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BATTLING THE BIGHORN
The
Aeroplane Boys Series
_By_ ASHTON LAMAR
IN THE CLOUDS FOR UNCLE SAM
Or, Morey Marshall of the Signal Corps
THE STOLEN AEROPLANE
Or, How Bud Wilson Made Good
THE AEROPLANE EXPRESS
Or, The Boy Aeronaut’s Grit
THE BOY AERONAUTS’ CLUB
Or, Flying for Fun
A CRUISE IN THE SKY
Or, The Legend of the Great Pink Pearl
BATTLING THE BIGHORN
Or, The Aeroplane in the Rockies
WHEN SCOUT MEETS SCOUT
Or, The Aeroplane Spy
FOUR ILLUSTRATIONS IN EACH BOOK
_Price, 60 Cents_
Publishers The Reilly & Britton Co. Chicago
[Illustration: THE FLIGHT IN THE STORM]
Battling the Bighorn
OR
The Aeroplane in the Rockies
BY
ASHTON LAMAR
[Illustration: _The AEROPLANE BOYS SERIES_
REG. U. S. PAT. OFF.]
Illustrated by Joseph Pierre Nuyttens
Chicago
The Reilly & Britton Co.
Publishers
COPYRIGHT, 1911,
by
THE REILLY & BRITTON CO.
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
BATTLING THE BIGHORN
CONTENTS
CHAP. PAGE
I A FLIGHT BY NIGHT 9
II A NEWSPAPER SENSATION 23
III A UNIQUE PROPOSITION 37
IV PREPARATIONS FOR THE EXPEDITION UNDER WAY 50
V TWO INDUCEMENTS 63
VI A CHAPTER ON CLOTHES 74
VII CAPTAIN LUDINGTON TALKS OF BIG GAME 89
VIII BOARDING THE TETON 102
IX A DISH OF TROUT 115
X KOOS-HA-NAX, THE HUNTER 128
XI A MIDNIGHT INTRUDER 142
XII THE END OF THE RAILROAD 157
XIII HUSHA THE BLACK RAM 170
XIV TUNING UP THE _Loon_ 188
XV SALMO CLARKII OR CUTTHROAT TROUT 199
XVI LOST IN THE MOUNTAIN 213
XVII TRACKING MOUNTAIN GOATS IN AN AIRSHIP 226
XVIII A GOAT HUNT AT DAWN 237
XIX THE SIGN OF THE CROSS 250
XX A MONARCH TO THE DEATH 263
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
The Flight in the Storm _Frontispiece_
The Fire in the Hangar 83
The _Loon_ in the Mountains 205
“Old Baldy” 265
Battling the Bighorn
OR
The Aeroplane in the Rockies
CHAPTER I
A FLIGHT BY NIGHT
“Flash the light on the compass again, Frank. Let’s have another look!”
Instantly the ray of an electric hand-light shot over the shoulder of a
boy and centered itself on a curiously arranged compass fixed between
the lad’s feet.
“About a point off northwest――”
“But what good does that do?” exclaimed the one addressed as Frank. “It
was dark when we came about and we didn’t know our course then. By dead
reckonin’ I’d say we ought to head more to the north, Phil.”
“More to the north it is,” was the instant answer. At the same time
there was a creak as if the speaker had executed some movement; the
crouching Frank lurched forward and then fell back into a low chair
behind the other boy. “Keep a lookout below for any lights you can
recognize, but use the floor trap――don’t open that window again; the
rain comes in like a waterfall. I’ll keep watch ahead,” added Phil,
ignoring his companion’s tumble.
“You needn’t bother,” suggested Frank. “We’d ’a’ raised the town lights
if we were anywhere near ’em. I tell you, we’re way off our course!”
“Good enough,” chuckled Phil. “What do we care? We wanted a ride in the
dark and we’re gettin’ it, good and plenty.”
“The rain and clouds may be shuttin’ out sight o’ the town lights a
little,” conceded Frank. “I guess you’d better keep your eyes peeled
just the same. There are lights below, here and there,” he continued,
“but they don’t mean anything; that is, I can’t make anything out of
’em. I own up――I don’t know where we are.”
“What’s the difference?” asked Phil. “We’re here, snug as bugs in a
rug――”
“Listen,” broke in Frank.
A vivid flash of lightning had plunged into the horizon; the heavens
seemed one long roaring roll of thunder and then――as if beginning
anew――torrents of rain dashed against what was apparently an enclosing
protection of glass.
“The rain’s comin’ from the east,” shouted Phil. “Open one of the ports
on the left; it’s in the lee of the storm and it’s gettin’ too hot in
here.”
Again the boy in the rear arose and, fumbling about in the dark as if
turning a catch, at last shoved upward a swinging section of glass.
As his companion had suggested, the new opening was in the lee of the
rain. There was a welcome inrush of fresh, moist air but the two boys
were completely protected from the downpour.
“You’re right,” said Frank as he left his chair and sank down by the
open window or port. “As long as the _Loon_ don’t mind it, what’s the
difference?”
He leaned his head on his hands, his elbows braced in the open space,
and let the cool air fan his perspiring face. “Keep her goin’; go
anywhere; go as far as you like. I don’t care whether we――”
“Look at the barometer. How high are we?” interrupted the other boy
sharply.
Frank crawled from the open window, flashed his electric light again
and turned its rays on an altitude barometer hanging at the right of
his companion, crawled closer to the instrument and then announced:
“Twenty-three hundred feet! Keep her to it,” he continued. “It’s great.
Everything is workin’ fine. The poundin’ of the rain on the glass with
us as dry as bones in here, makes me feel mighty comfortable.”
“Like rain on a tent campin’ out when you’re half asleep on your dry
balsam,” suggested his companion.
“All of that,” was Frank’s good-natured response. “Here, give me that
wheel. I’ll take a turn. Crawl over to the window and stick your head
out. It’s great.”
Without a protest Phil slipped from the low chair in which he had been
sitting rigidly and Frank skilfully took his place. In another moment
Phil was kneeling in the black darkness by the opening.
“It’s all right,” Phil exclaimed, “and I’m glad we did it. I suppose,”
he added a moment later, “that it’s the first time anyone ever did.
It may be a little risky, but it’s worth while. Yet,” he added after
several moments, “I guess we’ve gone far enough. There isn’t a sign
of a town light in sight and I don’t know where we are. Let’s make a
landing and camp out in the car till the storm is over.”
“If we do that,” suggested the boy in the chair, “we’ll stay all night.
We’ll never get up again out of a wet field――if we’re lucky enough not
to straddle a fence, jab a tree into us or find a perch on the comb of
a barn.”
There was a grunt from his companion.
“No use to figure on all those things,” was the answer. “We can’t keep
agoin’ till daylight and since we’ve got to stop sometime, we might as
well take chances――”
“Right now?” broke in Frank. “All right! Now it is, if you say so.”
There was a creak as of a straining wire and the boys braced themselves
against an immediate lurch forward. The glass windows or ports rattled
slightly as something above seemed to check the fast flight. Phil added:
“Stand by the barometer; it’s our only guide; I can’t see a thing.”
“Two thousand feet,” was the report almost instantly. Then, the two
boys yet braced toward the rear, came additional reports every few
moments until nine hundred feet was reached. “Ease her up, Phil,”
suggested the lad at the barometer, “we’re doin’ sixty-two miles by the
anemometer――”
Before he could say more the creaking sound as of wires straining
came again. There was another check and once more the motion seemed
horizontal.
“That’s better,” added Phil. “Now I’ll open the bottom port and keep a
lookout for land.”
He threw himself on the floor, drew up a square door in front of the
second seat and, tossing his cap aside, stuck his head through the
opening.
“By gravy,” he sputtered as he pulled his head back, “that rain ain’t a
lettin’ up any to speak about.”
“Rapidly gettin’ dryer no faster,” laughed the boy in the forward chair.
“Right,” commented Phil as his head again disappeared through the
opening. For some moments neither boy spoke. In this silence, the rain
pelting the glass sides seemed to grow louder, but this sound was
dimmed by a constant whirr behind the glass compartment――a monotonous,
unvarying sound as of large wheels in motion. Mingled with this was
another tone――the unmistakable, delicate tremble of an engine or motor.
“Shut her down to half and hold your course,” suddenly came a muffled
call from the reinserted head of the lookout.
There was a quick snap; an instant diminution in the tremble and whirr
in the rear and Phil’s head was again far out of the trapdoor in
defiance of wind and rain. The forward motion was lessening somewhat.
When three or four minutes had passed, the boy on lookout drew his head
in again, dashed the rain out of his eyes and crawled to the barometer.
“Eight hundred feet,” he announced. “That’s good. I picked up a
light――some farmer’s kitchen, I guess――but nothin’ doin’; too dark.
Drop her a couple hundred feet.”
Without comment from the boy in the chair the same creaking noise
sounded once more and Phil, the electric flash centered on the altitude
register, kept his eyes on that instrument.
“Six hundred feet,” he called in a few moments. “Keep her there while I
have another look. We――”
Before he could finish, a flash of lightning turned the sky into the
inside of a phosphorescent sphere. But it was not the gorgeous display
of the wild tangle of silvered clouds that the two boys saw. Before
the flare ended their eyes were fixed on what was beneath them. There
was no need of an order from Phil. In the blaze of light it could be
seen that Frank’s feet rested on two lever stirrups. Even before the
light died, his right foot shot forward, there was another sound of a
straining wire and the glass enclosed car instantly shot to the right
and slightly downward. At the same time Frank’s right hand, already
clutching a wheel attached vertically to the side of his chair, drew
swiftly back and with it came a renewed jarring, checking motion above.
Almost instantly the car, while it continued its flight to the right,
became horizontal again.
“Got our bearin’s anyway,” was the operator’s gasping remark.
“If you can bank her and get down right away,” said the other boy as he
sprang to the open hatch again, “we can make it in one of those fields.
We’ve cleared the woods by this time,” he added with no little relief.
“The way we’re headed, it’s all clear forward for a mile――”
“Except fences,” interrupted Frank. “But we’ll try it. Look out.”
“Bank her and when you’re right, I’ll give the word,” was Phil’s
answer, his head disappearing through the floor opening.
The illumination had shown the two boys that they were directly above
a wide stretch of timber land. Where this disappeared in the distant
west was blacker low ground, which a winding stream told plainly enough
was a marsh. To the right lay a straight road and beyond this miles of
cultivated land in fenced fields.
Again the glass compartment lurched; this time on an angle that made
both boys brace themselves securely.
“Not too much,” yelled Phil over his shoulder and through the roar of
the storm. “Be sure you clear the trees.”
“She’s well over,” called the operator. “Look out for fences!”
The boy on the floor was apparently looking out as well as his two
straining eyes could pierce the gloom.
“Not too much,” he called again, warningly. “It’s black as your hat
down there. I can’t see a thing.” By this time his head was inside once
more. “You know we’ve had that wind behind us. You’re quarterin’ now,
but you’ve got to allow for the wind; she’s a stiff one; you’ve got an
awful drift and it’s right over the trees.”
“We’re clear of ’em by a mile,” persisted the boy at the wheel. “Get
back there and keep your eyes peeled,” he shouted. “We might as well
come down here.”
The compartment was now inclined forward and to the left. Phil, only
partly convinced, turned his head toward the opening in the floor
when, with a crash of thunder, the clouds opened again to release new
torrents of rain and the world below lay exposed beneath the flash of
more lightning.
“Up!” yelled Phil. “Up!”
The warning was not necessary. Both boys caught their breaths at the
sight below them. They were still skirting the edge of a pine forest
and now the jagged trunks and branches of dying trees just below seemed
reaching out to grasp them. Frank did not even think. As Phil’s alarmed
words reached him, both his feet and hands acted. There was a racking
tremor――a shock――and then the car righted. It seemed to pause and then,
like a relieved spring, shot forward. As it did so there was a new
shock; the car curved forward as if held by something; a cracking snap
below and then, as a new cry of alarm rose from Phil at the lookout
door, once more the car was in a new equilibrium and making new headway.
“The port landing wheel caught a dead tree top,” yelled Phil. “I told
you to look out for that drift.”
“Is the wheel gone?” was the only answer of the disgruntled Frank.
Phil dropped to the floor again and flashed the electric light below.
“Seems bent,” he answered, “but I guess she’ll work if we ever get a
chance to use it.”
“Well, don’t get sore,” was Frank’s answer. “We learn by experience.
I’ll land in the softest wheat or cornfield that happens to be below.
But we won’t try it till the lightning flashes again.”
For some moments after the car had again been headed northeast and
quartered on the gale once more, the boys waited anxiously for a new
flash. When it came they were well beyond the trees. Frank put the
car toward the widening fields beneath and Phil lay with open eyes,
apprehensive of the dreaded fence, trees or buildings.
“Now――!” yelled Phil excitedly, as the vague surface of a green
wheatfield caught his eye and he saw that they were clear of fences and
other obstructions. “Put her down.”
Frank’s work was guided by chance and Phil’s stream of instructions.
The tremor and whirr behind the boys had been stopped and at last, with
a plunge as of a body being dropped into a bed of mortar, the car came
to a jarring stop. The operator dropped his wheel, his face wet with
perspiration and his hands trembling. Phil sprang from the floor, his
hair water-soaked, but his electric flash light aglow.
“Well,” he began with a half laugh, “here we are. Where? I give it up.”
“Safe in a muddy wheatfield,” answered Frank. “But,” he went on,
“what’s the odds? It’s rainin’ cats and dogs; but the car seems all
right.”
“Almost afloat,” commented Phil, “and we couldn’t get out of this mud
to-night if we tried.”
“Therefore,” added his companion, regaining his composure and good
nature, “we’ll make the best of it. There’s no risk of an accident now
and we’re as dry as toast. It’s half past eight,” he went on looking at
his watch, “and as we can’t leave her here alone, let’s make a night of
it.”
“Talk about rain on the attic roof, and a dry bed beneath,” added Phil,
who had also regained his spirits, “I don’t believe it’s any better
than bunkin’ in the closed car of an airship.”
“Particularly when it’s anchored safe and tight in a wheatfield,”
suggested Frank, laughing.
Fifteen minutes later the two tired but happy boys, despite the still
heavily falling rain, were fast asleep on the hard floor of the
strange, glass enclosed car.