer laughed grimly at his clumsy joke. "I'll do whatever is right," Tom said, with dignity. "I live over near Shopton, and if you want to send your lawyer to see mine, why--" "I don't believe in lawyers!" broke in the farmer. "All they think of is to get what they can for theirselves. And I can do that myself. I'll get it out of you before you leave, or, anyhow, before you take your contraption away," and he glanced at the tank. The same suspicion came at once to Tom and Ned, and the latter gave voice to it when he murmured in a low voice to his chum: "This is a frame-up--a scheme, Tom. He doesn't care a rap for the barn. It's some of that Blakeson's doing, to make trouble for you." "I believe you!" agreed Tom. "Now I know what to do." He looked toward the collapsed barn, as if making a mental computation of its value, and then turned toward the farmer. "I'm very sorry," said Tom, "if I have caused any trouble. I wanted to test my machine out on a wooden structure, and I picked your barn. I suppose I should have come to you first, but I did not want to waste time. I saw the barn was of practically no value." "No value!" broke in the farmer. "Well, I'll show you, young man, that you can't play fast and loose with other people's property and not settle!" "I'm perfectly willing to, Mr. Kanker. I could see that the barn was almost ready to fall, and I had already determined, before sending my tank through it, to pay the owner any reasonable sum. I am willing to do that now." "Well, of course if you're so ready to do that," replied the farmer, and Ned thought he caught a glance pass between him and one of the men in the auto, "if you're ready to do that, just hand over three thousand dollars, and we'll call it a day's work. It's really worth more, but I'll say three thousand for a quick settlement." "Why, this barn," cried Ned, "isn't worth half that! I know something about real estate values, for our bank makes loans on farms around here--" "Your bank ain't made me no loans, young man!" snapped Mr. Kanker. "I don't need none. My place is free and clear! And three thousand dollars is the price of my barn you've knocked to smithereens. If you don't want to pay, I'll find a way to make you. And I'll hold you, or your tank, as you call it, security for my damages! You can take your choice about that." "You can't hold us!" cried Tom. "Such things aren't done here!" "Well, then, I'll hold your tank!" cried the farmer. "I guess it'll sell for pretty nigh onto what you owe me, though what it's good for I can't see. So you pay me three thousand dollars or leave your machine here as security." "That's the game!" whispered Ned. "There's some plot here. They want to get possession of your tank, Tom, and they've seized on this chance to do it." "I believe you," agreed the young inventor. "Well, they'll find that two can play at that game. Mr. Kanker," he went on, "it is out of the question to claim your barn is worth three thousand dollars." "Oh, is it?" sneered the farmer. "Well, I didn't ask you to come here and make kindling wood of it! That was your doings, and you've had your fun out of it. Now you can pay the piper, and I'm here to make you pay!" And he brought the gun around in a menacing manner. "He's right, in a way," said Ned to his chum. "We should have secured his permission first. He's got us in a corner, and almost any jury of farmers around here, after they heard the story of the smashed barn, would give him heavy damages. It isn't so much that the barn is worth that as it is his property rights that we've violated. A farmer's barn is his castle, so to speak." "I guess you're right," agreed Tom, with a rather rueful face. "But I'm not going to hand him over three thousand dollars. In fact, I haven't that much with me." "Oh, well, I don't suppose he'd want it all in cash." But, it appeared, that was just what the farmer wanted. He went over all his arguments again, and it could not be denied that he had the law on his side. As he rightly said, Tom could not expect to go about the country, "smashing up barns and such like," without being willing to pay. "Well, what you going to do?" asked the farmer at last. "I can't stay here all day. I've got work to do. I can't go around smashing barns. I want three thousand dollars, or I'll hold your contraption for security." This last he announced with more conviction after he had had a talk with one of the men in the automobile. And it was this consultation that confirmed Tom and Ned in their belief that the whole thing was a plot, growing out of Tom's rather reckless destruction of the barn; a plot on the part of Blakeson and his gang. That they had so speedily taken advantage of this situation carelessly given them was only another evidence of how closely they were on Tom's trail. "That man who ran out of the barn must have been the same one who was in the factory," whispered Ned to his chum. "He probably saw us coming this way and ran on ahead to have the farmer all primed in readiness. Maybe he knew you had planned to ram the barn." "Maybe he did. I've had it in mind for some time, and spoken to some of my men about it." "More traitors in camp, then, I'm afraid, Tom. We'll have to do some more detective work. But let's get this thing settled. He only wants to hold your tank, and that will give the man, into whose hands he's playing, a chance to inspect her." "I believe you. But if I have to leave her here I'll leave some men on guard inside. It won't be any worse than being stalled in No Man's Land. In fact, it won't be so bad. But I'll do that rather than be gouged." "No, Tom, you won't. If you did leave some one on guard, there'd be too much chance of their getting the best of him. You must take your tank away with you." "But how can I? I can't put up three thousand dollars in cash, and he says he won't take a check for fear I'll stop payment. I see his game, but I don't see how to block it." "But I do!" cried Ned. "What!" exclaimed Tom. "You don't mean to say, even if you do work in a bank, that you've got three thousand in cash concealed about your person, do you?" "Pretty nearly, Tom, or what is just as good. I have that amount in Liberty Bonds. I was going to deliver them to a customer who has ordered them but not paid for them. They are charged up against me at the bank, but I'm good for that, I guess. Now I'll loan you these bonds, and you can give them to this cranky old farmer as security for damages. Mind, don't make them as a payment. They're simply security--the same as when an autoist leaves his car as bail. Only we don't want to leave our car, we'd rather have it with us," and he looked over at the tank, bristling with splinters from the demolished barn. "Well, I guess that's the only way out," said Tom. "Lucky you had those bonds with you. I'll take them, and give you a receipt for them. In fact, I'll buy them from you and let the farmer hold them as security." And this, eventually, was done. After much hemming and hawing and consultation with the men in the automobile, Mr. Kanker said he would accept the bonds. It was made clear that they were not in payment of any damages, though Tom admitted he was liable for some, but that Uncle Sam's war securities were only a sort of bail, given to indicate that, some time later, when a jury had passed on the matter, the young inventor would pay Mr. Kanker whatever sum was agreed upon as just. "And now," said Tom, as politely as he could under the circumstances, "I suppose we will be allowed to depart." "Yes, take your old shebang offen my property!" ordered Mr. Kanker, with no very good grace. "And if you go knocking down any more barns, I'll double the price on you!" "I guess he's a bit roiled because he couldn't hold the tank," observed Ned to Tom, as they walked together to the big machine. "His friends--our enemies--evidently hoped that was what could be done. They want to get at some of the secrets." "I suppose so," conceded Tom. "Well, we're out of that, and I've proved all I want to." "But I haven't--quite," said Ned. "What's missing?" asked his chum, as they got back in the tank. "Well, I'd like to make sure that the fellow who ran from the factory was the same one I saw sneaking out of the barn. I believe he was, and I believe that Simpson's crowd engineered this whole thing." "I believe so, too," Tom agreed. "The next thing is to prove it. But that will keep until later. The main thing is we've got our tank, and now I'm going to get her ready for France." "Will she be in shape to ship soon?" asked Ned. "Yes, if nothing more happens. I've got a few little changes and adjustments to make, and then she'll be ready for the last test--one of long distance endurance mainly. After that, apart she comes to go to the front, and we'll begin making 'em in quantities here and on the other side." "Good!" cried Ned. "Down with the Huns!" Without further incident of moment they went back to the headquarters of the tank, and soon the great machine was safe in the shop where she had been made. The next two weeks were busy ones for Tom, and in them he put the finishing touches on his machine, gave it a long test over fields and through woods, until finally he announced: "She's as complete as I can make her! She's ready for France!" Chapter XIX Tom is Missing With Tom Swift's announcement, that his tank was at last ready for real action, came the end of the long nights and days given over on the part of his father, himself, and his men to the development and refinement of the machine, to getting plans and specifications ready so that the tanks could be made quickly and in large numbers in this country and abroad and to the actual building of Tank A. Now all this was done at last, and the first completed tank was ready to be shipped. Meanwhile the matter of the demolished barn had been left for legal action. Tom and Ned, it developed, had done the proper thing under the circumstances, and they were sure they had foiled at least one plan of the plotters. "But they won't stop there," declared Ned, who had constituted himself a sort of detective. "They're lying back and waiting for another chance, Tom." "Well, they won't get it at my tank!" declared the young inventor, with a smile. "I've finished testing her on the road. All I need do now is to run her around this place if I have to; and there won't be much need of that before she's taken apart for shipment. Did you get any trace of Simpson or the men who are with him--Blakeson and the others?" "No," Ned answered. "I've been nosing around about that farmer, Kanker, but I can't get anything out of him. For all that, I'm sure he was egged on to his hold-up game by some of your enemies. Everything points that way." "I think you're right," agreed Tom. "Well, we won't bother any more about him. When the trial comes on, I'll pay what the jury says is right. It'll be worth it, for I proved that Tank A can eat up brick, stone or wooden buildings and not get indigestion. That's what I set out to do. So don't worry any more about it, Ned." "I'm not worrying, but I'd like to get the best of those fellows. The idea of asking three thousand dollars for a shell of a barn!" "Never mind," replied Tom. "We'll come out all right." Now that the Liberty Loan drive had somewhat slackened, Ned had more leisure time, and he spent parts of his days and not a few of his evenings at Tom Swift's. Mr. Damon was also a frequent visitor, and he never tired of viewing the tank. Every chance he got, when they tested the big machine in the large field, so well fenced in, the eccentric man was on hand, with his "bless my--!" whatever happened to come most readily to his mind. Tom, now that his invention was well-nigh perfected, was not so worried about not having the tank seen, even at close range, and the enclosure was not so strictly guarded. This in a measure was disappointing to Eradicate, who liked the importance of strutting about with a nickel shield pinned to his coat, to show that he was a member of the Swift & Company plant. As for the giant Koku, he really cared little what he did, so long as he pleased Tom, for whom he had an affection that never changed. Koku would as soon sit under a shady tree doing nothing as watch for spies or traitors, of whose identity he was never sure. So it came that there was not so strict a guard about the place, and Tom and Ned had more time to themselves. Not that the young inventor was not busy, for the details of shipping Tank A to France came to him, as did also the arrangements for making others in this country and planning for the manufacture abroad. It was one evening, after a particularly hard day's work, when Tom had been making a test in turning the tank in a small space in the enclosed yard, that the two young men were sitting in the machine shop, discussing various matters. The telephone bell rang, and Ned, being nearest, answered. "It's for you, Tom," he said, and there was a smile on the face of the young bank clerk. "Um!" murmured Tom, and he smiled also. Ned could not repress more smiles as Tom took up the conversation over the wire, and it did not take long for the chum of the youthful inventor to verify his guess that Mary Nestor was at the other end of the instrument. "Yes, yes," Tom was heard to say. "Why, of course, I'll be glad to come over. Yes, he's here. What? Bring him along? I will if he'll come. Oh, tell him Helen is there! 'Nough said! He'll come, all right!" And Tom, without troubling to consult his friend, hung up the receiver. "What's that you're committing me to?" asked Ned. "Oh, Mary wants us to come over and spend the evening. Helen Sever is there, and they say we can take them downtown if we like." "I guess we like," laughed Ned. "Come along! We've had enough of musty old problems," for he had been helping Tom in some calculations regarding strength of materials and the weight-bearing power of triangularly constructed girders as compared to the arched variety. "Yes, I guess it will do us good to get out," and the two friends were soon on their way. "What's this?" asked Mary, with a laugh, as Tom held out a package tied with pink string. "More dynamite?" she added, referring to an incident which had once greatly perturbed the excitable Mr. Nestor. "If she doesn't want it, perhaps Helen will take it," suggested Ned, with a twinkle in his eyes. "Halloran said they were just in fresh--" "Oh, you delightful boy!" cried Helen. "I'm just dying for some chocolates! Let me open them, Mary, if you're afraid of dynamite." "The only powder in them," said Tom, "is the powdered sugar. That can't blow you up." And then the young people made merry, Tom, for the time being, forgetting all about his tank. It was rather late when the two young men strolled back toward the Swift home, Ned walking that way with his chum. Tom started out in the direction of the building where the tank was housed. "Going to have a good-night look at her?" asked Ned. "Well, I want to make sure the watchman is on guard. We'll begin taking her apart in a few days, and I don't want anything to happen between now and then." They walked on toward the big structure, and, as they approached from the side, they were both startled to see a dark shadow--at least so it seemed to the youths--dart away from one of the windows. "Look!" gasped Ned. "Hello, there!" cried Tom sharply. "Who's that? Who are you?" There was no answer, and then the fleeing shadow was merged in the other blackness of the night. "Maybe it was the watchman making his rounds," suggested Ned. "No," answered Tom, as he broke into a run. "If it was, he'd have answered. There's something wrong here!" But he could find nothing when he reached the window from which he and Ned had seen the shadow dart. An examination by means of a pocket electric light betrayed nothing wrong with the sash, and if there were footprints beneath the casement they indicated nothing, for that side of the factory was one frequently used by the workmen. Tom went into the building, and, for a time, could not find the watchman. When he did come upon the man, he found him rubbing his eyes sleepily, and acting as though he had just awakened from a nap. "This isn't any way to be on duty!" said Tom sharply. "You're not paid for sleeping!" "I know it, Mr. Swift," was the apologetic answer. "I don't know what's come over me to-night. I never felt so sleepy in all my life. I had my usual sleep this afternoon, too, and I've drunk strong coffee to keep awake." "Are you sure you didn't drink anything else?" "You know I'm a strict temperance man." "I know you are," said Tom; "but I thought maybe you might have a cold, or something like that." "No, I haven't taken a thing. I did have a drink of soda water before I came on duty, but that's all." "Where'd you get it?" asked Tom. "Well, a man treated me." "Who?" "I don't know his name. He met me on the street and asked me how to get to Plowden's hardware store. I showed him--walked part of the way, in fact--and when I left he said he was going to have some soda, and asked me to have some. I did, and it tasted good." "Well, don't go to sleep again," suggested Tom good-naturedly. "Did you hear anything at the side window a while ago?" "Not a thing, Mr. Swift. I'll be all right now. I'll take a turn outside in the air." "All right," assented the young inventor. Then, as he turned to go into the house and was bidding Ned good-night, Tom said: "I don't like this." "What?" asked his chum. "My sleepy watchman and the figure at the window. I more than half suspect that one of Blakeson's tools followed Kent for the purpose of buying him soda, only I think they might have put a drop or two of chloral in it before he got it. That would make him sleep." "What are you going to do, Tom?" "Put another man on guard. If they think they can get into the factory at night, and steal my plans, or get ideas from my tank, I'll fool 'em. I'll have another man on guard." This Tom did, also telling Koku to sleep in the place, to be ready if called. But there was no disturbance that night, and the next day the work of completing the tank went on with a rush. It was a day or so after this, and Tom had fixed on it as the time for taking the big machine apart for shipment, that Ned received a telephone message at the bank from Mr. Damon. "Is Tom Swift over with you?" inquired the eccentric man. "No. Why?" Ned answered. "Well, I'm at his shop, and he isn't here. His father says he received a message from you a little while ago, saying to come over in a hurry, and he went. Says you told him to meet you out at that farmer Kanker's place. I thought maybe--" "At Kanker's place!" cried Ned. "Say, something's wrong, Mr. Damon! Isn't Tom there?" "No; I'm at his home, and he's been gone for some time. His father supposed he was with you. I thought I would telephone to make sure." "Whew!" whistled Ned. "There's something doing here, all right, and something wrong! I'll be right over!" he added, as he hung up the receiver. Chapter XX The Search "Haven't you seen anything of him?" asked Mr. Damon, as Ned jumped out of his small runabout at the Swift home as soon as possible after receiving the telephone message that seemed to presage something wrong. "Seen him? No, certainly not!" answered the young bank clerk. "I'm as much surprised as you are over it. What happened, anyhow?" "Bless my memorandum pad, but I hardly know!" answered the eccentric man. "I arrived here a little while ago, stopping in merely to pay Tom a visit, as I often do, and he wasn't here. His father was anxiously waiting for him, too, wishing to consult him about some shop matters. Mr. Swift said Tom had gone out with you, or over to your house--I wasn't quite sure which at first--and was expected back any minute. "Then I called you up," went on Mr. Damon, "and I was surprised to learn you hadn't seen Tom. There must be something wrong, I think." "I'm sure of it!" exclaimed Ned. "Let's find Mr. Swift. And what's this about his going to meet me over at the place of that farmer, Mr. Kanker, where we had the trouble about the barn Tom demolished?" "I hardly know, myself. Perhaps Mr. Swift can tell us." But Mr. Swift was able to throw but little light on Tom's disappearance--whether a natural or forced disappearance remained to be seen. "No matter where he is, we'll get him," declared Ned. "He hasn't been away a great while, and it may turn out that his absence is perfectly natural." "And if it's due to the plots of any of his rivals," said Mr. Damon, "I'll denounce them all as traitors, bless my insurance policy, if I don't! And that's what they are! They're playing into the hands of the enemy!" "All right," said Ned. "But the thing to do now is to get Tom. Perhaps Mrs. Baggert can help us." It developed that the housekeeper was of more assistance in giving information than was Mr. Swift. "It was several hours ago," she said, "that the telephone rang and some one asked for Tom. The operator shifted the call to the phone out in the tank shop where he was, and Tom began to talk. The operator, as Tom had instructed her, listened in, as Tom wants always a witness to most matters that go on over his wires of late." "What did she hear?" asked Ned eagerly. "She heard what she thought was your voice, I believe," the housekeeper said. "Me!" cried the young bank clerk. "I haven't talked to Tom to-day, over the phone or any other way. But what next?" "Well, the operator didn't listen much after that, knowing that any talk between Tom and you was of a nature not to need a witness. Tom hung up and then he came in here, quite excited, and began to get ready to go out." "What was he excited about?" asked Mr. Damon. "Bless my unlucky stars, but a person ought to keep calm under such circumstances! That's the only way to do! Keep calm! Great Scott! But if I had my way, all those German spies would be--Oh, pshaw! Nothing is too bad for them! It makes my blood boil when I think of what they've done! Tom should have kept cool!" "Go on. What was Tom excited about?" Ned turned to the housekeeper. "Well, he said you had called him to tell him to meet you over at that farmer's place," went on Mrs. Baggert. "He said you had some news for him about the men who had tried to get hold of some of his tank secrets, and he was quite worked up over the chance of catching the rascals." "Whew!" whistled Ned. "This is getting more complicated every minute. There's something deep here, Mr. Damon." "I agree with you, Ned. And the sooner we find Tom Swift the better. What next, Mrs. Baggert?" "Well, Tom got ready and went away in his small automobile. He said he'd be back as soon as he could after meeting you." "And I never said a word to him!" cried Ned. "It's all a plot--a scheme of that Blakeson gang to get him into their power. Oh, how could Tom be so fooled? He knows my voice, over the phone as well as otherwise. I don't see how he could be taken in." "Let's ask the telephone operator," suggested Mr. Damon. "She knows your voice, too. Perhaps she can give us a clew." A talk with the young woman at the telephone switchboard in the Swift plant brought out a new point. This was that the speaker, in response to whose information Tom Swift had left home, had not said he was Ned Newton. "He said," reported Miss Blair, "that he was speaking for you, Mr. Newton, as you were busy in the bank. Whoever it was, said you wanted Tom to meet you at the Kanker farm. I heard that much over the wire, and naturally supposed the message came from you." "Well, that puts a little different face on it," said Mr. Damon. "Tom wasn't deceived by the voice, then, for he must have thought it was some one speaking for you, Ned." "But the situation is serious, just the same," declared Ned. "Tom has gone to keep an appointment I never made, and the question is with whom will he keep it?" "That's it!" cried the eccentric man. "Probably some of those scoundrels were waiting at the farm for him, and they've got him no one knows where by this time!" "Oh, hardly as bad as that," suggested Ned. "Tom is able to look out for himself. He'd put up a big fight before he'd permit himself to be carried off." "Well, what do you think did happen?" asked Mr. Damon. "I think they wanted to get him out to the farm to see if they couldn't squeeze some more money out of him," was the answer. "Tom was pretty easy in that barn business, and I guess Kanker was sore because he haven't asked a larger sum. They knew Tom wouldn't come out on their own invitation, so they forged my name, so to speak." "Can you get Tom back?" asked Mrs. Baggert anxiously. "Of course!" declared Ned, though it must be admitted he spoke with more confidence than he really felt. "We'll begin the search right away." "And if I can get my hands on any of those villains--" spluttered Mr. Damon, dancing around, as Mrs. Baggert said, "like a hen on a hot griddle," which seemed to describe him very well, "if I can get hold of any of those scoundrels, I'll--I'll--Bless my collar button, I don't know what I will do! Come on, Ned!" "Yes, I guess we'd better get busy," agreed the young bank clerk. "Tom has gone somewhere, that's certain, and under a misapprehension. It may be that we are needlessly alarmed, or they may mean bad business. At any rate, it's up to us to find Tom." In Ned's runabout, which was a speedier car than that of the eccentric man, the two set off for Kanker's farm. On the way they stopped at various places in town, where Tom was in the habit of doing business, to inquire if he had been seen. But there was no trace of him. The next thing to do was to learn if he had really started for the Kanker farm. "For if he didn't go there," suggested Ned, "it will look funny for us to go out there making inquiries about him. And it may be that after he got that message Tom decided not to go." Accordingly they made enough inquiries to establish the fact that Tom had started for the farm of the rascally Kanker, who had been so insistent in the matter of his almost worthless barn. A number of people who knew Tom well had seen him pass in the direction of Kanker's place, and some had spoken to him, for the young inventor was well known in the vicinity of Shopton and the neighboring towns. "Well, out to Kanker's we'll go!" decided Ned. "And if anything has happened to Tom there--well, we'll make whoever is responsible wish it hadn't!" "Bless my fountain pen, but that's what we will!" chimed in Mr. Damon. And so the two began the search for the missing youth. Chapter XXI A Prisoner Amos Kanker came to the door of his farmhouse as Ned and Mr. Damon drove up in the runabout. There was an unpleasant grin on the not very prepossessing face of the farmer, and what Ned thought was a cunning look, as he slouched out and asked: "Well, what do you want? Come to smash up any more of my barns at three thousand dollars a smash?" "Hardly," answered Ned shortly. "Your prices are too high for such ramshackle barns as you have. Where's Tom Swift?" he asked sharply. "Huh! Do you mean that young whipper-snapper with his big traction engine?" demanded Mr. Kanker. "Look here!" blustered Mr. Damon, "Tom Swift is neither a whipper-snapper nor is his machine a traction engine. It's a war tank." "That doesn't matter much to me," said the farmer, with a grating laugh. "It looks like a traction engine, though it smashes things up more'n any one I ever saw." "That isn't the point," broke in Ned. "Where is my friend, Tom Swift? That's what we want to know." "Huh! What makes you think I can tell you?" demanded Kanker. "Didn't he come out here?" asked Mr. Damon. "Not as I knows of," was the surly answer. "Look here!" exclaimed Ned, and his tones were firm, with no bluster nor bluff in them, "we came out here to find Tom Swift, and we're going to find him! We have reason to believe he's here--at least, he started for here," he substituted, as he wished to make no statement he could not prove. "Now we don't claim we have any right to be on your property, and we don't intend to stay here any longer than we can help. But we do claim the right, in common decency, to ask if you have seen anything of Tom. There may have been an accident; there may have been foul play; and there may be international complications in this business. If there are, those involved won't get off as easily as they think. I'd advise you to keep a civil tongue in your head and answer our questions. If we have to get the police and detectives out here, as well as the governmental department of justice, you may have to answer their questions, and they won't be as decent to you as we are!" "Hurray!" whispered Mr Damon to Ned. "That's the way to talk!" And indeed the forceful remarks of the young bank clerk did appear to have a salutary effect on the surly farmer. His manner changed at once and his grin faded. "I don't know nothing about Tom Swift or any of your friends," he said. "I've got my farm work to do, and I do it. It's hard enough to earn a living these war times without taking part in plots. I haven't seen Tom Swift since the trouble he made about my barn." "Then he hasn't been here to-day?" asked Ned. "No; and not for a good many days." Ned looked at Mr. Damon, and the two exchanged uneasy glances. Tom had certainly started for the Kanker farm, and indeed had come to within a few miles of it. That much was certain, as testified to by a number of residents along the route from Shopton, who had seen the young inventor passing in his car. Now it appeared he had not arrived. The changed air of the farmer seemed to indicate that he was speaking the truth. Mr. Damon and Ned were inclined to believe him. If they had any last, lingering doubts in the matter, they were dispelled when Mr. Kanker said: "You can search the place if you like. I haven't any reason to feel friendly toward you, but I certainly don't want to get into trouble with the Government. Look around all you like." "No, we'll take your word for it," said Ned, quickly concluding that now they had got the farmer where they wanted him, they could gain more by an appearance of friendliness than by threats or harsh words. "Then you haven't seen him, either?" "Not a sign of him." "One thing more," went on Tom's chum, "and then we'll look farther. Weren't you induced by a man named Simpson, or one named Blakeson, to make the demand of three thousand dollars' damage for your barn?" "No, it wasn't anybody of either of those names," admitted Mr. Kanker, evidently a bit put out by the question. "It was some one, though, wasn't it?" insisted Ned. "Waal, a man did come to me the day the barn was smashed, and just afore it happened, and said an all-fired big traction engine was headed this way, and that a young feller who was half crazy was running it. This man--I don't know who he was, being a stranger to me--said if the engine ran into any of my property and did damages I should collect for it on the spot, or hold the machine. "Sure enough, that's what happened, and I did it. That man had an auto, and he brought me and some of my men out to the smashed barn. That's all I know about it." "I thought some one put you up to it," commented Ned. "This was some of the gang's work," he went on to Mr. Damon. "They hoped to get possession of Tom's tank long enough to find out some of the secrets. By having the Liberty Bonds, I fooled 'em." "That's what you did!" said Mr. Damon. "But what can we do now?" "I don't know," Ned was forced to admit. "But I should think we'd better go back to the last place where he was seen to pass in his auto, and try to get on his trail." Mr. Damon agreed that this was a wise plan, and, after a casual look around the farmhouse and other buildings on Kanker's place and finding nothing to arouse their suspicions, the two left in Ned's speedy little machine. "It is mighty queer!" remarked the young bank clerk, as they shot along the country road. "It isn't like Tom to get caught this way." "Maybe he isn't caught," suggested the other. "Tom has been in many a tight place and gotten out, as you and I well know. Maybe it will be the same now, though it does look suspicious, that fake message coming from you." "Not coming from me, you mean," corrected Ned. "Well, we'll do the best we can." They proceeded back to where they had last had a trace of Tom in his machine, and there could only confirm what they had learned at first, namely, that the young inventor had departed in the direction of the Kanker farm, after having filled his radiator with water, and chatting with a farmer he knew. "Then this is where the trail divides," said Ned, as they went back over the road, coming to a point where the highway branched off. "If he went this way, he went to Kanker's place, or he would be in the way of going. He isn't there, it seems, and didn't go there." "If he took the other road, where would he go?" asked Mr. Damon. "Any one of a dozen places. I guess we'll have to follow the trail and make all the inquiries we can." But from the point where the two roads branched, all trace of Tom Swift was lost. No one had seen him in his machine, though he was known to more than one resident along the highway. "Well, what are we going to do?" asked Mr. Damon, after they had traveled some distance and had obtained no news. "Suppose we call up his home," suggested Ned, as they came to a country store where there was a telephone. "It may be he has returned. In that case, all our worry has gone for nothing." "I don't believe it has," said Mr. Damon. "But if we call up and ask if Tom is back it will show we haven't found him, and his father will be more worried than ever." "We can ask the telephone girl, and tell her to keep quiet about it," decided Ned; and this they did. But the answer that came back over the wire was discouraging. For Tom had not returned, and there was no word from him. There was an urgent message for him, too, from government officials regarding the tank, the girl reported. "Well, we've just got to find him--that's all!" declared Ned. "I guess we'll have to make a regular search of it. I did hope we'd find him out at the Kanker farm. But since he isn't there, nor anywhere about, as far as we can tell, we've got to try some other plan." "You mean notify the authorities?"--asked Mr. Damon. "Hardly that--yet. But I'll get some of Tom's friends who have machines, and we'll start them out on the trail. In that way we can cover a lot of ground." Late that afternoon, and far into the night, a number of the friends of Tom and Ned went about the country in automobiles, seeking news of the young inventor. Mr. Swift became very anxious over the non-return of his son, and felt the authorities should be notified; but as all agreed that the local police could not handle the matter and that it would have to be put into the hands of the United States Secret Service, he consented to wait for a while before doing this. All the next day the search was kept up, and Ned and Mr. Damon were getting discouraged, not to say alarmed, when, most unexpectedly, they received a clew. They had been traveling around the country on little-frequented roads in the hope that perhaps Tom might have taken one and disabled his machine so that he was unable to proceed. "Though in that case he could, and would, have sent word," said Ned. "Unless he's hurt," suggested Mr. Damon. "Well, maybe that is what's happened," Ned was saying, when they noticed coming toward them a very much dilapidated automobile, driven by a farmer, and on the seat beside him was a small, barefoot boy. "Which is the nearest road to Shopton?" asked the man, bringing his wheezing machine to a stop. "Who are you looking for in Shopton?" asked Ned, while a strange feeling came over him that, somehow or other, Tom was concerned in the question. "I'm looking for friends of a Tom Swift," was the answer. "Tom Swift? Where is he? What's happened to him?" cried Ned. "Bless my dyspepsia tablets!" exclaimed Mr. Damon. "Do you know where he is?" "Not exactly," answered the farmer; "but here's a note from some one that signs himself 'Tom Swift,' and it says he's a prisoner!" Chapter XXII Rescued For a moment Ned and Mr. Damon gazed at the farmer in his rattletrap of an auto, and then they looked at the fluttering piece of paper in his hand. Thence their gaze traveled to the ragged and barefoot lad sitting beside the farmer. "I found it!" announced the boy. "Found what?" asked Ned. "That there note!" Without asking any more questions, reserving them until they knew more about the matter, Mr. Damon and Ned each reached out a hand for the paper the farmer held. The latter handed it to Ned, being nearest him, and at a sight of the handwriting the young bank clerk exclaimed: "It's from Tom, all right!" "What happened to him?" cried Mr. Damon. "Where is he? Is he a prisoner?" "So it seems," answered Ned. "Wait, I'll read it to you," and he read: "'Whoever picks this up please send word at once to Mr. Swift or to Ned Newton in Shopton, or to Mr. Damon of Waterfield. I am a prisoner, locked in the old factory. Tom Swift'." "Bless my quinine pills!" cried Mr Damon. "What in the world does it mean? What factory?" "That's just what we've got to find out," decided Ned. "Where did you get this?" he asked the farmer's boy. "Way off over there," and he pointed across miles of fields. "I was lookin' for a lost cow, and I went past an old factory. There wasn't nobody in the place, as far as I knowed, but all at once I heard some one yell, and then I seen something white, like a bird, sail out of a high window. I was scared for a minute, thinkin' it might be tramps after me." "And what did you do, Sonny?" asked Mr. Damon, as the boy paused. "Well, after a while I went to where the white thing lay, and I picked it up. I seen it was a piece of paper, with writin' on it, and it was wrapped around part of a brick." "And did you go near the factory to find out who called or who threw the paper out?" Ned queried. "I didn't," the boy answered. "I was scared. I went home, and didn't even start to find the lost cow. "No more he did," chimed in the farmer. "He come runnin' in like a whitehead, and as soon as I saw the paper and heard what Bub had to say, I thought maybe I'd better do somethin'." "Did you go to the factory?" asked Ned eagerly. "No. I thought the best thing to do would be to find this Mr. Swift, or the other folks mentioned in this letter. I knowed, in a general way, where Shopton was, but I'd never been there, doing my tradin' in the other direction, and so I had to stop and ask the road. If you can tell me--" "We're two of the persons spoken of in that note," said Mr. Damon, as he mentioned his name and introduced Ned. "We have been looking for our friend Tom Swift for two days now. We must find him at once, as there is no telling what he may be suffering." "Where is this old factory you speak of," continued Mr. Damon, "and how can we get there? It's too bad one of you didn't go back, after finding the note, to tell Tom he was soon to be rescued." "Waal, maybe it is," said the farmer, a bit put out by the criticism. "But I figgered it would be better to look up this young man's friends and let them do the rescuin', and not lose no time, 'specially as it's about as far from my place to the factory as it is to Shopton." "Well, I suppose that's so," agreed Ned. "But what is this factory?" "It's an old one where they started to make beet sugar, but it didn't pan out," the farmer said. "The place is in ruins, and I did hear, not long ago, that somebody run a threshin' machine through it, an' busted it up worse than before." "Great horned toads!" cried Ned. "That must be the very factory Tom ran his tank through. And to think he should be a prisoner there!" "Held by whom, do you suppose?" asked Mr. Damon. "By that Blakeson gang, I imagine," Ned answered. "There's no time to lose. We must go to his rescue!" "Of course!" agreed Mr. Damon. "We're much obliged to you for bringing this note," he went on to the farmer. "And here is something to repay you for your trouble," and he took out his wallet. "Shucks! I didn't do this for pay!" objected the farmer. "It's a pity I wouldn't help anybody what's in trouble! If I'd a-knowed what it meant, me and Bub here would have gone to the factory ourselves, maybe, and done the work quicker. But I didn't know--what with war times and such-like--but that it would be better to deliver the note." "It turns out as well, perhaps," agreed Ned. "We'll look after Tom now." "And I'll come along and help," said the farmer. "If there's a gang of tramps in that factory, you may need some reinforcements. I've got a couple of new axe handles in my machine, and they'll come in mighty handy as clubs." "That's so," said Mr. Damon. "But I fancy Tom is simply locked in the deserted factory office, with no one on guard. We can get him out once we get there, and we'll be glad to have you come with us. So if you won't take any reward, maybe your boy will, as he found the note," and Mr. Damon pressed some bills into the hands of the boy, who, it is needless to say, was glad to get them. It was a run of several miles back to the deserted factory, and though they passed houses on the way, it was decided that no addition to their force was necessary, though they did stop at a blacksmith shop, where they borrowed a heavy sledge to batter down a door if such action should be needed. The farmer's rattletrap of a car, in spite of its appearance, was not far behind Ned's runabout, and in a comparatively short time all were within sight of the ruined place--a ruin made more complete by the passage through it of Tom Swift's war tank. "And to think of his being there all this while!" exclaimed Mr. Damon, as he and Ned leaped from their machine. "If he only is there!" murmured the young bank clerk. "What do you mean? Didn't the note he threw out say he was there?" "Yes, but something may have happened in the meanwhile. Those plotters, if they'd do a thing like this, are capable of anything. They may have kidnapped Tom again." "Anyway, we'll soon find out," murmured Ned, as they advanced toward the ruin, Mr. Damon and the farmer each armed with an axe helve, while Ned carried the blacksmith's sledge. They went into the end of the factory that was less ruined than the central part, where the tank had crashed through, and made their way into what had been the office--the place where they had found the burned scraps of paper. "Hark!" exclaimed Ned, as they climbed up the broken steps. "I heard a noise." "It's him yellin'--like he did afore he threw out the note," said the boy. Then, as they listened, they heard a distant voice calling: "Hello! Hello, there! If that is any friend of mine, let me out, or send word to Mr. Damon or Ned Newton! Hello!" "Hello yourself, Tom Swift!" yelled Ned, too delighted to wait for any other confirmation that it was his friend who was shouting. "We've come to rescue you, Tom!" There was a moment of silence, and then a voice asked: "Who is there?" "Ned Newton, Mr. Damon, and some other friends of yours!" answered the young bank clerk, for surely the farmer and his son could be called Tom's friends. An indistinguishable answer came back, and then Ned cried: "Where are you, Tom? Tell us, so we can get you out!" They all listened, and faintly heard: "I'm in some sort of an old vault, partly underground. It's below what used to be the office. There's a flight of steps, but be careful, as they're rotten." Eagerly they looked around Mr. Damon saw a door in one corner of the office, and tried to open it. It was locked, but a few blows from the sledge smashed it, and then some steps were revealed. Down these, using due caution, went Ned and the others, and at the bottom they came upon another door. This was of sheet iron and was fastened on the outside by a big padlock. "Stand back!" cried Ned, as he swung the sledge, and with a few blows broke the lock to pieces. Then they pulled open the door, and into the light staggered Tom Swift, a most woe-begone figure, and showing the effects of his imprisonment. But he was safe and unharmed, though much disheveled from his attempts to escape. "Thank Heaven, you've come!" he murmured, as he clasped Ned's hand. "Is the tank all right?" "All right!" cried Ned. "And now tell us about yourself. How in the world did you get here?" "It's quite a yarn," answered Tom. "I've got to pull myself together before I answer," and he sank wearily down on a step, looking very haggard and worn. Chapter XXIII Gone "Here, eat some of this," and Ned held something out to his chum. "It'll bring you up quicker than anything else, except a cup of hot tea, and we'll get that as soon as you can get away from here," went on the young bank clerk. "What is it?" Tom asked, and his voice was very weary. "It's a mixture of chocolate and nuts," replied Ned. "It's a new form of emergency ration issued to soldiers before they go over the top. Our Y.M.C.A. is sending a lot to the boys from around here who are in France. I was helping pack the boxes ready for shipment, and I kept out some to show you. Lucky I had it with me. Eat it, and you'll feel a lot better in a few minutes. You haven't had much to eat, have you?" "Very little," answered Tom, as he nibbled half-heartedly at the confection Ned gave him, while Mr. Damon went out to the automobile and came back with a thermos bottle filled with cool water. He always provided himself with this on taking an automobile trip. Tom managed to eat some of the chocolate, and then took a drink of the cool water. In a little while he declared that he felt better. "Then come out of here!" exclaimed Ned. "You can tell us how it all happened and what they did to you. But I can see that last--they treated you like a dog, didn't they?" "Pretty nearly," answered Tom; "but they didn't have things all their own way. I think I made one or two of them remember me," and he glanced at his swollen and bruised hands. Indeed, he bore the marks of having been in a fierce fight. "Are you sure the tank's all right?" he asked Ned again. "That has been worrying me more than my own condition. I could think of only one reason why they got me here and held me prisoner, and that was to get me out of the way while they captured my tank. Then they haven't got her?" he asked eagerly. "Not a look at her," Ned answered. "She was safe in the shop when we set out this morning." "And now it's late afternoon," murmured Tom. "Well, I hope nothing has happened since," and there was vague alarm in his voice, an alarm at which Ned and Mr. Damon wondered. "Couldn't you stop at some farmhouse and get fixed up a little?" asked Mr. Kimball, the farmer who had brought the note to Ned and Mr. Damon. "I need to get fixed up somewhere," replied Tom, with a rueful look at himself--his hands, his torn clothes, and his general dilapidated appearance. "But I don't want to lose any time. I'm afraid something has happened at home, Ned." "Nonsense! How could there, with Koko on guard, to say nothing of Eradicate!" "Well, maybe you're right," agreed Tom; "but I'll feel better when I see my tank in her shed. Let's have some more of that concentrated porterhouse steak of yours, Ned. It is good, and it fills out my stomach, which was getting more intimate with my backbone than I liked to feel." More of the really good confection and another drink of refreshing water made Tom feel better, and he was soon able to walk along without staggering from weakness. "And now let's get out of here," advised Ned, "unless you've left something back in that vault you want, Tom," and he motioned to his chum's late prison. "Nothing there but bad memories," was the reply, with a rueful smile. "I'm as ready to go as you are, Ned. It was good of you and Mr. Damon to come for me, and you"--and he looked questioningly at Mr. Kimball. "If it hadn't been for Mr. Kimball and his boy, we wouldn't have found you--at least so soon," said Ned, and he told of the finding of the note and what had followed. "That's the only way I could think of for getting help," said Tom. "They took every scrap of paper from me, but I found some in the lining of my hat--some I'd stuffed in after I had a hair cut and my hat was too large. For a pencil I used burnt matches. Oh, but I'm glad to be out!" and he breathed deep of the fresh air. "How did you get in there?" asked Ned wonderingly. "Those fellows--of course. The German plotters, I'm going to call them, for I believe that Blakeson and his gang--though I didn't see him--are really working in the interests of Germany to get the secret of my tank." "Well, they haven't got her yet," said Ned, "and they're not likely to now. Go on, Tom, if you feel able tell us in a few words what happened. We've been trying to think, but can't." "Well, it all happened because I didn't think enough," said Tom, who was rapidly recovering his strength and nerve. "When I got that message that seemed to come from you, Ned, I should have known better than to take a chance. But it seemed genuine, and as I had no reason to suspect a trap, I started off at once. I thought maybe Kanker had repented and was going to make amends for all the trouble he caused. "Anyhow, I started off in my machine, and I hadn't got more than to the crossroads when I saw a fellow out tinkering with his auto. Of course I stopped to ask if I could help, for I can't bear to see any machinery out of order, and as I was stooping over the engine to see what was wrong I was pounced on from behind, bound and tied, and before I could do a thing I was bundled into the car--a big limousine, and taken away. "The crossroads was as far as we could trace you," remarked Ned. "Well, it wasn't as far as they took me, by any means," Tom said. "They brought me here, took me out of the machine--and I noticed that they'd brought mine along--and then they carted me into the vault. "But they didn't have it all their own way," said Tom grimly. "I managed to get the ropes loose, and I had a regular knock down and drag out with them for a while. But they were too many for me, and locked me up in that place after taking away everything I had in my pockets." "Were they highwaymen?" asked Mr. Kimtall. "No, for they tossed back my money, watch and some trifles like that," Tom answered. "I didn't recognize any of the men, though one of them must have known me, for when they had me tied I heard one of them ask if I was the right party, and another said I was. I know they must belong to the same gang that Simpson, Blakeson, and Schwen are members of--the German spies." "But what was their object?" asked Ned. "Did they try to force you to tell them the secrets of the tank?" "No; and that's the funny part which makes me so suspicious," Tom answered. "If they'd tried to force something out of me, I would understand it better. But they just kept me a prisoner after taking away what papers I had." "Were they of any value?" asked Mr. Damon. "Not as regards the tank. That is, there was nothing of my plans of construction, control or anything like that, though there was some foreign correspondence that I am sorry fell into their hands. However, that can't be helped." "And did they just keep you locked up?" asked Ned. "That's about all they did. After the fight--and it was some fight!" declared Tom, as he recalled it with a shake of his head--"they left me here with the door shut. There must have been some one on guard, for I could faintly hear somebody moving about. "I tried to get out, of course, but I couldn't. That vault must have been made to hold something very valuable, for it was almost as strong and solid as one in your bank, Ned. The only window was placed so high that I couldn't reach it, and it was barred at that. "They opened the door a little, several times, to toss in once some old bags that I made into a bed, and next they gave me a little water and some sandwiches--German bologna sausage sandwiches, Ned! What do you think of that--adding insult to injury?" "That was tough!" Ned admitted. "Well, I had to put up with it, for I was half starved, and as sore as a boil from the fight. I didn't know what to do. I knew that you'd miss me sooner or later, and set out to find me, but I hardly thought you'd think of this place. They couldn't have picked out a much better prison to hold me, for, naturally, you wouldn't suppose enough of it was left standing, after my tank had walked through it, to make a hiding place. "However, there was, and here I've been kept. At last I thought of the plan of sending out a message on the scrap of paper I could tear out of my hat. So I wrote it, and after several trials I managed to toss it out of the window. Then I just had to wait, and that was the hardest of all. The last twelve hours I've been without food, and I haven't heard any one around, so I guess they've skipped out and don't intend to come back." "We didn't see any one," Ned reported. "Maybe they became frightened, Tom." "I wish I could think that," was the answer. "What is more likely to be the case is that they're up to some new tricks. I must get back home quickly." And after a stop had been made at a farmhouse belonging to a business acquaintance of Ned's, where Tom was able to wash and get a cup of hot tea, which added to his recuperative powers, the young inventor, with Ned and Mr. Damon, set out for Shopton. Before Mr. Kimball started for his home, renewed thanks had been made to the farmer and his son for the part they had played in the rescue, and the young inventor, learning that the boy had a liking for things mechanical, promised to aid him in his intention to become a machinist. "But first get a good education," Tom advised. "Keep on with your school work, and when the time comes I'll take you into my shop." "And maybe he'll make a tank that will rival yours, Tom," said Ned. "Maybe he will! I hope he does. If he comes along fast enough, he can help with something else I'm going to start soon." "Whats that?" asked Mr. Damon. "Oh, it's something on the same order, designed to help batter down the German lines," Tom answered. "I haven't quite made up my mind what to call it yet. But let's get home. I want to see that my tank is safe. The absence of the plotters from the factory makes me suspicious." On the way back Tom told more of the details of the attack. "But we'll forget about it all, now you're out," remarked Ned. "And the sooner we get home, the better," added Tom. "Can't you get a little more speed out of this machine?" he asked. "Well, it isn't the Hawk," replied Ned, "but we'll see what we can do," and he made the runabout fairly fly. Mrs. Baggert was the first to greet Tom as they arrived at his home. She did not seem as surprised as either Tom, Ned or Mr. Damon expected her to be. "Well, I'm glad you're all right," she said. "And it's a good thing you sent that note, for your father was so excited and worried I was getting apprehensive about him." "What note?" asked Tom, while a queer look came into his face. "Why, the one you sent saying you were detained on business and would probably not be home for a week, and to have Koku and the men bring the tank to you." "Bring the tank! A note from me!" exclaimed Tom. "The plotters again! And they've got the tank!" He ran to the big shop followed by the others. Throwing open the doors, they went inside. A glance sufficed to disclose the worst. The place where the great tank had stood was empty. "Gone!" gasped Tom. Chapter XXIV Camouflaged Two utterances Tom Swift made when the fact of the disappearance of the tank became known to him were characteristic of the young inventor. The first was: "How did they get it away?" And the second was: "Come on, let's get after 'em!" Then, for a few moments, no one said anything. Tom, Ned, and Mr. Damon, with Mrs. Baggert in the background, stood looking at the great empty machine shop. "Well, they got her," went on Tom, with a sigh. "I was afraid of this as soon as they left me alone at the factory." "Is anything wrong?" faltered the housekeeper. "Didn't you send for the tank, Tom?" "No, Mrs. Baggert, I didn't," Tom answered. "But I don't understand," the housekeeper said. "A man came with a note from you, Tom, and in it you said to have him take the tank, with Koku and the men who know how to run it. We were so glad to hear from you, and know that you were all right, that we didn't think of anything else, your father and I. So he went out and saw that the tank got off all right. Koku was glad, for it's the first chance he'd had to ride in it." "Who was the man who brought the note?" asked Tom, and he was striving to be calm. "To think of poor old dad playing right into the hands of the plotters!" he added, in an aside to Ned. "Well, I don't know who the man was," said Mrs. Baggert. "He seemed all right, and of course having a note from you--" "Who has that note now?" asked Tom quickly. "Your father." "Come on," and Tom led the way back to the house. "I'll have a look at that document, which of course I never wrote, and then we'll get after the plotters and the tank." "She ought to be easy to trace," observed Mr. Damon. "Bless my fountain pen, but she ought to be easy to trace! She will leave a track like a giant boa constrictor crawling along." "Yes, I guess we can trace her, all right," assented Tom Swift; "but the point is, will there be anything left of her? That's what I'm afraid of now." Mr. Swift was still excited, but his worry had subsided as soon as he knew Tom was safe. "The whole thing is a forgery, but fairly well done," Tom said, as he looked at the paper his father gave him--a brief note stating that Tom was well, but detained on business, and that the tank was to be brought to him, just where the bearer of the note would indicate. Koku, the giant, and several of the machinists, who knew how to operate the big machine, were to go with it, the note said. "That made me sure everything was all right," said Mr. Swift. "I knew, of course, Tom, that plotters might try to get hold of your war secret, but I didn't see how they could if Koku and some of your own men were in possession." "They couldn't--as long as they remained in possession," Tom said. "But that's the trouble. I'm afraid they haven't. What has probably happened is that under the direction of this man, who brought the forged note from me, Koku and the others took the tank where he directed them, thinking to meet me. Then, reaching the place where the rest of the plotters were concealed, they overpowered Koku and the others and took possession of the machine." "They'd have trouble with Koku," suggested Ned. "Yes, but even a giant can't fight too big a crowd, especially if he is taken by surprise, and that's probably what happened," remarked Tom. "Now the question is where is the tank, and how can we get her back? Every minute counts. If those German spies and their helpers remain in possession long, they'll find out enough of my secrets to enable them to duplicate the machine, and especially some of the most exclusive features. We've got to get after 'em!" "They imitated your writing pretty well, Tom," Observed Ned, as he looked at the forged note. "Yes; that's why they took all my papers away from me--to get specimens of my handwriting. I half suspected that, but I didn't quite figure out what their game was. Well, we know the worst now, and that's better than working in the dark. Now I'm going to have a bath and get into some decent clothes, and we'll see what we can do." "Count on me, Tom!" exclaimed Ned. "I'll go the limit with you!" "I knew you would, old man!" "And me, too!" cried Mr. Damon. "Bless my open fireplace, but I'll send word to my wife that I'm not coming home to-night, and we can start the first thing in the morning, Tom." "Yes; there isn't much use in going now, as it will soon be dark." "How are you going to trace the tank, Tom?" asked Ned, when his chum had bathed and gotten into fresh clothes. "I'm going to tour the country around here in an auto. The tank can make ten miles an hour, but that's nothing to what an auto can do. And we oughtn't to have much trouble in tracing her. No one whose house she passed would forget her in a hurry." "That's so," agreed Ned. "But if they took her across country--" "A different story," agreed Tom. "Come to think of it, maybe we'd better start to-night, Ned. We can make inquiries after dark as well as by daylight and get ready for an early morning hunt." "Let's do it, then!" suggested his chum. "I'm ready. I'll send word that I'll not be home to-night." "Good!" cried the young inventor. "We'll have an old-fashioned hunt after our enemies, Ned!" "And don't leave me out!" begged Mr. Damon. Hurried preparations were made for the night trip. Tom ordered out one of his speediest, though not largest, automobiles, and told his helper to get the Hawk ready, to have her so she could start at a moment's notice if needed. "You're not going in her, are you, Tom?" asked Ned. "I may need her to-morrow for daylight hunting. If the tank's hidden somewhere, I can spot her from above more easily than from the ground. So if we get any trace of my machine, I can phone in and have the aeroplane brought to me." "That's a good idea!" Inquiry at the shop where the tank had been built and kept disclosed the fact that, in addition to Koku, three of Tom's men had gone in her to help manage the machine under the direction of the man who bore the forged note. That he was one of the plotters not hitherto observed by either Ned or Tom seemed certain. "And they took Koku and some of the men merely to make it look natural and as if it were all right," Tom said. "Naturally that deceived my father, who thought, of course, that I was waiting for the machine. Well, it was a slick trick, Ned, but we may fool them yet." "I hope so, Tom." Night had fully fallen when Tom, Ned, and Mr. Damon started away in the touring car. Out onto the road rolled the automobile. During the little daylight that had remained after his arrival at home and following the discovery of the loss of the tank Tom and Ned had traced it, by the marks of the big steel caterpillar belts, to the main road. It had gone along that some distance, just how far could not be said. "But by using the searchlight of the auto we can trace her as long as they keep her on the road," said Tom. "After that we'll have to trust to luck, and to what inquiries we can make." The touring car carried a powerful lamp, and by its gleams it was easy to trace for a time the progress of the ponderous tank. There was no need to make inquiries of persons living along the way, though once or twice Tom did get out to ask, confirming the fact that the big machine had rumbled past in a direction away from the Swift home. "I had an idea they might have doubled on their tracks for a time, and backed her up just to fool us," Tom said. "They might do that, keeping her in the same tracks." But this, evidently, had not been done, and the tank was making good speed away from the Swift house. They kept up the search until about midnight, and then a heavy rain began just before they reached a point where several roads branched. "Luck's with them!" exclaimed Tom. "This will wash away the marks, and we'll have to go it blind. Might as well put up here for the night," he added, as they came to a village hotel. It was evident that little more could be done in the rain and darkness, and there was danger of over-running the trail of the tank if they kept on. So they turned in at the hotel and got what little rest they could in their anxious state of minds. Tom tried to be cheerful and to look for the best, but it was hard work. The tank was his pet invention, and, moreover, that her secrets should fall into the hands of the enemy and be used for Germany and against the United States eventually, made the young inventor feel that everything was going wrong. The rain kept up all night, and this would make it correspondingly hard for them to pick up the trail in the morning. "The only thing we can do is to make inquiries," decided Tom. "Fortunately, the tank can't easily be hidden." They started off after an early breakfast. The roads were so muddy and wet that traveling was difficult and dangerous for the automobile, and they were disappointed in finding no one who had seen or heard the tank pass up to a point not far from the hotel where they had stayed overnight. From then on the big machine seemed to have disappeared. "I know what they've done," Tom said, when noon came and they had found no trace of the ponderous war machine. "They've left the road and taken her cross country, and we can't find the spot where they did this because the rain has washed out the marks. Well, there's only one thing left to do." "What's that?" asked Ned. "Get the Hawk! In that we can look down and over a big extent of country. That's what I'll do--I'll phone for the airship. The rain is stopping, I think." The rain did cease by the time one of Tom's men brought the speedy aircraft to the place named by the young inventor in his telephone message. There were still several hours of daylight left, and Tom counted on them to allow him to rise in the air and look down on the tanks possible hiding place. "One thing's sure," he told Ned: "I know the limit of her speed, and she can't be farther off than at some place within a circle of about one hundred and twenty-five miles from my house. And it's in the direction we're in. So if I circle around up above, I may spot her." "I hope so," murmured Ned. It was arranged that Mr. Damon should take the automobile back, with Tom's mechanician in it, and Tom and Ned would scout around in the aircraft, which carried only two. "You ought to have a machine gun with you, Tom, if you plan to attack those fellows to get back the tank," Ned said. "Oh, I don't imagine I'll need it," he said. "Anyhow, a machine gun wouldn't be of much effect against the tank. And they can't fire on us, for there wasn't any ammunition for the guns in Tank A, unless they got some of their own, and I hardly believe they'd do that. I'll take a chance, anyhow." And so the search from the air began. It was disappointing at first. Around and around circled Tom and Ned, their eyes peering eagerly down from the heights for a sight of the tank, possibly hidden in some little-known ravine or gully. Back and forth, like a speck in the sky, Tom guided the Hawk, while Ned took observation after observation with the binoculars. At last, when the low-sinking sun gave warning that night would soon be upon them, Ned's glasses picked up something on the ground far below that made him sit suddenly straighter in his seat. "What is it?" asked Tom through the speaking apparatus, feeling the movement on the part of his chum. "I see something down there, Tom," was the answer. "It doesn't look like the tank, and yet it doesn't look as a clump of trees and bushes ought to look. Have a peep yourself. It's just beyond that river, against the side of the hill--a lonesome place, too." Tom took the glasses while Ned assumed control of the Hawk, there being a dual system for operating and steering her. No sooner had the young inventor got the focus on what Ned had indicated than he gave a cry. "What is it?" asked the young bank clerk. "Camouflaged!" cried Tom, and without stopping to explain what he meant, he handed the binoculars back to Ned and began to guide the Hawk down toward the earth at high speed. Chapter XXV Foiled "Is it really Tank A, Tom?" cried Ned, through the tube, as soon as he became aware of his companion's intention. "Are you sure?" "That's the girl, and just where you spotted her with the glasses--in that clump of bushes. But they've daubed her with green and brown paint--camouflaged her, so to speak--until she looks like part of the landscape. What made you suspicious of that particular place?" "The green was such a bright one in contrast to the rest of the foliage around it.' "That's what struck me," Tom answered, as he continued to drive the Hawk earthward. "They thought they were doing a smart trick--imitating the tactics of the Allies with their tanks--but they must be color blind." Ned took another observation through the glasses. He could see the tank more easily now. There she was, fairly well hidden in a clump of bushes and small trees on the banks of a river, about a hundred miles away from Shopton. It was in a wild and desolate country, and only with the airship could the trail have thus been followed. Ned saw that the tank had been daubed with green, yellow, and brown paint, in fantastic blotches, to make the big machine blend with the foliage; and, to a certain extent, this had been accomplished. But, as Ned had remarked, the green used was of too vivid a hue. No natural tree put forth leaves like that, and the glass had further revealed the error. "Look, Tom!" suddenly cried Ned. "She's moving!" "You're right!" answered the young inventor. "They've seen us and are trying to get away." "But they can't beat your airship, Tom." "I know that. But their game--Oh, Ned, they're going to wreck her!" cried Tom, and there was anguish in his voice. As the two looked down from their seats In the Hawk they saw the tank, in its fantastic dress of splotchy paint, leave her lair amid the bushes and trees, and head toward the river. Like some ponderous prehistoric monster about to take a drink, she careened her way toward the stream, which, at this point, ran between high banks. "What's the game?" cried Ned. "They're going to send her to smash!" cried Tom. "She's pretty tough, Tom, but she'll never stand a tumble down into the river without breaking a lot of machinery inside her." "But if they demolish the tank they'll kill themselves, won't they? And Koku and your men, too, who must be prisoners in her!" "They won't risk their own worthless hides, you may be sure of that!" exclaimed Tom. "There they go, but they must have left Koku and the others to their fate!" "Oh, if they could only get loose and take control now, Tom, they'd save your tank for you!" shouted Ned. "Yes; but they can't, I'm afraid. They may be killed, or so securely bound that they can't get loose!" "Can't you get the Hawk there in time to stop her?" "I'm afraid not. By that time she'll have attained top speed and it would be taking our lives in our hands to try to make a flying jump, get inside, and shut off the motors." "Then the tank's got to smash!" said Ned gloomily. Tom did not answer for a moment. He and his chum watched the fleeing figures running away from the war engine. What the plotters had done, as soon as they saw the aircraft and realized that Tom had discovered them, was to start the motors and leap from the tank, closing the doors after them. Whether or not they had left Koku and the others prisoners inside remained to be seen. But the tank was plunging her way toward the steep bank of the river, doomed, it seemed, to great damage, if not to destruction. "Oh, if we could only halt her!" murmured Ned. Tom Swift was busy with some apparatus on the Hawk. Ned heard the hum of an electric motor which was connected with the engine, and there soon sounded the crackle of the wireless. "What are you doing? Signaling for help from those inside the tank?" asked Ned, for the big machine was fitted to receive and send messages of this sort. "I'm trying something more desperate than that," Tom answered. Again the wireless crackled, Tom working it with one hand while, with the other, he guided the aircraft. Ned looked downward with wondering eyes. The tank was still plunging her way toward the steep bank of the river. If she tumbled down this, there would be little left of the expensive and complicated machinery inside. "The rascals did their work well," mused Ned. "They've probably gotten all the secrets they want and now they're going to spoil all Tom's hard work. It's a shame! If only--" Ned ceased his musing. Something was taking place down below that he could not explain. The tank seemed to be slackening her progress. More and more slowly she approached the edge of the cliff. "Tom! Tom!" yelled Ned. "You must have waked some of them up inside and they've thrown the motors out of gear! Hurrah! She's stopping!" "I believe she is!" yelled Tom. "Oh, if it only works!" The tank was still moving, though more slowly. Still the crackle of the wireless was heard. And then, just as Tom shut off his own motor and let the Hawk glide on her downward way in a volplane to earth, the great, ponderous tank came to a stop, on the very edge of the precipice at the foot of which rolled the river. "Whew!" whistled Ned, as the aircraft rolled along the ground near the war machine. "That was touch and go, Tom! They stopped her just in time." "You mean the wireless stopped her," said Tom quietly. "I'm very much afraid that if Koku and the others are alive they're still prisoners in the craft." "The wireless!" gasped Ned, as he and his chum got out of the Hawk. "Do you mean that you stopped her by wireless, Tom?" "That's what I did. It was a desperate chance, but I took it. I had just installed in the tank a system of wireless control, so she could be guided as some torpedos and submarines are, by wireless impulses from the shore. "Only I'd never given the tank system a tryout. It was all installed, and had worked perfectly on the small model I constructed. And when I saw her running away, out of control as she was, I realized the wireless was the only thing that would stop her, if that would. It might operate just opposite to what I wanted, though, and increase her speed." "But I took the chance. I set the airship wireless current to working, and tuned it in to coincide with the control of the tank. Then, by means of the wireless impulse I shut off the motors, which can be stopped or started by hand or by electricity. I shut 'em off." "And only just in time!" cried Ned. "Whew, Tom Swift, but that was a close call!" "I realize that myself!" said the young inventor. "This is a new idea and has to be worked out further for our newer tanks." "Gee!" ejaculated Ned. "Out of date before got into use! Now let's see about our friends!" It was the work of but a moment to enter the tank, and, after making sure that the machinery was all right, Tom and Ned made their way to the interior. In one of the smallest rooms they found Koku and the others bound with ropes, and in a bad way. Koku was so tied with cords and hemp as to resemble a bale of Manilla cable. "Cut 'em loose, Ned!" cried Tom, and the bonds were soon severed. Then came explanations. As has been told, one of the plotters, whose identity was not learned until later, came with the forged note. The giant and Tom's men set out in the tank, and the machine was stopped at a certain place where the plotter, who gave the name of Crossleigh, told them Tom was to meet his men. Out of ambush leaped Simpson and others, who overpowered the mechanics, even subduing Koku after a fierce fight, and then they took possession of the tank, making the others prisoners. What happened after that could only be conjectured by Tom's men, for they were shut up in an inner room. It seemed certain, though, that the tank was taken to some secret place and there painted to resemble the verdure. Then she went on again, coming to rest where Tom and Ned saw her. Meanwhile the plotters were gradually getting at the secrets of construction, and they were in the midst of this work when one of them saw the aeroplane. Rightly guessing what it portended, they left hurriedly, still leaving the hapless men bound, and started the tank on what they thought would be her last trip. "But you saved her, Tom!" cried Ned. "You saved her with the wireless." And word was sent back to Shopton by the same means to tell Mr. Swift, Mr. Damon, and the others that Tom and his tank were safe. And then, a little later, when the bound men had recovered the use of their cramped limbs, the tank was backed away from the ledge and started on her homeward way, Tom and Ned preceding her in the Hawk. Without further incident, save a slight break which was soon repaired, Tank A soon reached her harbor again, and a double guard was posted about the shop. "And they won't get much more chance to steal her secrets," said Tom that night, when the stories had been told. "Why?" asked Ned. "We start to dismantle her at once," Tom answered, "and she goes to England to be reproduced for France." "If only those plotters haven't stolen the secrets," mused Ned. But if they had they got little good of them. For shortly afterward government secret service agents rounded up the chief members of the gang, including Simpson and Blakeson. They, with Schwen, were sent to an internment camp for the period of the war, and enough information was obtained from them to disclose all the workings of the plot. "It was just like lots of other stunts the German spies tried to put over on the good old U.S.A.," said Tom to Ned, the day after the dismantled tank was shipped to Great Britain. "In some way the spies found out what I was making, and then they got hold of Blakeson and Grinder. Those fellows, who so nearly queered me in the big tunnel game promised to make a tank that would beat those the British at first put out, and they took some German money in advance for doing it. "When they found they couldn't make good, the German spies agreed to help them get possession of my secrets. They worked hard enough at it, too, but, thanks to you, Ned, and to Eradicate, who gave us the tip on Schwen, we beat 'em out." "And so it's all over, Tom?" "Yes, practically all over. I've given all my interests in the tank to Uncle Sam. It was the only way I could do my bit, at this time. But I've something else up my sleeve." And those of you who care to learn what the young inventor next did may do so by reading the next volume of this series. It was about a week after Tank A, as she was still officially called, had been shipped in sections that Ned Newton called at Tom's home. He found his chum, with a flower in his buttonhole, about to leave in his small runabout. "Oh, excuse me!" exclaimed Ned. "This is Wednesday night. I might have known. Give Mary my regards." "I will," promised Tom, with a smile.