The Tom Swift Megapack

by Victor Appleton

  “Thank heaven!” gasped Tom, as he pushed on.

  A moment later, climbing over the rusted rails on which the mine cars had run with their loads of salt, they staggered into the open. They were free—under the silent stars!

  “And now, if we can only find the airship,” said Tom faintly, “we can—”

  “Look there!” whispered Ned, pointing to a patch of deeper blackness that the surrounding night. “What’s that.”

  “The Falcon!” gasped Tom. He started toward her, for she was but a short distance from a little clump of trees into which they had emerged from the opening of the salt mine. There, on the same little plane where they had landed in her was the airship. She had not been moved.

  “Wait!” cautioned Ivan Petrofsky. “She may be guarded.”

  Hardly had he spoken than there walked into the faint starlight on the side of the ship nearest them, a Cossack soldier with his rifle over his shoulder.

  “We can’t get her!” gasped Ned.

  “We’ve got to get her!” declared Tom. “We’ll die if we don’t!”

  “But the guards! They’ll arrest us!” said the exile.

  An instant later a second soldier joined the first, and they could be seen conversing. They then resumed their pacing around the anchored craft. Evidently they were waiting for the escaped prisoners to come up when they would give the alarm and apprehend them.

  “What can we do?” asked Mr. Damon.

  “I have a plan,” said Tom weakly. “It’s the only chance, for we’re not strong enough to tackle them. Every time they go around on the far side of the airship we must creep forward. When they come on this side we’ll lie down. I doubt if they can see us. Once we are on hoard we can cut the ropes, and start off. Everything is all ready for a start if they haven’t monkeyed with her, and I don’t think they have. We’ve got room enough to run along as an aeroplane and mount upward. It’s our only hope.”

  The others agreed, and they put the plan into operation. When the Cossack guards were out of sight the escaped prisoners crawled forward, and when the soldiers came into view our friends waited in silence.

  It took several minutes of alternate creeping and waiting to do this, but it was accomplished at last and unseen they managed to slip aboard. Then it was the work of but a moment to cut the restraining ropes.

  Silently Tom crept to the motor room. He had to work in absolute darkness, for the gleam of a light would have drawn the fire of the guards. But the youth knew every inch of his invention. The only worriment was whether or not the motor would start up after the breakdown, not having been run since it was so hastily repaired. Still he could only try.

  He looked out, and saw the guards pacing back and forth. They did not know that the much-sought prisoners were within a few feet of them.

  Ned was in the pilot house. He could see a clear field in front of him.

  Suddenly Tom pulled the starting lever. There was a little clicking, followed by silence. Was the motor going to revolve? It answered the next moment with a whizz and a roar.

  “Here we go!” cried the young inventor, as the big machine shot forward on her flight. “Now let them stop us!”

  Forward she went until Ned, knowing by the speed that she had momentum enough, tilted the elevation rudder, and up she shot, while behind, on the ground, wildly running to and fro, and firing their rifles, were the two amazed guards.

  CHAPTER XXI

  THE RESCUE

  “Have we—have we time to get a drink?” gasped Ned, when the aeroplane, now on a level keel, had been shooting forward about three minutes. Already it was beyond the reach of the rifles.

  “Yes, but take only a little,” cautioned Tom. “Oh! it doesn’t seem possible that we are free!”

  He switched on a few interior lights, and by their glow the faint and starving platinum-seekers found water and food. Their craft had, apparently, not been touched in their absence, and the machinery ran well.

  Cautiously they ate and drank, feeling their strength come back to them, and then they removed the traces of their terrible imprisonment, and set about in ease and comfort, talking of what they had suffered.

  Onward sped the aeroplane, onward through the night, and then Tom, having set the automatic steering gear, all fell into heavy slumbers that lasted until far into the next day.

  When the young inventor awoke he looked below and could see nothing—nothing but a sea of mist.

  “What’s this?” he cried. “Are we above the clouds, or in a fog over some inland sea?”

  He was quite worried, until Ivan Petrofsky informed him that they were in the midst of a dense fog, which was common over that part of Siberia.

  “But where are we?” asked Ned.

  “About over the province of Irtutsk,” was the answer. “We are heading north,” he went on, as he looked at the compass, “and I think about right to land somewhere near where my brother is confined in the sulphur mine.”

  “That’s so; we’ve got to drop,” said Tom. “I must get the gas pipe repaired. I wish we could see over what soft of a place we were so as to know whether it would be safe to land. I wish the mist would clear away.”

  It did, about noon, and they noted that they were over a desolate stretch of country, in which it would be safe to make a landing.

  Bringing the aeroplane down on as smooth a spot as he could pick out, Tom and Ned were soon at work clearing out the clogged pipe of the gas generator. They had to take it out in the open air, as the fumes were unpleasant, and it was while working over it that they saw a shadow thrown on the ground in front of them. Startled they looked up, to see a burly Russian staring at them.

  The sudden appearance of a man in that lonely spot, his calm regard of the lads, his stealthy approach, which had made it possible for him to be almost upon them before they were aware of his presence, all this made them suspicious of danger. Tom gave a quick glance about, however, and saw no others—no Cossack soldiers, and as he looked a second time at the man he noted that he was poorly dressed, that his shoes were ragged, his whole appearance denoting that he had traveled far, and was weary and ill.

  “What do you make of this, Ned?” asked Tom, in a low voice.

  “I don’t know what to make of it. He can’t be an officer, in that rig, and he has no one with him. I guess we haven’t anything to be afraid of. I’m going to ask him what he wants.”

  Which Tom did in his plainest English. At once the man broke into a stream of confused Russian, and he kept it up until Tom held up his hand for silence.

  “I’m sorry, but I can’t understand you,” said the young inventor. “I’ll call some one who can, though,” and, raising his voice, he summoned Ivan Petrofsky who, with Mr. Damon, was inside the airship doing some small repairs.

  “There’s a Russian out here, Mr. Petrofsky,” said Tom, “and what he wants I can’t make out.”

  The exile was quickly on the scene and, after a first glance at the man, hurried up to him, grasped him by the hand and at once the two were talking such a torrent of hard-sounding words that Tom and Ned looked at each other helplessly, while Mr. Damon, who had come out, exclaimed:

  “Bless my dictionary! they must know each other.”

  For several minutes the two Russians kept up their rapid-fire talk and then Mr. Petrofsky, evidently realizing that his friends must wonder at it, turned to them and said:

  “This is a very strange thing. This man is an escaped convict, as I once was. I recognized him by certain signs as soon as I saw him, though I had never met him before. There are certain marks by which a Siberian exile can never be forgotten,” he added significantly. “He made his escape from the mines some time ago, and has suffered great hardships since. The revolutionists help him when they can, but he has to keep in concealment and travels from town to town as best he may. He has heard of our airship, I suppose from inquiries the revolutionists have been making in our behalf, and when he unexpectedly came upon us just now he was not frightened, as a
n ordinary peasant would have been. But he did not know I was aboard.”

  “And does he know you?” asked Tom. “Does he know you are trying to rescue your brother?”

  “No, but I will tell him.”

  There was another exchange of the Russian language, and it seemed to have a surprising result. For, no sooner had Ivan Petrofsky mentioned his brother, than the other, whose name was Alexis Borious seemed greatly excited. Mr. Petrofsky was equally so at the reply his new acquaintance made, and fairly shouted to Tom, Ned and Mr. Damon.

  “Friends, I have unexpected good news! It is well that we met this man or we would have gone many miles out of our way. My brother has been moved to another mine since the revolutionists located him for me. He is in a lonely district many miles from here. This man was in the same mine with him, until my brother was transferred, and then Mr. Borious escaped. We will have to change our plans.”

  “And where are we to head for now?” asked Tom.

  “Near to the town of Haskaski, where my poor brother is working in a sulphur mine!”

  “Then let’s get a move on!” cried Tom with enthusiasm. “Do you think this man will come with us, Mr. Petrofsky, to help in the rescue, and show us the place?”

  “He says he will,” translated the exile, “though he is much afraid of our strange craft. Still he knows that to trust himself to it is better than being captured, and sent back to the mines to starve to death!”

  “Good!” cried Tom. “And if he wants to, and all goes well, we’ll take him out of Russia with us. Now get busy, Ned, and we’ll have this machine in shape again soon.”

  While Ivan Petrofsky took his new friend inside, and explained to him about the workings of the Falcon, Tom and Ned labored over the gas machine with such good effect that by night it was capable of being used. Then they went aloft, and making a change in their route, as suggested by Mr. Borious, they headed for the desolate sulphur region.

  For several days they sailed on, and gradually a plan of rescue was worked out. According to the information of the newcomer, the best way to save Mr. Petrofsky’s brother was to make the attempt when the prisoners were marched back from the mines to the barracks where they were confined.

  “It will be dark then,” said Mr. Borious, “and if you can hover in your airship near at hand, and if Mr. Petrofsky can call out to his brother to run to him, we can take him up with us and get away before the guards know what we are doing.”

  “But aren’t the prisoners chained?” asked Tom.

  “No, they depend on guards to prevent escapes.”

  “Then we’ll try that way,” decided the young inventor.

  On and on they sailed, the Falcon working admirably. Verst after verst was covered, and finally, one morning, Mr. Borious, who knew the country well, from having once been a prisoner there, said:

  “We are now near the place. If we go any closer we may be observed. We had better remain hidden in some grove of trees so that at nightfall we can go forth to the rescue.”

  “But how can we find it after dark?” asked Ned.

  “You can easily tell by the lights in the barracks,” was the answer. “I can stand in the pilot house to direct you, for nearly all these exile prisons are alike. The prisoners will march in a long line from the mine. Then for the rescue.”

  It was tedious waiting that day, but it had to be done, and to Tom, who was anxious to effect the rescue, and proceed to the place of the winds to try his air glider, it seemed as if dusk would never come as they remained in concealment.

  But night finally approached and then the great airship went silently aloft, ready to hover over the prison ground. Fortunately there was little wind; and she could be used as a balloon, thus avoiding the noise of the motor.

  “The next thing I do, when I get home,” remarked Tom, as they drifted along. “Will be to make a silent airship. I think they would be very useful.”

  With Mr. Borious in the pilot house, to point out the way, Tom steered through the fast-gathering darkness. The Russian had soon become used to the airship, and was not at all afraid.

  “Can you go just where you want to, as a balloon?” asked the new guide.

  “No, but almost,” replied Tom. “At the last moment I’ve got to take a chance and start the motor to send us just where we want to go. That’s why I think a silent airship would be a great thing. You could get up on the enemy before he knew it.”

  “There are the prison barracks,” said the guide a little later, his talk being translated by Mr. Petrofsky. Below and a little ahead of them could been seen a cluster of lights.

  “Yes, that looks like a line of prisoners,” remarked Ned, who was peering through a pair of night glasses.

  “Where?” asked Tom eagerly, and they were pointed out to him. He took an observation, and exclaimed:

  “There they are, sure enough. Now if your brother is only among them, Mr. Petrofsky, we’ll soon have him on board.”

  “Heaven grant that he may be there!” said the exile in a low voice.

  A moment later, the Falcon, meanwhile having been allowed to drift as close as possible to the dimly-seen line of prisoners, Tom set in motion the great motor, the propeller blades heating the air fiercely.

  At the sound there was a shout on the ground below, but before the excitement had time to spread, or before any of the guards could form a notion of what was about to take place, Tom had sent his craft to earth on a sharp slant, closer to the line of prisoners than he had dared to hope.

  Mr. Petrofsky sprang out on deck, and in a loud voice called in Russian:

  “Peter! Peter! If you are there, come here! Come quickly! It is I, your brother Ivan who speaks. I have come to save you—save you in the wonderful airship of Tom Swift! Come quickly and we will take you away! Peter Petrofsky!”

  For a moment there was silence, and then the sound of some one running rapidly was borne to the ears of the waiting ones. It was followed, a moment later, by angry shouts from the guards.

  “Quick! Quick, Peter!” cried the brother, “over this way!”

  For an instant only the exile showed a single electric flash light, that his brother might see in which direction to run. The echo of the approaching footsteps came nearer, the shouts of the guards redoubled, and then came the sound of many men running in pursuit.

  “Hurry, Peter, hurry!” cried Mr. Petrofsky, and, as he spoke in Russian the guards, of course, understood.

  Suddenly a rifle shot rang out, but the weapon seemed to have been fired in the air. A moment later a dark figure clambered aboard the airship.

  “Peter, is it you?” cried Ivan Petrofsky, hoarsely.

  “Yes, brother! But get away quickly or the whole guard will be swarming about here!”

  “Praise the dear Lord you are saved!”

  “Is it all right?” cried Tom, who wanted to make sure they were saving the right man.

  “Yes! Yes, Tom! Go quickly!” called Ivan Petrofsky, as he folded his brother in his arms. A moment later, with a roar, the Falcon shot away from the earth, while below sounded angry cries, confused shouts and many orders, for the guards and their officers had never known of such a daring rescue as this.

  CHAPTER XXII

  IN THE HURRICANE

  There was a volley of shots from the prison guards, and the flashes of the rifles cut bright slivers of flame in the darkness, but, so rapidly did the airship go up, veering off on a wide slant, under the skillful guidance of Tom that the shots did no harm.

  “Bless my bullet pouch!” cried Mr. Damon. “They must be quite excited.”

  “Shouldn’t wonder,” calmly observed Ned, as he went to help his chum in managing the airship. “But it won’t do them any good. We’ve got our man.”

  “And right from under their noses, too,” added Ivan Petrofsky exultingly. “This rescue of an exile will go down in the history of Russia.”

  The two exile brothers were gazing fondly at each other, for now that the Falcon was so high, Tom venture
d to turn on the lights.

  A moment later the three Russians were excitedly conversing, while Tom and Ned managed the craft, and Mr. Damon, after listening a moment to the rapid flow of the strange language, which quite fascinated him, hurried to the galley to prepare a meal for the rescued one, who had been taken away before he had had a chance to get his supper.

  His wonder at his startling and unexpected rescue may well be imagined, but the joy at being reunited to his brother overshadowed everything for the time being. But when he had a chance to look about, and see what a strange craft he was in, his amazement knew no bounds, and he was like a child. He asked countless questions, and Ivan Petrofsky and Mr. Borious took turns in answering them. And from now on, I shall give the conversation of the two new Russians just as if they spoke English, though of course it had to be translated by Ivan Petrofsky, Peter’s brother.

  If Peter was amazed at being rescued in an airship, his wonder grew when he was served with a well-cooked meal, while high in the air, and while flying along at the rate of fifty miles an hour. He could not talk enough about it.

  By degrees the story of how Tom and his friends had started for Russia was told, and there was added the detail of how Mr. Borious came to be picked up.

  “But brother Ivan, you did not come all that distance to rescue me; did you?” asked Peter.

  “Yes, partly, and partly to find the platinum mine.”

  “What? The lost mine that you and I stumbled upon in that terrible storm?”

  “That is the one, Peter.”

  “Then, Tom Swift may as well return. I doubt if we can even locate the district where it was, and if we did find it, the winds blow so that even this magnificent ship could not weather the gales.”

  “I guess he doesn’t understand about my air glider,” said Tom with a smile, when this was translated to him. “I wish I had a chance to put it together, and show him how it works.”

  “Oh, it will work all right,” replied Ned, who was very proud of his friend’s inventive ability.

  “Now, what is the next thing to be done?” asked Tom, a little later that evening, when, supper having been served, they were sitting in the main cabin, talking over the events of the past few days. “I’d like to get on the track of that platinum treasure.”