The Boy Aviators on Secret Service; Or, Working with Wireless

Lathrop looked at it in disgust.

“I can’t smoke it,” he said.

“Go on,” said Ben, “just a whiff will do. The Injuns think that if you’ve smoked a pipe with them you won’t break any promise you have made. If you won’t you’ll insult them.”

“Well, if that’s the case, all right,” said Lathrop, and, with a wry face, he took a pull at the pipe and then suffered a violent fit of coughing. The others in their turn took a whiff. The only ones who appeared to have any relish for it, however, were Ben Stubbs and Pork Chops, the latter of whom said patronizingly to Quatty:

“Ah’ve got some good terbaccer in de hause, nigger, if yo’ wan’ to smoke somethin’ better dan dese yar shavings.”

“Ah consider dat berry good terbaccer, tank you, sah,” replied Quatty with dignity, “and ah’ll tank you ter keep any cricketscisms to yo’sef.”

With a stately gesture the chief signified that negotiations were at an end as soon as the pipe-smoking had been concluded. He examined the framework of the Golden Eagle II with much interest.

“Huh-man-bird,” was his comment, “canoe better. Not so far to fall.”

There still remained one bit of business to be done and both Frank and Harry anticipated some little trouble over it – this was the retention of Quatty as their guide to the ’glade islet on which the abductors had set up their plant. The chief consented to his being retained, but Quatty himself was more doubtful. The promise of a canoe, however, as well as a good round sum of money decided him. He would go. But he wanted to know how the boys meant to get into the interior of the ’glades. From where they were at the moment it would take many days of threading intricate water lanes, he explained, to arrive at their destination.

With a half smile at the explosion he knew was about due Frank replied:

“Yes, but we don’t mean to go by canoe. We shall travel by air.”

The negro turned an actual gray with perturbation.

“No, sah,” he exclaimed, “no, sah. Yo won’ go froo no air wid me. Ah’m too fond of mah life to go skeedaddlin’ round in de clouds in dat contraption.”

All the persuasions the boys could think of were of no avail. Quatty obstinately refused to reconsider his determination not to go up in the air-ship. Finally a happy thought struck Frank.

“Get one of the rifles,” he whispered to Harry.

The boy hastened into the hut and reappeared with a fine automatic. His own in fact.

“Now, Quatty,” commanded Frank, “watch.”

He raised the rifle to his shoulder and pressing the trigger, fired the whole magazine. He reloaded it and handed it to the amazed negro.

“Now you try it,” he said.

A grin of huge delight spread over the black’s face as the automatic weapon shot out its rain of lead. As for the chief he stood stock still, but a look of amazement spread over even his stolid countenance at the exhibition.

“Well, what do you think of it?” asked Frank.

“Dat’s de mostest wonderfulest gun I eber seed,” confessed the darky.

“It will be yours if you guide us to the island where the ‘debbils’ are,” said Frank.

The old darky sighed.

“Ah get de money an’ de canoe as well?” he said at last.

“Of course,” said Frank.

“Den, massa, I’se you man, fo’ I nebber could resist a good gun, and,” he added, as though he found consolation in the thought, “ef I break my neck yo breaks yohs too.”

CHAPTER XVII
THE EVERGLADES IN AN AEROPLANE

“Hurray, we are in communication with the Tarantula.”

It was Frank who spoke. Seated at the field wireless apparatus, with the metallic headpiece about his ears, he rapidly noted down the reply to the message he had flashed out some time previously. The message was signed:

“Selby,” and read:

“Am standing by, off the coast. Communication perfect. Will keep in touch constantly.”

Frank’s message had been a brief outline of his plans, which were to sail in the Golden Eagle II that afternoon if feasible, and ascertain the exact location of the camp of the formula stealers, and leave the rest of the plan of procedure to such circumstances as might arise.

Feverishly working, the boys and their aides got the Golden Eagle II in shape for flight by noon of that day. Thanks to the specially prepared engine-bed that the boys had had constructed, there was little to do except to bolt the driving machinery in place, after which but little adjustment was necessary to true it up with the shafts. While Harry and Lathrop took up positions at the propellers and the rest of the party hung onto the winged ship with might and main, Frank carefully adjusted the engine, having timed it down to its lowest number of revolutions.

“Now,” he cried when all was ready.

The boys gave the propellers a twist. To their delight the engine worked as smoothly as a sewing machine. The power was then cut off and the work of stocking up the lockers beneath the transoms in the pilot-house begun. It was Frank’s intention that if it became necessary to settle down anywhere for any length of time to use the pilot-house as a camping place. This would save the necessity of a tent and as every ounce of weight counts in an aeroplane this was an important consideration. The canvas screens – of the lightest grade of duck carefully waterproofed – which have been previously mentioned were provided for this very purpose as were also mosquito net curtains for fine weather.

Frank’s navigating instruments found their place in a pocket handy to the steersman’s hand. The compass of course being adjusted in a balanced socket that kept it always visible to the helmsman. The operating keys of the Golden Eagle II’s wireless apparatus were in the rear of the chassis and in the space beneath its stand was coiled the five hundred feet of rope through which ran a strand of phosphor bronze wire which was to be used for grounding the current. Alongside the reserve gasolene found its place.

The searchlight, swinging easily on a pivot, was also of course a part of the helmsman’s equipment, and handy to him was slung his revolver in a big loose holster. The rifles and ammunition and the stock of provisions carried went in the lockers, as well as a waterproof sod-cloth to place beneath the chassis if camping on wet ground, and a small blue-flame oil-stove made of aluminum. The few cooking utensils carried were also of aluminum and nested. The last thing to go aboard was a folding canvas boat of which more later.

All these preparations concluded, the boys partook of the last dinner they were to eat in company for perhaps several days. Over the meal, which Pork Chops had made quite an elaborate one in celebration of the occasion, final plans were discussed. Lathrop was to have charge of the wireless apparatus and at all hours of the day or night either he, Ben Stubbs or Billy Barnes was to be on duty beside it on the watch for calls. The boys would also, it was agreed, watch their apparatus constantly. Frank’s ingenuity had provided each machine with an appliance, not unlike the ordinary telephone bell, which commenced ringing loudly as soon as any other instrument within range got “in tune.” This was a patentable improvement, as an ordinary wireless machine has no such convenient attachment and only apprises its operator of a call by a faint click hardly audible to the unpracticed ear.

After lunch the boys went over every rod and wire of the aeroplane and found her to be in first class shape. While these preparations were going on Quatty had been eyeing the craft with the liveliest indications of fear.

“Ah’d jes’ as soon ride on de back ob a fish eagle,” he said apprehensively.

“Why, Quatty, you’re not going to back out now, are you?” asked Frank with a smile at the negro’s trepidation.

“Lord, no, Massa Frank, ah said ah’d go wid yo’ an’ I will, but ef it wasn’ fo’ dat rifle I wouldn’ go not fo’ nuffin’. Say,” he added suddenly, “could ye jes’ wait a while till I paddle home an’ say goo’-bye to my wife?”

“No, we can’t,” laughed Frank, ruthlessly cutting short the black’s hope of even a moment’s reprieve from going aloft in the object of his terror.

“Are we all ready, Harry?” he asked the next minute.

The younger boy nodded.

“Hold on a minute,” cried Frank suddenly, “there is one thing we’ve forgotten.”

He ran back into the hut and reappeared with a small object he had fished out of his toilet-bag.

It was a silken American flag. The boys attached it to a small pair of halyards at the stern of the chassis and ran it up.

“Come on in with you, Quatty,” cried Harry, when this was completed.

Speechless with terror the negro hobbled up to the machine and hesitatingly clambered into the chassis. He sat quivering like a jelly on the floor of the pilot-house as the boys followed him.

“What are you squatting on the floor for?” asked Harry, laughing, “don’t you want to see the scenery?”

“Ah can see all ah wan’ right yar,” was the terrified darky’s reply.

With a final handclasp the boys followed the negro into the chassis and Harry took up his place at the engines and Frank got into the steerman’s narrow seat. Lathrop and Billy Barnes were at the propellers ready to give them the twist that would start the machinery.

“Let her go,” cried Frank with a backward glance. Harry bent low over the carburettor and carefully adjusted it and the lubricating system.

The next minute, with a roar like that of a dozen Gatling guns, the engine started up. Volumes of blue smoke poured from the exhaust which also shot out jets of ruddy flame. To anyone not used to the racket of a powerful engine suddenly turned up to its full power it was actually terrifying. Quatty writhed in a paroxysm of terror on the quivering floor of the pilot-house as the whole fabric of the aeroplane shook as if it had been convulsed by an earthquake.

Like a big ungainly bird it ran rapidly over the ground for a few dozen yards and then as it gathered speed under its rapidly revolving propellers, Frank threw in the top speed clutch and jerked back the lever that controlled the rising planes. Like a perfectly trained animal the big air-craft obeyed and rose as gracefully as a butterfly into the air. For fully ten minutes, till they were clear of the tree-tops, Frank kept her rising – the terrified Quatty rolling about on the inclined floor of the pilot-house like a rubber ball. Then as she soared safely above all obstructions he threw her onto an even keel and headed her due east.

Far below them Harry, leaning over the stern, could see the small clearing in which stood the dead sailor’s habitation and the rapidly diminishing figures of Lathrop, Billy, Ben, and Pork Chops waving a frantic adieu. The darky had in his hand a frying-pan which he flourished and was evidently shouting, for he had his hand at his lips, but of course anything he might have said was at that height inaudible.

Once on an even keel Frank threw in the mufflers and throttled the engine down a little so that the uproar that had so terrified Quatty was diminished. Occasionally as she struck some contrary air-current the aeroplane would give a dip that terrified the negro into fresh convulsions, but otherwise the really alarming sensation that accompanies the rising into the upper air of an aeroplane had ceased and they were driving ahead calmly enough, though not fast, for there was a stiff northeast wind blowing.

“Well, Quatty, what do you think of it as far as you’ve gone?” jestingly asked Harry as, having adjusted his engines to suit him he sat wiping his hands on a bit of greasy waste.

“Ah’s jes’ as soon ride on a buckin’ broncho as on dis yar contraption,” rejoined Quatty, who had by this time scrambled to his hands and knees, “it’s eben worser dan I thought.”

A diplomatic idea entered Harry’s head. They would have to get Quatty over his scare before he would be of any use to them and this necessity gave rise to Harry’s inspiration.

“Well, I think you are a very brave man, Quatty,” he said solemnly; “that Pork Chops is such a coward that he wouldn’t dare to do what you’ve done.”

“Is dat so, Massa Harry, fo’ a fac’?” asked Quatty eagerly.

“Yes indeed,” went on Harry seriously, “he’s such a coward that he would have fainted if we had even suggested coming up with us to him.”

“Well, I’se a berry brave nigger and dat’s a fac’,” proudly said Quatty rising to the bait, “them no ’count southern niggers ain’t got no real courage no-how.”

So well did Harry’s diplomatic admiration work that before they had been afloat in the upper air for half an hour more Quatty was seated on one of the transoms holding onto a strap provided for the purpose and piloting Frank as the ship forged steadily along into the wind, her engine running without a skip or a start.

It was a marvelous panorama that lay spread out far below them. Their bird’s-eye view showed them immediately beneath the floating craft the myriad green-clad islands of the archipelago threaded by bands of sparkling blue water. Soaring in the air about them, but at a respectful distance, and doubtless marveling at the invader of their realm, were kitty-hawks and fish-eagles and sometimes even the rare Everglade kite. If it had not been for the speed they were going nothing would have pleased Harry better than to get out a rifle and try a little target practice at the myriad bird-life that soared beneath and around them.

But it was not so much the immediate scene, beautiful as it was, that gripped the attention of the voyagers. Far in front of them lay a broad, dark band of trees that they knew marked the mainland and was the thick belt of cypress trees that gives its name to the Big Cypress Swamp. Beyond this again lay a scene that made their hearts beat high. It was a vast, an apparently illimitable stretch of brown prairie, looking from that distance very much like our western plains viewed from a mountain top. In the golden glow of the afternoon it shimmered and shone hazily like a magic land. Here and there patches of dark cloud-like blue dotted it and these the boys knew were the islands that are scattered at more or less frequent intervals among the watery wastes of the ’glades and on one of which, with a catch of the heart, they realized lay the object of their long quest.

CHAPTER XVIII
A NIGHT ALARM

Quatty, quite recovered now from his first terror, and almost aggressive in his newly-found courage, sat by Frank’s side directing him as well as he could for, as he explained, he would not be able to get his bearings till they had passed the cypress belt and were above the Everglades themselves. Every now and again, however, he would give the young captain a steering direction.

“A bit mo’ eas’ by sout’,” or “Hold a bit to de sout’ sout’ eas’, massa.”

“What are we making, Frank, do you estimate?” inquired Harry, as the ship rushed through the air.

“About ten miles,” rejoined the other, “the wind is dead against us.”

“Not as fast as a subway express, but doing pretty well,” was Harry’s comment.

The young engineer was, however, most of the time as engrossed with his engines as was Frank with the steering apparatus. From time to time he ran his hand carefully over them to see if the condenser was doing its cooling work properly. The lubricating gear also received his careful attention. A heated bearing would have meant a serious accident if not disaster and Harry was too old an aeronaut despite his youthful years not to pay the closest attention to one of the most important features of a gasolene engine.

“It seems to me that we had better make camp for the night in the cypress belt if possible and make an early start over the ’glades themselves to-morrow,” said Frank, as the dark line of trees grew gradually nearer and the boys saw that they formed a thick belt in some places several miles across.

“Yes, if we find a landing-place,” rejoined Harry.

“How about that, Quatty?” questioned Frank, “are there any smooth spots clear of trees in the swamp?”

“Oh, berry plenty, massa,” replied the negro. “I fin’ you nice lilly campin’ place we get near dem.”

Like a big hawk about to pounce the Golden Eagle II was hovering about an hour before sundown above the tops of the dark cypresses in search of a suitable spot to swoop down. After Frank had manœuvred her in widening circles through the air for perhaps half an hour they at last were above a large clearing a mile or more in diameter and which was quite clear of trees.

“Injun make um long time ago, maybe three, four thousan’ years,” explained Quatty in answer to the boys’ questions.

“Three or four hundred, more likely,” laughed Frank.

“Or three or four,” added Harry.

“Berry well, massas,” said Quatty, highly offended, “I ’spose ah don’ know nuffin’ but what an ig’nant sabage knows.”

To make a landing Frank swung the aeroplane in a long descending arc till he was a few feet above the tops of the outermost of the trees that fringed the clearing then he raised the planes slightly and the Golden Eagle II glided to the earth in a long, slow sweep. The engines had of course been cut out as the descent began and she settled as easily as a bird alighting.

With mosquito netting brought for the purpose the sides of the pilot-house were at once enclosed, for although it was still daylight, the tiny pests that make life miserable on the edges of the ’glades had begun to appear in armies. Strange to say, in the ’glades themselves there are hardly any mosquitoes, but on its borders they swarm in great numbers.

Quatty built a smudge of green wood and leaves before he set about getting supper and in this way the worst of the visitation was alleviated.

The boys watched with some interest while Quatty built his fire. He had lived so long with the Seminoles that he built it in the way the Indians have adopted from time immemorial. First he made a big ring of dry sticks and twigs, the largest on the outside and the small dry ones in the center. He lighted it in the center with his old flint and steel and then having made a rack out of a stick of green wood, placed across two forked upright ones, he pushed the larger timbers from the outside to the center as occasion required.

After a hearty meal of stewed preserved meat made into a delectable stew with dessicated vegetables and canned corn, followed by stewed evaporated fruit washed down by boiling tea, the boys and Quatty retired to the mosquito-barred pilot-house of the Golden Eagle II, where Quatty lighted his pipe “jes’ ter plague dem mosquitoes outside,” he explained, and the boys talked over future plans. After a short time, however, weariness after the energetic day they had put in completely overcame them and they stretched out on the transoms. In a few minutes sleep closed their eyes and the only sound that disturbed the deep silence in the cypress belt was the loud snoring of Quatty and the rhythmical croaking of the frogs and tree lizards in the swamp.

Toward midnight Frank could not judge how long he had been asleep, it seemed to him five minutes, as a matter of fact it was as many hours, when he was awakened with a start to hear a stealthy tread a few feet away from the aeroplane.

“Who’s there?” he shouted.

The minute his voice rang out the footsteps retreated as stealthily as they had approached.

In this lonely untraveled spot who could it be?

The boy awakened his brother and Quatty and cautioning them to silence whispered them his alarming intelligence. Each boy grabbed his rifle and prepared to defend the Golden Eagle II with all their power. As for that arrant coward Quatty, all his recent bravado quite gone, he could only tremble and whimper in terror.

“What do you suppose it is, Frank?” whispered Harry.

“I wish I knew,” replied the other.

“Do you think it’s Indians?” was Harry’s next question.

“It might be,” replied Frank, “but I’m afraid that it’s worse than that.”

“What do you mean?” inquired Harry in the same low tone of voice.

“That the men we are in pursuit of have got some inkling of our purpose and are even now lurking about here to wreck the aeroplane and perhaps kill us.”

The prospect was certainly an alarming one. If Frank’s idea was correct they were powerless. It was unlikely that their enemies would be less than half a dozen and perhaps more. Brave as they were the two boys realized that they could do little against such overwhelming numbers and Quatty was worse than useless.

“Here he comes again,” cried Frank in a tense whisper as after several minutes of silence the boys sat gripping their rifles.

Sure enough the slow, heavy tread was again advancing. It was too dark in the shadows of the mighty cypress trees to see anything and the boys could only judge of the enemy’s whereabouts by the sound. After advancing quite close to the aeroplane the steps ceased and the boys could distinctly hear a low, steady breathing.

“I can’t stand this any longer,” whispered Frank. “I’m going to fire.”

Aiming directly at the sound Frank pulled the trigger. As the report crashed among the trees a roar of pain filled the air and a crashing sound as if a body had fallen was heard.

“What on earth is it?” gasped Harry, as the roar was followed by whines and yells of pain and a sound as if a big carcass was lashing about on the ground.

It was Quatty who solved the mystery.

“Why, dat’s a panfer,” he cried, “ah knowed all along ’twern’t nuffin’ but dat.”

“Get the lantern,” ordered Frank, curtly, “and we’ll see what it is.”

“Yes, massa,” sputtered the negro awed by the boy’s sharp tone. He lit the lamp in silence and the boys sallied out. It was as Quatty had said. On the ground near their camp-fire lay the animal still writhing. Frank put it out of its agony with a shot through the head and then the boys bent over their prize, examining admiringly its tawny skin and great shapely head.

“See, massa, Quatty was right. Nuffin’ to get scared of. Nuffin’ but an ole panfer.”

“Did you think it was ‘nuffin’ but a panfer’ ten minutes ago?” asked Frank.

“Wall, no, massa,” replied the darky, somewhat abashed; “but ah ’spected it right along. Yes, sah, ah mus’ say ah ’spected ’twan’t nuffin’ but dat.”

By this time the sky to the east across the Everglades was beginning to grow gray and as none of the party felt any more inclination to sleep, Quatty was set to work to skin the panther; after which Frank and Harry sauntered into the woods with the shotguns. So good was their success that they managed to bag three brace of doves which broiled with strips of bacon formed a very agreeable addition to the oatmeal, pilot-bread and coffee on which they had intended making their morning meal.

Even before they had despatched their breakfast the sun had risen and illuminated the vast brown levels of the ’glades, which now lay directly before them. The sky was specked with kites and vultures attracted by the carcass of the panther.

“Dey won’t even leab’ any pickins ob him,” said Quatty, motioning up at the soaring carrion birds, “’specs dey finks we pretty good folks to gib dem brakfus’ as well as ourselves.”

Breakfast despatched and the engine fed with fresh lubricant and the gasolene and condenser tanks filled with additional fuel and water the young adventurers were ready to take up what they felt was to be the most important stage of their journey thus far.

The machine was hauled back from the part of the glade where it had alighted to the extreme far side so as to give it all the room possible to rise in. There being no one to turn the propellers the boys utilized their self-starting apparatus.

This consisted of a handle attached to a cogged wheel which operated a chain which in turn revolved another cogged wheel connected to both shafts. This of course acted in exactly the same way as if some one had twisted the propellers, but it required more elbow grease. After a couple of revolutions the engine started up and with a quick all-seeing glance fore and aft Frank threw in the clutch. The Golden Eagle II started as easily as she had the day before and took the air after about fifty yards’ run.

A serious accident, however, was narrowly averted as she cleared the tree-tops. Quatty, arrogant in the fact that he no longer feared the riding in an aeroplane, was standing carelessly on the inclined floor as the craft rose. A sudden jerk as she bucked an uprising current almost threw him from his feet and he made a grab for the first thing he could catch hold of, which was a starboard rudder wire. Under the tug of the stumbling negro’s hand the rudder was of course pulled over and the ship gave a dizzy swoop.

Harry at the engine was thrown right across the pilot-house and Frank thought for a minute that they had gone. With a swift glance he saw what had happened. Reaching back he caught the luckless Quatty a blow under the jaw that laid him flat and effectually loosened his hold on the tiller-wire. Swift as thought the young captain skilfully righted her but not before her port wing-tip had grazed the topmost foliage of one of the loftier cypresses.

When they were once more safe Frank spoke:

“In future, Quatty,” he said, “you will lie flat on the floor when we are going up.”