HAL KENYON DISAPPEARS
By
GORDON STUART
[Illustration]
THE REILLY & LEE CO.
Publishers . . . . Chicago
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COPYRIGHT, BY THE REILLY & LEE CO.
Printed in the U.S.A.--1936
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CONTENTS
I MUMMY CAÑON
II SOMETHING ABOUT DR. BYRD
III A FALL FROM THE AIR
IV THE WRECK AND THE AVIATOR
V LOST!
VI THE SCREAM IN THE WATERFALL
VII A BADLY FRIGHTENED BOY
VIII HAL'S DISCOVERY
IX HAL A PRISONER
X THE MYSTERY OF THE LEATHER BAG
XI CONVINCING BAD
XII AIRSHIP PLANS
XIII THE "PAINTER"
XIV BUILDING THE AIRSHIP
XV STOLEN WEALTH
XVI FLIGHT
XVII EXPLORING THE CAVE
XVIII THE ISLAND IN THE AIR
XIX THE RESCUING AIRSHIP
XX THE PANTHER AND THE CAVE
XXI TO FLATHEAD BY AIRSHIP AGAIN
XXII CLEARING HAL
XXIII THE BOY SCOUTS OF THE AIR
XXIV MOUNTAIN LION BRIDGE
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CHAPTER I
MUMMY CAÑON
"Mountain, pine tree, cañon, gulch,
Cookies, bacon!--like 'em much.
Canteen, hike-stick!
Hi-hi-hike-stick!
Lakefarm! mummy!
Flathead!--Ra-a-a!"
Thirty lusty juvenile throats, strong with frequent exercise, caused
Mummy Cañon to ring with this school-yell. It was almost evening, and
the boys of Lakefarm School were on their return from a day's outing in
the mountains. Clad in Boy Scout uniforms and wearing Rough Rider hats,
they presented a picturesque appearance in that wild, rocky, mountain
country, while their school-yell echoed among the hills, bright in the
setting sun.
It was midsummer, yet thirty of the forty-four regular students were in
attendance during the summer term, evidence of the popularity of the
school, for they were all boys of the age that welcomes vacation time
with cheers.
In spring this cañon was a beautiful place; in summer it lost some of
its freshness, but was still beautiful; in fall it lost more of life,
but beauty still clung to it; in winter, it was a picture that called
for deep admiration. It also might well have been named Echo Cañon;
indeed many in that part of Colorado often called it that. But Mummy
Cañon it had been christened, and this was the only name by which it was
known on the maps and in the guide books.
Interesting stories were told about this great mountain gorge. They had
to do with the ancient inhabitants of the country, the cliff-dwellers,
ruins of whose homes were to be found here and there high up in steep
places. The boys of Lakefarm knew these stories by heart. They had been
told over and over and added to until enough new and interesting details
had been gathered around the original stories to fill a book.
Dr. Regulus Byrd, head master, Chief Scout, and owner of Lakefarm, was
as peculiar as his name. Some called him eccentric, but the boys of the
school and the friends of the doctor did not agree. The boys loved him
as few schoolmasters ever are loved; the older people of the district
declared that when it came to a pinch, Dr. Byrd never lacked judgment.
The doctor and the two instructors of the school, Mr. Frankland and Mr.
Porter, were with the boys on the outing from which they were now
returning. Mr. Frankland was a short, brisk, wide-awake man, who smiled
frequently and shrewdly. Mr. Porter was an odd personage, dignified and
very positive in all things, but an excellent instructor in manual
training. After the procession had advanced well toward the heart of the
gully and given two or three school-yells that raised the echoes, Mr.
Porter said:
"Dr. Byrd, we're only three miles from home. Why not stop here, build a
fire, and sit around and talk a while?"
"That's the stuff," came from several of the boys at the same time. Dr.
Byrd had a boy's heart, and as there was no good reason for opposing the
suggestion, he gave his consent.
In a jiffy the boys scattered in all directions in search of firewood;
up the side of the hill and along the near bank of a noisy mountain
stream, and soon were returning with armfuls of dead wood. Most of them
were experienced in building camp fires in true frontier style, and the
work progressed rapidly.
Two of the boys, Hal Kenyon and Byron Bowler, were delegated to the work
of starting the fire. This was not done by striking a match and touching
it to some dry leaves. The method employed was one more suited to the
romantic scene. First, Hal and Byron searched until they found two
serviceable pieces of dry cottonwood root. Having good, strong, sharp
pocketknives, they proceeded to whittle and shave the roots. One was
made flat and about three-fourths of an inch thick; the other was cut
slim and round and sharpened at both ends. In one edge of the flat piece
was cut a notch, and close to the notch was sunk a hole to fit one end
of the slim piece. Then a small hand-piece with a socket for the other
end of the drill was prepared by Byron, while Hal cut a section of a
small green limb, two feet long, which with a thong made a bow.
All the material needed for starting a fire was now ready save a supply
of tinder. This was obtained by rubbing a piece of dry cedar on a rough
boulder, producing a handful of easily lighted shreds. The notched piece
of wood was now placed on a flat rock, the drill was inserted in place
and the string of the bow looped tightly over it. Then the
top-socket-piece was set on the other end for a handle, and the bow was
drawn back and forth, the notched piece being held in place under the
foot of the operator.
Hal Kenyon operated the device. The drill revolved rapidly in the
socket, and presently a fine brown powder was flowing into the notch. In
a few seconds this powder was smoking densely and slight fanning with a
hat brought a flame.
Some of the tinder was now applied and after a little blowing, a tiny
flame leaped up. The rest of the tinder was then applied, followed by
some cedar bark and small wood. Pretty soon the fire was roaring and
crackling, while the boys piled on more fuel.
"Now for our camp-fire yell," cried Hal when the last armful of fuel had
been deposited on the burning heap. Immediately the cañon rang and
echoed with thirty young voices chanting the following:
"Camp-fire, rah!
Smoke-punk, ha!
Tinder, Lakefarm!
Rah--rah--rah!"
This yell was repeated several times until it seemed as if the rocks
poised aloft would be shaken loose and come crashing down on the
reckless Boy Scouts. Then the boys scattered again, each returning
presently with another load of fuel, which was deposited near the
blazing pile.
"Well done, my lads, well done," announced Dr. Byrd as the last load was
dropped. "Now what are we going to do next?"
"Eat supper," replied Allie Atkins, with a slap of his hand on his
hungry region.
"Of course; I almost forgot that," laughed the doctor. "I'm always
forgetting my stomach. That's the reason I haven't dyspepsia. Always
forget your stomachs, boys, until they remind you of their existence and
you'll be all right in that spot. But what are we going to eat? Nothing
left, is there?"
"How about the fish?" inquired Walter Hurst, commonly known as "Pickles"
because of his fondness for that table delicacy.
"That's right. This is just the time and place to cook them."
The suggestion was followed accordingly. The fish--two score of mountain
trout--had been caught by the boys in the Rio Grande several miles to
the east early in the morning. As they had enough other food for
breakfast and dinner, their catch had been saved for the next morning's
meal at the school.
Of course the doctor had not forgotten the fish when he asked the boys
what they would eat for supper. But he always appeared to have a poor
memory and few ideas when on a trip with his Scouts. He made it a rule
to compel the boys to suggest and do every useful thing within their
power.
So they prepared the meal on this occasion, as they had done on others.
Fireplaces were constructed with stones, frying-pans were placed over
them, and the fish were soon sputtering appetizingly. Fortunately, they
still had a moderate supply of bread, butter, jam and coffee, so that
all appetites were fairly well satisfied.
The pans and coffee pots and cups were washed in the dashing stream, the
remains of the meal were cleared away, more fuel was thrown on the camp
fire, and all gathered before it for the next number of the unprepared
program. For a few minutes the boys chatted on the incidents of their
three days' hike and exploration. Then one of them suggested:
"Let's tell stories."
A proposal of this kind under such circumstances is always favorably
received by true Boy Scouts. There was a general note of approval, and
Dr. Byrd inquired:
"Well, what shall it be first?"
"Flathead Mountain," suggested Pickles.
"Good!" exclaimed Frank Bowler.
"And have somebody slam somebody in the face," proposed Clayton White,
the joker of the school. "That'll suit 'Bad.'"
Frank Bowler had been nicknamed "Bad" because he was continually talking
about "clipping somebody on the jaw," or "slamming some one in the
face," or "putting somebody to the bad."
"I'll push you one on the chin if you don't close your face," growled
"Bad" in an undertone to the last speaker.
Clayton only grinned. He was not at all afraid, as he was a year older
than Frank and thought himself stronger.
"Well, who has something more to add to the story of Flathead?" inquired
the owner of Lakefarm.
"I have," replied Hal Kenyon.
"Very well, Hal, we'll listen to you first," announced the doctor, and
all became attentive with a readiness that indicated almost military
training.