The vandal gave one glance at the sleeping lads, and stole from the cabin of the craft. He looked at his work of ruin, and then tiptoed past the slumbering watchman. A moment later and he was outside the shed, hurrying away through the night.
Several hours after this Mr. Damon and the old miner were pounding on the door of the shed. Mr. Parker, the scientist, had remained at the hotel, for he said he wanted to work out a few calculations regarding some of his theories.
“I thought we’d find them up by this time,” spoke the eccentric man, as he again knocked on the door. “Tom said he had lots to do today.”
“Maybe they are working inside, and can’t hear our knocks,” suggested Abe. “Try th’ door.”
“Bless my heart! I never thought of that,” exclaimed Mr. Damon. “I believe I will.”
The door swung open as he pushed it, for it had not been locked when the intruder left. The first thing Mr. Damon saw was the watchman, still asleep in his chair.
“Bless my soul!” the old man shouted. “Look at this, Abe!”
“Something’s wrong!” cried the miner, sniffing the air. “There’s been crooked work here! Where are the boys?”
Mr. Damon was close to the airship. He looked in the cabin window.
“Here they are, and they’re both asleep, too!” he called. “And—bless my eyeglasses! Look at the airship! The planes and wings are all cut and slashed! Something has happened! The Red Cloud is all but ruined!”
Abe hastened to his side. He looked at the damage done, and a fierce look came over his face.
“The Fogers again!” he murmured. “We’ll pay ’em back for this! But first we must see to the boys!”
They needed small attention, however. The opening of the big door had let in a flood of fresh air, and this dispelled the last of the fumes. The watchman was the first to revive. The sleep caused by the chemical, sprayed from the air-pump by the vandal, had been succeeded by a natural slumber, and this was the case with Ned and Tom. They were soon aroused, and looked with wonder, not unmixed with rage, at the work done in the night.
Every one of the principal planes of the airship, each of the rudders, and some of the auxiliary wings had been cut by a sharp knife—some in several places. The canvas hung in shreds and patches, and the trim Red Cloud looked like some old tramp airship now. Tom could scarcely repress a groan.
“Who did it?” he gasped.
“And with us here on guard!” added Ned.
“I—I must have fallen asleep,” admitted the watchman in confusion.
“You were all asleep,” said Mr. Damon. “I couldn’t rouse you!”
“And there was th’ smell of chloroform, or something like it in th’ shed,” added the miner.
“But look at the airship!” groaned Tom.
“Is it ruined—can’t we go to the valley of gold?” asked Ned.
Tom did not answer for a few minutes. He was walking around looking at his damaged craft. The sleepy feeling was rapidly leaving him, as well as Ned and the watchman.
“Bless my watch chain!” exclaimed Mr. Damon. “What an ugly, mean piece of work. Can you repair it, Tom?”
“I think so,” was the hesitating answer. “It is not as bad as I feared at first. Luckily the gas-bag has not been touched, for, if it had, we could hardly have repaired it. I can fix the wings and the rudders. The propellers have not been damaged, nor has the motor been touched. I think they must have made another attempt to take the map off me,” he went on, as he looked at several pockets that had been turned inside out.
An examination of the door showed how the lock had been forced, and the adventurers could easily guess the rest. But who the midnight vandal was they could not tell, though Tom and the others were sure it was some one hired by the Fogers.
“They wanted to delay us,” said Tom. “They thought this would hold us back, but it won’t—for long. We’ll get right to work, and make new planes and rudders. Fortunately the framework isn’t hurt any.”
Once Tom got into action nothing held him back. He hardly wanted to stop for meals. New canvas was ordered, and that very afternoon some of the damaged wings had been repaired. In the meanwhile the stores and provisions that had been ordered were arriving, and, under the direction of the miner and Mr. Damon were put in the Red Cloud. Tom and Ned, with the help of a man they hired, worked diligently to replace the damaged planes and rudders. Mr. Parker came out to the airship shed, but he was of little use as a helper, for he was continually stopping to jot down some memoranda about an observation he thought of, or else he would lay aside his tools to go outside, look at the weather, and make predictions.
But Tom and the others labored to such good advantage that in three days they had repaired most of the damage done. Luckily the vandal had cut and slashed in a hurry, and his malicious work was only half accomplished. There was no clue to his identity.
No trace was seen of the Fogers, and Tom hardly expected it, for he thought they were in Sitka by this time. Nor were any suspicious persons seen hanging around the shed. The adventurers left their rooms at the hotel, and took up their quarters in the airship that would soon be their home for many days. They wanted to be where they could watch the craft, and two guards were engaged.
“We’ll start tomorrow,” Tom announced gaily one evening when, after a hard day’s work the last of the damaged planes had been repaired.
“Start fer th’ valley of gold?” asked the miner.
“Yes. Everything is in good shape now. I want to go into town, to send some messages home, telling dad we’ll soon be on our way, and I also want to get a few things.”
“Shall I come?” asked Ned.
“No, I’d rather you’d stay here,” spoke Tom, in a low voice. “We can’t take any more chances of being delayed, and, as it’s pretty well known that we’ll sail tomorrow, the Foger crowd may try some more of their tricks. No, I’ll go to town alone, Ned. I’ll soon be back, however. You stay here.”
Both Tom came nearly never coming back. As he was returning from sending the messages, and purchasing a few things he needed for the trip, he passed through a dark street. He was walking along, thinking of what the future might hold for him and his companions, after they reached the caves of ice, when, just as he got to a high board fence, surrounding some vacant lots, he heard some one whisper hoarsely:
“Here he comes!”
The young inventor was on his guard instantly. He jumped back to avoid a moving shadow, but was too late. Something struck him on the back of his head, and he felt his senses leaving him. He struggled against the feeling, and he realized, even in that exciting moment, that the thick collar of his heavy overcoat, which he had turned up because of a cold wind, had, perhaps, saved him from a broken skull.
“Hold him!” commanded another voice. “I’ll go through him!”
The packages dropped from Tom’s nerveless fingers. He felt himself sinking down, in spite of his fierce determination not to succumb. He felt several hands moving rapidly about his body, and then he struck blindly out at the footpads.
CHAPTER XI
OFF FOR THE FROZEN NORTH
Tom Swift felt as if he was struggling in some dream or nightmare. He felt strong hands holding him and saw evil faces leering at him.
Then gradually his brain cleared. His muscles, that had been weakened by the cowardly blow, grew strong. He felt his fist land heavily on some one’s face. He heard a smothered gasp of pain.
Then came the sound of footsteps running—Tom heard the “ping” of a policeman’s night-stick on the sidewalk.
“Here come the cops!” he heard one voice exclaim.
“Did you get it?” asked another.
“No, I can’t find it. Cut for it now!”
They released the young inventor so suddenly that he staggered about and almost fell.
The next moment Tom was looking into the face of a big policeman, who was half supporting him.
“What’s the matter?” asked the offi
cer.
“Hold-up, I guess,” mumbled the lad. “There they go!” he pointed toward two dark forms slipping along down the dimly-lighted street.
The officer drew his revolver, and fired two shots in the air, but the fleeing figures did not stop.
“How did it happen?” asked the policeman. “Did they get anything from you?”
“No—I guess not,” answered Tom. He saw the packages containing his purchases lying where they had fallen. A touch told him his watch and pocketbook were safe. The precious map was in a belt about his waist, and that had not been removed. “No, they didn’t get anything,” he assured the officer.
“I came along too quick for ’em, I guess,” spoke the bluecoat. “This is a bad neighborhood. There have been several hold-ups here of late, but I was on the job too soon for these fellows. Hello, Mike,” as another officer came running up in answer to the shots and the raps of the night-stick. “Couple of strong-arm-men tackled this young fellow just now. I saw something going on as I turned the corner, and I rapped and ran up. They went down that way. I fired at ’em. You take after ’em, Mike, and I’ll stay here. Don’t believe you can land ’em, but try! I came up too quick to allow ’em to get anything, though.”
Tom did not contradict this. He knew, however, that, had the men who attacked him wished to take his watch or money, they could have done it several times before the officer arrived.
“It was the map they were after,” thought Tom, “not my watch or money. This is more of the Foger’s work. We must get away from here.”
The policeman inquired for more particulars from Tom, who related how the hold-up had taken place. The young inventor, however, said nothing about the map he carried, letting the officer think it was an ordinary attempt at robbery, for Tom did not want any reference in the newspapers to his search for the valley of gold.
Presently the other policeman returned, having been unable to get any trace of the daring men. The two bluecoats wanted to accompany Tom back to the airship shed, for his own safety, but he declared there was no more danger, and, after having given his name, so that the affair might be reported at headquarters, he was allowed to go on his way. His head ached from the blow, but otherwise he was unhurt.
“Those fellows have been keeping watch for me,” the lad reasoned, as he walked quickly toward the airship shed. “They must have been shadowing me, and they hid there until I came back. Andy Foger and his father must be getting desperate. I think I know why, too. That little dig I gave Andy about his map is bearing fruit. He begins to think it’s the wrong map, and he wants to get hold of the right one. Well, they shan’t if I can help it. We’ll be away from here in the morning.”
There was indignation and some alarm among Tom’s friends when he told his story a little later that night.
“Bless my walking-stick!” cried Mr. Damon. “You’ll need a bodyguard after this.”
“I’d just like t’ git my hands on them fellers!” exclaimed the old miner. “I’d show ’em!” and a look at his rugged frame and his muscular arms and gnarled hands showed Tom and Ned that in the event of a fight they could count much on Abe Abercrombie.
“I am glad there will be no more delays, and that we will soon be moving northward,” spoke Mr. Parker, a little later. “I am anxious to confirm my theory about the advance of the ice crust, I met a man today who had just returned from the north of Alaska. He said that a severe winter had already set in up there. So I am anxious to get to the ice caves.”
“So am I,” added Tom, but it was for a different reason.
They were all up early the next morning, for there were several things to look after before they started on the trip that might bring much of danger to the adventurers. Under Tom’s direction, more gas was generated, and forced into the big bag. A last adjustment was made of the planes, wing tips and rudders, and the motor was given a try-out.
“I guess everything is all right,” announced the young inventor. “We’ll take her out.”
The Red Cloud was wheeled from the big shed, and placed on the open lot, where she would have room to rush across the ground to acquire momentum enough to rise in the air. Tom, whenever it was practical, always mounted this way, rather than by means of the lifting gas, as, in the event of a wind, he would have better control of the ship, while it was ascending into the upper currents of air, than when it was rising like a balloon.
“All aboard!” cried the lad, as he looked to see that the course was clear. Early as it was, there was quite a crowd on hand to witness the flight, as there had been every day of late, for the population of Seattle was curious regarding the big craft of the air.
“Let her go!” cried Ned Newton, enthusiastically.
Tom took his place in the steering-tower, or pilothouse, which was forward of the main cabin. Ned was in the engine-room, ready to give any assistance if needed. Mr. Damon, Mr. Parker and Abe Abercrombie were in the main cabin, looking out of the windows at the rapidly increasing throng.
“Here we go!” cried the young inventor, as he pulled the lever starting the motor, There was a buzz and a hum. The powerful propellers whirred around like blurs of light. Forward shot the great airship over the ground, gathering speed at every revolution of the blades.
Tom tilted the forward rudder to lift the ship. Suddenly it shot over the heads of the crowd. There was a cheer and some applause.
“Off for the frozen north!” cried Ned, waving his cap.
Tom shifted the rudder, to change the course of the airship. Mr. Damon was gazing on the crowd below.
“Tom! Tom!” he cried suddenly. “There’s the man with the black mustache—the man who tried to rob you in the sleeping-car!” He pointed downward to some one in the throng.
“He can’t get us now!” exclaimed Tom, as he increased the speed of the Red Cloud, and then, taking up a telescope, after setting the automatic steering gear, Tom pointed the glass at the person whom Mr. Damon had indicated.
CHAPTER XII
PELTED BY HAILSTONES
“Yes, that’s the man all right,” observed the lad. “But if he came here to have another try for the map, he’s too late. I hope we don’t land now until we are in the valley of gold.” Tom passed the telescope to Ned, who confirmed the identification.
“Perhaps he came to see if we started, and then he’ll report to Andy Foger or his father by telegraph,” suggested Mr. Damon.
“Perhaps,” admitted Tom. “Anyhow, we’re well rid of our enemies—at least for a time. They can’t follow us up in the air.” He turned another lever and the Red Cloud shot forward at increased speed.
“Maybe Andy will race us,” suggested Ned.
“I’m not afraid of anything his airship can do,” declared Tom. “I don’t believe it will even get up off the ground, though he did make a short flight before he packed up to follow us. It’s a wonder he wouldn’t think of something himself, instead of trying to pattern after some one else. He tried to beat me in building a speeding automobile, and now he wants to get ahead of me in an airship. Well, let him try. I’ll beat him out, just as I’ve done before.”
They were now over the outskirts of Seattle, flying along about a thousand feet high, and they could dimly make out curious crowds gazing up at them. The throng that had been around the airship shed had disappeared from view behind a little hill, and, of course, the man with the black mustache was no longer visible, but Tom felt as if his sinister eyes were still gazing upward, seeking to discern the occupants of the airship.
“We’re well on our way now,” observed Ned, after a while, during which interval he and Tom had inspected the machinery, and found it working satisfactorily.
“Yes, and the Red Cloud is doing better than she ever did before,” said Tom. “I think it did her good to take her apart and put her together again. It sort of freshened her up. This machine is my special pride. I hope nothing happens to her on this journey to the caves of ice.”
“If my theory is borne out, we will have to
be careful not to get caught in the crush of ice, as it makes its way toward the south,” spoke Mr. Parker with an air as if he almost wished such a thing to happen, that he might be vindicated.
“Oh, we’ll take good care that the Red Cloud isn’t nipped between two bergs,” Tom declared.
But he little knew of the dire fate that was to overtake the Red Cloud, and how close a call they were to have for their very lives.
“No matter what care you exercise, you cannot overcome the awful power of the grinding ice,” declared the gloomy scientist. “I predict that we will see most wonderful and terrifying sights.”
“Bless my hatband!” cried Mr. Damon, “don’t say such dreadful things, Parker my dear man! Be more cheerful; can’t you?”
“Science cannot be cheerful when foretelling events of a dire nature,” was the response. “I would not do my duty if I did not hold to my theories.”
“Well, just hold to them a little more closely,” suggested Mr. Damon. “Don’t tell them to us so often, and have them get on our nerves, Parker, my dear man. Bless my nail-file! be more cheerful. And that reminds me, when are we going to have dinner, Tom?”
“Whenever you want it, Mr. Damon. Are you going to act as cook again?”
“I think I will, and I’ll just go to the galley now, and see about getting a meal. It will take my mind off the dreadful things Mr. Parker says.”
But if the gloomy scientific man heard this little “dig” he did not respond to it. He was busy jotting down figures on a piece of paper, multiplying and dividing them to get at some result in a complicated problem he was working on, regarding the power of an iceberg in proportion to its size, to exert a lateral pressure when sliding down a grade of fifteen per cent.
Mr. Damon got an early dinner, as they had breakfasted almost at dawn that morning, in order to get a good start. The meal was much enjoyed, and to Abe Abercrombie was quite a novelty, for he had never before partaken of food so high up in the air, the barograph of the Red Cloud showing an elevation of a little over twelve thousand feet.
The Tom Swift Megapack Page 95
