by Frank Cobb
CHAPTER XIII
With an execration Van Arsdale fired. But in the second that it took toaim at the grinning lad, Lawrence had disappeared. Lying flat on thefloor, he wriggled over toward the wheel which he found lashed inposition. The ship, drifting about, commenced to wobble. Second bysecond Lawrence waited for the shots that would put the bag above him ina worse condition than the one he had just fixed. He could not doubtthat they were doomed. He knew very well that even when offering them achance for life Van Arsdale had fully intended to let them get away andthen shoot up the ship and drown them all. But now he could see throughthe open slat left for sweeping off the deck that Van Arsdale was tryingto keep the dirigible up until reinforcements should come. And in aminute or two Lawrence knew by the sound of the engine they would hailthem.
Many thoughts passed through his mind as he lay there waiting to hearthe first shot clip through the billowing silk above him.
His first thought was a heart-breaking one. He would never know his ownpeople, never feel the touch of his mother's soft and loving cheekagainst his own! Bitterly he regretted that he had not told Mr. Ridgewaythe whole thing.
He could not make himself believe that Mr. Ridgeway too was doomed. Hewanted Mr. Ridgeway or someone to take a message to the dear ones he solonged for. He wanted them to know that the son so long lost loved themand had built his young life out of the best he had, for their sakes.Mr. Ridgeway lay motionless, and the roar of the approaching enginesounded loud in Lawrence's ears. In a moment he heard it close in on theother side of their dirigible and shouts sounded. Unable to withstandhis curiosity, Lawrence popped his head above the bulwark and witnesseda most amazing thing.
As the newcomer broke through the fog and swung to the left, a burlyfigure hanging over the bulwark swept the tableau through his goggles.It was astonishing enough. On the right was the big dirigible with thepunctured gas bag struggling with all the might of its powerful engineto keep in the air.
Brown had already mounted the network and was trying to stop the leak.
At the wheel stood Smith, a smile frozen on his face as he swept hiseyes over the newcomers. Even with all their coats and wrappings, heknew that John and the others were not there.
The newcomer saw the figure of Mr. Ridgeway lying in the bottom of theship nearest; he saw the boy wigwag frantically from the bottom; he sawthe two bound and gagged mechanicians.
He uttered an imprecation, and leaping lightly into the middle shipcalled to his men as he did so. Then hauling out his revolver, he madeanother leap which landed him in front of Van Arsdale. As he landed, hetore off his mask and goggles and stripped off the heavy leather coat.
"Ye lyin', stealin', murderin' villain!" he shouted. "I won't defile menew pistol on ye! Fight! Fight, can ye? Fer I'm goin' to slay ye wit' meown hands!"
As he made a lunge for Van Arsdale, the man attempted to shoot, but theweapon was dashed from his hand.
This much Lawrence saw, then he found there was something else for himto do besides watch the maddened O'Brien rushing his snaky adversary, asthe balloon almost imperceptibly settled into the fog. The machine hewas in was reeling around as the wheel turned and the rudder swung toand fro. Lawrence trued it and lashed the wheel. Then he shouted anorder to Hank and Bill who were on the point of following their leaderwith their new guns in hand. Hank sprang for the wheel with an order toOllie. Quickly the dirigible rounded the bow of the middle ship, anddipping a little, lashed fast to the sinking balloon and held it steady.Hank drew a bead on Brown, still clinging to the ropes on the side ofthe gas bag, and ordered him down. In the meantime, Lawrence was rippingthe gags out of the mouths of the two men but he could not free them asthe anklets and handcuffs were locked on, and he did not know where tolook for the key. He tried only for a moment, for Mr. Ridgeway claimedhis attention. Dashing some water over his set and pallid face, he wasrelieved to see the eyelids quiver, and a broken sigh well up from thesunken chest.
His friend and benefactor would live!
Panting cries and gurgles sounded from the collapsed dirigible, andLawrence looked over upon a terrific encounter. Both Van Arsdale andO'Brien were large men, O'Brien stocky and full muscled, Van Arsdalebuilt pantherlike and slim.
Van Arsdale fought with the surprise that one so low as a mere detectiveshould raise a hand against him and with a furious resolve to punish,mangle and kill his opponent.
But something deadlier, colder and deeper stirred in O'Brien's blood. Heremembered his own death sentence on the lips of this man now deliveredinto his hands. He could hear the smooth voice say, "It will not bepainful, only for half an hour, O'Brien!" O'Brien wondered as he lungedout at his enemy, delivering slashing blows, he wondered how many menand boys and indeed women had gone down to death by his hand or by hisorders.
Hank, clinging to the ropes and trying to watch Brown as he came slowlydown, saw the conflict out of the corner of his eye, and muttered, "Somefolks has all the luck! I bet one of 'em get killed!"
As O'Brien delivered a terrific blow and Van Arsdale reeled back againstthe rail, O'Brien looked him in the eye.
"Come on, you snake!" he gritted. "No quarter! I'll make you pay forwhat you did to me. You lily-fingered murderer, you! See if you canfight a white man's way!"
Van Arsdale sprang forward, murder in his eye. O'Brien read it there andlaughed a laugh that was like the flick of a whip across the face of theman before him.
It was not O'Brien's first fist-fight. Many and many the time he hadencountered men his equal in size and strength on the mat, but in thelong nights in the frozen north O'Brien had met men of many kinds andraces, and his joyful laugh and ready wit and square open nature hadmade him many friends. From one and another he had learned tricks worthremembering: the feint, the unexpected stoop, the rush and instantwithdrawal.
And as the struggle went on up there far above the sea, jewels worth aking's ransom under their scuffling feet, the fog close about them, thepunctured bag doubling and flopping overhead, and here and there thesmall steel muzzles that yearned to speak their short, sudden summons ofdeath, as they fought on and on it became apparent that at last O'Brienhad met his match.
He could despise Van Arsdale, could hate him, but O'Brien had toacknowledge that the man could fight. O'Brien was rushing. All hisfighting was offensive. Van Arsdale, on the defensive, parried andsidestepped O'Brien's bull-like rushes.
O'Brien couldn't rid himself of the idea that Van Arsdale was fightingfor time. It puzzled the detective, but with the one idea ofadministering a drubbing that would forever mark his cold and handsomeadversary O'Brien fought on while the fog slowly cleared and thedirigible hung low between the supporting ships.
The little wind that had been blowing from the north grew suddenlystronger, and as a curtain rolls up and is forgotten, so the thick fogdisappeared and left the strange group swinging over the sea that washedthe white cliffs of England. They shone in the morning sunlight, and onthe gray sea beneath a schooner rocked lazily.
Van Arsdale, buffeted against the rail by one of O'Brien's sledge-hammerblows, saw the schooner and his heart leaped. He knew that the two shipssupporting the dirigible in which they were fighting were slowly seekinga lower level. It was not a killing height from the sea if he couldmanage to hit the water right. O'Brien, hammering one blow afteranother, was punishing him badly, but he was also returning enough blowsto keep O'Brien from landing a knockout. Once in awhile O'Brien wouldland a slashing blow on his face. He felt the bridge of his nose crackunder a terrific slam, and a moment later it crashed in. One eye wasclosing. Again, in a moment when both rested for breath, Van Arsdalemeasured the distance to the sea. He knew the schooner would pick himup, and safe in his pocket rested the check for three million dollars.
He was growing tired. O'Brien rushed him again and with the quickness oflight Van Arsdale slipped his left hand in his breast. There was anarrow silvery flash as the hand lifted and came down straight forO'Brien's heart. Van Arsdale knew where to
strike and knew he could notmiss as he leaned lightly forward. He had meant this ending but somehowcould not bring it about sooner. The knife descended in a true path, butsomething happened. Eyes as quick as Van Arsdale's own watched underO'Brien's set brows, and with a leap he writhed aside. The razor-edgedblade slid through the slack of his coat, and instantly O'Brien hadclasped his man in the Indian wrestler's grip.
There was a moment of mighty effort, when the trained muscles gatheredand tightened to their task. Then all at once the watcher there heard astrange crackling snap, as Van Arsdale was lifted high over O'Brien'shead and went whirling down, and down, and down, a limp and grotesquefigure that met the tumbled sea and disappeared beneath the wavesforever.
There was a long silence while O'Brien leaned panting against the railand the others strained their fascinated eyes to see if Van Arsdale'sbody would appear. But there was no break on the surface of the sea.Only Hank found his voice. For want of a better listener he addressedBrown. Prodding him recklessly with the muzzle of his new automatic, hedemanded, "Didn't I say so? Sure I did!"
But Brown made no reply. A man who can feel the exact shape of a gunmuzzle against his third rib never feels in the mood for bandying words.He stood quite still. Brown knew that for him the end had come. Helowered his wolfish head and cringed. Even when they put him in irons hedid not speak.
O'Brien was the first to collect himself. He opened his coat, andparting the slashed cloth traced the course of a clean-cut scratch thatcommenced at the left breast and curved downward for twelve inches. Heturned and showed it to Hank and Bill. A trickle of blood marked itscourse.
"Gee!" said Bill.
"That's going to leave a scar," said Hank hopefully.
"Naw, it won't!" Bill retorted.
"It will if he rubs salt in it," said Hank.
"Well, what in time would he do that for?" the much-tried Bill wanted toknow.
"Why, salt is an epidemic," said Hank. "Best thing in the world!"
"Whadder you mean: _epidemic_?" demanded Bill.
"He means antiseptic, I suppose," smiled O'Brien, almost too tired andblown to talk.
"Yes, antiseptic, or epidemic, all the same thing," Bill replied. "Stuffto rub, on a sore spot, and she gets well. If you don't, piff! you getblood poison and swell up, and swell up till you die." He grew silent,seeming to gloat over the picture of swelling up and swelling up. Then"Turrible!" he said.
"Well, I won't swell up unless we have let Mr. Ridgeway die while wewere settling things with Smith. Get over there, you two, and lay himdown on the rugs."
The two young men leaped back and, followed rather stiffly by O'Brien,found Mr. Ridgeway lying with open eyes, while Lawrence laid clothssoaked in cold water on his head. He looked very ill, and O'Brien wasfrightened when he saw his condition. Lifting him gently, he examinedthe bruise made by the blow, then went to attend a little to his ownhurt.
"About a millionth of a inch more and he would uv croaked him," Hankassured Bill in an undertone as they brought cushions and tucked themaround the injured man.
Bill merely glared.
"I never saw anybody like you in this world!" he said finally.
"All right," said Hank. "Say it all you please, but I don't see asanybody has thought of what _I_ am a-goin' to do _next_, and it's whathe needs worst of all."
He vaulted over into the ship they had come in, and disappeared into thetiny cabin. In a few minutes he appeared with a covered basket. This inhand, he went back to Mr. Ridgeway and knelt beside him. Uncovering thebasket, he took out a pot of tea, boiling hot, and a couple of slices oftoast. Mr. Ridgeway tasted it languidly, then drank with relish as thehot liquid warmed his chilled frame.
"I never tasted anything quite so good," he said as he finished hissecond cup. "You had better pass some of that to O'Brien, young man. Inever did know before how good tea could be."
Hank returned to the cabin with his basket and a jeer for Bill.
O'Brien, scorning the "epidemic," had bound up the scratch and nowcommenced to manoeuver the three planes in toward the cliffs. Thepunctured bag hung heavy between the others, but he thought he couldmanage to clear the rocks and drop the useless dirigible on the plainbeyond. Mr. Ridgeway insisted on going on with the papers and jewels,and suggested to O'Brien that he should give him Hank and Bill, while hecould stay to see to the dirigible and have Brown placed in prison. Alsothe two men who were still wearing their iron bracelets and anklets wereclamoring loudly for release.
Brown, the prisoner, kept an unbroken silence.
After trying in vain to make Mr. Ridgeway wait over or let O'Brien go inhis place, everything was settled in the way stated and the slow aerialprocession made its way to the top of the cliffs or over them, andcarefully led the broken dirigible, with O'Brien, Brown, the twomanacled mechanicians and Ollie in the other balloon.
As Bill skillfully propelled their machine up into the higher currents,Lawrence looked at the cylinder which had been lifted into theirmachine, and marveled that it could make so much trouble. However, oncemore they were safe, he was lying beside Mr. Ridgeway, and a wave oflove seemed to flood him. Lawrence wondered if he could ever care somuch for his own father back there in the States.
It was a clear and sunny day; not a cloud in the sky; not a crosscurrent to bother them. Almost mid-day indeed, yet Lawrence, dead tired,dropped asleep.
