The Tom Swift Megapack

by Victor Appleton

  “It’s certainly great,” the old miner observed, as he looked down toward the earth below them, stretched out like some great relief map. “It sure is wonderful an’ some scrumptious! I never thought I’d be ridin’ one of these critters. But they’re th’ only thing t’ git t’ this hidden valley with. We might prospect around for a year, and be driven back by the Indians and Eskimos a dozen times. But with this we can go over their heads, and get all the gold we want.”

  “Is there enough to give every one all he wants?” asked Tom, with a quizzical smile. “I don’t know that I ever had enough.”

  “Me either,” added Ned Newton.

  “Oh, there’s lots of gold there,” declared the old miner. “The thing to do is to get it and we can sure do that now.”

  The remainder of the day passed uneventfully, though Tom cast anxious looks at the weather as night set in, and Ned, noting his chum’s uneasiness, asked:

  “Worrying about anything, Tom?”

  “Yes, I am,” was the reply. “I think we’re in for a hard storm, and I don’t know just how the airship will behave up in these northern regions. It’s getting much colder, and the gas in the bag is condensing more than I thought it would. I will have to increase our speed to keep us moving along at this elevation.”

  The motor was adjusted to give more power, and, having set it so that it, as well as the rudders, would be controlled automatically, Tom rejoined his companions in the main cabin, where, as night settled down, they gathered to eat the evening meal.

  Through the night the great airship plowed her way. At times Tom arose to look at some of the recording instruments. It was growing colder, and this further reduced the volume of the gas, but as the speed of the ship was sufficient to send her along, sustained by the planes and wings alone, if necessary, the young inventor did not worry much.

  Morning broke gray and cheerless. A few flakes of snow fell. There was every indication of a heavy storm. They were high above a desolate and wild country now, hovering over a sparsely settled region where they could see great forests, stretches of snow-covered rocks, and towering mountain crags.

  The snow, which had been lazily falling, suddenly ceased. Tom looked out in surprise. A moment later there came a sound as if some giant fingers were beating a tattoo on the roof of the main cabin.

  “What’s that!” cried Ned.

  “Bless my umbrella! has anything happened?” demanded Mr. Damon.

  “It’s a hail storm!” exclaimed Tom. “We’ve run into a big hail storm. Look at those frozen stones! They’re as big as hens’ eggs!”

  On a little platform in front of the steering-house could be seen falling immense hailstones. They played a tattoo on the wooden planks.

  “A hail storm! Bless my overshoes!” cried Mr. Damon.

  “A hail storm!” echoed Mr. Parker. “I expected we would have one. The hailstones will become even larger than this!”

  “Cheerful,” remarked Tom in a low voice, with an apprehensive look at Ned.

  “Is there any danger?” asked his chum.

  “Danger? Plenty of it,” replied the young inventor. “The frozen particles may rip open the gas bag.” He stopped suddenly and looked at a gage on the wall of the steering-tower—a gage that showed the gas pressure.

  “One compartment of the bag has been ripped open!” cried Tom. “The vapor is escaping! The whole bag may soon be torn apart!”

  The noise of the pelting hailstones increased. The roar of the storm, the bombardment of the icy globules, and the moaning of the wind struck terror to the hearts of the gold-seekers.

  “What’s to be done?” yelled Ned.

  “We must go up, to get above the storm, or else descend and find some shelter!” answered Tom. “I’ll first see if I can send the ship up above the clouds!”

  He increased the speed of the motor so that the propellers would aid in taking the ship higher up, while the gas-generating machine was set in operation to pour the lifting vapor into the big bag.

  CHAPTER XIII

  A FRIGHTENED INDIAN

  The violence of the hail storm, the clatter of the frozen pellets as they bombarded the airship, the rolling, swaying motion of the craft as Tom endeavored to send it aloft, all combined to throw the passengers of the Red Cloud into a state of panic.

  “Bless my very existence!” cried Mr. Damon, “this is almost as bad as when we were caught in the hurricane at Earthquake Island!”

  “I am sure that this storm is but the forerunner of some dire calamity!” declared Mr. Parker.

  “I’m afraid it’s all up with us,” came from Abe Abercrombie, as he looked about for some way of escape.

  “Do you think you can pull us through, Tom?” asked Ned Newton, who, not having had much experience in airships had yet to learn Tom’s skill in manipulating them.

  The young inventor alone seemed to keep his nerve. Coolly and calmly he stood at his post of duty, shifting the wing planes from moment to moment, managing the elevation rudder, and, at the same time, keeping his eye on the registering dial of the gas-generating machine.

  “It’s all right,” said Tom, more easily than he felt. “We are going up slowly. You might see if you can induce the gas machine to do any better, Mr. Damon. We are wasting some of the vapor because of the leak in the bag, but we can manufacture it faster than it escapes, so I guess we’ll be all right.”

  “Mr. Parker, may I ask you to oil the main motor? You will see the places marked where the oil is to go in. Ned, you help him. Here, Abe, come over here and give me a hand. This wind makes the rudders hard to twist.”

  The young inventor could not have chosen a better method of relieving the fears of his friends than by giving them something to do to take their minds off their own troubles. They hurried to the tasks he had assigned to them, and, in a few minutes, there were no more doubts expressed.

  Not that the Red Cloud was out of danger, Far from it. The storm was increasing in violence, and the hailstones seemed to double in number. Then, too, being forced upward as she was, the airship’s bag was pelted all the harder, for the speed of the craft, added to the velocity of the falling chunks of hail, made them strike on the surface of the ship with greater violence.

  Tom was anxiously watching the barograph, to note their height. The Red Cloud was now about two and a half miles high, and slowly mounting upward. The gas machine was working to its fullest capacity, and the fact that they did not rise more quickly told Tom, more plainly than words could have done, that there were several additional leaks in the gas-bag.

  “I’ll take her up another thousand feet,” he announced grimly. “Then, if we’re not above the storm it will be useless to go higher.”

  “Why?” asked Ned, who had come back to stand beside his chum.

  “Because we can’t possibly get above the storm without tearing the ship to pieces. I had rather descend.”

  “But won’t that be just as bad?”

  “Not necessarily. There are often storms in the upper regions which do not get down to the surface of the earth, snow and hail storms particularly. Hail, you know, is supposed to be formed by drops of rain being hurled up and down in a sort of circular, spiral motion through alternate strata of air—first freezing and then warm, which accounts for the onion-like layers seen when a hailstone is cut in half.”

  “That is right,” broke in Mr. Parker, who was listening to the young inventor. “By going down this hail storm may change into a harmless rain storm. But, in spite of that fact, we are in a dangerous climate, where we must expect all sorts of queer happenings.”

  “Nice, comfortable sort of a companion to have along on a gold-hunting expedition, isn’t He?” asked Tom of Ned, making a wry face as Mr. Parker moved away. “But I haven’t any time to think of that. Say, this is getting fierce!”

  Well might he say so. The wind had further increased in violence, and while the storm of hailstones seemed to be about the same, the missiles had nearly doubled in size.


  “Better go down,” advised Ned. “We may fall if you don’t.”

  “Guess I will,” assented Tom. “There’s no use going higher. I doubt if I could, anyhow, with all this wind pressure, and with the gas-bag leaking. Down she is!”

  As he spoke he shifted the levers, and changed the valve wheels. In an instant the Red Cloud began to shoot toward the earth.

  “What’s happened? What in th’ name of Bloody Gulch are we up ag’in’?” demanded the old miner, springing to his feet.

  “We’re going down—that’s all,” answered Tom, calmly, but he was far from feeling that way, and he had grave fears for the safety of himself and his companions.

  Down, down, down went the Red Cloud, in the midst of the hail storm. But if the gold-seekers had hoped to escape the pelting of the frozen globules they were mistaken. The stones still seemed to increase in size and number. The gas machine register showed a sudden lack of pressure, not due to the shutting off of the apparatus.

  “Look!” cried Ned, pointing to the dial.

  “Yes—more punctures,” said Tom, grimly.

  “What’s to be done?” asked Mr. Damon, who had finished the task Tom allotted to him. “Bless my handkerchief! what’s to be done?”

  “Seek shelter if the storm doesn’t stop when we get to the earth level,” answered Tom.

  “Shelter? What sort of shelter? There are no airship sheds in this desolate region.”

  “I may be able to send the ship under some overhanging mountain crag,” answered the young inventor, “and that will keep off the hailstones.”

  Eagerly Tom and Ned, who stood together in the pilothouse peered forward through the storm.

  The wind was less violent now that they were in the lower currents of air, but the hail had not ceased.

  Suddenly Tom gave a cry. Ned looked at him anxiously. Had some new calamity befallen them? But Tom’s voice sounded more in relief than in alarm. The next instant he called:

  “Look ahead there, Ned, and tell me what you see.”

  “I see something big and black,” answered the other lad, after a moment’s hesitation. “Why, it’s a big black hole!” he added.

  “That’s what I made it out to be,” went on Tom, “but I wanted to be sure. It’s the opening to a cave or hole in the side of the mountain. I take it.”

  “You’re right,” agreed Ned.

  “Then we’re safe,” declared Tom.

  “Safe? How?”

  “I’m going to take the Red Cloud in there out of the storm.”

  “Can you do it? Is the opening big enough?”

  “Plenty. It’s larger than my shed at home, Jove! but I’m glad I saw that in time, or there would have been nothing left of the gas-bag!”

  With skilful hands Tom turned the rudders and sent the airship down on a slant toward the earth, aiming for the entrance to the cave, which loomed up in the storm. When the craft was low enough down so that the superstructure would not scrape the top of the cave, Tom sent her ahead on the level. But he need have had no fears, for the hole was large enough to have admitted a craft twice the size of the Red Cloud.

  A few minutes later the airship slid inside the great cavern, as easily as if coming to rest in the yard of Tom’s house. The roof of the cave was high over their heads, and they were safe from the storm. The cessation from the deafening sound of the pelting hailstones seemed curious to them at first.

  “Well, bless my shoelaces! if this isn’t luck!” cried Mr. Damon, as he opened the door of the cabin, and looked about the cave in which they now found themselves. It was comparatively light, for the entrance was very large, though the rear of the cavern was in gloom.

  “Yes, indeed, we got to it just in time,’” agreed Tom. “Now let’s see what sort of a place it is. We’ll have to explore it.”

  “There may be a landslide, or the roof may come down on our heads,” objected Mr. Parker.

  “Oh, my dear Parker! please be a little more cheerful,” begged Mr. Damon.

  The adventurers followed Tom from the airship, and all but the young inventor gazed curiously at the interior of the cave. His first thought was for his airship. He glanced up at the gas-bag, and noted several bad rents in it.

  “I hope we can fix them,” Tom thought dubiously.

  But the attention of all was suddenly arrested by something that occurred just then. From the dark recess of the cavern there sounded a fearful yell or scream. It was echoed back a thousand-fold by the rocky walls of the cave, Then there dashed past the little group of gold-seekers a dark figure.

  “Look out! It’s a bear!” shouted Mr. Damon. “A bear! It’s an Eskimo Indian!” yelled Abe Abercrombie, “an’ he’s skeered nigh t’ death! Look at him run!”

  As they gazed toward the lighted entrance of the cave they saw leaping and running from it an Indian who quickly scudded out into the hail storm.

  “An Indian,” exclaimed Tom. “An Indian in the cave! If there’s one, there may be more. I guess we’d better look to our guns. They may attack us!” and he hurried back into the airship, followed by Ned and the others.

  CHAPTER XIV

  THE RIVAL AIRSHIP

  Well armed, the adventurers again ventured out into the cave. But they need not have been alarmed so soon, for there were no signs of any more Indians.

  “I guess that one was a stray Eskimo who took shelter in here from the storm,” said Abe Abercrombie.

  “Are we in the neighborhood of the Alaskan Indians and Eskimos?” inquired Ned.

  “Yes, there are lots of Indians in this region,” answered the old miner, “but not so many Eskimos. A few come down from th’ north, but we’ll see more of them, an’ fewer of th’ pure-blooded Indians as we get nearer th’ valley of gold. Though t’ my mind th’ Indians an’ Eskimos are pretty much alike.”

  “Well, if we don’t have to defend ourselves from an attack of Indians, suppose we look over the airship,” proposed Tom.

  “It’s too dark to see very much,” objected Ned. But this was overcome when Tom started up a dynamo, and brought out a portable search-light which was played upon the superstructure of the Red Cloud. The gas-bag was the only part of the craft they feared for, as the hailstones could not damage the iron or wooden structure and the planes were made in sections, and in such a manner that rents in them could easily be repaired. So, in fact, could the gas-bag be mended, but it was harder work.

  “Well, she’s got some bad tears in her,” announced Tom as the light flashed over the big bag. “Luckily I have plenty of the material, and some cement, so I think we can mend the rents, though it will take some days. Nothing could have been better for us than this cave. We’ll stay here until we’re ready to go on.”

  “Unless the Indians drive us out,” said Abe, in a low tone.

  “Why, do you think there is any danger of that?” inquired Tom.

  “Well, th’ brown-skinned beggars aren’t any too friendly,” responded the old miner. “Th’ one that was in here will be sure to tell th’ others of some big spirit that flew into th’ cave, an’ they’ll be crowdin’ around here when th’ storm’s over. It may be we can fight ’em off, though.”

  “Maybe they won’t attack us,” suggested Ned, hopefully. “Perhaps we can make them believe we are spirits, and that it will be unlucky to interfere with us.”

  “Perhaps,” admitted Abe, “though my experience has been that these Indians are a bad lot. They haven’t much respect for spirits of any kind, an’ they’ll soon find out we’re human. But then, we’ll wait an’ see what happens.”

  “And, in the meantime, have something to eat,” put in Mr. Damon. “Bless my knife and fork! but the hail storm gave me an appetite.”

  In fact, there were few things which did not give Mr. Damon an appetite, Tom thought with a smile. But the meal idea was considered very timely, and soon the amateur cook was busy in the galley of the airship, whence speedily came savory odors. The electric lights were switched on, and the adventurers were quickly
made comfortable in the cave, which so well sheltered the Red Cloud. Tom completed his inspection of the craft, and was relieved to find that while there were a number of small rents, none was very large, and all could be mended in time.

  Abe Abercrombie took a look outside the cave after the meal had been served. The old miner declared that they had made a good advance on their northern journey for, though he could not tell their exact location, he knew by the character of the landscape that they had passed the boundaries of Alaska.

  “A few more days’ traveling at the rate we came will bring us to the Snow Mountains and the valley of gold,” he said.

  “Well, we won’t average such speed as we did during the hail storm,” said Tom. “The wind of that carried us along at a terrific pace. But we will get there in plenty of time, I think.”

  “Why; is there any particular rush?” asked Ned.

  “There’s no telling when the Fogers may appear,” answered the young inventor in a low voice. “But now we must get to work to repair damage.”

  The hail storm had ceased, and, with the passing of the clouds the cave was made lighter. But Tom did not depend on this, for he set up powerful searchlights, by the gleams of which he and his companions began the repairing of the torn gas-bag.

  They worked all the remainder of that day, and were at it again early the next morning, making good progress.

  “We can go forward again, in about two days,” spoke Tom. “I want to give the cement on the patches plenty of chance to dry.”

  “Then I will have time to go out and make some observations, will I not?” asked Mr. Parker. “I think this cave is a very old one, and I may be able to find some evidences in it that the sea of ice is slowly working its way down from the polar regions.”

  “I hope you don’t,” whispered Ned to Tom, who shook his head dubiously as the gloomy scientist left the cave.

  The weather was very cold, but, in the cavern it was hardly noticed. The adventurers were warmly dressed, and when they did get chilly from working over the airship, they had but to go into the well-heated and cozy cabin to warm themselves.

  It was on the third day of their habitation in the cave, and work on putting the patches on the gas-bag was almost finished. Mr. Parker had gone out to make further observations, his previous ones not having satisfied him. Tom was on an improvised platform, putting a patch on top of the bag, when he heard a sudden yell, and some one dashed into the cavern.