“Oh, if you only had your camera now!” cried Ned. “You could get a wonderful picture, Tom.”
“What’s the use of wishing for it. Those Englishmen have it, and—”
“Maybe they’re using it!” interrupted Ned. “No, I don’t think they would know how to work it. Do you see anything of them, Ned?”
“Not a sight. But they’ll surely have to come back, just as you said, unless they got ahead of the fire. They can’t go on, and it would be madness to get off the trail in a jungle like this.”
“I don’t believe they could have gotten ahead of the fire,” spoke Tom. “They couldn’t travel fast enough for that, and see how broad the blaze is.”
They were now higher up, well out of the heat and smoke of the conflagration, and they could see that it extended for many miles along the trail, and for a mile or so on either side of it.
“We’re far enough in advance, now, to go down a bit, I guess,” said Tom, a little later. “I want to get a good view of the path, and I can’t do that from up here. I have an idea that—”
Tom did not finish, for as the airship approached nearer the ground, he caught up a pair of binoculars, and focussed them on something on the trail below.
“What is it?” cried Ned, startled by something in his chum’s manner.
“It’s them! The Englishmen!” cried Tom. “See, they are racing back along the trail. Their porters have deserted them. But they have my camera! I can see it! I’m going down, and get it! Ned, stand by the wheel, and make a quick landing. Then we’ll go up again!”
Tom handed the glasses to his chum, and Ned quickly verified the young inventor’s statement. There were the two rascally Englishmen. The fire was still some distance in the rear, but was coming on rapidly. There were no animals to be seen, for they had probably gone off on a side trail, or had slunk deeper into the jungle. Above the distant roar of the blaze sounded the throb of the airship’s motor. The Englishmen heard it, and looked up. Then, suddenly, they motioned to Tom to descend.
“That’s what I’m going to do,” he said aloud, but of course they could not hear him.
“They’re waiting for us!” cried Ned. “I wonder why?” for the rascals had come to a halt, setting down the packs they carried on the trail. One of the things they had was undoubtedly Tom’s camera.
“They probably want us to save their lives,” said Tom. “They know they can’t out-run this fire. They’ve given up! We have them now!”
“Are you going to save them?” asked Mr. Damon.
“Of course. I wouldn’t let my worst enemy run the chances of danger in that terrible blaze. I’d save them even if they had smashed my camera. I’ll go down, and get them, and take them back to the native village, but that’s as far as I will carry them. They’ll have to get away as best they can, after that.”
It was the work of but a few minutes to lower the airship to the trail. Fortunately it widened a bit at this point, or Tom could never have gotten his craft down through the trees.
“Hand up that camera!” ordered our hero curtly, when he had stopped near the Englishmen.
“Yes, my dear chap,” spoke the tall Britisher, “but will you oblige us, by taking us—”
“Hand up the camera first!” sharply ordered Tom again.
They passed it to him.
“I know we treated you beastly mean,” went on Kenneth, “but, my dear chap—”
“Get aboard,” was all Tom said, and when the rascals, with fearful glances back into the burning jungle, did so, our hero sent his craft high into the air again.
“Where are you taking us, my dear chap?” asked the tall rascal.
“Don’t ‘dear chap’ me!” retorted Tom. “I don’t want to talk to you. I’m going to drop you at the native village.”
“But that will burn!” cried the Englishman.
“The wind is changing,” was our hero’s answer. “The fire won’t get to the village. You’ll be safe. Have you damaged my camera?” he asked as he began to examine it, while Ned managed the ship.
“No, my dear chap. You mustn’t think too hard of us. We were both down on our luck, and a chap offered us a big sum to get on your trail, and secure the camera. He said you had filched it from him, and that he had a right to it. Understand, we wouldn’t have taken it had we known—”
“Don’t talk to me!” interrupted Tom, as he saw that his apparatus had not been damaged. “The man who hired you was a rascal—that’s all I’ll say. Put on a little more speed, Ned. I want to get rid of these ‘dear chaps’ and take some pictures of the jungle fire.”
As Tom had said, the wind had changed, and was blowing the flames away off to one side, so that the native village would be in no danger. It was soon reached, and the Africans were surprised to see Tom’s airship back again. But he did not stay long, descending only to let the Englishmen alight. They pleaded to be taken to the coast, making all sorts of promises, and stating that, had they known that Turbot and Eckert (for whom they admitted they had acted) were not telling the truth, they never would have taken Tom’s camera.
“Don’t leave us here!” they pleaded.
“I wouldn’t have you on board my airship another minute for a fortune!” declared Tom, as he signalled to Ned to start the motor. Then the Flyer ascended on high, leaving the plotters and started back for the fire, of which Tom got a series of fine moving pictures.
A week later our friends were in Paris, having made a quick trip, on which little of incident occurred, though Tom managed to get quite a number of good views on the way.
He found a message awaiting him, from Mr. Period.
“Well, where to now?” asked Ned, as his chum read the cablegram.
“Great Scott!” cried our hero. “Talk about hair-raising jobs, this certainly is the limit!”
“Why, what’s the matter?”
“I’ve got to get some moving pictures of a volcano in action,” was the answer. “Say, if I’d known what sort of things ‘Spotty’ wanted, I’d never have consented to take this trip. A volcano in action, and maybe an earthquake on the side! This is certainly going some!”
CHAPTER XXIII
AT THE VOLCANO
“And you’ve got to snap-shot a volcano?” remarked Ned to his chum, after a moment of surprised silence. “Any particular one? Is it Vesuvius? If it is we haven’t far to go. But how does Mr. Period know that it’s going to get into action when we want it to?”
“No, it isn’t Vesuvius,” replied Tom. “We’ve got to take another long trip, and we’ll have to go by steamer again. The message says that the Arequipa volcano, near the city of the same name, in Peru, has started to ‘erupt,’ and, according to rumor, it’s acting as it did many years ago, just before a big upheaval.”
“Bless my Pumice stones!” cried Mr. Damon. “And are you expected to get pictures of it shooting out flames and smoke, Tom?”
“Of course. An inactive volcano wouldn’t make much of a moving picture. Well, if we go to Peru, we won’t be far from the United States, and we can fly back home in the airship. But we’ve got to take the Flyer apart, and pack up again.”
“Will you have time?” asked Mr. Nestor. “Maybe the volcano will get into action before you arrive, and the performance will be all over with.”
“I think not,” spoke Tom, as he again read the cablegram. “Mr. Period says he has advices from Peru to the effect that, on other occasions, it took about a month from the time smoke was first seen coming from the crater, before the fireworks started up. I guess we’ve got time enough, but we won’t waste any.”
“And I guess Montgomery and Kenneth won’t be there to make trouble for us,” put in Ned. “It will be some time before they get away from that African town, I think.”
They began work that day on taking the airship apart for transportation to the steamer that was to carry them across the ocean. Tom decided on going to Panama, to get a series of pictures on the work of digging that vast canal. On inquiry he learned t
hat a steamer was soon to sail for Colon, so he took passage for his friends and himself on that, also arranging for the carrying of the parts of his airship.
It was rather hard work to take the Flyer apart, but it was finally done, and, in about a week from the time of arriving in Paris, they left that beautiful city. The pictures already taken were forwarded to Mr. Period, with a letter of explanation of Tom’s adventures thus far, and an account of how his rivals had acted.
Just before sailing, Tom received another message from his strange employer. The cablegram read:
“Understand our rivals are also going to try for volcano pictures. Can’t find out who will represent Turbot and Eckert, but watch out. Be suspicious of strangers.”
“That’s what I will!” cried Tom. “If they get my camera away from me again, it will be my own fault.”
The voyage to Colon was not specially interesting. They ran into a terrific storm, about half way over, and Tom took some pictures from the steamer’s bridge, the captain allowing him to do so, but warning him to be careful.
“I’ll take Koku up there with me,” said the young inventor, “and if a wave tries to wash me overboard he’ll grab me.”
And it was a good thing that he took this precaution, for, while a wave did not get as high as the bridge, one big, green roller smashed over the bow of the vessel, staggering her so that Tom was tossed against the rail. He would have been seriously hurt, and his camera might have been broken, but for the quickness of the giant.
Koku caught his master, camera and all, in a mighty arm, and with the other clung to a stanchion, holding Tom in safety until the ship was on a level keel once more.
“Thanks, Koku!” gasped Tom. “You always seem to be around when I need you.” The giant grinned happily.
The storm blew out in a few days, and, from then on, there was pleasant sailing. When Tom’s airship had been reassembled at Colon, it created quite a sensation among the small army of canal workers, and, for their benefit, our hero gave several flying exhibitions.
He then took some of the engineers on a little trip, and in turn, they did him the favor of letting him get moving pictures of parts of the work not usually seen.
“And now for the volcano!” cried Tom one morning, when having shipped to Mr. Period the canal pictures, the Flyer was sent aloft, and her nose pointed toward Arequipa. “We’ve got quite a run before us.”
“How long?” asked Ned.
“About two thousand miles. But I’m going to speed her up to the limit.” Tom was as good as his word, and soon the Flyer was shooting along at her best rate, reeling off mile after mile, just below the clouds.
It was a wild and desolate region over which the travelers found themselves most of the time, though the scenery was magnificent. They sailed over Quito, that city on the equator, and, a little later, they passed above the Cotopaxi and Chimbarazo volcanoes. But neither of them was in action. The Andes Mountains, as you all know, has many volcanoes scattered along the range. Lima was the next large city, and there Tom made a descent to inquire about the burning mountain he was shortly to photograph.
“It will soon be in action,” the United States counsel said. “I had a letter from a correspondent near there only yesterday, and he said the people in the town were getting anxious. They are fearing a shower of burning ashes, or that the eruption may be accompanied by an earthquake.”
“Good!” cried Tom. “Oh, I don’t mean it exactly that way,” he hastened to add, as he saw the counsel looking queerly at him. “I meant that I could get pictures of both earthquake and volcano then. I don’t wish the poor people any harm.”
“Well, you’re the first one I ever saw who was anxious to get next door to a volcano,” remarked the counsel. “Hold on, though, that’s not quite right. I heard yesterday that a couple of young fellows passed through here on their way to the same place. Come to think of it, they were moving picture men, also.”
“Great Scott!” cried Tom. “Those must be my rivals, I’ll wager. I must get right on the job. Thanks for the information,” and hurrying from the office he joined his friends on the airship, and was soon aloft again.
“Look, Tom, what’s that?” cried Ned, about noon the next day when the Flyer, according to their calculations must be nearing the city of Arequipa. “See that black cloud over there. I hope it isn’t a tornado, or a cyclone, or whatever they call the big wind storms down here.”
Tom, and the others, looked to where Ned pointed. There was a column of dense smoke hovering in the air, lazily swirling this way and that. The airship was rapidly approaching it.
“Why that—” began Tom, but before he could complete the sentence the smoke was blown violently upward. It became streaked with fire, and, a moment later, there was the echo of a tremendous explosion.
“The volcano!” cried Tom. “The Arequipa volcano! We’re here just in time, for she’s in eruption now! Come on, Ned, help me get out the camera! Mr. Damon, you and Mr. Nestor manage the airship! Put us as close as you dare! I’m going to get some crackerjack pictures!”
Once more came a great report.
“Bless my toothpick!” gasped Mr. Damon. “This is awful!” And the airship rushed on toward the volcano which could be plainly seen now, belching forth fire, smoke and ashes.
CHAPTER XXIV
THE MOLTEN RIVER
“Whew!” gasped Ned, as he stood beside Tom in the bow of the airship. “What’s that choking us, Tom?”
“Sulphur, I guess, and gases from the volcano. The wind blew ’em over this way. They’re not dangerous, as long as there is no carbonic acid gas given off, and I don’t smell any of that, yet. Say, Ned, it’s erupting all right, isn’t it?”
“I should say so!” cried his chum.
“Put us a little to one side, Mr. Damon,” called Tom to his friend, who was in the pilot house. “I can’t get good pictures through so much smoke. It’s clearer off to the left.”
“Bless my bath robe!” cried the odd man. “You’re as cool about it, Tom, as though you were just in an ordinary race, at an aeroplane meet.”
“And why shouldn’t I be?” asked our hero with a laugh, as he stopped the mechanism of the camera until he should have a clearer view of the volcano. “There’s not much danger up here, but I want to get some views from the level, later, and then—”
“You don’t get me down there!” interrupted Mr. Nestor, with a grim laugh.
They were now hovering over the volcano, but high enough up so that none of the great stones that were being thrown out could reach them. The column of black smoke, amid which could be seen the gleams of the molten fires in the crater, rolled toward them, and the smell of sulphur became stronger.
But when, in accordance with Tom’s suggestion, the airship had been sent over to one side, they were clear of the vapor and the noxious gas. Then, too, a better view could be had of the volcano below them.
“Hold her down!” cried Tom, as he got in a good position, and the propellers were slowed down so that they just overcame the influence of a slight wind. Thus the Flyer hovered in the air, while below her the volcano belched forth red-hot rocks, some of them immense in size, and quantities of hot ashes and cinders. Tom had the camera going again now, and there was every prospect of getting a startling and wonderful, as well as rare series of moving pictures.
“Wow! That was a big one!” cried Ned, as an unusually large mass of rocks was thrown out, and the column of fire and smoke ascended nearly to the hovering craft. A moment later came an explosion, louder than any that had preceded. “We’d better be going up; hadn’t we Tom?” his chum asked.
“A little, yes, but not too far. I want to get as many near views as I can.”
“Bless my overshoes!” gasped Mr. Damon, as he heard Tom say that. Then he sent some of the vapor from the generating machine into the gas bag, and the Flyer arose slightly.
Ned looked in the direction of the town, but could not see it, on account of the haze. Then he directed h
is attention to the terrifying sight below him.
“It’s a good thing it isn’t very near the city,” he said to Tom, who was engaged in watching the automatic apparatus of the camera, to see when he would have to put in a fresh film. “It wouldn’t take much of this sort of thing to destroy a big city. But I don’t see any streams of burning lava, such as they always say come out of a volcano.”
“It isn’t time for that yet,” replied Tom. “The lava comes out last, after the top layer of stones and ashes have been blown out. They are a sort of stopper to the volcano, I guess, like the cork of a bottle, and, when they’re out of the way, the red-hot melted rock comes out. Then there’s trouble. I want to get pictures of that.”
“Well, keep far enough away,” advised Mr. Nestor, who had come forward. “Don’t take any chances. I guess your rivals won’t get here in time to take any pictures, for they can’t travel as fast as we did.”
“No,” agreed the young inventor, “unless some other party of them were here ahead of us. They’ll have their own troubles, though, making pictures anything like as good as we’re getting.”
“There goes another blast!” cried Ned, as a terrific explosion sounded, and a shower of hot stuff was thrown high into the air. “If I lived in Arequipa I’d be moving out about now.”
“There isn’t much danger I guess, except from showers of burning ashes, and volcanic dust,” spoke Mr. Nestor, “and the wind is blowing it away from the town. If it continues this way the people will be saved.”
“Unless there is so much of the red-hot lava that it will bury the city,” suggested Tom. “I hope that doesn’t happen,” and he could not repress a shudder as he looked down on the awful scene below him.
After that last explosion the volcano appeared to subside somewhat, though great clouds of smoke and tongues of fire leaped upward.
“I’ve got to put in a new reel of film!” suddenly exclaimed Tom. “While I stop the camera, Mr. Damon, I think you and Mr. Nestor might put the airship down to the ground. I want some views on the level.”
The Tom Swift Megapack Page 177
