RESCUED
The native uttered a low, warning sound, and touched the arm of the
young aviator. Dave was absorbed in studying the singular being on the
roof of the structure, but at a glance he saw a street guard
approaching. He knew that the movements of his companion urged him not
to arouse any suspicion. He followed him as he turned away.
Our hero took a final view of the pillar-like building and its
surroundings. He tried to fill his mind with landmarks so he could
locate it again. Not, however, by the land route. Dave Dashaway realized
that the biplane must play a part in his plans if he hoped to succeed in
the rescue of young Deane.
“What does it mean—the strange situation of my friend?” was Dave’s first
question, after he and his guide had returned to the trading post.
Adasse spoke for a long time in his native tongue to Dave’s guide. Then
he explained:
“Your friend is a perpetual prisoner on the roof where you saw him.”
“But for what purpose?” inquired our hero.
“A true devotee must not touch an evil bird; it is contagious, they
think, nor a sacred bird either,” continued the Russian; “it is
sacrilege. The duty of your friend is to keep the unclean birds away
from the sacred pillar in the daytime. At night he feeds the sacred
birds with honeyed dates. They know the food is awaiting them and come
nightly.”
“He is there alone, then?” asked Dave.
“He lives always on duty on that roof,” replied Adasse. “There, I
suppose, he has a shelter of some kind, probably a tent. There is a
grating in the roof. Through this his food is probably passed to him.
Beyond it and around the pillar are constantly armed guards.”
“You have done a great deal for me,” said Dave gratefully. “I must leave
you now.”
“I shall forget all you have told me,” observed the Russian,
significantly; “except that it has been pleasant to entertain a friend
of my partner. There is nothing I may do for you?”
“There is this,” replied the young aviator—“Mr. Adrianoffski has given
me the address of an agent fifty miles west of here. I wish you would
explicitly direct me to him.”
After receiving and memorizing his information, Dave proceeded at once
to rejoin his friends. The native insisted on going with him as far as
the hill. When they parted he handed Dave a basket bag. Then through
signs and grimaces he tried to indicate the gratitude he felt towards
the restorer of his precious prayer mill.
It must have been after midnight when Dave reached the summit of the
hill. He found Hiram seated near the _Comet_, armed with one of the
rifles the machine carried. Elmer lay asleep on the ground.
“All safe and sound, eh?” commended the young airman, in a pleased tone.
“Yes, we haven’t been discovered or visited,” reported his loyal
assistant. “We began to wonder what kept you away so long, though.”
“Wake up, Elmer, and I’ll tell you both all about it,” announced Dave.
His two friends listened with the intensest interest to his narrative.
Hiram glanced curiously at the basket bag as Dave spoke of it.
“Wonder what’s in it?” questioned Elmer.
“I’ll find out,” suggested Hiram.
It proved to contain over a dozen packages. These were wicker covered
porcelain jars. Removing their covers, Hiram smacked his lips with
satisfaction as he sampled their contents.
“Say,” he gloated, “just sample these dainties! Why, it beats homemade
molasses candy all hollow!”
All hands did some “sampling.” They found preserved ginger, honeyed
dates, some melon rind finely flavored—in fact a series of native
confections as toothsome as they were rich and novel.
“What’s the programme now, Dave?” inquired Hiram, the spell of feasting
concluded.
“Morris Deane, of course,” responded the young airman, promptly.
“To-night; right away?” asked Elmer.
“We must lose no time getting on our route,” replied our hero. “It seems
to me that we have been most fortunate in meeting the people who have
assisted us so grandly in locating the man we are after. I feel positive
I can find the structure where I saw Deane. Its roof is large enough for
a safe descent. Get ready, fellows.”
“Say, it will be a great feather in your cap if you get this Mr. Deane
safely away from there; won’t it, Dave?” spoke Hiram.
“I hope to do just that,” replied the pilot of the _Comet_, confidently.
“You can imagine what joy his friends will feel to have him restored to
them.”
“Especially that pretty little miss who drove up to the hangar near
Washington in that automobile, Dave,” suggested Elmer, mischievously.
The _Comet_ was in starting trim, and the young aviators took their
places. The air and the breeze showed ideal conditions for an easy
flight.
There was clear moonlight, but Dave counted on the city being asleep. As
he neared it, however, the bright lamps on the top of towers and temples
caused him to take to a high area to avoid being discovered.
Circle after circle he described in a narrowing course, at last making
sure that he had located the structure he had visited with the native.
He indicated this to his comrades. All of them were infused with
suspense and expectation.
The expert young aviator hovered over the structure. He estimated time,
distance and risks. The _Comet_ made a superb dip. It skimmed the
parapet of the pillar and landed silently on the roof. In doing so,
however, one of its wings tipped over one of the many ornate lamps
lining the sides of the enclosure.
Dave sprang from the machine, his eye fixed on a small skin tent at one
corner of the roof. Glancing within it, he saw lying upon a mat the man
the native had pointed out to him six hours previous. Our hero seized
his arm and shook him.
“Quick Mr. Deane!” he called out. “We are friends—friends from your
people.”
Startled and confused at the suddenness of the waking up, the pillar
sentinel sprang to his feet. He seemed about to rush towards the grating
in the roof to sound an alarm.
“Look, look,” continued Dave, rapidly, producing the picture of Edna
Deane. “It is your sister! She sent this as a token! Quick, now!”
“Dave, make haste!” called out Hiram, sharply. “There’s something
wrong!”
The young airman almost dragged the bewildered captive across the roof.
He acted in a great hurry, for something had emphasized Hiram’s warning
cry. A series of yells rang through the grating in the roof. Beyond it a
man was dancing up and down in frantic state of excitement.
The pilot of the _Comet_ at once decided that this must be some watchman
or sentinel. He had discovered the arrival of the airship. Now he was
shouting out the news of his discovery, probably to others within the
structure.
Another cause of alarm was an incipient blaze directly on the roof. The
lamp that the wing of the biplane had overturned had spilled its
contents. The oil had ignited, some rugs had taken fire, and the blaze
had caught a canopy near by. The _Comet_ itself was menaced by the
rising blaze. Dave reached the machine and gave rapid orders to his
assistants.
“Get in, quick!” he directed his companion, but the rescued captive was
too overcome to act for himself. Hiram helped pull him over into his own
seat, vacating this and getting into the storage space behind it.
Dave got to the pilot post at once, and glanced back. Elmer was flapping
back the encroaching flames with a robe. Just then the grating in the
roof was unlocked. Up through it came a dozen native guards.
But for the fact that these men were so startled at the unusual scene
presented to them, the _Comet_ and its passengers might never have left
the mystic city of Lhassa. Thrown off their mental balance by a sight of
the unfamiliar machine, the guards stood staring helplessly about and
then rushed forward to extinguish the fire on the roof.
“That was a tight squeeze,” gasped Hiram Dobbs.
“We’re safe—grand!” cried the relieved Elmer.
The man they had rescued shrank back as the _Comet_ arose like some
great bird. Just then the loud brazen notes of an alarm bell sounded
out. Then some shouts followed the speeding biplane. Leaving a vast
turmoil behind them, the airship boys glided off into space, over the
city, past its outer walls, making straight west for the haven of safety
Dave had in view.
The young airmen did not attempt to converse with the rescued Deane. The
latter, thin, pale and weak, was overcome with the excitement of the
past few minutes. He sat like one in a daze, staring in marvelling
wonder at the receding landscape. He made no move when Elmer belted him
into the seat. He could not yet realize his removal from the wretched
post of servitude which he had lately filled.
It was a lucky thing for our hero that Ben Mahanond Adasse had given him
explicit directions as to the trading post fifty miles away from Lhassa,
where Adrianoffski had another partner. It saved time and enabled a
direct route, and two hours later the _Comet_ descended to the ground in
an open space behind a warehouse on the edge of a native settlement.
“Look after our friend and keep a sharp lookout,” Dave directed his
assistants, and left the machine and walked around to the front of the
building nearby.
There were no lights or signs of habitation about the place. The young
aviator seized a weighted cord suspended from a hook near the entrance
to the building. He swung this time and again against the door.
A gleam of light soon showed, and the door was unbarred. A man wearing a
fez appeared, a suspicious blink in his sleepy eyes. He stared
challengingly at the disturber.
“You are Talzk Prevola?” inquired our hero, at once.
“An English!” exclaimed the man. “I am he whom you bespeak. But what of
you?”
Dave produced the signet ring. As before along the journey its magical
effect was immediate.
“It is from Adrianoffski,” said the trader. “You are welcome. Enter, my
son. The place is yours.”
Dave was sure that the man was Prevola, and he was just as certain that
he could be trusted implicitly. He briefly spoke of his acquaintance
with Mr. Adrianoffski and the claim he held upon his confidence and
gratitude.
“I have a friend,” explained our hero, “who must be conveyed quickly and
safely to the nearest railroad point in Russia. He must be taken out of
Thibet speedily and secretly.”
“The order of my friend’s friend is law with me,” declared Prevola,
gravely. “You but speak, I obey.”
“I will shortly return,” said Dave, and he went out to the biplane and
approached it.
“I wish to have a talk with you,” he said to Morris Deane. “Help him
out, Elmer.”
The rescued young man was assisted from the machine. Our hero linked his
arm in Deane’s in a friendly, reassuring way. He led him to where a pile
of wood lay and made him sit down beside him.
“Mr. Deane,” he said, gently, “you understand that we are friends sent
to rescue, to save you?”
“I am just trying to comprehend it all,” was the reply, in a wavering
tone of voice. “It seems incredible, astounding,” and the speaker passed
his hand over his face in a vague manner.
“Try and realize it all,” urged the young airman, “for time is
precious.” And then our hero told all that there was to tell.
Each succeeding moment Morris Deane seemed to take in more clearly the
extraordinary disclosures the young pilot had to make.
“I never dared dream of escape, of a rescue,” spoke Deane. “And you and
your friends have done this noble act! Can I ever show my gratitude?
Think of it, that hopeless life at Lhassa, and now freedom—freedom!”
The speaker threw up his hands in an ecstatic way. He looked at his
rescuer with tears in his eyes.
“Yes,” replied the young airman, “it is freedom—your anxious father—your
devoted sister—a fortune awaiting you and—home!”