CHAPTER XXI
THE CHUMS RESCUED BY AEROPLANE
Hope had almost died in the boys' hearts at the scene they hadwitnessed by means of powers that seemed incredible to them, butwhich several well known travelers have told us are not uncommonamong certain natives of West Africa. But old Sikaso was destinedto raise their hopes.
"We will save Four-Eyes and the Red-Headed one," he exclaimedsuddenly.
"But how?" chorused the amazed three.
"In the ship that like the bird can cleave the air we will fly tothem," was the astonishing reply.
"But we do not know where they are," objected Harry.
"I do," was the quiet response.
"What?"
"Say that again!"
"Well, I'll be hornswoggled!"
These exclamations came from each of the three in turn.
"They are on the banks of a river which I know well. In the smoke Irecognized it. Few men have ever navigated the Tunnel of Death andcame out to tell the tale, but your great white Fetish must havelooked after them."
"You know the river?"
"Well do I know it white boy," replied the Krooman. "In the dayswhen my limbs were supple I have hunted and fished there with othersof my tribe."
"You can guide us to it?"
"I can."
"When?"
"As soon as it is dawn."
"How far is it from here?"
"Not more than a hundred and fifty miles."
Frank held up a moistened finger. The air was as calm as amill-pond.
"We can make that distance in a little more than four hours," heannounced.
It was Sikaso's turn to be astonished.
"Of a truth the magic of the white man is not as the magic of theblack man, but it is good," he said; "yes, it is good. In fourhours. That is indeed mighty magic."
"Who can the old man be whom we saw with them?" asked Harry eagerly,his mind no longer containing an ounce of skepticism to the marvelshe had seen.
"I have no idea," rejoined Frank, "but he was white evidently."
"I've seen his picture some place, sometime--or some chap thatlooked a powerful sight like him, only younger," said Ben, whodoubtless had a vague recollection of the once widely distributedphotographs of the missing explorer Desmond.
"I am afraid that he was seriously ill, or even dying, from the lastglimpse we had of him," said Frank gravely.
"Why could you not show us more smoke pictures Sikaso?" asked Harryeagerly.
"I have no more of the powder left," replied the old Krooman bendingover his beloved axe and feeling the edge with a critical thumb."Moreover, the smoke does not reveal the future."
There was, naturally enough, no thought of sleep that night, and soexcited were the boys that they did not even feel the want of it. Ahuge shallow pit was dug back in the forest and the ivory taken fromthe chassis of the aeroplane and the aerial express wagon cachedthere and leaves and grass strewn over the place to make it asinconspicuous as possible. This was done before the aeroplane wasgot in readiness for the dash to the rescue.
"For," said Frank, "old Muley-Hassan, when he finds we haveoverreached him, may take a fancy to come back and try to wipe usout."
"Muley-Hassan will not fight with the few men he has left," sagelyremarked old Sikaso; "when he has many he is brave as a lion, butwhen his followers are few he fights like the fox with wits againstwits and few are his match for cunning."
As the day-life of the jungle--which has a nightlife as well as adaylight one--as the day-life of the forest began with the firstghostly gray of the dawn the boys swallowed a hasty meal, thoughthey were almost too excited to eat in spite of Ben Stubbs'insistence that they take some nourishment. At the old sailor'ssuggestion, too, the car of the Golden Eagle II was packed with foodfor the castaways, who surely, from the latest glimpse they had hadof them, must be in dire straits.
These preparations completed, they clambered into the car of theair-ship and with Frank at the wheel and the old Krooman at hiselbow to direct the course they were to take, they left the groundand were soon flying through a breathless environment at sixty milesan hour.
The Golden Eagle II was on her way to the rescue.
"It is the end."
These words came from the feeble lips of Mr. Desmond as he laybeneath a rough screen of leaves and branches which the boys haderected to keep the heat of the African day from the dying man--forthat he was dying they sadly realized.
The excitement of their flight and the peril of the subterraneanriver had been too much for the enfeebled frame and George Desmond'stroubled soul was on its way to more peaceful rest than he had knownin many years.
"Is there nothing we can do for you, sir?" asked Billy eagerly,bending over the dying man and taking his hand-which, despite theheat, was as cold as ice, between his.
"Nothing," whispered Desmond faintly, and then, with a supremeeffort, he spoke once more.
"My papers--the history of the Flying Men."
He feebly indicated that he wished Billy to take them from hisshirt.
The young reporter swiftly drew out the yellowed manuscript andreverently laid it before the fast-fading eyes. A faint smileoverspread the aged man's careworn face.
"I commend them to your care," he said, as though every word nowcost him an effort. "You have told me you are a newspaperreporter--you will see that they are given to the world?"
Billy once more taking the fast passing man's hand promised tofulfill this sacred trust.
"Read me the dedication," was the next whispered request of GeorgeDesmond.
In a trembling voice Billy read the words inscribed on the firstpage of the yellowed manuscript.
"To my dear wife Mary this volume is dedicated by her affectionatehusband the Author."
"I never thought when I wrote those words I should die like this,"exclaimed the dying man, "but it was to be. I always hoped thatsome day I would escape; but now that I have won freedom, rest seemsto mean more to me than all else beside."
The tears welled into the eyes of both boys as with a resigned sighGeorge Desmond composed himself as if to sleep.
It was about five minutes later, and Billy still held the old man'shand, when the long-lost explorer raised himself on his elbow andshading his eyes with his trembling hand gazed in front of him as ifhe saw a vision.
"Mary--" he cried in a loud voice and fell back dead.
And so died George Desmond, the famous African traveler, almostwithin sight of the civilization to which he had so long dreamed ofreturning.
The shocked and grieved boys had hardly recovered their composureafter this tragic termination of a brave man's life when Lathrop,who had been gazing despairingly about him gave a great shout.
The next minute it was echoed by Billy.
Half mad with joy the boys embraced each other and shook hands tillit seemed they would fall off, and performed a dozen mad antics.
For, winging its way steadily toward them, though still at a greatdistance, was an aeroplane that they had no difficulty inrecognizing at once as the Golden Eagle II.
There is no need to detail the scene that ensued when, fifteenminutes later, the great air-craft settled down on the river bankand the ravenous boys--who had long since exhausted the provisionsin the boat--had been fed, and plied with questions till they had tostop eating to talk and stop talking to eat, at short intervals.
To the great joy of old Sikaso, who regarded it as a personalvindication of his powers, every detail of the trip through thesubterranean river and the subsequent peril into which they hadfallen was substantiated by Billy and Lathrop as having occurredexactly as it did in the smoke pictures. But there was a note ofsadness amid all their joy in the death of the old explorer. On theriver bank they dug a grave and marked it with a pile of rocks andthere the remains of George Desmond rest for all time in the countryto whose exploration he gave his life.
The Golden Eagle II had to make two trips between the river camp andthe outlet of
the subterranean river as, stout craft though she was,her gasoline supply was getting so low that Frank did not dare torun her at top speed and consequently she would not carry more thanthree passengers. By nightfall, however, the reunited adventurerswere all seated about their campfire and talking and retelling allthat had happened to each other during their separation.
Their conversation was interrupted by a strange happening.
The puff-puff of the steam launch that had brought them tip theriver was suddenly heard and as she drew alongside the steep bank afamiliar figure stepped from her side into the bright moonlight.
Not one of the party that did not give a start of amazed surprise asin the newcomer they recognized:
Luther Barr, of New York!
Boy Aviators in Africa; Or, an Aerial Ivory Trail Page 21
