The Tom Swift Megapack

by Victor Appleton

  “This is certainly great!” cried the sheriff, as the airship rose swiftly under the influence of the powerful gas.

  As the craft went higher and higher his enthusiasm grew. He was not the least afraid, but then Sheriff Durkin was accounted a nervy individual under all circumstances.

  “Lay her a little off to the left,” the officer advised Tom who was at the steering wheel. “The main camp is right over there. How long before we will reach it?”

  “We can get there in about fifteen minutes, if we run at top speed,” answered the lad, his hand on the switch that controlled the motor. “Shall we?”

  “No use burning up the air. Besides, my men have hardly had time to surround the camp. It’s in deep woods. If I were you I’d get right over it, and then rise up out of sight so they can’t see you. Then, when it’s noon you can go down, I’ll fire the signal and the fun will commence—that is, fun for us, but not so much for those chaps, I fancy,” and the sheriff smiled grimly.

  The sheriff’s plan was voted a good one, and, accordingly, the ship, after nearing a spot about over the camp, was sent a mile or two into the air, hovering as nearly as possible over one spot.

  Shortly before twelve, the sheriff having seen to the weapons he brought with him, gave the signal to descend. Down shot the Red Cloud dropping swiftly when the gas was allowed to escape from the red container, and also urged toward the earth by the deflected rudder.

  “Are you all ready?” cried the sheriff, looking at his watch.

  “All ready,” replied Mr. Sharp.

  “Then here goes,” went on the officer, drawing his revolver, and firing two shots in quick succession.

  Two shots from the woods below answered him. Faster dropped the Red Cloud toward the camp of the criminals.

  CHAPTER 24

  THE RAID

  “Look for a good place to land!” cried Mr. Sharp to Tom. “Any small, level place will do. Turn on the gas full power as soon as you feel the first contact, and then shut it off so as to hold her down. Then jump out and take a hand in the fight!”

  “That’s right,” cried the sheriff. “Fight’s the word! They’re breaking from cover now,” he added, as he looked over the side of the cabin, from one of the windows. “The rascals have taken the alarm!”

  The airship was descending toward a little glade in the woods surrounding the old picnic ground. Men, mostly of the tramp sort, could be seen running to and fro.

  “I hope my deputies close in promptly,” murmured the sheriff. “There’s a bigger bunch there than I counted on.”

  >From the appearance of the gang rushing about it seemed as if there were at least fifty of them. Some of the fellows caught sight of the airship, and, with yells, pointed upward.

  Nearer and nearer to the earth settled the Red Cloud. The criminals in the camp were running wildly about. Several squads of them darted through the woods, only to come hurriedly back, where they called to their companions.

  “Ha! My men are evidently on the job!” exclaimed the sheriff. “They are turning the rascals back!”

  Some of the gang were so alarmed at the sight of the great airship settling down on their camp, that they could only stand and stare at it. Others were gathering sticks and stones, as if for resistance, and some could be seen to have weapons. Off to one side was a small hut, rather better than the rest of the tumbledown shacks in which the tramps lived. Tom noticed this, and saw several men gathered about it. One seemed familiar to the lad. He called the attention of Mr. Damon to the fellow.

  “Do you know him?” asked Tom eagerly.

  “Bless my very existence! If it isn’t Anson Morse! One of the gang!” cried the eccentric man.

  “That’s what I thought,” agreed Tom. “The bank robbers are here,” he added, to the sheriff.

  “If we only recover the money we’ll be doing well,” remarked Mr. Sharp.

  Suddenly there came a shout from the fringe of woods surrounding the camp, and an instant later there burst from the bushes a number of men.

  “My posse!” cried the sheriff. “We ought to be down now!”

  The airship was a hundred feet above the ground, but Tom, opening wider the gas outlet, sent the craft more quickly down. Then, just as it touched the earth, he forced a mass of vapor into the container, making the ship buoyant so as to reduce the shock.

  An instant later the ship was stationary.

  Out leaped the sheriff.

  “Give it to’em, men!” he shouted.

  With a yell his men responded, and fired a volley in the air.

  “Come on, Tom!” called Mr. Sharp. “We’ll make for the hut where you saw Morse.”

  “I’ll come too! I’ll come too!” cried Mr. Damon, rushing along as fast as he could, a seltzer bottle in either hand.

  Tom’s chief interest was to reach the men he suspected were the bank robbers. The lad dashed through the woods toward the hut near which he had seen Morse. He and Mr. Sharp reached it about the same time. As they came in front of it out dashed Happy Harry, the tramp. He was followed by Morse and the man named Featherton. The latter carried a black valise.

  “Hey! Drop that!” shouted Mr. Sharp.

  “Drop nothing!” yelled the man.

  “Go on! Go on!” urged Morse. “Take to the woods! We’ll deal with these fellows!”

  “Oh, you will, eh?” shouted Tom, and remembering his football days he made a dive between Morse and Happy Harry for the man with the bag, which he guessed contained the stolen money. The lad made a good tackle, and grabbed Featherton about the legs. He went down in a heap, with Tom on top. Our hero was feeling about for the valise, when he felt a stunning blow on the back of his head. He turned over quickly to see Morse in the act of delivering a second kick. Tom grew faint, and dimly saw the leader of the gang reach down for the valise.

  This gave our hero sudden energy. He was not going to lose everything, when it was just within his grasp. Conquering, by a strong effort, his feeling of dizziness, he scrambled to his feet, and made a grab for Morse. The latter fended him off, but Tom came savagely back at him, all his fighting blood up. The effects of the cowardly blow were passing off.

  The lad managed to get one hand on the handle of the bag.

  “Let go!” cried Morse, and he dealt Tom a blow in the face. It staggered the youth, but he held on grimly, and raised his left hand and arm as a guard. At the same time he endeavored to twist the valise loose from Morse’s hold. The man raised his foot to kick Tom, but at that moment there was a curious hissing sound, and a stream of frothy liquid shot over the lad’s head right into the face of the man, blinding him.

  “Ha! Take that! And more of it!” shouted Mr. Damon, and a second stream of seltzer squirted into the face of Morse.

  With a yell of rage he let go his hold of the satchel, and Tom staggered back with it. The lad saw Mr. Damon rushing toward the now disabled leader, playing both bottles of seltzer on him. Then, when all the liquid was gone the eccentric man began to beat Morse over the head and shoulders with the heavy bottles until the scoundrel begged for mercy.

  Tom was congratulating himself on his success in getting the bag when Happy Harry, the tramp, rushed at him.

  “I guess I’ll take that!” he roared, and, wheeling Tom around, at the same time striking him full in the face, the ugly man made a grab for the valise.

  His hand had hardly touched it before he went down like a log, the sound of a powerful blow causing Tom to look up. He saw Mr. Sharp standing over the prostrate tramp, who had been cleanly knocked out.

  “Are you all right, Tom?” asked the balloonist.

  “Yes—trifle dizzy, that’s all—I’ve got the money!”

  “Are you sure?”

  Tom opened the valise. A glance was enough to show that it was stuffed with bills.

  Happy Harry showed signs of coming to, and Mr. Sharp, with a few turns of a rope he had brought along, soon secured him. Morse was too exhausted to fight more, for the seltzer entering his mouth
and nose, had deprived him of breath, and he fell an easy prisoner to Mr. Damon.

  Morse was soon tied up. The other members of the Happy Harry gang had escaped.

  Meanwhile the sheriff and his men were having a fight with the crowd of tramps, but as the posse was determined and the criminals mostly of the class known as “hobos,” the battle was not a very severe one. Several of the sheriff’s men were slightly injured, however, and a few of the tramps escaped.

  “A most successful raid,” commented the sheriff, when quiet was restored, and a number of prisoners were lined up, all tied securely. “Did you get the money?”

  “Almost all of it,” answered Tom, who, now that Morse and Happy Harry were securely tied, had busied himself, with the aid of Mr. Sharp and Mr. Damon, in counting the bills. “Only about two thousand dollars are missing. I think the bank will be glad enough to charge that to profit and loss.”

  “I guess so,” added the sheriff. “I’m certainly much obliged to you for the use of your airship. Otherwise the raid wouldn’t have been so successful. Well, now we’ll get the prisoners to jail.”

  It was necessary to hire rigs from nearby farmers to accomplish this. As for Morse and Happy Harry, they were placed in the airship, and, under guard of the sheriff and two deputies, were taken to the county seat. The criminals were too dazed over the rough treatment they had received, and over their sudden capture, to notice the fact of riding through the air to jail.

  “Now for home!” cried Tom, when the prisoners had been disposed of. “Home to clear our names and take this money to the bank!”

  “And receive the reward,” added Mr. Sharp, with a smile. “Don’t forget that!”

  “Oh, yes, and I’ll see that you get a share too, Mr. Durkin,” went on Tom. “Only for your aid we never would have gotten these men and the money.”

  “Oh, I guess we’re about even on that score,” responded the official. “I’m glad to break up that gang.”

  The next morning Tom and his friends started for home in the Red Cloud.

  They took with them evidence as to the guilt of the two men—Morse and Happy Harry. The men confessed that they and their pals had robbed the bank of Shopton, the night before Tom and his friends sailed on their trip. In fact that was the object for which the gang hung around Shopton. After securing their booty they had gone to the camp of the tramps at Shagmon, where they hid, hoping they would not be traced. But the words Tom had overheard had been their undoing. The men who arrived at the camp just before the raid were the same ones the young inventor heard talking in the office building. They had come to get their share of the loot, which Morse held, and with which he tried so desperately to get away. Tom’s injuries were not serious and did not bother him after being treated by a physician.

  CHAPTER 25

  ANDY GETS HIS REWARD

  Flying swiftly through the air the young inventor and his two companions were soon within sight of Shopton. As they approached the town from over the lake, and a patch of woods, they attracted no attention until they were near home, and the craft settled down easily in the yard of the Swift property.

  That the aged inventor was glad to see his son back need not be said, and Mrs. Baggert’s welcome was scarcely less warm than that of Mr. Swift. Mr. Sharp and Mr. Damon were also made to feel that their friends were glad to see them safe again.

  “We must go at once and see Mr. Pendergast, the bank president,” declared Mr. Swift. “We must take the money to him, and demand that he withdraw the offer of reward for your arrest.”

  “Yes,” agreed Tom. “I guess the reward will go to some one besides Andy Foger.”

  There was considerable surprise on the part of the bank clerks when our hero, and his friends, walked in, carrying a heavy black bag. But they could only conjecture what was in the wind, for the party was immediately closeted with the president.

  Mr. Pendergast was so startled that he hardly knew what to say when Tom, aided by Mr. Sharp, told his story. But the return of the money, with documents from Sheriff Durkin, certifying as to the arrest of Morse and Happy Harry, soon convinced him of the truth of the account.

  “It’s the most wonderful thing I ever heard,” said the president.

  “Well, what are you going to do about it?” asked Mr. Damon. “You have accused Tom and myself of being thieves, and—”

  “I apologize—I apologize most humbly!” exclaimed Mr. Pendergast. “I also—”

  “What about the reward?” went on Mr. Damon. “Bless my bank notes, I don’t want any of it, for I have enough, but I think Tom and Mr. Sharp and the sheriff are entitled to it.”

  “Certainly,” said the president, “certainly. It will be paid at once. I will call a meeting of the directors. In fact they are all in the bank now, save Mr. Foger, and I can reach him by telephone. If you will just rest yourselves in that room there I will summon you before the board, when it convenes, and be most happy to pay over the five thousand dollars reward. It is the most wonderful thing I ever heard of—most wonderful!”

  In a room adjoining that of the president, Tom, his father and Mr. Damon waited for the directors to meet. Mr. Foger could be heard entering a little later.

  “What’s this I hear, Pendergast?” he cried, rubbing his hands. “The bank robbers captured, eh? Well, that’s good news. Of course we’ll pay the reward. I always knew my boy was a smart lad. Five thousand dollars will be a tidy sum for him. Of course his chum, Sam Snedecker is entitled to some, but not much. So they’ve caught Tom Swift and that rascally Damon, eh? I always knew he was a scoundrel! Putting money in here as a blind!”

  Mr. Damon heard, and shook his fist.

  “I’ll make him suffer for that,” he whispered.

  “Tom Swift arrested, eh?” went on Mr. Foger. “I always knew he was a bad egg. Who caught them? Where are they?”

  “In the next room,” replied Mr. Pendergast, who loved a joke almost as well as did Tom. “They may come out now,” added the president, opening the door, and sending Ned Newton in to summon Tom, Mr. Swift and Mr. Damon, who filed out before the board of directors.

  “Gentlemen,” began the president, “I have the pleasure of presenting to you Mr. Thomas Swift, Mr. Barton Swift and Mr. Wakefield Damon. I also have the honor to announce that Mr. Thomas Swift and Mr. Damon have been instrumental in capturing the burglars who recently robbed our bank, and I am happy to add that young Mr. Swift and Mr. Wakefeld Damon have, this morning, brought to me all but a small part of the money stolen from us. Which money they succeeded, after a desperate fight ”

  “A fight partly with seltzer bottles,” interrupted Mr. Damon proudly. “Don’t forget them.”

  “Partly with seltzer bottles,” conceded the president with a smile. “After a fight they succeeded in getting the money back. Here it is, and I now suggest that we pay the reward we promised.”

  “What? Reward? Pay them? The money back? Isn’t my son to receive the five thousand dollars for informing as to the identity of the thief—isn’t he?” demanded Mr. Foger, almost suffocating from his astonishment at the unexpected announcement.

  “Hardly,” answered Mr. Pendergast dryly. “Your son’s information happened to be very wrong. The tools he saw Tom have in the bag were airship tools, not burglar’s. And the same gang that once robbed Mr. Swift robbed our, bank. Tom Swift captured them, and is entitled to the reward. It will be necessary for us directors to make up the sum, personally, and I, for one, am very glad to do so.”

  “So am I,” came in a chorus from the others seated at the table.

  “But—er—I understood that my son—” stammered Mr. Foger, who did not at all relish having to see his son lose the reward.

  “It was all a mistake about your son,” commented Mr. Pendergast. “Gentlemen, is it your desire that I write out a check for young Mr. Swift?”

  They all voted in the affirmative, even Mr. Foger being obliged to do so, much against his wishes. He was a very much chagrined man, when the directors’ meeting
broke up. Word was sent at once, by telegraph, to all the cities where reward posters had been displayed, recalling the offer, and stating that Tom Swift and Mr. Damon were cleared. Mr. Sharp had never been really accused.

  “Well, let’s go home,” suggested Tom when he had the five-thousand—dollar check in his pocket.

  “I want another ride in the Red Cloud as soon as it’s repaired.”

  “So do I!” declared Mr. Damon.

  The eccentric man and Mr. Swift walked on ahead, and Tom strolled down toward the dock, for he thought he would take a short trip in his motor-boat.

  He was near the lake, not having met many persons, when he saw a figure running up from the water. He knew who it was in an instant Andy Foger. As for the bully, at the sight of Tom he hesitated, than came boldly on. Evidently he had not heard of our hero’s arrival.

  “Ha!” exclaimed the red-haired lad, “I’ve been looking for you. The police want you, Tom Swift.”

  “Oh, do they?” asked the young inventor gently.

  “Yes; for robbery. I’m going to get the reward, too. You thought you were smart, but I saw those burglar tools in your valise. I sent the police after you. So you’ve come back, eh? I’m going to tell Chief Simonson. You wait.”

  “Yes,” answered Tom, “I’ll wait. So the police want me, do they?”

  “That’s what they do,” snarled Andy. “I told you I’d get even with you, and I’ve done it.”

  “Well,” burst out Tom, unable to longer contain himself, as he thought of all he had suffered at the hands of the red-haired bully, “I said I’d get even with you, but I haven’t done it yet. I’m going to now. Take off your coat, Andy. You and I are going to have a little argument.”

  “Don’t you dare lay a finger on me!” blustered the squint-eyed one.

  Tom peeled off his coat. Andy, who saw that he could not escape, rushed forward, and dealt the young inventor a blow on the chest. That was all Tom wanted, and the next instant he went at Andy hammer and tongs. The bully tried to fight, but he had no chance with his antagonist, who was righteously angry, and who made every blow tell. It was a sorry-looking Andy Foger who begged for mercy a little later.