The Tom Swift Megapack

by Victor Appleton

  “Plenty much fine air-bird; eh?” and the agent waved his hand toward the Falcon.

  “Yep. Plenty much big.”

  “Big Foot never see bird like this; eh?”

  “Oh sure. Big Foot see before many times. Huh!”

  “What! Has he seen this before?” asked Tom.

  “No. Wait a minute,” cautioned Mr. Whitford. “I’m on the track of something. Big Foot see air-bird like this?” he questioned.

  “Sure. Fly over Indians’ land many times. Not same as him,” and he nodded toward Tom’s ship, “but plenty much like. Make heap noise. Come down once—break wheel mebby. Indians help fix. Indians get firewater. You got firewater in your air-bird?”

  “No firewater, but maybe we’ve got some tobacco, if you tell us what we want to know, Big Foot. And so you’ve seen air-birds flying around here before?”

  “Sure, Heap times. We all see,” and he waved his hand to indicate the redmen gathered around him.

  There came grunts of confirmation.

  “We’re getting there!” exclaimed Mr. Whitford to Tom. “We’re on the right track now. Which way air-birds come, Big Foot?”

  “Over there,” and he pointed toward Canada.

  “Which way go?”

  “Over there,” and he pointed toward the east, in the direction of Shopton, as much as anywhere.

  “That’s what we want to know. Tom, we’ll just hang around here for a while, until one of the smugglers’ airships pass over head. I believe one is due tonight, and that’s why Shafton had that paper. It was sent to him to tip him off. He was sneaking up, trying to put your airship out of commission when Koku caught him. These Indians have used their eyes to good advantage. I think we’re on the trail at last.”

  “Baccy for Big Foot?” asked the redman.

  “Yes, plenty of it. Tom, give them some of Koku’s, will you? I’ll settle with you later,” for the giant had formed a liking for the weed, and Tom did not have the heart to stop him smoking a pipe once in a while. With his usual prodigality, the giant had brought along a big supply, and some of this was soon distributed among the Indians, who grunted their thanks.

  CHAPTER XVIII

  THE PURSUIT

  “What plan have you in mind?” asked Tom of Mr. Whitford, when some of the Indians had gone back to their shanties, leaving a few staring curiously at the airship, as she rested on the ground, bathed in the glow of her electric lights.

  “Well, I think the best thing we can do is just to stay right here, Tom; all night if need be. As Big Foot says, there have been airships passing overhead at frequent intervals. Of course that is not saying that they were the smugglers, but I don’t see who else they could be. There’s no meet going on, and no continental race. They must be the smugglers.”

  “I think so,” put in Ned.

  “Bless my diamond ring!” exclaimed Mr. Damon. “But what are you going to do when you see them overhead?”

  “Take after them, of course!” exclaimed Tom. “That’s what we’re here for; isn’t it Mr. Whitford?”

  “Yes. Do you think you can rise from the ground, and take after them in time to stand a chance of overhauling them, Tom? You know they may go very fast.”

  “I know, but I don’t believe they can beat the Falcon. I’d rather wait down here than hover in the air. It isn’t as dark as it was the other night, and they might see us with their glasses. Then they would turn back, and we’d have our trouble for nothing. They’ve actually got to cross the border with smuggled goods before the law can touch them; haven’t they?”

  “Yes, I couldn’t arrest them on Canadian territory, or over it. I’ve got to get them on this side of the border. So perhaps it will be as well to lie here. But do you suppose you can hear them or see them, as they fly over?”

  “I’m pretty sure I can. The sound of their motor and the whizz of the propellers carries for some distance. And then, too, I’m going to set the searchlight to play a beam up in the air. If that gets focused on ’em, we’ll spot ’em all right.”

  “But suppose they see it, and turn back?”

  “I don’t believe they will. The beam will come from the ground straight upward you know, and they won’t connect it with my ship.”

  “But that fellow who was sneaking up when Koku caught him, may find some way to warn them that you have come here,” suggested Ned.

  “He won’t get much chance to communicate with his friends, while my men have him,” said Mr. Whitford significantly. “I guess we’ll take a chance here, Tom.”

  So it was arranged. Everything on the airship was gotten ready for a quick flight, and then Tom set his great searchlight aglow once more. Its powerful beams cut upward to the clouds, making a wonderful illumination.

  “Now all we have to do is to wait and watch,” remarked Tom, as he came back from a last inspection of the apparatus in the motor room.

  “And that is sometimes the hardest kind of work,” said Mr. Whitford. “Many a time I have been watching for smugglers for days and nights at a stretch, and it was very wearying. When I got through, and caught my man, I was more tired than if I had traveled hundreds of miles. Just sitting around, and waiting is tiresome work.”

  The others agreed with him, and then the custom officer told many stories of his experiences, of the odd places smugglers would hit upon to conceal the contrabrand goods, and of fights he had taken part in.

  “Diamonds and jewels, from their smallness, and from the great value, and the high duty on them when brought into the United States, form the chief articles of the high class smugglers,” he said. “In fact the ones we are after have been doing more in diamonds than anything else, though they have, of late, brought much valuable hand-made lace. That can be bought comparatively cheap abroad, and if they can evade paying Uncle Sam the duty on it, they can sell it in the United States at a large profit.”

  “But the government has received so many complaints from legitimate dealers, who can not stand this unfair competition, that we have been ordered to get the smugglers at any cost.”

  “They are sharp rascals,” commented Mr. Damon. “They seem to be making more efforts since Tom Swift got on their trail.”

  “But, just the same, they are afraid of him, and his searchlight,” declared Mr. Whitford. “I guess they fancied that when they took to airships to get goods across the border that they would not be disturbed. But two can play at that game.”

  The talk became general, with pauses now and then while Tom swept the sky with the great searchlight, the others straining their eyes for a sight of the smugglers’ airships. But they saw nothing.

  The young inventor had just paid a visit to the pilot house, to see that his wheels and guiding levers were all right, and was walking back toward the stern of the ship, when he heard a noise there, and the fall of a heavy body.

  “Who’s that?” he cried sharply. “Is that you, Koku?”

  A grunt was the only answer, and, as Tom called the giant’s name the big man came out.

  “What you want, Mr. Tom?” he asked.

  “I thought you were at the stern,” spoke Tom. “Someone is there. Ned, throw the light on the stern!” he called sharply.

  In a moment that part of the ship was in a bright glare and there, in the rays of the big lantern, was stretched out Big Foot, the Indian, comfortably sleeping.

  “Here! What are you doing?” demanded Mr. Whitford, giving him a vigorous shake.

  “Me sleep!” murmured Big Foot. “Lemme be! Me sleep, and take ride to Happy Hunting Grounds in air-bird. Go ’way!”

  “You’ll have to sleep somewhere else, Big Foot,” spoke the agent with a laugh. “Koku, put him down under one of the trees over there. He can finish his nap in the open, it’s warm.”

  The Indian only protested sleepily, as the giant carried him off the ship, and soon Big Foot was snoring under the trees.

  “He’s a queer chap,” the custom officer said. “Sometimes I think he’s a little off in his head. But h
e’s good natured.”

  Once more they resumed their watching. It was growing more and more wearisome, and Tom was getting sleepy, in spite of himself.

  Suddenly the silence of the night was broken by a distant humming and throbbing sound.

  “Hark!” cried Ned.

  They all listened intently.

  “That’s an airship, sure enough!” cried Tom.

  He sprang to the lever that moved the lantern, which had been shut off temporarily. An instant later a beam of light cut the darkness. The throbbing sounded nearer.

  “There they are!” cried Ned, pointing from a window toward the sky. A moment later, right into the glare of the light, there shot a powerful biplane.

  “After ’em, Tom!” shouted Mr. Whitford.

  Like a bird the Falcon shot upward in pursuit noiselessly and resistlessly, the beam of the great searchlight playing on the other craft, which dodged to one side in an endeavor to escape.

  “On the trail at last!” cried Tom, as he shoved over the accelerator lever, sending his airship forward on an upward slant, right at the stern of the smugglers’ biplane.

  CHAPTER XIX

  IN DIRE PERIL

  Upward shot the Falcon. With every revolution of her big propellers she came nearer and nearer to the fleeing craft of the supposed smugglers who were using every endeavor to escape.

  “Do you think you can catch them, Tom?” asked Mr. Whitford as he stood at the side of our hero in the pilot house, and looked upward and forward to where, bathed in the light of the great search-lantern, the rival craft was beating the air.

  “I’m sure we can—unless something happens.”

  “Bless my overshoes! What can happen?” asked Mr. Damon, who, after finding that everything in the motor room was running smoothly, had come forward. Ned was attending to the searchlight. “What can happen, Tom?”

  “Almost anything, from a broken shaft to a short-circuited motor. Only, I hope nothing does occur to prevent us from catching them.”

  “You don’t mean to say that you’re actually going to try to catch them, do you, Tom?” asked the custom officer, “I thought if we could trail them to the place where they have been delivering the goods, before they shipped them to Shopton we’d be doing well. But I never thought of catching them in mid-air.”

  “I’m going to try it,” declared the young inventor. “I’ve got a grappling anchor on board,” he went on, “attached to a meter and windlass. If I can catch that anchor in any part of their ship I can bring them to a stop, just as a fisherman lands a trout. Only I’ve got to get close enough to make a cast, and I want to be above them when I do it.”

  “Don’t you think you can catch them, Tom?” asked Mr. Damon.

  “Well, I’m pretty sure I can, and yet they seem to have a faster biplane than I gave them credit for. I guess I’ll have to increase our speed a little,” and he shifted a lever which made the Falcon shoot along at nearly doubled speed.

  Still the other airship kept ahead, not far, but sufficiently so to prevent the grappling anchor from being tossed at her rail.

  “I wonder if they are the smugglers?” questioned Mr. Damon. “It might be possible, Tom, that we’re chasing the wrong craft.”

  “Possible, but not probable,” put in Mr. Whitford. “After the clue we got, and what the Indians told us, and then to have a biplane come sailing over our heads at night, it’s pretty sure to be the one we want. But, Tom, can’t you close up on ’em?”

  “I’m going to try. The machinery is warmed up now, and I’ll send it to the limit.”

  Once more he adjusted the wheels and levers, and at his touch the Falcon seemed to gain new strength. She fairly soared through the air.

  Eagerly those in the pilot house watched the craft they were pursuing. She could be seen, in the glare of the big searchlight, like some bird of gloom and evil omen, fluttering along ahead of them.

  “They certainly have a fine motor!” cried Tom. “I was sure I could have caught up to them before this.”

  “How do you account for it?” asked Mr. Damon.

  “Well, they’re flying a good deal lighter than we are. They probably have no load to speak of, while we carry a heavy one, to say nothing of Koku.”

  “Diamonds aren’t very heavy,” put in Mr. Whitford grimly. “I think they are smuggling diamonds tonight. How I wish we could catch them, or trace them to where they have their headquarters.”

  “We’ll do it!” declared Tom.

  “Bless my stars! They’ve gone!” suddenly exclaimed Mr. Damon. “They’ve disappeared, Tom, I can’t see them.”

  It was indeed true. Those in the pilot house peering ahead through the darkness, could not get a glimpse of the airship they were pursuing. The beam of the searchlight showed nothing but a black void.

  All at once the beam shifted downward, and then it picked up the white-winged craft.

  “They went down!” cried Tom. “They tried to drop out of sight.”

  “Can’t you get them?” asked Mr. Whitford.

  “Oh, yes, we can play that game too. I’ll do a little volplaning myself,” and the young inventor shut off the power and coasted earthward, while Ned, who had picked up the forward craft, kept the searchlight playing on her.

  And now began a wonderful chase. The smugglers’ craft, for such she proved later to be, did her best to dodge the Falcon. Those managing the mechanism of the fleeing airship must have been experts, to hold out as they did against Tom Swift, but they had this advantage, that their craft was much lighter, and more powerfully engined as regards her weight. Then, too, there were not so many on board, and Tom, having a combined balloon and aeroplane, had to carry much machinery.

  It was like the flight of two big birds in the air. Now the smugglers’ craft would be mounting upward, with the Falcon after her. Again she would shoot toward the earth, and Tom would follow, with a great downward swoop.

  Ned kept the great lantern going, and, though occasionally the craft they were after slipped out of the focus of the beams, the young bank clerk would pick her up again.

  To the right and left dodged the forward airship, vainly endeavoring to shake off Tom Swift, but he would not give up. He followed move for move, swoop for swoop.

  “She’s turning around!” suddenly cried Mr. Damon. “She’s given up the flight, Tom, and is going back!”

  “That’s so!” agreed Mr. Whitford. “They’re headed for Canada, Tom. We’ve got to catch ’em before they get over the Dominion line!”

  “I’ll do it!” cried Tom, between his clenched teeth.

  He swung his airship around in a big circle, and took after the fleeing craft. The wind was against the smugglers now, and they could not make such good speed, while to Tom the wind mattered not, so powerful were the propellers of the Falcon.

  “I think we’re gaining on them,” murmured Mr. Damon.

  Suddenly, from the engine room, came a cry from Ned.

  “Tom! Tom!” he shouted, “Something is wrong with the gas machine! She registers over five hundred pounds pressure, and that’s too much. It’s going up, and I haven’t touched it!”

  “Mr. Damon, take the wheel!” exclaimed the young inventor. “I’ve got to see what’s wrong. Hold her right on their trail.”

  Tom sprang to the motor room, and one glance at the gas generating machine showed him that they were in dire peril. In some manner the pressure was going up enormously, and if it went up much more the big tank would blow to pieces.

  “What is it?” cried Ned, from his position near the light.

  “I don’t know! Something wrong.”

  “Are you going to give up the chase?”

  “I am not. Stick to the light. Koku, tell Mr. Damon to hold her on the course I set. I’ll try to get this pressure down!” And Tom Swift began to work feverishly, while his ship rushed on through the night in danger, every moment, of being blown to atoms. Yet the young inventor would not give up, and descend to earth.

  CHAPTER
XX

  SUSPICIOUS ACTIONS

  The chase was kept up, and Tom, when he had a chance to look up at the speed register, as he labored frantically at the clogged gas machine, saw that they were rushing along as they never had before.

  “Are we catching them, Ned?” he cried to his chum, who was not far away, playing the powerful light on the smugglers’ craft.

  “I think we’re coming closer, but it’s going to be a long chase. I don’t see why we can’t close up on ’em.”

  “Because they’ve got a very fast ship, Ned, and they are flying much lighter than we are. But we’ll get ’em!”

  “How are you making out with that gas machine?”

  “Well, I’m doing all I can, but I can’t seem to get the pressure down. I can’t understand it. Some of the pipes must be clogged with a carbon deposit. I ought to have cleaned them out some time ago.”

  Ned gave a hasty glance at the gauge which showed the gas pressure. It registered six hundred pounds now, having risen a hundred in a short time.

  “And she’ll go up, sure, at eight hundred,” murmured Ned, as he held the light steadily on the smugglers’ aircraft. “Well, if Tom sticks to the chase, I will too, but I think it would be better to go down, open up everything, and let the gas escape. We could get the rascals later.”

  Tom, however, did not seem to think so, for he kept on with his task, working away at the pipes, trying to force the obstruction out, so that the gas from the generator would flow into the bag. At the same time he tried to shut off the generating apparatus, but that had become jammed in consequence of the pipe clogging, and the powerful vapor continued to manufacture itself automatically in spite of all that Tom could do.

  The only safe way out of the danger, unless he could remove the obstruction, was to descend to earth, and, as Ned had said, open every outlet. But to have done that in mid-air would have been dangerous, as the large volume of gas, suddenly liberated, would have hung about the airship in a cloud, smothering all on board. If they were on the earth they could run away from it, and remain away until the vapor had blown off.

  “Is Mr. Damon keeping her on the course, Ned?” asked Tom, pausing a moment to get his breath after a series of frantic efforts.