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Tom Swift And His Air Glider
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TOM SWIFT AND HIS AIR GLIDER or Seeking the Platinum Treasure
A BREAKDOWN
"Oh, I suppose so, Tom. As ready as I ever shall be."
"No, it isn't exactly that, Tom. I'd go in a minute if you didn't have this new fangled thing on your airship. But how do you know how it's going to work--or whether it will work at all? We may come a cropper."
"Oh, that's all right, Mr. Damon," answered Tom Swift. "There isn't any more danger than there ever was, but I guess Ned is nervous since our trip to the underground city of gold."
"Now look here, Ned!" burst out Tom. "That was last week that I said it wasn't reliable. It is now, for I've tried it out several times, and yet, when I ask you to take a trip with me, to act as ballast--"
"Me? I guess not! Bless my diamond ring! My wife hasn't forgiven me for going off on that last trip with you, Tom, and I'm not going to take any more right away. But I don't blame Ned--"
"Hold on dar now, Massa Tom!" exclaimed an aged colored man, who was an all around helper at the Swift homestead, "was yo' referencin' t' me when yo' spoke?"
"Well, now, Masa Tom, I shorely would laik t' 'blige yo', I shore would. But de fack ob de mattah am dat I has a mos' particular job ob white washin' t' do dish mornin', an' I 'spects I'd better be gittin' at it. It's a mos' particiilar job, an', only fo' dat, I'd be mos' pleased t' go up in de airship. But as it am, I mus' ax yo' t' 'scuse me, I really mus'," and the colored man shuffled off at a faster gait than he was in the habit of using.
"No, I'll go with you," interposed Ned Newton who was Tom's most particular chum. "I only wanted to be sure it was all right, that was all."
"Bless my feather bed!" gasped the man. "Drop me off! I like that, Tom Swift!"
"No, thanks, I'm going home by trolley," and then as the odd man went in the house to speak to Tom's father, the two lads busied themselves about the airship.
Tom had built it some years before, and it had seemed good enough then. Later he constructed some of different models, besides the big combination affair, and he had gone on several trips in that.
This had occupied him most of the Winter, and now that Spring had come he had a chance to try what a re-built motor, changed propellers, and different wing tips would do for the machine.
"Understand, Tom," spoke Ned, "it isn't because I don't think you know how to work an aeroplane that I hesitated. I've been up in the air with you enough times to know that you're there with the goods, but I don't believe even you know what this machine is going to do."
"I don't doubt that. But will it work out in practice?"
"All right--if you say so. Now what do you want me to do, Tom?"
"Aye, aye, sir!" answered Ned with a laugh.
"How about the tires?" asked Ned, when he had finished the wires.
Ned had pumped up one of the rubber circlets of the small bicycle wheels on which the aeroplane rested, and was beginning on the second, when a noise like a battery of machine guns going off next to his ear startled him so that he jumped, tripped over a stone and went down, the air pump thumping him in the back.
"Explode nothing!" shouted Tom. "That's the re-built motor in action."
Indeed the motor was roaring away, spitting fire and burnt gases from the exhaust pipe, and enveloping the aeroplane in a whitish haze of choking smoke.
"Whew! That smoke!" gasped his chum. "Why don't you--whew-this is more than I can stand," and holding his hands to his smarting eyes, Ned, gasping and choking, staggered away to where the air was better.
Despite the choking vapor, the young inventor stuck to his task of regulating the motor, and in a short while the smoke became less, while the big propeller blades whirled about more evenly. Then Tom adjusted the muffler, and most of the noise stopped.
Having cleared his eyes of smoke, Ned came back to his task, and this having been finished, Tom attached a heavy spring balance, or scales, to the rope that held the airship back from moving when her propellers were whirling about.
"I ought to get above twelve hundred With the way the motor is geared, but I'll go up with ten. Watch the needle for me."
Now if this rope is hooked to a spring balance, which in turn is made fast to the stationary object, the "thrust" of the propellers will be registered in pounds on the scale of the balance. Anywhere from five hundred to nine hundred pounds of thrust will take a monoplane or biplane up. But Tom wanted more than this.
"How much?" yelled the young inventor.
Tom turned on a little more gasolene.
"Ten hundred. That'll do!"
Again he advanced the spark and gasolene levers, and the comparatively frail craft vibrated so that it seemed as if she would fly apart.
"Eleven hundred and fifty!" cried Ned.
Ned scrambled to his seat, and Tom followed. He had an arrangement so that he could slip loose the retaining rope from his perch whenever he was ready.
"Here we go!" cried Tom, and the next instant they shot up into the air.
"We're going fast!" yelled Ned into Tom's ear.
Up and onward went the remodeled airship, faster and faster, until, when several miles had been covered, Ned realized that the young inventor had achieved another triumph.
"Yes, I guess it will do, Ned. I'm satisfied. If there was an international meet now I'd capture some of the prizes. As it is--"
"What's the matter?" gasped Ned.
"Can you get it going again?"
Tom was manipulating various levers, but with no effect. The aeroplane was shooting downward with frightful rapidity.
"But We're falling, Tom!"
This, it may be explained, is gliding downward from a height with the engine shut off. Aeroplanists often do it, and Tom was no novice at the art.
"Now to see what the trouble is," remarked our hero, as he climbed out of his seat and began looking over the engine. He poked in among the numerous cogs, wheels and levers, and finally uttered an exclamation.
"Yes, it's in the magneto. All the platinum bearings and contact surfaces have fused and crystallized. I never saw such poor platinum as I've been getting lately, and I pay the highest prices for it, too. The trouble is that the supply of platinum is giving out, and they'll have to find a substitute I guess."
"I'm afraid not. I've got to put in new platinum bearings and contacts before she'll spark. I only wish I could get hold of some of the better kind of metal."
"Well, I guess it's walk for ours," said Ned ruefully.
"Perhaps I could be of service to you," suddenly spoke a voice behind them, and turning, the youths saw a tall, bearded man, who had evidently come from the lonely house. "Did I hear you say you needed some platinum?" he asked. He spoke with a foreign accent, and Tom at once put him down for a Russian.
"If you will kindly step up to my house, perhaps I can give you what you want," went on the man. "My name is Ivan Petrofsky, and I have only lately come to live here."
"Will that answer?" asked Mr. Petrofsky, when they had reached his house, and he had handed Tom several strips of the precious silverlike metal.
"It came from a lost mine in Siberia," was the unexpected answer.
"In Siberia?" added Ned.
"A lost mine," he said slowly, "and if it could be found I would be the happiest man on earth for I would then be able to locate and save my brother, who is one of the Czar's exiles," and he seemed shaken by emotion.
A DARING PROJECT
Tom Swift was an inventor, as was his father before him. But Mr. Swift was getting too old, now, to do much, though he had a pet invention--that of a gyroscope--on which he worked from time to time. Tom lived with his father in the village of Shopton, in New York state. His mother was dead, but a housekeeper, named Mrs. Baggert, looked after the wants of the inventors, young and old.
He and Mr. Damon became firm friends, and the oddity of the gentleman--mainly that of blessing everything he could think of--was no objection in Tom's mind. The young inventor and Ned Newton went on many trips together, Mr. Damon being one of the party.
After Tom had much enjoyment out of his motor-cycle, he got a motor boat, and one of his rivals on Lake Carlopa was this same Andy Foger, but our hero vanquished him. Then Tom built an airship, which had been the height of his ambition for some years. He had a stirring cruise in the Red Cloud, and then, deserting the air for the water, Tom and his father built a submarine, in which they went after sunken treasure. In the book, "Tom Swift and His Electric Runabout," I told how, in the speediest car on the road, Tom saved his father's bank from ruin, and in the book dealing with Tom's wireless message I related how he saved the Castaways of Earthquake Island.
Most startling were his adventures in elephant land whither he went with his electric rifle, and he was the means of saving a missionary, Mr. Illingway and his wife, from the red pygmies.
How he and his friends were followed by the Fogers, how they eluded them, made their way to the ruined temple in a small dirigible balloon, descended to the secret tunnel, managed to turn aside the underground river, and reach the city of gold with its wonderful gold statues--all this is told in the volume.
There was a fight, but our hero's party escaped with considerable gold and safely reached Shopton. Now, after a winter spent in work, fixing over an old aeroplane, we again meet Tom.
"I will gladly tell you the story," spoke Mr. Petrofsky, "for I am much interested in inventions, and I formerly did something in that line myself, and I have even made a small aeroplane, so you see I know the need of platinum in a high power magneto."
"There is none like it in all the world," went on the Russian, "and perhaps there never can be any more. I have only a small supply. But in Siberia --in the lost mine-there is a large quantity of it, as pure as this, needing only a little refining.
"They would--if they could find it," said Ivan Petrofsky dryly, "but they can't--no one can find it--and I have tried very hard--so hard, in fact, that it is the reason for my coming to this country--that and the desire to find and aid my brother, who is a Siberian exile."
"My brother Peter, who is younger than I by a few years, and I, are the last of our family," began Mr. Petrofsky, motioning Tom and Ned to take chairs. "We lived in St. Petersburg, and early in life, though we were of the nobility, we took up the cause of the common people."
"No, and not anarchists," said Mr. Petrofsky with a sad smile. "Our party was opposed to violence, and we depended on education to aid our cause. Then, too, we did all we could in a quiet way to help the poor. My brother and I invented several life-saving and labor-saving machines and in this way we incurred the enmity of the rich contractors and government officials, who made more money the more people they could have working for them, for they made the people buy their food and supplies from them.
"Of the horrors we endured there I will say nothing. However, you have probably read much. In the country near which we were quartered there were many mines, some of salt and some of sulphur. Oh, the horrors of those mines! Many a poor exile has been lost in the windings of a salt mine, there to die miserably. And in the sulphur mines many die also, not from being lost so much as being overcome by stifling gases. It is terrible! And sometimes they are purposely abandoned by their guides, for the government wants to get rid of certain exiles.
"We came out in the midst of a terrible snowstorm, and wandered about almost frozen. At last we were found by a serf who, in his sled, took us to his poor cottage. There we were warmed and fed back to life.
"As might have been expected, we became lost again, and wandered about for several days. But we had enough food to keep us alive. And it was during this wandering that I came upon the platinum mine. It was down in a valley, in the midst of a country densely wooded and very desolate. There was an outcropping of the ore, and rather idly I put some of it in my pockets. Then we wandered on, and finally after awful suffering in terrific storms, were found by a searching party and brought back to the barracks."
"They did," replied the Russian, "and they punished us severely for it, in spite of our denials. In time I managed secretly to smelt the platinum ore, and I found I had some of the purest metal I had ever seen. I was wishing I could find the mine, or tell some of my friends about it, when one of the officers discovered the metal in my bed.
"But, even with the aid we were able to give, it could not be located. Many expeditions went out to hunt for it but came back baffled. They could not penetrate that wild country."
"They did," replied the Russian quickly, "but it was of no use."
"Because of the terrific winds that almost continually sweep over that part of Siberia. They never seem to cease, and there are treacherous air currents and 'pockets' that engulfed more than one luckless aviator. Oh, you may be sure the Russian government spared no means of finding the lost platinum mine, but they could not locate it, or even get near the place where they supposed it to be.
"I went to England, taking some of my precious platinum with me, and stayed there for two years. I learned your language, but my efforts to organize an expedition to search for the lost mine, and for my brother, failed. Then I came here, and--well, I am still trying."
"And you certainly had a hard time," declared Tom. "I am much obliged for this platinum. Have you set a price on it? It is worth much more than the ordinary kind."
"Come along," invited Tom. "I can soon have it going again, and I'll give you a ride, if you like."
Tom and Ned worked rapidly on the magneto, and soon had replaced the defective bits of platinum.
"It would be useless in the terrific winds, I fear," answered Ivan Petrofsky. "But now I care little for the mine. It is my brother whom I want to save. He must be in some of the Siberian mines, and if I had such a craft as this I might be able to rescue him."
"Mr. Petrofsky!" he cried, "would you let me have a try at finding your brother, and would you come with me?"
"Then we'll have a try at it!" cried Tom. "I've got a different airship than this--one in which I can travel three thousand miles without coming down. I haven't had any excitement since I got back from the city of gold. I'm going to Russia to help you rescue your brother from exile, and I'm also going to have a try for that lost platinum treasure!"
"You never can get to the platinum mine," said Ned. The winds will tear your airship to pieces."
"I don't know what you mean by an air glider, Tom Swift, but I'll go to help rescue my brother," was the quick answer, and then, with the light of a daring resolve shining in his eyes, the young inventor proceeded to get his aeroplane in shape for the trip back to Shopton.
"Then you won't take a ride with me to-day. asked the young inventor, of the Russian, as he completed the repairs to the magneto. "I'd like to have you meet my father, and a friend of his, Mr. Damon. Most likely he'll go to Siberia with us, if his wife will let him. I'd like to talk some plans over with you."
"Well, perhaps it is a little easier on an amateur," admitted Tom. "If you'll come over to our house at any time I'll take you out in it, or I'll call for you."
"Why?" asked Ned quickly.
"I am not sure about it, but of late I think I have been shadowed. I have seen strange men in the village near here and they have eyed me rather suspiciously. Then, too, I have surprised several men around my house. I live here all alone, you know, and do most of my own work, a woman coming in occasionally to clean. But I don't like these suspicious characters hanging about.
"I'm almost afraid to think, but from my past experience I think--nay, I fear--they may be spies, or agents of the Russian government"
"Hush. Not so loud," cautioned Mr. Petrofsky. "They may even now be in hiding, especially since your aeroplane landed so near my house. They may see something suspicious even in that."
"For two reasons. I am an escaped exile, and I am not a citizen of the United States. Therefore I may be sent back to the sulphur mines. And another reason is that they may think I know the secret of the platinum treasure--the lost mine."
"So am I!" added Ned.
"And we're with you!" cried Tom, offering the Russian his hand. "We'll turn the trick yet. Now don't forget to come and see us. Come along, Ned. If I'm going to build an air glider I've got to get busy." And waving farewells to their new friend, the lads took their places in the aeroplane and were soon on their way to Shopton.
"Lots. I think we're in for a good time." an exciting one, anyhow, if what he says is true. But what in the world is an air glider, Tom?"
"Don't need a motor?"
"How, by tying her fast on the ground?"
"I sure will. Say, is platinum worth much?"
"That's what we thought when we found the city of gold, but the gold wasn't of as fine a grade as we hoped."
"That's right. Well, here we are. I wonder what your father will say when he hears you're thinking of another expedition, Tom?"
"And I'm sure my folks will let me go. How about Mr. Damon?"
It may well be imagined that Mr. Swift was surprised when his son told him the latest news, but he did not offer any serious objection to the young inventor going to Siberia.
"I will," promised Tom. "Say, I've got plenty of work ahead of me,--to get my big airship in shape, and build the glider. You'll have to help me, dad."
The days that followed were indeed busy ones for Tom. The young inventor made a model air glider that sailed fairly well, but he knew it would have to work better to be successful, and he bent all his energies in that direction. Meanwhile Mr. Damon had been told of the prospective trip.
It may be mentioned here that many valuable diamonds are now set in platinum instead of gold.
Sufficient to say that this latest airship, named the Falcon, was the largest Tom had ever built. It contained much room, many comforts, and could sail for several thousand miles without descending, except in case of accident. It was a combined dirigible balloon and aeroplane, and could be used as either, the necessary gas being made on board. It was large enough to enable the air glider to be taken on it in sections.
"I don't believe we can start for several weeks yet," said Tom, after some discussion. "It will take me that long to make the glider."
"That will be good," declared Mr. Damon. "Bless my icicle! But the more I think of this trip the better I like it!"
It was a week after this, during which Tom, Ned and the others had been very busy, that Tom decided to take a trip to see their Russian friend. They had not heard from him since his visit, and Tom wanted to learn something about the strength of the Siberian winds.
"He doesn't seem to be at home," remarked Ned, as they descended and approached the dwelling.
"Maybe he's asleep," suggested Ned.
"There's been a fight here!" cried Tom.
"Come on!" cried Tom, making a dash for the stairs. "We'll see if he's here."
Tom stooped and picked up a scrap that looked like a piece torn from a letter. On top was a seal--the black seal of Russia--the imperial arms of the Czar!
"What is it." asked Ned.
THE SEARCH
"It isn't possible!" declared Ned breathlessly.
"But maybe he went away of his own accord," insisted Ned, who was sometimes hard to convince.
"Well, maybe you're right. But think of it! This isn't Russia!"
"But I thought our government wouldn't help other nations to get back prisoners convicted of political crimes, suggested Ned. "That's all Mr. Petrofsky was guilty of-politics, trying to help the poor in his own country. It's a shame if our government stands for anything like that!"
"I guess you're right, Tom. Well, that ends it I suppose."
"Our trip to the platinum mine."
"But how can you when Mr. Petrofsky can't go along to show us the way? Besides, we wanted to help rescue his brother, and now we can't."
"You are? How?"
"How do you make that out?" Ned wanted to know.
"Say, that's so!" cried Ned admiringly.
"Well, what does this mean?" asked Ned, who couldn't quite follow Tom's line of reasoning.
"And that means--" interrupted Ned, who was in turn interrupted by Tom, who exclaimed:
"I believe it did happen that way," agreed Ned, who clearly saw what Tom meant. "But what can we do? How can we find him?"
"I'm with you!" cried Ned. "Jove! Wouldn't it be great if we could rescue him? They can't have gotten very far with him."
"Come on then!" cried Ned. "Let's get busy. What's the first thing to do?"
Then the two plucky lads began their search for the kidnapped Russian exile. Had those who took him away seen the mere youths who thus devoted themselves to the task, they might have laughed in contempt, but those who know Tom Swift and his sturdy chum, know that two more resourceful and brave lads would be hard to find.
"Nothing much up here," remarked Tom, when he and Ned had gone all over the second floor twice. "That scrap of paper, which put me on to the fact that some one from the Russian government had been here, is about all. They must have taken all the documents Mr. Petrofsky had."
"If he was wise he'd get rid of them when he knew he was being shadowed, as he told us. Perhaps that was why they broke up the furniture, searching for hidden papers, or they may have done it out of spite because they didn't find anything. But we might as well go downstairs and look there."
"Now for outside!" cried the young inventor. "We'll see if we can figure out how they got him away."
But for all that, they saw enough to convince them that several men had been at the lonely house, for there were many marks of shoes. It was out of the question, however, to tell which were those of Mr. Petrofsky and which those of his captors.
"Good idea," commented Tom, and they hurried to the main thoroughfare that passed the Russian's house.
"GOOD!" cried Tom admiringly. "You're coming right along in your detective training. How do you make that out?"
"That's right, and it will be a good thing to trace the carriage by. Come on, we'll keep right after it."
"Guess they wouldn't take it far," replied the young inventor, "but I'd better make it safe. I'll disconnect it so they can't start it, though if Andy Foger happens to come along he might slash the planes just out of spite. But I guess he won't show up."
"Hurry!" urged Tom, as he started off in the direction of the village of Hurdtown, near where the cottage stood. "We will ask people living along the highway if they've seen a carriage pass."
"No, I don't agree with you. But wait, we'll look at the marks. Maybe that will help us."
"I have it!" he declared. "The carriage came from the village, and kept right on the other way. You're right, Ned. They didn't go back to town.
"Of course. You can see for yourself; if the carriage had turned around the track would show, but it doesn't and, even if they turned on the grass, there'd be two lines of marks-one coming out here and one returning. As it is there is only a single set--just as if the carriage drove up here, took on its load, and continued on. This way, Ned."
"We'll try one more house, and then go back," agreed Tom. "We'll tell dad about what's happened, and see what he says."
"Did the carriage have some Russians in it?" asked Tom eagerly, "and was one a big bearded man?"
"Then you can't tell us anything more except that it passed?" asked Ned.
"That's suspicious!" exclaimed Tom. "I believe they are the fellows we re after," and, without giving any particulars he said that they were looking for a friend who might have been taken away against his will.
"Wa'al, th' man on th' seat pulled up when he see me," spoke the farmer with exasperating slowness, "an' asked me how far it was t' th' Waterville station, an' I told him."
"You didn't ask me," replied the farmer. "What difference does it make."
"Shouldn't wonder," commented the farmer. There ain't many trains out from Waterville at that time of day, an' mighty few passengers. Shouldn't wonder but Jake Applesaner could put ye on th' trail."
"That ain't th' way t' 'vaterville!" the farmer shouted after them.
"Plumb crazy! That's what they be! Plumb crazy! Going after their airship! Shouldn't wonder but they was escaped lunatics, and the other fellers was keepers after 'em. Hu! Wa'al, I've got my work to do. 'Tain't none of my affair."
If Jake Applesauer, the agent at the Waterville station, was surprised at seeing two youths drop down out of an aeroplane, and begin questioning him about some suspicious strangers that had taken the morning train, he did not show it. Jake prided himself on not being surprised at anything, except once when he took a counterfeit dollar in return for a ticket, and had to make it good to the company.
"That was Mr. Petrofsky all right," declared Ned.
"No, for they didn't buy any. They must have had 'em, or else they paid on the train. One man drove off in the coach, and that's all I know."
"They could have gotten off at any station between here and New York, or even changed to another railroad at the junction," spoke Tom. "It's going to be a hard job."
"And that's what I'll do," declared the young inventor. "They may be able to locate Mr. Petrofsky before those spies take him out of this country. If they don't--it will be too late. I'm going to talk to dad about it, and if he agrees I'll hire the best private detectives."
The early reports from the detective were quite reassuring. He got on the trail of the men who had taken Mr. Petrofsky away, and confirmed the suspicion that they were agents of the Russian police. He trailed them as far as New York, and there the clews came to an end.
But, as several weeks went by, and no word came, even Tom began to give up hope, though he did not stop work on the air glider, which was nearing completion. And then, most unexpectedly a clew came--a clew from far-off Russia.
"What do you suppose it contains?" asked Ned, who was with his chum when the communication was received.
"Maybe it's from the Russian police, telling you to keep away from Siberia."
"This letter is from the head of one of the secret societies over there, a society that works against the government. It says that Mr. Petrofsky is being detained a prisoner in a lonely hut on the Atlantic sea coast, not far from New York--Sandy Hook the letter says--and here are the very directions how to get there!"
"It tells here," said Tom. "It's all explained. As soon as the secret police got Mr. Petrofsky they communicated with the head officials in St. Petersburg. You know nearly everyone is a spy over there, and the letter says that Mr. Petrofsky's friends there soon heard the news, and even about the exact place where he is being held."
"That's explained, too. It seems they can't legally take him back until certain papers are received from his former prison in Siberia, and those are now on the way. His friends write to me to hasten and rescue him."
"That's easy, though you wouldn't think so. It seems, so the letter explains, that as soon as Mr. Petrofsky got acquainted with us he wrote to friends in St. Petersburg, giving my address, and telling them, in case anything ever happened to him, to notify us. You see he suspected that something might, after he found he was being shadowed that way.
"That's the stuff! I'm with you!"
RESCUING MR. PETROFSKY
"I think we are, Ned. But you know I'm not going too close in this airship."
"We'll have to walk a little way, Mr. Damon," replied the young inventor. "If I go too close to the hut they'll see the airship, and as those spies probably know that Mr. Petrofsky has been dealing with me, They'd smell a rat at once, and run away, taking him with them, and we'd have all our work to do over again."
It was only a few hours after Tom had received the letter from Russia informing him of the whereabouts of the kidnapped Russian, and he had acted at once.
Now the young inventor and his friends were hovering over the sandy stretch of coast that extends from Sandy Hook down the Atlantic seaboard. They were looking for a small fishing hamlet on the outskirts of which, so the Russian letter stated, was situated the lonely hut in which Mr. Petrofsky was held a prisoner.
"I think so," answered the young inventor.
"That looks like the place," said Tom at length, when, after peering steadily through a powerful telescope, during which time Ned steered the ship, the young inventor "picked up" a fishing settlement. "There is the big fish house, spoken of in the letter," he went on, "and the Russians know a lot about fish. That house makes a good landmark. We'll go down now, before they have a chance to see us."
"Now," said Tom, "we've got to decide on a plan of Campaign. It won't do for all of us to go to the hut and make the rescue. Some one has got to stay with the airship, to be ready to start it off as soon as we come back with Mr. Petrofsky--if we do come.
"No, it's got to be Ned or me," said the young inventor.
Accordingly, after looking to everything to see that it was in working order, Tom led the advance. It was just getting dusk, and they figured on getting to the hut after dark.
"I will," was the prompt answer, and then, getting their bearings, the little party set off.
Slowly, and avoiding going any nearer the other houses than they could help, the little party made its way. They had to depend on their own judgement now, for the minor details of the location of the hut could not be given in the letter from Russia. In fact the spies themselves, in writing to their head officers about the matter, had not described the location in detail.
Cautiously they approached and, as they drew nearer, they saw that the light came through the window of a small hut.
"We'll have a look," remarked Tom.
Looking under a partly-drawn curtain, Mr. Damon and Mr. Trivett saw the Russian whom they sought. He was seated at a table, his head bowed on his hands, and in the room were three men. A rifle stood in one corner, near one of the guards.
"It's three to three," replied the young inventor. "But if we can get him away without a fight, so much the better. I think I have it. I'll go up to the door, knock and make quite a racket, and demand admittance in the name of the Czar. That will startle them, and they may all three rush to answer. Mr. Damon, you and the detective will stay by the window. As soon as you see the men rush for the door, smash in the window with a piece of driftwood and call to Mr. Petrofsky to jump out that way. Then you can run with him toward the airship, and I'll follow. It may work."
Looking in once more, to make sure that the guards were not aware of the presence of the rescuing party, Tom went to the front door of the hut. It was a small building, evidently one used by fishermen.
"Open! Open in the name of the Czar!"
"Now!" called the detective to his companion. "Smash the window!"
"Mr. Petrofsky! This way!" yelled Mr. Damon, sticking his head in through the broken sash. "Come out! We've come to save you! Bless my putty blower, but this is great! Come on!"
"Betrayed! Betrayed! It's the Nihilists! Look out, comrades!"
Mr. Damon continued to hammer away at the window sash with the piece of driftwood. There were splinters of the frame and jagged pieces of glass sticking out, making it dangerous for the exile to slip through.
Mr. Petrofsky was leaping across the room, just ahead of the one guard. The other two were at the open door now, through which Tom could be seen. Then the spies, realizing in an instant that they had been deceived, made a dash after their comrade, who had his hand on the tails of the exile's coat.
"I don't intend to!" retorted Mr. Petrofsky, and he swerved suddenly, tearing his coat, from the grasp of the guard.
"Pull away! Pull away!" cried Mr. Damon.
"Don't be afraid, we're with you!" exclaimed the detective, who was with the young inventor.
"Don't you try any of your shooting games, or I'll take a hand in it!" shouted the detective, and, at the same moment he drew his revolver and fired harmlessly in the air.
"Not yet, but there may be!" murmured Tom. The firing of the shot produced a good effect, for the three men who were trying to detain Ivan Petrofsky at once fell back from the window and gave him just the chance needed. He scrambled through, with the aid of Mr. Damon, and before the guards could again spring at him, which they did when the echoes of the shot had died away. They had realized, too late, that it was not a bomb, and that there was no immediate danger for them.
Leading the way, he sprinted toward the road that led to the place where the airship awaited them. He was followed by Mr. Damon and the detective, who had Mr. Petrofsky between them.
"I'm all right," was the reassuring answer. "Go ahead; But they'll be right after us."
"Here they come!" cried Tom a moment later, as three figures, one after the other, came around the corner of the house. They had not taken the shorter route through the window, as had Mr. Petrofsky, and this gained a little time for our friends.
"Not any more!" the young inventor yelled back. "He's ours now."
"The only way is by firing first," answered Mr. Trivett, "and I don't want to hurt them. Guess I'll fire in the air again."
"Leg it!" cried Tom. "Leg it!"
"I wonder if we can make it," mused Tom, as he realized that the airship was a good distance off yet. the guards, though quite a way in the rear now were coming on fast. "It's going to be a close race," thought the young inventor. "I wish we'd brought the airship a little nearer."
"We've got to go faster!" cried Tom.
Still he did make the attempt, and so did the exile and the detective. Little was said now, for each of the parties was running a dogged race, and in silence. They had gone possibly half a mile, and the first advantage of Tom and his friends was rapidly being lost, when suddenly there sounded in the air above a curious throbbing noise.
"The airship! It's the airship!" yelled Tom, as he saw a great dark shape slowly approaching. "Ned is bringing her to met us."
"This way, Ned! This way!" cried Tom, and, an instant later, they were in the midst of a brilliant glow, for Ned had turned the current into the great searchlight on the bow of the air craft, and the beams were focused on our friends. Ned could now see the refugees, and in a moment he sent the graceful craft down, bringing it to a halt on the ground near Tom.
"Come on!" yelled Tom to the others. "We're all right now, if you hustle!"
The three guards had halted in confusion on seeing the big, black bulk of the airship, and when they noted the gleaming of the searchlight they must have realized that their chances were gone. They made a rush, however, but it was too late. Over the side of the craft scrambled Tom, Mr. Damon, the detective and Ivan Petrofsky, and an instant later Ned had sent it aloft. The race was over, and the young inventor and his friends had won.
"That's what I thought after you'd gone," replied his chum. "So I decided to come and meet you. I had to go slowly so as not to pass you in the darkness."
"You're having your first ride in an airship, Mr. Petrofsky," remarked Tom, when they had gone on for some little distance. "How do you like it?"
Then they told the story of their search, and the unexpected clew from Russia. In turn the exile told how he had been attacked at the breakfast table one morning by the three spies--the very men who had been shadowing him--and taken away secretly, being drugged to prevent his calling for help. He had been kept a close prisoner in the lonely hut, and each day he had expected to be taken back to serve out his sentence in Siberia.
"Well I'm glad we got you," said Tom heartily. "We will soon be ready to start for Siberia."
"Yes, only much larger. You'll like it. I only hope my air glider works."
"You'd better stay here until we are ready to start," Tom said, "and then we can keep an eye on you. We need you to show us as nearly as possible where the platinum field is."
Tom resumed work on his air glider the next day, and he had an additional helper, for Mr. Petrofsky proved to be a good mechanic.
And, as has been explained, the harder the wind blew the better the air glider worked. In fact unless there was a strong gale it would not go up.
"That's what we want!" cried Tom. He had made several models of the air glider, changing them as he found out his errors, and at last he had hit on the right shape and size.
For several weeks the work on the air glider progressed rapidly, and it was nearing completion. Meanwhile nothing more had been heard or seen of the Russian spies.
"Is it all finished?" asked Ned.
IN A GREAT GALE
"Jove! This is a wind!" cried Tom as he awakened on a morning a few days after his air glider was nearly completed. "I never saw it so strong. This ought to be just what I want I must telephone to Mr. Damon and to Ned."
"Coffee ready, Mrs. Baggert?" asked our hero as he went downstairs. "I haven't got time to eat much though."
He was a little worried lest the wind die out, but when he got outside he noted with satisfaction that the gale was stronger than at first. In fact it did considerable damage in Shopton, as Tom learned later.
"And maybe my air glider won't work," he remarked to himself as he was on his way to the shed where it had been constructed. "The models went up all right, but maybe the big one isn't proportioned right. However, I'll soon see."
"Great Scott!" exclaimed the lad, as he labored to close the shed door, "this is a blow all right, Tom! Do you think it's safe to go up?"
"Well, I'd think twice about it myself."
"Burr-r-r-r!" and Ned pretended to shiver. "I haven't an accident insurance policy you know."
The eccentric man came in a little later, just as Tom and Ned had finished adjusting the mechanism.
"I sure do! Why, aren't you going with me?" and Tom winked at Ned.
"Now, Ned, how about you?" asked the young inventor.
It was hard work getting the air glider out of the shed, and in position on top of a hill, about a quarter of a mile away, for Tom intended "taking off" from the mound, as he could not get a running start without a motor. The wind, however, he hoped, would raise him and the strange craft.
"We'll have to get Eradicate and his mule, I guess," said Tom, after a vain endeavor to make progress against the wind. "When it's up in the air it will be all right, but until then I'll need help to move it. Ned, call Rad, will you?"
"Now to see what happens," remarked Tom as he wheeled his latest invention around where the wind would take it as soon as the restraining ropes were cast off, for it was now held in place by several heavy cables fastened to stakes driven in the ground.
"That ought to do," he remarked. "Now who's going up with me? Will you take a chance, Mr. Petrofsky?"
"Come on then, Ned and Mr. Damon. Mr. Petrofsky and Rad can cast off the ropes."
"Cast off!" he cried to the Russian and Eradicate, and they slipped the ropes.
THE SPIES
"That's right!" agreed the young inventor rather proudly, as he grasped two levers, one of which steered the craft, the other being used to shift the weights. "We're going up. I was pretty sure of that. The next thing is to see if it will remain stationary in the air, and answer the rudder."
"That's exactly what I do mean. You can't do it in an aeroplane, for that depends on motion to keep itself up in the air. But the glider is different. That's one of its specialties, remaining still, and that's why it will be valuable if we ever get to Siberia. We can hover over a certain spot in a gale of wind, and search about below with telescopes for a sign of the lost platinum mine.
"I'm going up a couple of hundred feet at least," answered Tom, "and higher if the gale-strata is there. I want to give it a good test while I'm at it."
"Bless my handkerchief!" cried Mr. Damon, when his attention had been called to this. "It's just like an airship."
"We're falling!" cried Ned.
He demonstrated this at once, sending his craft sliding up another hill of air, until it reached an elevation of four hundred feet, as evidenced by the barograph.
Slowly he moved the weights along, by means of the compound levers, until the air glider was on an "even keel" so to speak. It was still moving forward, with the wind now, for Tom had warped his wing tips.
It was a delicate operation, and Tom had not had much experience in that sort of thing, for his other airships and aeroplanes worked on an entirely different principle. But he moved the weights along, inch by inch, and flexed the tips, planes and rudders until finally Ned, who was looking down through the floor window, cried out
"Good!" exclaimed Tom. "Then it's a success."
"Sure," assented the young inventor. "And if we have luck we'll rescue Mr. Petrofsky's brother, and get a lot of platinum that will be more valuable than gold."
The friction on the plane surfaces was not equalized, and the gale forced the craft along slightly. But, compared to the terrific power of the wind, the air glider was practically at a standstill, and this was remarkable when one considers the force of the hurricane that was blowing above below and through it.
"This sure is great!" cried Ned. "Have you got her in control, Tom?"
By shifting the weights, changing the balance, and warping the wings, the young inventor sent the craft higher up, made it dip down almost to the earth, and then swoop upward like some great bird. Then he turned it completely about and though he developed no great speed in this test made it progress quarteringly against the wind,
"Is it all right?" asked Ivan Petrofsky anxiously, as the three left the cabin, and Eradicate hitched his mule to the glider to take it back to the shed.
"Then we can go to Siberia?"
The Russian said nothing, but he looked his thanks to Tom, and the manner in which he grasped the hand of our hero showed his deep feelings.
So anxious was Tom to get started, that he put in several nights working on the glider. Ned occasionally came over to help him, while Mr. Damon was on hand as often as his wife would allow. Mr. Petrofsky spent his nights writing to friends in Russia, hoping to get some clew as to the whereabouts of his brother.
"I say, old man, hand me that big monkey wrench, will you. I can't loosen this nut with the small one. You'll find it on the bench by that back window."
"Tom, we're being watched! There are some spies outside!"
"I don't know. Those Russian police, maybe out front, and maybe we can catch them!"
"By golly!" cried the colored man, "ef I gits 'em I'll pinch dere noses off!"
Going from the brightly lighted shop into the darkness of the night, illuminated as it was only by the stars, neither Tom, Ned, nor Eradicate, could see anything at first. They had to stand still for a moment to accustom their eyes to the gloom.
"No, but I can hear them! Over this way!" yelled Ned, and then, being able to dimly make out objects, so he would not run into them, he started off, followed by the young inventor.
It was almost a hopeless task to pursue them, but the two lads were not the kind that give up. They rushed forward, hoping to be able to grapple with those who had looked in the shop window, but it was not to be.
"Better stop," advised Tom. "No telling where we'll end up if we keep on running. Besides it might be dangerous."
"They might dodge around, and wait for us behind some tree or bush."
"Guess you're about right," admitted Ned. "There isn't much use keeping on. We'll go back."
"Not very good. Just as I went to get you that wrench I noticed two faces looking in the window. I must have taken them by surprise, for they dodged down in an instant. Then I yelled, and they ran off."
"No, I didn't notice him."
"I didn't see those fellows very well, you remember, so I couldn't say."
"What do you think they're after, Tom?"
"Do you think they'd go to such length as that?"
"But how do you suppose they know you're going to Russia?"
"Why don't you warn him?"
"That's right. Well, let's go back and work on the glider."
"By golly! Ef I sees any oh 'em, I suah will pinch 'em!" cried the colored man, as he clicked the pliers.
The big airship was almost ready to be given a trial flight, with her motors tuned up to give more power, and as soon as the Russian exile had a little more definite information as to the possible whereabouts of his brother, they could start.
The big airship, too, was made ready for the long voyage, extra large storage tanks for gasolene being built in, as it was doubtful if they could get a supply in Siberia without arranging for it in advance, and this they did not want to do. Besides there was the long ocean flight to provide for.
At last word was received from Russia, from some Revolutionist friends of the exile, stating that his brother was supposed to be working in a certain sulphur mine north of the Iablonnoi mountains, and half way between that range and the city of Iakutsk.
"Well, we'll take a chance!" cried Tom determinedly.
The last of the stores, provisions and supplies were put in the big car of the airship, a route had been carefully mapped out, and Tom, after saying good-bye to Mary Nestor, his father, the housekeeper, and Eradicate, took his place in the pilot house of the airship one pleasant morning at the beginning of Summer.
"No indeedy, Massa Tom," was the answer. "Dat's a mighty cold country in Shebeara, an' I laik warm wedder."
"I guess we've given those spies the slip," remarked Ned, as they rose from the ground calling good-byes to the friends they left behind.
Then, as the airship gathered momentum, it fairly sprang into the air, and a moment later, the big propellers began revolving. They were off on their long voyage to find the lost platinum mine, and rescue the exile of Siberia.
Tom had the choice of two routes in making his voyage to far-off Siberia. He could have crossed the United States, sailed over the Pacific ocean, and approached the land of the Czar from the western coast above Manchuria. But he preferred to take the Atlantic route, crossing Europe, and so sailing over Russia proper to get to his destination. There were several reasons for this.
"Then, too," he said to Ned, when they were discussing the matter, "we will have a chance to see some civilized countries if we cross Europe, and we may land near Paris."
"To renew our supply of gasolene, for one thing," replied the young inventor. "Not that we will be out when we arrive, but if we take on more there we may not have to get any in Russia. Besides, they have a very good quality in France, so all told, I think the route over Europe to be the best."
They were over the ocean on the second day out, for Tom did not push the craft to her limit of speed, now they had time to consider matters at their leisure, for they had been rather hurried on leaving.
"For," he said, "we have a long trip ahead of us "and we need to save all the elevating gas we can save. If worst comes to worst, and we can't navigate as an aeroplane any more, we can even drift along as a dirigible. But while we have the gasolene we might as well make speed and be an aeroplane."
Of course, until they were nearer the land of the Czar, and that part of Siberia where Mr. Petrofsky's brother was held as an exile, they could do little save make themselves as comfortable as possible in the airship. And this was not hard to do.
Tom and Ned spent much time in the steering tower or engine room, for, though all of the machinery was automatic, there was need of almost constant attention, though there was an arrangement whereby in case of emergency, the airship would steer herself in any set direction for a certain number of hours.
"Bless my napkin! but this is great!" exclaimed Mr. Damon, about noon of the second day, when they had just finished dinner and looked down through the glass windows in the bottom of the cabin at the rolling ocean below them. "I don't believe many persons have such opportunities as we have."
"And such good weather as we're having," spoke Ned. "I'm glad we didn't start off in a storm, for I don't exactly like them when we're over the water."
"Bless my mercury tube!" cried Mr. Damon. "I hope we have no bad luck on this trip."
So everything was made snug, and movable articles on the small exposed deck of the airship were lashed fast. Then, as night settled down, our friends gathered about in the cheerful cabin, in the light of the electric lamps, and talked of what lay before them.
It was when Mr. Damon finished his watch at midnight, and called Tom, that he remarked.
"Why, what's it doing?"
"I was afraid we were in for it," answered the young inventor. "Well, we'll have to take what comes."
"I don't like it," murmured Tom, "I don't like it," and he shook his head dubiously.
"Come on, Ned!" cried Tom, as he pressed the electric alarm bell connected with his chum's berth. "I need you, and Mr. Damon, too."
"We're in a bad storm," answered Tom, "and I'll have to have help. We need more gas, to try and rise above it."
And he jumped from his berth as the Falcon plunged and staggered through the storm that was lashing the ocean below her into white billow of foam.
For a few moments it seemed as if the Falcon would surely turn turtle and plunge into the seething ocean. The storm had burst with such suddenness that Tom, who was piloting his air craft, was taken unawares. He had not been using much power or the airship would have been better able to weather the blast that burst with such fury over her. But as it was, merely drifting along, she was almost like a great sheet of paper. Down she was forced, until the high-flying spray from the waves actually wet the lower part of the car, and Ned, looking through one of the glass windows, saw, in the darkness, the phosphorescent gleam of the water so near to them.
"Bless my bath sponge! Don't say that!" gasped Mr. Damon.
"Mr. Damon, can you take the wheel? It doesn't make any difference which way we go as long as you keep her before the wind, and yank back the elevating rudder as far as she'll go! We must head up."
"Can I do anything?" asked the Russian, as Tom raced for the engine room, to speed the motor up to the last notch.
"All right," replied Ivan Petrofsky, and then there came another sickening roll of the airship, that threatened to turn her completely over.
And indeed it seemed that this might be so, for with the wind forcing her down, and the hungry waves leaping up, as if to clutch her to themselves, the Falcon was having anything but an easy time of it.
At the same time Tom heard the hiss of the gas as it rushed into the envelope from the generating machine, as Ned opened the release valve.
For a moment she hung in the balance, neither the increased speed of the propellers, nor the force of the gas having any seeming effect. Mr. Damon and the Russian, clinging to the rudder levers, to avoid being dashed against the sides of the pilot house, held them as far back as they could, to gain the full power of the elevation planes. But even this seemed to do no good.
"She's got to go up! She's got to go up!" cried Tom desperately, as if by very will power he could send her aloft. And then, when there came a lull in the fierce blowing of the wind, the elevation rudder took hold, and like a bird that sees the danger below, and flies toward the clouds, the airship shot up suddenly.
They were not quite yet, but at last the power of machinery had prevailed over that of the elements. Through the pelting rain, and amid the glare of the lightning, and the thunder of heaven's artillery, the airship forced her way, up and up and up.
"How about it, Tom?" cried his chum anxiously.
"So did I. Shall I keep on with the gas?"
Running there, Tom found that Mr. Damon and the Russian had about all they could manage. The young inventor helped them and then, when the Falcon was well started on her upward course, Tom set the automatic steering machine, and they had a breathing spell.
The storm kept up all night, but the danger was practically over, unless something should happen to the machinery, and Tom and Ned kept careful watch to prevent this. In the morning they could look down on the storm-swept ocean below them, and there was a feeling of thankfulness in their hearts that they were not engulfed in it.
"Oh, you can get used to almost anything," commented Mr. Damon.
It was the evening of the fifth day, and they expected to sight the coast of France in the morning. Tom was in the pilot house, setting the course for the night run, and Ned had gone to the engine room to look after the oiling of the motor.
"What is it?" cried Tom, as he came in on the run, for the indicators in the pilot house had told him something was wrong.
SEEKING A QUARREL
"Bless my barograph!" cried Mr. Damon, appearing on the scene. "We're sinking, Tom!"
"Of course! Why didn't I think of that!" exclaimed Ned, somewhat provoked at his own want of thought. The airship was going down rapidly, but it was the work of but a moment to start the generator, and then the earthward motion was checked.
"Then you can't use the propellers?" asked Mr. Petrofsky.
"Then we'll have to land in France?" asked the Russian, and he seemed a trifle uneasy.
"Well, I was thinking of our safety."
"There is no particular danger, unless it be comes known that I am an escaped exile, and that we are on our way to Siberia to rescue another one, and try to find the platinum mine. Then we would be in danger."
"France, especially in Paris and the larger cities, is a hot-bed of political spies," answered Mr. Petrofsky. Russia has many there on the secret police, and while the objectors to the Czar's government are also there, they could do little to help us."
"I'm afraid they will," was the reply of the Russian. "Undoubtedly word has been cabled by the spies who annoyed us in Shopton, that we are on our way over here. Of course they can't tell where we might land, but as soon as we do land the news will be flashed all over, and the word will come back that we are enemies of Russia. You can guess the rest."
"It would be the same anywhere in Europe," replied Ivan Petrofsky. "There are spies in all the large centres."
"That might answer," spoke the Russian, and it was decided to try that.
"Hurrah!" cried Ned when morning came, and he had taken an observation. "There's some kind of land over there."
At noon it could be seen through the glass that they were over the outskirts of some large place, and after the Russian had taken an observation he exclaimed:
"We won't, if the wind holds out," remarked Tom and this good fortune came to them. They succeeded in landing in a field not far from a small village, and though several farmers wondered much as the sight of the big airship, it was thought by the platinum-seekers that they would be comparatively safe.
"Can you speak French?" asked Mr. Petrofsky. "If not I might be of service, but if I go to Paris I might be
He had a small knowledge of the tongue, and with that, and knowing that English was spoken in many places, he felt that he could make out. And indeed he had no trouble. He easily found his way about the gay capital, and located a machine shop where a specialty was made of parts for automobile and airship motors. The proprietor, knowing the broken pieces belonged to an aeroplane, questioned Tom about his craft but the young inventor knew better than to give any clew that might make trouble, so he returned evasive answers.
"Has anything happened?" he asked of his friends.
"It will take a day to make the repairs," said Tom, "and put in the new pieces of platinum. But I'll work as fast as I can."
For, though he was tattered and torn, the man's face showed a certain refinement, and his hands were not those of a farmer or laborer in which character he obviously posed.
"Oh, yes, it'll do." Tom did not want to encourage conversation.
The man spoke English but with an accent, and certain peculiarities.
"Is it permit to inspect the interior?"
"Ah, there are secrets then?" persisted the stranger.
"Ah, does monsieur mean that I have poor eyesight?"
"Just as you choose to take it," was the cool answer. "I don't know anything about your eyes, but I know I've got work to do."
"Now that'll do!" cried Tom, thoroughly aroused. "I don't want to be too short with you, but I've really got to get this done. One side, if you please," and having finished what he was doing, he started toward the airship.
"Monsieur has struck me! I am insulted! You shall pay for this!" he cried, jumping to his feet, and making a rush for our hero.
The man was about to rush at him, and there would have been a fight in another minute, had not Mr. Petrofsky, stepping to the open window of the pilot house, called out:
Swinging away from the man, the young inventor rushed toward the airship. As he entered the pilot house he noticed that his late questioner was racing off in the direction of the village.
"No, I just wanted to get you away from that man.
"I know that, but don't you see what his game was? I listened to him. He was seeking a quarrel with you."
"Yes. He is a police spy. He wanted to get you into a fight and then he and you would be arrested by the local authorities. They'd clap you into jail, and hold us all here. It's a game! They suspect us, Tom! The Russian spies have had some word of our presence! We must get away as quickly as we can!"
The announcement of Ivan Petrofsky came to Tom with startling suddenness. He could say nothing for a moment, and then, as he realized what it meant, and as he recalled the strange appearance and actions of the man, he understood the danger.
"I'm almost sure he was," came the answer. "He isn't one of the villagers, that's sure, and he isn't a tourist. No one else would be in this little out-of-the-way place but a police official. He is in disguise, that is certain."
"We are suspected," replied the Russian. "I was afraid a big airship couldn't land anywhere, in France without it becoming known. Word must have been sent to Paris in the night, and this spy came out directly."
"Didn't you see where he headed for? The village. He has gone to send word that his trick failed. There will be more spies soon, and we may be detained or thrown into jail on some pretext or other. They may claim that we have no license, or some such flimsy thing as that. Anything to detain us. They are after me, of course, and I'm sorry that I made you run such danger. Perhaps I'd better leave you, and--"
"Bless my revolver! I should say not!" cried Mr. Damon. "What's it all about? Where's the danger?"
"Well, what's to be done?" asked Tom. "Had we better get out our ammunition, or shall I take out a French license."
"That's it!" cried Ned. "A quick flight. We can get more gasolene here, for lots of autos pass along the road through the village. I found that out. Then we needn't stop until we hit the trail for the mine in Siberia!"
"And we will," said Tom. "I've got the magneto almost fixed!"
"I might have told by his manner that something was wrong," commented Tom, "but I thought he was a fresh tramp and I didn't take any pains in answering him. But come on, Ned, get busy."
"Now, Ned, if you'll see to having some gasolene brought out here, and the tanks filled, I'll tinker with the dynamo and get that in running shape," said Tom. "It only needs a little adjustment of the brushes. Then we'll be off."
Never, Ned thought, had he seen a man so slow at getting ready the supply of gasolene. He was to take it out in a wagon, but first he mislaid the funnel, then the straining cloth, and finally he discovered a break in the harness that needed mending.
But at last Ned, by dint of hard work, got him started, and rode on the gasolene wagon with him. Once at the anchored airship, Tom and the others filled the reserve tanks themselves, though the man tried to help. However he did more harm than good, spilling several gallons of the fluid.
"Easy!" cautioned Mr. Petrofsky, with a warning look, and Tom subsided.
"Now to make a quick flight!" cried Tom, as he took his place in the pilot house, while Ned went to the engine room. "Full speed, Ned!"
"Why?" asked Tom.
"They're after us!" cried Mr. Damon. "Bless my chronometer they're after us!"
PURSUED
"Bless my football! If they jab them into the gas bag, Tom, we're done for!"
"They're going to fire!" cried Ned.
The officer was aiming his revolver at the airship, now high above his head, but with a quick motion the spy pulled down his companion's arm, and they seemed to be disputing among themselves.
"Probably they didn't want to risk getting into trouble," replied the Russian. "There are strict laws in France about using firearms, and as yet we are accused of no crime. We are only suspected, and I suppose the spy didn't want to get into trouble. He is on foreign ground, and there might be international complications."
"No doubt of it, and I'm afraid this is only the beginning of our trouble."
"Well, of course word will be sent on ahead about us, and every where we go they'll be on the watch for us. They have our movements pretty well covered."
"Perhaps," admitted the Russian, "but we will have to be on our guard. Of course keeping up in the air will be an advantage but they may--"
"What were you going to say?" inquired Ned.
"Yes, at this rate we'll soon be out of France," observed Tom, as he speeded the ship along still more. The young inventor wondered what Mr. Petrofsky had been going to say, but soon after this, some of the repaired machinery in the motor room needed adjusting, and the young inventor was kept so busy that the matter passed from his mind.
The route, as laid down by Tom and the Russian, would send the airship skirting the southern coast of the Baltic sea, then north-west, to pass to one side of St. Petersburg, and then, after getting far enough to the north, so as to avoid the big cities, they would head due east for Siberia.
For the next few days they flew steadily on at no remarkable speed, as the extra effort used more gasolene than Tom cared to expend in the motor. He realized that he would need all he had, and he did not want to have to buy any more until he was homeward bound, for the purchase of it would lead to questions, and might cause their detention.
"Well, if we don't find the platinum mine we'll rescue your brother, if there's a possible chance!" exclaimed Tom one day, as he sat in the pilot house with the exile. "Jove! it will be great to drop down, pick him up, and fly away with him before those Cossacks, or whoever has him, know what's up."
"How do you expect to get definite information as to where he might be?" asked Tom.
"Will it be safe?" inquired the young inventor.
"That's right," admitted Tom with a laugh. "I'm afraid I could never master that tongue. It's as hard as Chinese."
They talked at some length, and then Tom noticing, by one of the automatic gages on the wall of the pilot house, that some of the machinery needed attention, went to attend to it.
"Star-gazing in the day time?" asked Tom with a laugh.
"Where is it?"
"Oh, I see," spoke Tom, when the speck had been pointed out to him. "It's there all right, but I guess it's a bird, an eagle perhaps. Wait, I'll get a glass and we'll take a look."
"What's up?" asked the Russian, and the youth told him.
"Maybe it isn't a bird," suggested Ivan Petrofsky. "I'll take a look myself," and, showing something of alarm in his manner, he followed Tom to where Mr. Damon awaited them. Ned also came out on deck.
"Is it a bird?" asked Mr. Damon.
"An aeroplane!" gasped Ned.
"And they're coming right after us," added Tom, as he continued to gaze.
"Let it come!" cried Tom. "If they can catch up to us they've got a good machine. Come on, Ned, let's speed her up, and make them take more of our star dust."
"I never saw the one yet I couldn't pull away from, even after giving them a start," answered the young inventor proudly. "That is all but my little sky racer. I could let them get within speaking distance, and then pull out like the Congressional Limited passing a slow freight."
"Oh, it's safe enough," declared Tom. "I'll get things in shape for a quick move," and he hurried back to the machine room, while the others took turns looking at the on-coming aeroplane. And it was coming on rapidly, showing that it had tremendous power, for it was a very large one, carrying three men.
"Oh, we must have been reported from time to time, as we flew over cities or towns," replied Mr. Petrofsky. "You know we're rather large, and can be seen from a good distance. Then too, the whole Russian secret police force is at the service of our enemies."
Ivan Petrofsky took the telescope and peered down toward the earth. They were not a great way above it, and at that moment they were passing a small village.
"We are just over the border of the land of the Czar," was the quiet answer. "The imperial flag is flying from a staff in front of one of the buildings down there. We are over Russia."
They gazed back with alarm, and saw that it was indeed so. The big aeroplane had come on wonderfully fast in the last few minutes.
"I'm all ready," calmly answered our hero. "Shall I go now?"
"I can let them get almost up to us, and get away," replied Tom.
"It's our spy again," he said. "There are two others with him. That is one of the aeroplanes owned by the secret police. They are stationed all over Europe, ready for instant service, and they're on our trail."
"Shall I speed up?" cried Tom.
THE NIHILISTS
"Look out for bombs!" yelled Ned.
"It's only their motor hack-firing," cried Tom. "It's all right, They're done for now, well leave them behind."
A little later, finding that they were losing speed, the three police agents, or spies, whatever they might be, had to volplane to earth and there was no need for the Falcon to maintain the terrific pace, to which Tom had pushed her. The pursuit was over.
"I'm afraid they will," predicted Mr. Petrofsky. "You don't know these government agents as I do. They never give up. They'll fix their engine, and get on our trail again."
He ran to the pilot house, and set the elevation rudder at its limit. Meanwhile the spies were working frantically over their motor, trying to get it is shape for the pursuit. But soon they realized that this was out of the question, for the Falcon was far away, every moment going higher and higher, until she was lost to sight beyond the clouds.
"Don't be too sure," spoke the Russian. We may have them after us again. We're over the land of the Czar now, and they'll have everything their own way. They'll want to stop me at any cost."
"They may, for they know my brother and I were the only ones who ever located it, though unless I get in the exact neighborhood I'd have trouble myself picking it out. I remember some of the landmarks, but my brother is better at that sort of work than I am. But I think what they are mostly afraid of is that I have some designs on the life of, say one of the Grand Dukes, or some high official. But I am totally opposed to violent measures," went on Mr. Petrofsky. "I believe in a campaign of education, to gain for the downtrodden people what are their rights."
"I don't believe so. And I hope not, for once they suspected that, they would remove him to some place where I never could locate him."
It was about three days after the chase when, having carefully studied the map and made several observations through the telescope of the Country over which they were traveling, that Ivan Petrofsky said:
"All right," agreed the young inventor, "down we go, and I hope you get the information want."
"We'll hide here for a few days," observed Tom, "and you can spend as much time in town as you like, Mr. Petrofsky,"
While he was gone Tom, Ned and Mr. Damon busied themselves about the airship, making a few repairs that could not very well be done while it was in motion. As night came on, and the exile did not return, Tom began to get a little worried, and he had some notion of going to seek him, but he knew it would not be safe.
It was quite a surprise therefor, when, as they were leaving the table, a knock was heard on the cabin door.
"Mr. Petrofsky of course," answered Ned.
For one moment our hero feared that his friend had been arrested and that the police bad come to take the rest of them into custody. But a word from the exile reassured him.
"Nihilists yes! Always!" exclaimed one who spoke English. "Death to the Czar and the Grand Dukes! Annihilation to the government!"
ON TO SIBERIA
"No, everything is all right, so far," answered Ivan Petrofsky. "I didn't have the success I hoped for, and we may have to wait here for a few days to get news of my brother. But these men have been very kind to me," he went on, "and they have ways of getting information that I have not. So they are going to aid me."
"Never!" exclaimed the exile firmly. "Peaceful measures will succeed. But I am grateful for what you can do for me. They heard me describe your wonderful airship," he explained to Tom, "and wanted to see for themselves."
"I can't show you the air glider," said Tom, who naturally acted as guide, "as it would take too long to put together, and besides there is not enough wind here to make it operate."
"The harder the gale the better she flies," answered Tom proudly.
"Ha!" exclaimed Mr. Androwsky, turning suddenly to the odd man. "Are you not one of us? Do you not believe that this terrible kingdom should be destroyed--made as nothing, and a new one built from its ashes? Are you not one of us?" and with a quick gesture he reached into his pocket.
"A bomb!" exclaimed the Nihilist, and then he drew from his pocket some pamphlets printed in Russian. "I have no bombs. Here are some of the tracts we distribute to convert unbelievers to our cause," he went on. "Read them and you will understand what we are striving for. They will convert you, I am sure."
"Bless my gas meter!" gasped the odd man, as he stared at the queerly-printed documents in his hand. "I thought he was going to give me a bomb to throw!"
"Hum! I'm afraid not," answered Mr. Damon. "I might just as well try to translate a Chinese laundry check. But I'll save 'em for souvenirs," and he carefully put them in his pocket, as if he feared they might unexpectedly turn into a bomb and blow up the airship.
"Well, you certainly have a wonderful craft here-wonderful," spoke Mr. Androwsky. "If we had some of these in our group now, we could start from here, hover over the palace of the Czar, or one of the Grand Dukes, drop a bomb, utterly destroy it, and come back before any of the hated police would be any the wiser."
"It would never do," agreed Ivan Petrofsky. "The campaign of education is the only way."
"What are your plans?" asked Tom of the exile. "You say you can get no trace here of your brother?"
"Maybe he is in the lost platinum mine," suggested Ned.
"And we'll do it, in the air glider," declared Tom. "By the way, Mr. Petrofsky, would it not be a good plan to ask your friends the location of the place where the winds constantly blow with such force. It occurs to me that in some such way we might locate the mine."
"But what is that you said about us having to stay here, to get some news of your brother?" asked Tom.
"And we will bring you news as soon as we get it," promised Mr. Androwsky. "You are not exactly one of us, but you are against the government, and, therefor, a brother. But you will be one of us in time."
"Not a bit of it. More than half the object of our trip is to rescue your brother. We must do that first. Now as to details," and they fell to discussing plans. It was late that night when the Nihilists left the airship, first having made a careful inspection to see that they were not spied upon. They promised at once to set to work their secret methods of getting information.
Every day either Mr. Petrofsky went in to town to see the Nihilists or some of them came out to the Falcon, usually at night.
"Nothing yet," answered the exile, and his tone was a bit hopeless. "But we have not given up. All the most likely places have been tried, but he is not there. We have had traces of him, but they are not fresh ones. He seems to have been moved from one mine to another. Probably they feared I would make an attempt to rescue him. But I have not given up. Me is somewhere in Siberia."
For three days more they lingered, and then, one night, when they were just getting ready to retire, there was a knock on the cabin door. Mr. Petrofsky had been to the village that day, and had received no news. He had only returned about an hour before.
"Bless my burglar alarm!" gasped Mr. Damon.
The knock was repeated. It might be their friends, and it might be- But Mr. Petrofsky solved the riddle by throwing back the portal, and there stood the Nihilist, Nicolas Androwsky.
"We have news," was the cautious answer, as the Nihilist slipped in, and closed the door behind him.
"Of your brother! He is in a sulphur mine in the Altai Mountains, near the city of Abakansk."
"The Altai Mountains are a range about the middle of Siberia," explained Mr. Petrofsky. "They begin at the Kirghiz Steppes, and run west. It is a wild and desolate place. I hope we can find poor Peter alive."
"It is many miles from here, but I can give you a good map," said the Nihilist. "Some of our friends are there," he added with a half-growl. "I wish we could rescue all of them."
IN A RUSSIAN PRISON
"But that is the latest information we could get," said Mr. Androwsky. "It came through some of our Anarchist friends, and I believe is reliable. Can you soon make a thousand miles in your airship?"
"Then do so," advised the Nihilist, "for there is need of haste. In making inquiries our friends might incur suspicions and Peter Petrofsky may be exiled to some other place."
"Here is a map of the best route," said the Nihilist, as he handed one to Mr. Petrofsky. "It will take you there the shortest way. But how can you steer when high in the air?"
"I never can thank you enough!" exclaimed the exile, as he shook hands with Mr. Androwsky,
"Here we go!" cried the young inventor gaily, as he turned the starting lever in the pilot house, and silently, in the darkness of the night, the Falcon shot upward. There was not a light on board, for, though small signal lamps had been kept burning when the craft was in the forest, to guide the Nihilists to her, now that she was up in the air, and in motion, it was feared that her presence would become known to the authorities of the town, so even these had been extinguished.
Mr. Damon, who had done all that Tom needed in the starting of the craft, went to the forward port rail, and idly looked down on the black forest they were leaving. He could just make out the clearing where they had rested for over a week, and he was startled to see lights bobbing in it.
"I don't believe so," answered the exile. "I'll ask Tom."
Setting the automatic steering apparatus, he joined Mr. Damon and the Russian. The lights were now dimly visible, moving about in the forest clearing.
"Friends--no friends--enemies!" cried the Russian. "I understand now! We got away just in time. Those are police agents who are looking for us! They must have received word about our being there. Androwsky and the others never carry lights when they go about. They know the country too well, and then, too, it leads to detection. No, those are police spies. A few minutes later, and we would have been discovered."
The twinkling lights in the forest clearing disappeared from sight, and the seekers went on in the darkness.
"We've done pretty well, so far," commented Ned. "I think we will have easier work rescuing Mr. Petrofsky's brother than in locating the mine.
They had a long journey ahead of them, and not an easy route to follow, but as the days passed, and they came nearer and nearer to their goal, they became more and more eager.
"I wonder when we'll strike Siberia?" mused Tom one afternoon, as they sat on the outer deck, enjoying the air.
And he was right, for just as supper was being served, Ned, who had been making observations with a telescope, exclaimed:
Mr. Petrofsky seized the glass.
And they were, morning seeing them flying over a most desolate stretch of landscape. Onward they flew, covering verst after verst of loneliness.
All day this was kept up, and they were just making an observation to determine their position, along toward supper time, when there came the sound of another explosion from the motor room.
Tom ran to the motor, and, at the same time the Falcon which was being used as an aeroplane and not as a dirigible, began to sink.
"Well, you know what to do." shouted his chum. "The gas bag! Turn on the generator!"
"She won't work !" he cried.
"Don't land here!" cried Ivan Petrofsky.
"Because we are approaching a large town--Owbinsk I think it is-the police there will be there to get us. Keep on to the forest again!"
Running to the pilot house, he guided the craft so that it would safely volplane to earth. They could all see that now they were approaching a fairly large town, and would probably land on its outskirts. Through the glass Ned could make out people staring up at the strange sight.
"I hope they have no dynamite bombs for us," murmured Mr. Damon. "Bless my watch chain! I must get rid of that Nihilist literature I have about me, or they'll take me for one," and he tore up the tracts, and scattered them in the air.
"Maybe I can make quick repairs, and get away before they realize who we are," said Tom, as he got ready for the landing.
"Here they come!" cried Mr. Damon.
"Lively, Ned!" cried Tom. "Let's see if we can't make repairs and get off again."
"What is he saying?" cried Tom to Mr. Petrofsky.
"Well, I'm going to have a try," declared the young inventor.
"I guess it's all up with us," groaned Ned.
"What is it?" asked Tom.
"What for?" demanded the young inventor.
"It is of little use to ask--now," he answered. "It may be we have violated some local law, and can pay a fine and go, or we may be taken for just what we are, or foreign spies, which we are not. It is best to keep quiet, and go with them."
"To prison, I suppose," answered the exile. "Keep quiet, and leave it to me. I will do all I can. I don't believe they will recognize me.
A few minutes later, expostulations having been useless, our friends were led away between guards who carried ugly looking rifles, and who looked more ugly and menacing themselves. Then the doors of the Russian prison of Owbinsk closed on Tom and his friends, while their airship was left at the mercy of their enemies.
The blow had descended so suddenly that it was paralyzing. Tom and his friends did not know what to do, but they saw the wisdom of the course of leaving everything to Ivan Petrofsky. lie was a Russian, and he knew the Russian police ways--to his sorrow.
"Have no fears on that score," said the Russian exile. "They know the value of a good airship, and they won't destroy her."
"Keep her for their own use, perhaps."
"If you get the chance!" interposed the exile.
"You forget that I am not," interrupted Mr. Petrofsky. "I can't claim the protection of your flag, and that is why I wish to remain unknown. We must act quietly. The more trouble we make, the more important they will know us to be. If we hope to accomplish anything we must act cautiously."
"They won't do anything to that right away," declared the Russian in a whisper for he knew sometimes the police listened to the talk of prisoners. "I think, from what I overheard when they arrested us, that we either trespassed on the grounds of some one in authority, who had us taken in out of spite, or they fear we may be English or French spies, seeking to find out Russian secrets."
Finally a man who, the exile whispered to his Companions, was the local governor, came to their prison. He eagerly asked questions as to their mission, and Mr. Petrofsky answered them diplomatically.
"What's going to become of us?" asked Ned.
"What about my airship?" asked Tom.
Indeed it began to seem rather black for our friends, for, that night they were taken from the fairly comfortable, large, prison room, and confined in small stone cells down in a basement. They were separated, but as the cells adjoined on a corridor they could talk to each other. With some coarse food, and a little water, Tom and his friends were left alone.
"Me either," chimed in Ned.
"She may never hear of it!" interposed Tom.
They discussed their plight at length, but nothing could be done, and they settled themselves to uneasy slumber. For two days they were thus imprisoned, and all of Mr. Petrofsky's demands that they be given a fair trial, and allowed to know the nature of the charge against them, went for naught. No one came to see them but a villainous looking guard, who brought them their poor meals. The governor ignored them, and Mr. Petrofsky did not know what to think.
"I fancy it's in the same place," replied the exile. "From the way the governor acted I think he'd be afraid to have it moved. It might be damaged. If I could only get word to some of my Revolutionary friends it might do some good, but I guess I can't. We'll just have to wait."
"Hello! we've got a new one!" exclaimed Tom, as he noted the man. "Not so bad looking, either."
"Nothing doing," remarked the young inventor with a short laugh. "Nixy on that jabbering."
"Boys! Mr. Damon! We're saved!" suddenly cried out Mr. Petrofsky.
"No, but somehow my Revolutionary friends have heard about my arrest, and they have arranged for our release--secretly of course. This guard is affiliated with the Nihilist group that got on the trail of my brother. He bribed the other guard to let him take his place for to-night, and now
"He's going to open the cell doors and let us out!"
"We're not going that way," explained Mr. Petrofsky. "There is a secret exit from this corridor, through a tunnel that connects with a large salt mine. Once we are in there we can make our way out. We'll soon be free."
"It's in the same place."
Working rapidly, the Nihilist guard soon had the cell doors open, for he had the keys, and our friends stepped out into the corridor.
"Then he isn't coming with us?" asked Ned.
They followed their queer guide, who led them down the corridor. He paused at the end, and then, diving in behind a pile of rubbish, he pulled away some boards. A black opening, barely large enough for a man to walk in upright, was disclosed.
"In there," answered Mr. Petrofsky. He and the guard murmured their good-byes, and then, with a lighted candle the faithful Nihilist had provided, and with several others in reserve, our friends stepped into the blackness. They could hear the board being pulled back into place behind them.
It was not a pleasant journey, being through an uneven tunnel in the darkness. Half a mile later they emerged into a large salt mine, that seemed to be directly beneath the town. Work in this part had been abandoned long ago, all the salt there was left being in the shape of large pillars, that supported the roof. It sparkled dully in the candle light.
Twisting and turning, here and there in the semi-darkness, stumbling, and sometimes falling over the uneven floor, the little party went on.
"Yes," replied the Russian.
"Bless my timetable!" cried Mr. Damon.
"Yes," answered Tom in a low voice.
"Why, we passed this place a little while before!" he said. "I remember this pillar that looks like two men wrestling!"
"Back in the same place!" mused the Russian. "Then we have doubled on our tracks. I'm afraid we're lost!"
THE ESCAPE
"Bless my trolley car!" he exclaimed. "It isn't possible! There must be some mistake. If we'll keep on we'll come out all right. You know your way about, don't you, Mr. Petrofsky?"
"Then it's easily remedied," suggested Tom "All we'll have to do will be to go to the place where we started, and begin over again."
"And if we start out once more, and get lost again, then what?" asked Mr. Damon.
"Never!" cried the exile. "It would be the most dangerous thing in the world to go back to the prison. Our escape has probably been discovered by this time, and to return would only be to put our heads in the noose. We must keep on at any cost!"
He did not finish, but they all knew what he meant.
"Yes, I was condemned to one once, but it was not in this part of the country, and it was not an abandoned one. I imagine this was only an isolated mine, and that there are no others near it, so when they abandoned it, after all the salt was taken out, most people forgot about it. I remember once a party of prisoners were lost in a large salt mine, and were missed for several days."
"I don't like to talk about it," replied the Russian with a shudder.
"It was," replied the exile. "But now let's see if we can find our way back, and start afresh. I'll be more careful next time, and watch the turns more closely."
But it was of no use. They could not find their way back to the starting place, and they could not find the opening of the mine. They had used two of the slow burning candles and they had only half a dozen or so left. When these were gone- But they did not like to think of that, and stumbled on and on. They did not talk much, for they were too worried. Finally Ned gasped:
"So would I," added his chum. "But what's the use of wishing? If there was a spring down here it would be salt water. But I know what I would do--if I could."
"Go back to the prison. At least we wouldn't starve there, and we'd have something to drink. If they kept us we know we could get free--sometime."
But it was idle talk. Gradually they lost track of time as they staggered on, and they hardly knew whether a day had passed or whether it was but a few hours since they had been lost.
Back and forth they wandered, up and down in the galleries of the old salt mine. They were merely hoping against hope.
It was, as they learned later, just about two days after the time when they entered the mine that they managed to get out. Forty-eight hours, most of them of intense suffering. They were burning their last candle, and when that was out they knew they would have the horrors of darkness to fight against, as well as those of hunger and thirst.
"Look! Look!" he whispered. "Another candle! Someone-someone is searching for us! We are saved!"
"That is not a candle," spoke the Russian in hollow tones as he looked to where Tom pointed, to a little glimmer of light. "It is a star. Friends, we are saved, and by Providence! That is a star, shining through the opening of the mine. We are saved!"
"Thank heaven!" gasped Tom, as he pushed on.
"And now, if we can only find the airship," said Tom faintly, "we can--"
"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.
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've got to get her!" declared Tom. "We'll die if we don't!"
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.
"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."
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.
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.
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.
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.
"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.
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.
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.
"What's this?" he cried. "Are we above the clouds, or in a fog over some inland sea?"
"But where are we?" asked Ned.
"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."
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.
"What do you make of this, Ned?" asked Tom, in a low voice.
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.
"There's a Russian out here, Mr. Petrofsky," said Tom, "and what he wants I can't make out."
"Bless my dictionary! they must know each other."
"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 an ordinary peasant would have been. But he did not know I was aboard."
"No, but I will tell him."
"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."
"Near to the town of Haskaski, where my poor brother is working in a sulphur mine!"
"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!"
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.
"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."
"No, they depend on guards to prevent escapes."
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:
"But how can we find it after dark?" asked Ned.
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.
"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."
"Can you go just where you want to, as a balloon?" asked the new guide.
"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.
"Where?" asked Tom eagerly, and they were pointed out to him. He took an observation, and exclaimed:
"Heaven grant that he may be there!" said the exile in a low voice.
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.
"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!"
"Quick! Quick, Peter!" cried the brother, "over this way!"
"Hurry, Peter, hurry!" cried Mr. Petrofsky, and, as he spoke in Russian the guards, of course, understood.
"Peter, is it you?" cried Ivan Petrofsky, hoarsely.
"Praise the dear Lord you are saved!"
"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.
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.
"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."
The two exile brothers were gazing fondly at each other, for now that the Falcon was so high, Tom ventured to turn on the lights.
His wonder at his startling and unexpected rescue man 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.
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.
"Yes, partly, and partly to find the platinum mine."
"That is the one, Peter."
"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."
"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."
"I do," was the firm answer.
"Much! You do not call taking me away from that place-that sulphur mine--that horrible prison barrack with the cruel guards--you do not call that much? My, friend," spoke the Russian solemnly, "no one on earth has done so much for me as you have, and if it is the power of man to show you where that lost mine is, my brother and I will do so!"
"Then what plans shall we make?" asked Tom, after a little more talk. "Are we to go about indiscriminately, or is there any possible way of getting on the trail?"
This was done the next day, the present maps aboard the Falcon being consulted, and the brothers comparing notes. They began to lay out a stretch of country in which it was most likely the lost mine lay. It took several days to do this, for sometimes one brother would forget some point, and again the other would. But at last they agreed on certain facts.
"Yes, I should say I had," agreed the young inventor. But I have had harder tasks. Now that I know where to head for I'll get there as soon as possible."
"Fly about in the Falcon, in ever-widening circles, starting as near the centre of that area as possible," replied Tom. "And as soon as I run into a steady hurricane I'll know that I'm at the place of the big winds, and I'll get out my glider, for I'll be pretty sure to be near the place."
Tom put his plan into operation at once, by heading the nose of his craft for the desolate region mapped out by the Russian brothers.
What they were seeking for was something unseen, but which could be felt--a mysterious wind--a wind that might be encountered any time, and which might send the Falcon to the earth a wreck.
On and on sailed the Falcon. The weather could not have been better, but for once Tom wanted bad weather. He wanted a blow--the harder the better--and all eyes anxiously watched the anemometer, or wind gage. But ever it revolved lazily about in the gentle breeze.
He got his wish sooner than he anticipated. It was about two days after this, when they were going about in a great circle, about two hundred miles from the imaginary centre of the district in which the mine lay, that, as Mr. Damon was getting dinner a dish he was carrying to the table was suddenly whisked out of his hand.
But he had no time to say more. The airship fairly stood on end, and then, turning completely about, was rapidly driven in the opposite direction, though her propellers were working rapidly.
"We are capsizing!" shouted Ivan Petrofsky, and indeed it seemed so, for the airship was being forced over.
THE LOST MINE
"Yank that deflecting lever as far down as it will go!" yelled Tom to his chum.
"All right, hold her so. Mr. Damon, let all the gas out of the bag. I want to be as heavy as possible, and get to earth as soon as we can."
"You will know, pretty soon, if the gas isn't let out!" retorted Tom grimly, and then Mr. Damon hastened to the generator compartment, and opened the emergency outlet.
"Whew! That was a narrow squeak!" cried Ned, as he got out. "How'd you do it, Tom?"
"But the wind has stopped blowing," said Mr. Damon. "It was only a gust."
"Bless my umbrella, I will," was the reply and the odd man started off. He had not gone far, before he was seen to put his hand to his cap. Still he kept on.
The next moment Mr. Damon was seen to stagger and fall, while his cap was whisked from his head, and sent high into the air, almost instantly disappearing from sight.
"That's so," agreed his chum. "But we'd better help Mr. Damon," for that gentleman was slowly crawling back, not caring to trust himself on his feet, for the wind had actually carried him down by its force.
"It was the great wind," explained Tom. "It blows only in a certain zone, like a draft down a chimney. It is like a cyclone, only that goes in a circle. This is a straight wind, but the path of it seems to be as sharply marked as a trail through the forest. I guess we're here all right. Does this location look familiar to you?" he asked of the Russian brothers.
"And, another thing," put in Peter. "That wind zone is quite wide. The mine may be in the middle, or near the other edge."
I shall not describe the tedious work of re-assembling Tom Swift's latest invention in the air craft line--his glider. Sufficient to say that it was taken out from where it had been stored in separate pieces on board the Falcon, and put together on the plain that marked the beginning of the wind zone.
Tom tested the speed of it one day with a special anemometer, and found that only a few hundred feet inside the zone the wind blew nearly one hundred miles an hour.
"It must be terrific," was his chum's opinion.
"Of course. The harder it blows the better the glider works. In fact I can't make much speed in a hundred-mile wind for with us all on board the craft will be heavy, and you must remember that I depend on the wind alone to give me motion."
"Oh, it must be caused by high mountain ranges on either side, or the effects of heat and cold, the air being evaporated over a certain area because of great heat, say a volcano, or something like that; though I don't know that they have volcanoes here. That creates a vacuum, and other air rushes in to fill the vacant space. That's all wind is, anyhow, air rushing in to fill a vacuum, or low pressure zone, for you remember that nature abhors a vacuum."
The test came off early one morning, Tom, Ned and Mr. Damon being the only ones aboard. Bags of sand represented the others. The glider was wheeled to the edge of the wind zone and they took their places in the car. It was hard work. for the gale, that had never ceased blowing for an instant since they found its zone, was very strong. But the glider remained motionless in it, for the wing planes, the rudders, and equalizing weights had been adjusted to make the strain of the wind neutral.
"As ready as I ever shall be," answered Ned.
The young inventor pulled a lever, and almost instantly the glider darted forward. A moment later it soared aloft, and the three Russians cheered. But their voices were lost in the roar of the hurricane, as Tom sent his craft higher and higher.
"I'm going higher, and see if I can remain stationary!" yelled Tom in Ned's ear. His chum only nodded. Mr. Damon was seated on a bench, clinging to the sides of it as if he feared he would fall off.
"Success!" cried Tom. "Success! Now we can lie stationary in any spot, and spy out the land through our telescope. Now we will find the lost platinum mine!"
Tom gave his glider other and more severe tests, and she answered every one. Then he came to earth.
As I have explained, there was an enclosed car, capable of holding six. In this were stores, supplies and food sufficient for several days. Tom's plan was to leave the airship anchored on the edge of the wind zone, as a sort of base of supplies or headquarters. From there he intended to go off from time to time in the wind-swept area to look for the lost mine.
"Don't you see anything like the place where you found the mine?" he asked of the exile brothers.
More than a week passed. They had been back and forth to their base of supplies at the airship, often staying away over night, once remaining aloft all through the dark hours in the glider, in a fierce gale which prevented a landing. They ate and slept on board, and seldom descended unless at or near the place where they had left the Falcon. Once they completely crossed the zone of wind, and came to a calm place on the other side. It was as wild and desolate as the other edge.
"But the platinum treasure has me beat, I guess," said Tom grimly. "We can't seem to get a trace of it."
They were not far above the earth, but landmarks, such as had to be depended on to locate the mine, could not readily be observed without the glass. Mr. Damon, with a pair of ordinary field glasses, was doing all he could to pick out likely spots, though it was doubtful if he would know the place if he saw it.
"Bless my tooth-brush!" he cried. "That's a most desolate place down there. A lot of trees blown down around a lake that looks as black as ink."
"We just passed it!" replied Mr. Damon.
With a long, graceful sweep the young inventor sent the glider back over the course. Ivan Petrofsky glued his eyes to the telescope. He picked out the spot Mr. Damon had referred to, and a moment later cried:
"I certainly will!" cried the youth, and pulling on the descending lever he shunted the glider to earth.
Like a bird descending from some dizzy height, the Vulture landed close to the pool of black water. It was a small lake and the darkness must have been caused by its depth, for later when they took some out in a glass it was as clear as a crystal. Then, too, there might have been black rocks on the bottom.
"This is the place! This is the place!" cried Ivan Petrofsky. "Don't you remember, Peter?"
"Bless my soul!" cried Mr. Damon. "Where is it, in the lake?"
"But it is getting late," objected Ned.
"I should say we were," observed Mr. Damon, as he bent to the blast, which was strong, sheltered even as they were.
"We have plenty of food," replied Tom, "and a good place to stay, in the car of the glider. I don't believe we'll be attacked."
"We'll do it!" cried Tom. "Now for the platinum treasure!"
It took them half an hour to get to the opening of the ancient mine, and by that time it was nearly dark. But Tom had thought to bring electric torches, such as he had used in the underground city of gold, and they dispelled the gloom of the small cavern.
"Go in? Of course I'll go in!" cried our hero, stepping forward. The others followed. For some time they went on, and saw no traces of the precious metal. Then Ned uttered a cry, as he saw some dull, grayish particles imbedded in the earth walls of the shaft.
Tom was at his chum's side in a moment
"There are larger ones beyond," said the younger Russian brother.
"Look at that!" cried Tom. "Look at that! Lumps as large as an egg!" and he dug some out with a small pick he bad brought along, and stuffed them into his pocket.
"More so!" cried Tom enthusiastically.
"More than that!" cried Tom, as he ran over and began digging it out, and they found later that it did. Platinum is usually found in small granules, but there are records of chunks being found weighing twenty pounds while others, the size of pigeons' eggs, are not uncommon.
"I am glad we could lead you to it," said the elder Russian brother. "It is a small return for what you did for us!"
They were all busy, but the light of the two torches Tom had brought was not sufficient for good and efficient work, so after getting several thousand dollars worth of the precious metal, they decided to postpone operations until morning, and come with more lights.
"And it's all good stuff!" cried Tom eagerly. "Not like that low-grade gold of the underground city. I can make my own terms when I sell this."
"Well, shall we go back now?" asked Tom one day, after the finish of their mining operations. The work was comparatively simple, as the platinum lumps had merely to be dug out of the sides of the cave. But the loneliness and dreariness of the place was telling on them all.
"We could, but it might not be safe. I don't want to take on too much weight, as my glider isn't as stable as the airship. But we have plenty of the metal.
"And mine, too," said Alexis Borious.
Four days were spent in taking apart the glider and packing it on board the Falcon. Then, with the platinum safely stored away Tom, with a last look at the desolate land that had been so kind to them, sent his craft on her homeward way.
Suddenly, Mr. Damon, who had been on the after deck, taking observations through a telescope, came running forward, crying out:
"Water?" exclaimed Tom. "No water is dripping from there."
The young inventor raced back with him. He saw a thin, white stream trickling down from the lower part of the craft. Tom sniffed the air suspiciously.
He dashed toward the reserve storeroom, and at that moment, with a suddenness that was startling, the motor stopped and the Falcon lurched toward the earth.
"All right!" yelled Ned, as soon as he heard Tom's cry. "I've got her under control. We'll volplane down."
"I guess there's no danger, where Tom Swift's concerned," was the answer. "I have not volplaned much, but it will be all right I think."
"You had better keep inside," said Ivan Petrofsky to his brother and Mr. Borious. "Descriptions of you are probably out broadcast by now, but I am still sufficiently disguised, I think."
"Trust Tom Swift for that," was the reply. "Keep out of sight now, there is a large crowd outside."
"It's all gone--every drop," he said. "That's what made the motor stop."
"The gasolene. We sprung a leak in the main tank, somehow, and it all flowed out while we were flying along."
"Not a bit. I was drawing on the reserve tank, hoping to get to civilization before I needed more. But its too late now. We will have to--"
"No, we won't have to stay here if we can get a supply of kerosene," interrupted Tom. "The motor will burn that. The only trouble is that we may be detained. The authorities probably know us by this time, and are on the watch."
"I'll try," said Tom, and he at once conferred with the elder Petrofsky. The latter said he was sure kerosene could be had in town, and, rather than risk going in themselves, they hired a wagoner who agreed, for liberal pay, to go and return with a quantity. Until then there was nothing to do but wait.
One particularly inquisitive man insisted on pulling or twisting everything, until he happened to touch a couple of live wires, giving himself quite a shock, and then he ran away howling. But still the crowd increased, and at last Mr. Petrofsky said:
"Why not?" They were all inside the craft, looking out and waiting for the return of the man with the kerosene. The leak in the tank had proved to be a small one, and had quickly been soldered. It had been open a long time, which accounted for the large amount of gasolene escaping. "What don't you like, Mr. Petrofsky?"
"And you think the object is--?"
"If it was that, wouldn't they have done it long ago--when we first came down?"
And a little later Ivan Petrofsky's suspicion proved true. There arrived a man in uniform, who spoke fairly good English, and who politely asked Tom if he would not delay the start of the airship, again, until the governor could arrive from his country place to see it.
"If your governor comes soon we'll wait," replied Tom. "But we are in a hurry. I wish that kerosene fellow would get a move on," he murmured.
"Sorry, but it's not allowed," replied our hero, straining his eyes down the road for a sight of the wagoner. At last he came, and Tom breathed easier.
"Lively now, get that kerosene in the tanks!" cried Tom to the man, motioning in lieu of using Russian. The youth was not going to meet the governor if he could help it.
"Ned!" he exclaimed, "they're doing all they can to detain us. We've got to put that oil in ourselves. Just as we did the gasolene in France. It's the same sort of a delay game."
"And I'll warn the crowd back, by telling them we are likely to blow up any minute!" added Ivan Petrofsky, which warning he shouted in Russian a moment later.
The last gallon of kerosene had been put aboard, and Tom and Ned with Mr. Damon, had climbed on deck, when the gaily uniformed officer, who had requested the delay, came riding up furiously.
"Too late!" answered Tom. "Give him our best regards and ask him to some to the United States if he wants to see us. Sorry we haven't cards handy. Ned, take the pilot house, and shoot her up sharp when you get the signal. I'm going to run the motor. I don't know just how she'll behave on the kerosene."
"The United States doesn't take 'must' from anybody, from the Czar down!" cried Tom as he disappeared into the motor room. The window was open, and the youth turned on the power the official cried again to him:
"Nothing doing!" yelled Tom, and then, looking from the window, he saw approaching a troop of Cossacks, in the midst of whom rode a man in a brilliant uniform--evidently the governor.
"Here we go, Ned!" yelled Tom, and turning on more power the Falcon arose swiftly, before the very eyes of the angry governor, and his staff of Cossack soldiers.
"Stop! Stop! You must stop. The Imperial governor orders it!" yelled the officer, evidently his Excellency's aide-decamp.
"And now for home!" cried Tom, and homeward hound the Falcon was after a perilous trip through two storms. But she weathered them well.
Then they started on the long voyage across the Atlantic, and though they had one bad experience in a storm over that mighty ocean, they got safely home to Shopton in due season.
Mr. Petrofsky and his brother, with the other exile, joined friends in New York, and promised to come and see Tom when they could.
"Vacation? I have no time for vacations!" said the young inventor. "I'm soon going to work on my silent airship, and on some other things I have in mind. I want more adventures."
And what adventures Tom had next will be found in the next book of this series, which will be entitled, "Tom Swift in Captivity; Or, a Daring Escape by Airship."
"I haven't time," he declared. "I'm too busy."
"'Bless my alarm clock!' as Mr. Damon would say," exclaimed Tom. "The best rest is new work," and then he began sketching his ideas for a silent motor craft, during which we will take leave of him for a while.