“But they have warrants for him and Mr. Damon,” declared the inventor.
“Very true, but it is easy to swear out a warrant against any one. It’s a different matter to prove a person guilty.”
“But they can arrest my son.”
“Yes—if they catch him. However, we can soon have him released on bail.”
“It’s disgraceful,” said Mrs. Baggert.
“Not at all, my dear madam, not at all. Good and innocent persons have been arrested.”
“They are going to send out a general alarm for my son,” bewailed Mr. Swift.
“Yes, but I fancy it will be some time before they catch him and Mr. Damon, if the airship holds together. I can’t think of a better way to keep out of the clutches of the police, and their silly charge,” chuckled the lawyer. “Now don’t worry, Mr. Swift. It will all come out right.
The inventor tried to believe so, but, though he knew his son was innocent, it was rather hard to see, within the next few days, big posters on all the vacant walls and fences, offering a reward of five thousand dollars for the arrest of Tom Swift and Wakefield Damon, who were charged with having flown away in an airship with seventyfive thousand dollars of the bank’s money.
“I guess Tom Swift will wish he’d been more decent to me when I collect that money for his arrest,” said Andy to his crony, Sam, the day the bills were posted.
“Yes, but I get my share, don’t I?” asked Sam.
“Sure,” answered the bully. “I wish they’d hurry up and arrest him.”
Within the next few days the country was covered with posters telling of the robbery and the reward, and police officials in cities large and small, and in towns and villages, were notified by telegraph to arrest and capture, at any cost the occupants of a certain large, red airship.
Mr. Swift, on the advice of his lawyer, sent several telegrams to Tom, apprising him of what had happened. The telegraph company was asked to rush the telegrams to the first city when word came in that the Red Cloud had landed.
CHAPTER 15
FIRED UPON
Tom’s excited call to the aeronaut, telling of the mishap to Mr. Damon, was answered immediately. Mr. Sharp jumped forward from the motor compartment, and, passing on his way the electric switch, he yanked it out, stopping the machinery, and the great propellers. Then he leaped out on the platform.
But something else happened. Just before the accident to the eccentric man, desiring to give a further test to the planes, the gas had been shut off, making the airship an aeroplane instead of a dirigible balloon. Consequently, as soon as the forward motion ceased the great ship began falling.
“We’re sinking! We’re sinking!” cried Tom, forgetting for a moment that he was not in his motor-boat.
“Slant your rudder up, and glide downward as slowly as you can!” directed Mr. Sharp. “I’ll start the engine again as soon as I rescue him,” for it was risky to venture out on the platform with the propeller whirring, as the dangling piece of scarf might whip around the balloonist and toss him off.
Mr. Sharp was soon at Mr. Damon’s side. He saw that the man was unconscious, whether from fright or some injury could not then be determined. There was, however, no sign of a wound.
It was no easy task to carry, half dragging it, the heavy body of Mr. Damon off the platform, but the aeronaut was a muscular individual, and long hanging from a trapeze, at great heights, stood him in good stead.
He brought the unconscious man into the cabin, and then, quickly returning to the platform, he detached the piece of scarf from the propeller blade. Next he started the motor, and also turned on the gas tank, so that the airship, in a few minutes, could float in space without motion.
“You needn’t steer now, Tom,” said the balloonist. “Just give me a hand here.”
“Is—is he dead?” inquired the lad, his voice faltering.
“No, his heart’s beating. I can’t understand what happened.”
Mr. Sharp was something of a rough and ready surgeon and doctor, and a small box of medicines had been brought along in case of emergencies. With the Red Cloud now lazily floating in the air, for, once the falling motion had been checked by the engine, the motor had been stopped again, Mr. Sharp set about restoring Mr. Damon to consciousness.
It was not long before the man opened his eyes. The color that had left his cheeks came back, and, after a drink of cold water he was able to sit up.
“Did I fall?” he asked. “Bless my very existence, but did I tumble off the airship?”
“No indeed,” replied Tom, “though you came pretty near it. How do you feel? Were you hurt?”
“Oh, I’m all right now—just a trifle dizzy. But I thought sure I was a goner when I fell over the platform railing,” and Mr. Damon could not repress a shudder. Mr. Sharp administered some more medicine and his patient was soon able to stand, and move about.
“How did it happen?” inquired the balloonist.
“I hardly know,” answered Mr. Damon. “I was out on the platform, looking at the view, and thinking how much better my neuralgia was, with the scarf on. Suddenly the wind whipped loose one end of the scarf, and, before I knew it the cloth had caught on the propeller blade. I was blown, or drawn to one side, tossed against the railing, which I managed to grab, and then I lost my senses. It’s a good thing I wasn’t whirled around the propeller.”
“It’s a good thing you weren’t tossed down to the earth,” commented Tom, shivering as he thought of his friend’s narrow escape.
“I became unconscious, partly because the wind was knocked from me as I hit the platform railing,” went on Mr. Damon, “and partly from fright, I think. But I’m all right now, and I’m not going out on that platform again with a loose scarf on.”
“I wouldn’t go out at all again, if I were you, though, of course, I’m used to dizzy heights,” spoke Mr. Sharp.
“Oh, I’m not so easily frightened,” declared Mr. Damon. “If I’m going to be a balloonist, or an aeroplanist I’ve got to get used to certain things. I’m all right now,” and the plucky man was, for the blow to his side did not amount to much. It was some time, however, before Tom got over the fright his friend had caused him.
They spent that night moving slowly south, and in the morning found they had covered about a hundred miles, not having run the ship to anything like its maximum speed. Breakfast was served above the clouds, for a change, Mr. Damon finding that he could stand the great height with comfort.
It was three days after the start, and the travelers were proceeding slowly along. They were totally unaware, of course, of the sensation which their leaving, conjointly with the bank robbery, had caused, not only in Shopton but in other places.
“We’re over a good-sized city,” announced Tom, on the noon of the third day. “Suppose we drop down, and leave some message? Dad will be anxious to hear from us.”
“Good idea,” commented Mr. Sharp. “Down it is. Shift the rudder.”
Tom proceeded to do so, and, while Mr. Damon relieved him at the wheel the young inventor prepared a message to his father. It was placed in a weighted envelope, together with a sum of money, and the person picking it up was requested to send the letter as a telegram, retaining some money for his trouble.
As the ship got lower and lower over the city the usual crowds could be seen congregating in the streets, pointing and gazing upward.
“We’re creating quite a stir,” observed Tom.
“More than usual, it seems,” added Mr. Sharp, peering down. “I declare, there seems to be a police parade under way.”
“That’s right,” put in Mr. Damon, for, looking down, a squad of uniformed officers, some on horseback, could be seen hurrying along the main street, trying to keep pace with the airship, which was moving slowly.
“They’re looking at us through telescopes,” called Tom. “Guess they never saw a balloon down this way.”
Nearer and nearer to the city dropped the Red Cloud. Tom was about to let go the we
ighted envelope, when, from the midst of the police came several puffs of white smoke. It was followed by vicious, zipping sounds about the cabin of the ship, the windows of which were open. Then came the reports of several rifles.
“They’re firing at us!” yelled Tom.
“So they are!” cried Mr. Sharp. “They must be crazy! Can’t they see that we’re not a bird.”
“Maybe they take us for a war balloon,” suggested Mr. Damon.
Another volley was directed at the airship, and several bullets struck the big aluminum gas holder glancing blows.
“Here! Quit that!” yelled Tom, leaning out of the window. “Are you crazy? You’ll damage us!”
“They can’t hear you,” called Mr. Sharp.
A third volley was fired, and this time several persons other than police officers seemed to be shooting at the airship. Revolvers as well as rifles were being used.
“We’re got to get out of this!” shouted Mr. Sharp, as a bullet sang uncomfortably close to his head. “I can’t imagine what’s gotten into the people. Send her up, Tom!”
The lad quickly shifted the elevation rudder, and the Red Cloud sailed majestically aloft. The young inventor had not dropped his message, concluding that citizens who would fire on travelers of the air for no reason, would not be likely to accommodate them in the matter of sending messages.
The craft mounted rapidly upward, but before it was beyond rifle shot another volley was fired, one bullet sending some splinters flying from the wooden framework.
“Whew! That was a narrow escape!” exclaimed Mr. Sharp. “What in the world can those people be up to, anyhow?”
CHAPTER 16
OVER A FIERY FURNACE
Down below, the aeronauts could see the crowd, led by the police, scurrying to and fro. Many individuals beside the officers appeared to be holding weapons, and, from the puffs of smoke that spurted out, it was evident that more shots were being fired. But the bullets could do no harm, and the Red Cloud, under the force of the rapidly revolving propellers, was soon beyond the center of the city.
“Well, if that isn’t the limit!” cried Tom. “They must have taken us for a German war balloon, about to drop explosives on them.”
“Bless my liver!” ejaculated Mr. Damon, “I believe you’re right. Eh, Mr. Sharp?”
The veteran balloonist took a careful look over the craft before replying. Then he spoke:
“It couldn’t be that,” and he shook his head, as if puzzled. “They would know no foreign airship would try any trick like that. Beside, if by some remote possibility they did imagine it, there would be soldiers shooting at us, instead of the police. As it was, the whole population seemed anxious to bring us down.”
“And they nearly did,” added Mr. Damon. “If they had shot a few holes in the gas bag where would we be?”
“Right in the air,” answered the balloonist. “It would take several volleys of bullets to damage our aluminum container. It is in sections and when one, or even five compartments, for that matter, are pierced, there is enough gas in the others to sustain us. So they could not have damaged us much, even if they had shot a lot of holes in us. Even without the gas container we can keep afloat by constantly moving, for the planes will serve their purpose. Of course they could damage us, and maybe put some of our machinery out of business, and that would be a serious thing. But what puzzles me is why they fired at us at all.”
“It couldn’t be out of pure mischief; could it?” asked the young inventor.
“Hardly. If we were in a savage country I could understand the natives firing at some such object as this airship, but the people of that city must have known what our craft was. They probably have read something about it in the news papers, and to deliberately fire on us, with the chance of disabling us, seems worse than barbarous.”
“Well, we won’t give ’em another opportunity,” commented Mr. Damon.
“No, indeed, not this city, but who knows but what the example may spread? We may be fired at the next town we sail over.”
“Then steer clear of the towns,” advised Tom.
“Impossible. We must pass over some, but I’d like to solve this mystery.”
The day passed without further incident, though they did not go low enough down over any city to drop any messages. It was decided that it would not be safe.
“We’ll take a chance at night,” suggested Tom, and that evening, approaching a good-sized town in the dusk, several of the weighted envelopes were dropped overboard. Doubtless persons walking along the street, who were startled by hearing something fall with a “thud” at their feet, were much startled to look up and see, dimly, a great, ghostly shape moving in the air. But there was no shooting, and, eventually, some of the messages reached Mr. Swift, in Shopton. But he could not answer them for the airship kept on the move.
The night was spent floating in the air, with the engine stopped, and the Red Cloud floating lazily this way and that as the gentle winds shifted, for it was calm. The “anchorage” if such it may be called, was above a sparsely settled part of the country, and if the lights of the airship were seen from below, the farmers doubtless took them for some new stars or, possibly, a comet.
“Now then for a fast, straight run!” cried Tom, after breakfast had been served, and the big motor, with its twenty cylinders, started. “We’ll be able to make the turn today, and then make for home, won’t we, Mr. Sharp?”
“Well, we could do it, Tom,” was the answer, “but I like this mode of traveling so that I think I’ll lengthen the voyage. Instead of turning at Atlanta, what do you say to making for Key West, and then starting back? That will be something of a trip. The Red Cloud is behaving much better than I hoped she would.”
“I’m willing to go further if Mr. Damon is.”
“Oh, bless my shoe strings, I’m game!” exclaimed the eccentric man. “I always did want to go to Key West, anyhow.”
The craft was speeding along at a fast clip, and dinner that day was served about three miles in the air. Then, desiring to test the gliding abilities of the airship, it was sent down on a long slant, with the propellers stationary, the shifting planes and rudders alone guiding it.
As the craft fairly slid down out of the sky, like a sled on a bank of fleecy snow, Tom, who was peering ahead, with his hand on the steering wheel, cried out “I say! It looks as if we were going to run into a thunder storm!”
“How’s that?” inquired Mr. Sharp, poking his head from the motor compartment.
“He says there’s a big storm ahead,” repeated Mr. Damon, “and I guess he’s right. I see a big bank of dark clouds, and there is a roaring in the air.”
Mr. Sharp, who had been making some adjustments to the motor went forward to take a look. The Red Cloud was swiftly gliding downward on a slant, straight toward a dark mass of vapor, that seemed to be rolling first one way, and then another, while as Mr. Damon had said, there was a low rumbling proceeding from it.
“That doesn’t seem to be a thunder storm,” spoke the balloonist, with a puzzled air.
They all regarded the dark mass of vapor intently for a few seconds. Tom had brought the airship to a more level keel, and it was now spinning along under its own momentum, like a flat piece of tin, scaled by some lead. But it was headed for the clouds, if such they were, though losing speed by degrees.
“I’ll have to start the motor!” exclaimed Mr. Sharp. “We don’t want to run into a storm, if we can help it, though I don’t ever remember seeing a thunder disturbance like that.”
“Whew! It’s getting warm,” suddenly announced the youth, and he let go of the steering wheel for a moment, while he took off his coat.
“That’s what it is,” agreed Mr. Damon, who also divested himself of his garments. “Bless my spark plug, but it’s like a July day. No wonder there’s a thunderstorm ahead.”
Then Mr. Sharp uttered a cry. “That’s no storm!” he fairly shouted. “It’s a big forest fire! That’s smoke we see! We must get out
of this. Turn around Tom, while I start the engine. We must rise above it!”
He fairly leaped for the motor, and Tom and Mr. Damon could hear him turning the levers and wheels, ready to start. But before the explosions came something happened. There was a sound as of some great, siren whistle blowing, and then, with a howl of the on rushing air, the Red Cloud, the propellers of which hung motionless on their shafts, was fairly sucked forward toward the fire, as the current sucks a boat over a water fall.
“Start the motor! Start the motor, Mr. Sharp!” cried Tom.
“I’m trying to, but something seems to be the matter.”
“We’re being drawn right over the fire!” yelled Mr. Damon. “It’s getting hotter every minute! Can’t you do something?”
“You take the wheel,” called the balloonist to Mr. Damon. “Steer around, just as if it was an auto when we start the engine. Tom, come here and give me a hand. The motor has jammed!”
The young inventor sprang to obey. Mr. Damon, his face showing some of the fear he felt, grasped the steering wheel. The airship was now about a quarter of a mile high, but instead of resting motionless in the air, sustained by the gas in the container, she was being pulled forward, right toward the heart of the mass of black vapor, which it could now be seen was streaked with bright tongues of flame.
“What’s making us go ahead, if the motor isn’t going?” asked Tom, as he bent over the machine, at which the aeronaut was laboring.
“Suction-draught from the fire!” explained Mr. Sharp. “Heated air rises and leaves a vacuum. The cold air rushes in. It’s carrying us with it. We’ll be right in the fire in a few minutes, if we can’t get started with this motor! I don’t see what ails it.”
“Can’t we steer to one side, as it is?”
“No. We’re right in a powerful current of air, and steering won’t do any good, until we have some motion of our own. Turn the gasolene lever on a little more, and see if you can get a spark.”
Tom did so, but no explosion resulted. The twenty cylinders of the big engine remained mute. The airship, meanwhile, was gathering speed, sucked onward and downward as it was by the draught from the fire. The roaring was plainer now, and the crackling of the flames could be heard plainly. The heat, too, grew more, intense.
The Tom Swift Megapack Page 34
