The Tom Swift Megapack

by Victor Appleton

  “This boat has water-tight compartments, and if it does sink it won’t do it in a hurry,” commented Tom.

  “I don’t care to have it do it at all,” declared Ned, who found that he had started to get into his trousers hindside before and he had to change them. “Think of all our baggage and supplies and the balloon on board.” For the travelers had shipped their things by the same steamer as that on which they sailed.

  “Well, let’s get out and learn the worst,” cried Tom.

  He was the first to leave the stateroom, and as he rushed along the passages which were now brilliant with light he saw other half-clad passengers bent on the same errand as himself, to get on deck and learn what had happened.

  “Wait, Tom!” called Ned.

  “Come along, I’m just ahead of you,” yelled his chum from around a corner. “I’m going to see if Eradicate is up. He’s an awful heavy sleeper.”

  “Bless my feather bed! That shock was enough to awaken anyone!” commented Mr. Damon, as he followed Ned, who was running to catch up to Tom.

  Suddenly a thought came to our hero. The mysterious passengers in Stateroom No. 27! Surely this midnight alarm would bring them out, and he might have a chance to see who they were.

  Tom thought quickly. He could take a turn, go through a short passage, and run past the room of the mysterious passengers getting on deck as quickly as if he went the usual way.

  “I’ll go look after Rad!” Tom shouted to Ned. “You go up on deck, and I’ll join you.”

  Eradicate’s stateroom was on his way, after he had passed No. 27. Tom at once put his plan into execution. As he ran on, the confusion on deck seemed to increase, but the lad noted that the vessel did not pitch and roll so much, and she seemed to be on an even keel, and in no immediate danger of going down.

  As Tom neared Stateroom No. 27 he heard voices coming from it, voices that sent a thrill through him, for he was sure he had heard them before.

  “Where are the life preservers? Oh, I know we’ll be drowned! I wish I’d never come on this trip! Look out, those are my pants you’re putting on! Oh, where is my collar? Hand me my coat! Look out, you’re stepping on my fingers!”

  These were the confused and alarmed cries that Tom heard. He paused for a moment opposite the door, and then it was suddenly flung open. The lights were glaring brightly inside and a strange sight met the gaze of the young inventor.

  There stood Mr. Foger and beside him—half dressed—was his son—Andy! Tom gasped. So did Andy and Mr. Foger, for they had both recognized our hero.

  But how Mr. Foger had changed! His moustache was shaved off, though in spite of this Tom knew him. And Andy! No longer was his hair red, for it had been dyed a deep black and glasses over his eyes concealed their squint. No wonder the purser had not recognized them by the descriptions Tom and Ned had given.

  “Andy Foger!” gasped Tom.

  “Tom—it’s Tom Swift, father!” stammered the bully.

  “Close the door!” sharply ordered Mr. Foger, though he and his son had been about to rush out.

  “I won’t do it!” cried Andy. “The ship is sinking and I’m not going to be drowned down here.”

  “So it was you—after all,” went on Tom. “What are you doing here?”

  “None of your business!” snapped Andy. “Get out of my way, I’m going on deck.”

  Tom realized that it was not the proper time to hold a conversation, with a possibly sinking ship under him. He looked at Mr. Foger, and many thoughts shot through his mind. Why were they on board? Had it anything to do with the city of gold? Had Andy overheard the talk? Or was Mr. Foger merely looking for a new venture whereby to retrieve his lost fortune.

  Tom could not answer. The bully’s father glared at our hero and then, slipping on a coat, he made a dash for the door.

  “Get out of my way!” he shouted, and Tom stood aside.

  Andy was already racing for the deck, and as the noise and confusion seemed to increase rather than diminish, Tom concluded that his wisest move would be to get out and see what all the excitement was about.

  He stopped on his way to arouse Eradicate but found that he and all the colored persons had left their staterooms. A few seconds later Tom was on deck.

  “It’s all right, now! It’s all right!” several officers were calling. “There is no danger. Go back to your staterooms. The danger is all over.”

  “Is the ship sinking?”

  “What happened?”

  “Are we on fire?”

  “Are you sure there’s no danger?”

  These were only a few of the questions that were flying about, and the officers answered them as best they could.

  “We hit a derelict, or some bit of wreckage,” explained the first mate, when he could command silence. “There is a slight hole below the water-line, but the bulkheads have been closed, and there is not the slightest danger.”

  “Are we going to turn back for New York?” asked one woman.

  “No, certainly not. We’re going right on as soon as a slight break to one of the engines can be repaired. We are in no danger. Only a little water came in before the automatic bulkheads were shut. We haven’t even a list to one side. Now please clear the decks and go back to bed.”

  It took more urging, but finally the passengers began to disperse. Tom found Ned and Mr. Damon, who were looking for him.

  “Bless my life preserver!” cried the odd man. “I thought surely this was my last voyage, Tom!”

  “So did I,” added Ned. “What’s the matter, Tom, you look as though you’d seen a ghost.”

  “I have—pretty near. The Fogers are on board.”

  “No! You don’t mean it!”

  “It’s a fact. I just saw them. They are the mysterious passengers.” And Tom related his experience.

  “Where are they now?” demanded Ned, looking about the deck.

  “Gone below again, I suppose. Though I don’t see what object they can have in concealing their identity any longer.”

  “Me either. Well, that surely is a queer go.”

  “Bless my hot cross buns! I should say so!” commented Mr. Damon when he heard about it. “What are you going to do, Tom?”

  “Nothing. I can’t. They have a right on board. But if they try to follow us—well, I’ll act then,” and Tom shut his jaws grimly.

  Our three friends went back to their state-room, and Eradicate also retired. The excitement was passing, and soon the ship was under way again, the sudden shock having caused slight damage to one of the big engines. But it was soon repaired and, though the storm still continued, the ship made her way well through the waves.

  A stout bow, water-tight compartments, and the fact (learned later) that she had struck the derelict a glancing blow, had combined to save the Maderia.

  There were many curious ones who looked over the side next morning to see the gaping hole in the bow. A canvas had been rigged over it, however, to keep out the waves as much as possible, so little could be viewed. Then the thoughts of landing occupied the minds of all, and the accident was nearly forgotten. For it was announced that they would dock early the next morning.

  In spite of the fact that their presence on board was known to Tom and his friends, the Fogers still kept to their stateroom, not even appearing at meals. Tom wondered what their object could be, but could not guess.

  “Well, here we are at last—in Mexico,” exclaimed Ned the next morning, when, the Maderia having docked, allowed the passengers to disembark, a clean bill of health having been her good luck.

  “Yes, and now for a lot of work!” added Tom. “We’ve got to see about getting ox teams, carts and helpers, and no end of food for our trip into the interior.”

  “Bless my coffee pot! It’s like old times to be going off into the jungle or wilderness camping,” said Mr. Damon.

  “Did you see anything of the Fogers?” asked Ned of his chum.

  “Not a thing. Guess they’re in their stateroom, and they can stay there
for all of me. I’m going to get busy.”

  Tom and his friends went to a hotel, for they knew it would take several days to get their expedition in shape. They looked about for a sight of their enemies, but saw nothing of them.

  It took five days to hire the ox carts, get helpers, a supply of food and other things, and to unload the balloon and baggage from the ship. In all this time there was no sign of the Fogers, and Tom hoped they had gone about their own business.

  Our friends had let it be known that they were going into the interior to prospect, look for historic relics and ruins, and generally have a sort of vacation.

  “For if it is even hinted that we are after the city of gold,” said Tom, “it would be all up with us. The whole population of Mexico would follow us. So keep mum, everyone.”

  They all promised, and then they lent themselves to the task of getting things in shape for travel. Eradicate was a big help, and his cheerful good nature often lightened their toil.

  At last all was in readiness, and with a caravan of six ox carts (for the balloon and its accessories took up much space) they started off, the Mexican drivers cracking their long whips, and singing their strange songs.

  “Ho, for the interior!” cried Ned gaily.

  “Yes, we’re off into the unknown all right,” added Tom grimly, “and there’s no telling when we’ll get back, if we ever will, should the head-hunters get after us.”

  “Bless my collar and tie! Don’t talk that way. It gives me the cold shivers!” protested Mr. Damon.

  CHAPTER XIII

  FOLLOWED

  “Well, this is something like it!” exclaimed Ned as he sat in front of the campfire, flourishing a sandwich in one hand, and in the other a tin cup of coffee.

  “It sure is,” agreed Tom. “But I say, old man, would you just as soon wave your coffee the other way? You’re spilling it all over me.”

  “Excuse me!” laughed Ned. “I’ll be more careful in the future. Mr. Damon will you have a little more of these fried beans—tortillas or frijoles or whatever these Mexicans call ’em. They’re not bad. Pass your plate, Mr. Damon.”

  “Bless my eyelashes!” exclaimed the odd man. “Water, please, quick!” and he clapped his hand over his mouth.

  “What’s the matter?” demanded Tom.

  “Too much red pepper! I wish these Mexicans wouldn’t put so much of it in. Water!”

  Mr. Damon hastily swallowed a cup of the liquid which Ned passed to him.

  “I spects dat was my fault,” put in Eradicate, who did the cooking for the three whites, while the Mexicans had their own. “I were just a little short ob some ob dem funny fried beans, an’ I took some from ober dere,” and the colored man nodded toward the Mexican campfire. “Den I puts some red pepper in ’em, an’ I done guess somebody’d put some in afo’ I done it.”

  “I should say they had!” exclaimed Mr. Damon, drinking more water. “I don’t see how those fellows stand it,” and he looked to where the Mexican ox drivers were eagerly devouring the highly-spiced food.

  It was the second day of their trip into the interior, and they had halted for dinner near a little stream of good water that flowed over a grassy plain. So far their trip had been quite enjoyable. The ox teams were fresh and made good time, the drivers were capable and jolly, and there was plenty of food. Tom had brought along a supply especially for himself and his friends, for they did not relish the kind the Mexican drivers ate, though occasionally the gold-seekers indulged in some of the native dishes.

  “This is lots of fun,” Ned remarked again, when Mr. Damon had been sufficiently cooled off. “Don’t you think so, Tom?”

  “Indeed I do. I don’t know how near we are to the place we’re looking for, nor even if we’re going in the right direction, but I like this sort of life.”

  “How long Massa Tom, befo’ dat gold—” began Eradicate.

  “Hush!” interrupted the young inventor quickly, raising a hand of caution, and glancing toward the group of Mexicans. He hoped they had not heard the word the colored man so carelessly used, for it had been the agreed policy to keep the nature of their search a secret. But at the mention of “gold” Miguel Delazes, the head ox driver, locked up quickly, and sauntered over to where Tom and the others were seated on the grass. This Delazes was a Mexican labor contractor, and it was through him that Tom had hired the other men and the ox carts.

  “Ah, senors!” exclaimed Delazes as he approached, “I fear you are going in the wrong direction to reach the gold mines. If I had known at the start—”

  “We’re not looking for gold mines!” interrupted Tom quickly. He did not like the greedy look in the eyes of Delazes, a look that flared out at the mention of gold—a look that was crafty and full of cunning.

  “Not looking for gold mines!” the contractor repeated incredulously. “Surely I heard some one say something about gold,” and he looked at Eradicate.

  “Oh, you mustn’t mind what Rad says,” cried Tom laughing, and he directed a look of caution at the colored man. “Rad is always talking about gold; aren’t you, Rad?”

  “I ’spects I is, Massa Tom. I shore would laik t’ find a gold mine, dat’s what I would.”

  “I guess that’s the case with all of us,” put in Ned.

  “Rad, get the things packed up,” directed Tom quickly. “We’ve had enough to eat and I want to make a good distance before we camp for the night.” He wanted to get the colored man busy so the Mexican would have no chance to further question him.

  “Surely the senors are not going to start off again at once—immediately!” protested Delazes. “We have not yet taken the siesta—the noon-day sleep, and—”

  “We’re going to cut out the siestas on this trip,” interposed Tom. “We don’t want to stay here too long. We want to find some good ruins that we can study, and the sooner we find them the better.”

  “Ah, then it is but to study—to photograph ruined cities and get relics, that the senors came to Mexico?”

  Once more that look of cunning came in the Mexican’s eyes.

  “That’s about it,” answered Tom shortly. He did not want to encourage too much familiarity on the part of the contractor. “So, no siestas if you please, Senor Delazes. We can all siesta tonight.”

  “Ah, you Americanos!” exclaimed the Mexican with a shrug of his shoulders. He stroked his shiny black moustache. “You are ever so on the alert! Always moving. Well, be it so, we will travel on—to the ruined city—if we can find one,” and he gave Tom a look that the latter could not quite understand.

  It was hot—very hot—but Tom noticed that about a mile farther on, the trail led into a thick jungle of trees, where it would be shady, and make the going more comfortable.

  “We’ll be all right when we get there,” he said to the others.

  It was not with very good grace that the Mexicans got their ox teams ready. They had not objected very much when, on the day before Tom had insisted on starting off right after the mid-day meal, but now when it seemed that it was going to be a settled policy to omit the siesta, or noon sleep, there was some grumbling.

  “They may make trouble for us, Tom,” said in a low voice. “Maybe you’d better give in to them.”

  “Not much!” exclaimed the young inventor. “If I do they’ll want to sleep all the while, and we’ll never get any where. We’re going to keep on. They won’t kick after the first few times, and if they try any funny business—well, we’re well armed and they aren’t,” and he looked at his own rifle, and Ned’s. Mr. Damon also carried one, and Eradicate had a large revolver which he said he preferred to a gun. Each of our white friends also carried an automatic pistol and plenty of ammunition.

  “I took care not to let the Mexicans have any guns,” Tom went on. “It isn’t safe.”

  “I’ll wager that they’ve got knives and revolvers tucked away somewhere in their clothes,” spoke Ned.

  “Bless my tackhammer!” cried Mr. Damon. “Why do you say such blood-curdling thi
ngs Ned? You make me shiver!”

  In a little while they took up the trail again, the ox carts moving along toward the comparatively cool woods. Our friends had a cart to themselves, one fitted with padded seats, which somewhat made up for the absence of springs, and Eradicate was their driver. Tom had made this arrangement so they might talk among themselves without fear of being overheard by the Mexicans. At first Senor Delazes had suggested that one of his own drivers pilot Tom’s cart, saying:

  “I know what the senors fear—that their language may be listened to, but I assure you that this man understands no English, do you, Josef?” he asked the man in question, using the Spanish.

  The man shook his head, but a quick look passed between him and his employer.

  “Oh, I guess we’ll let Rad drive,” insisted Tom calmly, “it will remind him of his mule Boomerang that he left behind.”

  “As the senor will,” Delazes had replied with a shrug of his shoulders, and he turned away. So it was that Tom, Ned and Mr. Damon, in their own cart, piloted by the colored man, were in the rear of the little cavalcade.

  “Have you any idea where you are going, Tom?” asked Ned, after they had reached the shade, when it was not such a task to talk.

  “Oh, I have a good general idea,” replied the young inventor. “I’ve studied the map Mr. Illingway sent, and according to that the city of—well, you know the place we’re looking for—lies somewhere between Tampico and Zacatecas, and which the plain of the ruined temple which used to be near the ancient city of Poltec, is about a hundred and fifty miles north of the city of Mexico. So I’m heading for there, as near as I can tell. We ought to fetch it in about a week at this rate.”

  “And what are we to do when we get there?” inquired Mr. Damon. “If we keep on to that place where the images are to be found, with this rascally crew of Mexicans, there won’t be much gold for us.” He had spoken in low tones, though the nearest Mexican cart was some distance ahead.

  “I don’t intend to take them all the way with us,” said Tom. “When I think we are somewhere near the temple plain I’m going to make the Mexicans go into camp. Then we’ll put the balloon together and we four will go off in that. When we find what we’re looking for we’ll go back, pick up the Mexicans, and make for the coast.”