A FALL FROM THE AIR
That was the history of Mummy Cañon, Flathead Mountain and Lakefarm
Institute. The mountain was partly visible from the school. On their
return to the farm from Mummy Cañon the Boy Scouts would have to walk on
through the cañon, past old Flathead, and up the stream that came
dashing noisily down from Lakefarm and joined Flathead River north of
the big gorge.
The peakless mountain was located near the lower end of the cañon, and
it was from a bluff on the mountain side that the "mummy" stood forth.
Before the sun went down the Scouts could see the outlines of this freak
of nature from their position at the camp fire, but as it sank beneath
the high horizon and the cañon grew dark, both the bluff and the "mummy"
were lost to view. But presently the moon rose over Old Flathead.
Under such circumstances Hal Kenyon began his legend of the cañon,
relating it as follows:
"Flathead Mountain was once a giant. He was the biggest giant that ever
lived. His name wasn't Flathead then. His head ran up to a peak, and the
people called him Sugar Loaf.
"But his heart was made of stone, the hardest kind, and his brains were
all up in the peak of his head. And those brains didn't amount to much,
for they had such a small place to rest in that they were squeezed into
half their natural size.
"And since he didn't have much brains and his heart was made of stone,
he was a cruel giant. He did all kinds of mean things. He killed and ate
all the boys he could lay his hands on. There weren't any Boy Scouts in
those days, or they'd have gone out and killed him."
"I'd have clouted him in the jaw," interrupted Frank Bowler
energetically. "Just one good swift punch on the chin--"
"Yes, you would, Bad," jeered Pickles; "you're all the time talking
about clouting somebody--but you never do."
"I don't, eh?"
"Come, come, boys," warned the doctor. "That's not very dignified talk
for a Boy Scout, Frank. You ought to be ashamed of yourself. It's silly.
Go ahead, Harry. We'll let Frank tell us how he would have licked the
giant after you've finished."
"Well," continued Hal, "I was going to tell how a boy like Bad did clout
the giant in the face, or something worse, but he interrupted me. You
see it was this way. A good many years ago, a boy called Smash lived
near here. That was before the giant lost his peak. Smash went around
smashing everybody in the face. The giant met him in the woods one day
and nodded his head at him and said hello.
"'Come off the heap; don't talk to me,'" jeered Smash. 'I'll lay my mit
on your mouth.'
"'Ho, ho, ho!' laughed the giant. 'You're the conceitedest kid that ever
came to this cañon.'
"'Where's the best place to hit you?' asked Smash.
"'Right here on my ankle,' replied the giant. 'You can't reach any
higher.'
"'Let me stand on your ear, and I'll give you a nailer,' said Smash.
"The giant picked Smash up with two fingers and stood him on his ear.
"'Now, let me have your axe,' said Smash.
"'What!' roared the giant.
"'Let me have your axe.'
"'Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha!' laughed the giant. 'You couldn't get your arms
around the handle.'
"'I can't, eh? Just give it to me and I'll knock your brains out.'
"'All right, you conceited kid,' said the giant. 'Here it is. Bust
away.'
"He always carried his axe with him to cut firewood, and he gave it to
the boy. Smash's fingers seemed suddenly to grow very long and very
strong, for they seized the handle and lifted it up. Then, before the
giant realized what was happening, Smash gave the axe a mighty swing and
cut the top of his head off."
"Hurrah for Smash!" exclaimed Bad.
"Wait a minute," said Hal. "There's more coming and you won't be so
happy over it."
"Did Smash fall off his ear?" inquired one of the boys.
"Good guess," replied Hal. "That's just what happened."
"Did he break his neck?" asked another.
"I don't know; but it was just as bad. He fell faster than the top of
the giant's head and the giant's brains spilt on top of him and drownded
him."
"_Drowned_ him, you mean," corrected Mr. Porter. But the correction was
not noticed. The boys were loudly expressing their opinions of the
story. Some liked it; others were displeased.
"Served him right for having the big-head," declared Joe Moffett wisely.
"You bet it did," agreed Vincent Pyle.
"Didn't either," shouted Frank Bowler. "That's a crazy story. You can't
tell me. Why, do you think a boy who could stand on a giant's ear and
cut off the top of his head with a axe as big as forty trees would get
in such a scrape?"
"No," replied several. "Yes," declared others.
"You're crazy," said Bad, addressing the latter. "Why, he'd 'a' fell in
the giant's pocket, or caught hold o' one of his whiskers, or hung onto
his watch chain."
"That's a good argument," pronounced Dr. Byrd. "What have you to say to
it, Hal?"
"Bad's wrong," replied the story teller.
"I want you boys to quit calling Frank 'Bad,'" said the doctor sternly.
"He isn't bad at all. He's just extravagant in his talk."
"I don't care what they call me," declared Frank, who was rather proud
of his nickname.
"Just so we don't call you down, eh?" Pickles amended.
"If you do, I'll clean you up."
Pickles was smaller than Bad and did not resent this threat. The doctor
did not regard Frank's talk very seriously and so did not remonstrate.
He remembered similar experiences of his own and believed that hard
knocks are a much better cure than constant preaching for the brag and
bluff of a boy.
"Where'd you get that story?" inquired Byron Bowler, Bad's
one-year-older brother. "Make it up yourself?"
"No, Pepper helped me," replied Hal. Pepperill Humphrey was an old
servant of the doctor's who had traveled with him much and followed his
employer soon after the latter settled in Colorado. He was an
interesting character, one of those old-style family servants who had
grown up with the families for whom they worked.
"We worked it out together," continued Hal.
"Did you put me in it or did Pepper?" inquired Frank.
"I didn't know you were in it," replied Hal with a mischievous grin
plainly visible in the firelight.
"Oh, Smarty! You know what I mean. You meant Smash for me."
"I put Smash in the story, yes; but you never did any such things as he
did."
Hal and Frank were very good friends, and Hal knew better than to take
seriously Bad's "fierce" attitude. He liked his warlike friend best when
he was threatening to "clean somebody up." There was something amusing
about him when he was making one of his idle threats.
"Now, who's going to tell us a story about the mummy?" inquired Mr.
Frankland.
"I have one on _that_ if nobody else has," announced Dr. Byrd.
"Tell it," cried several of the boys eagerly.
"It isn't very long," said the doctor; "but it fits in well with Hal's
story. The giant, by the way, had water on the brain: that's why Smash
was drowned.
"Well, Smash, by the way, was an Indian. And he had a brother whose name
was Rash. This brother was continually doing the most outlandish things
and performing the most wonderful feats. After the top of the giant's
head was cut off and his brains gone, the giant died. But as he was very
stockily built, he did not fall over, but continued to stand there.
Trees and bushes and grass and flowers grew all over and he became a
mountain.
"Now, Rash was a witness of the death of Smash. He was sailing above in
an airship--"
"What!"
"In an airship!"
"Yes, why not?" he replied.
"Who ever heard of Indians having airships!" said Bad in tones of
disgust.
"This Indian was a real inventor," explained Dr. Byrd. "But he kept the
secrets of all his inventions to himself, so that when he died all his
work died with him. When he saw the fearful accident that had befallen
his brother, he glided down to offer assistance. The giant was dead,
although standing erect; but Smash had disappeared, all but one foot.
That was sticking out from under the hollow peak of the giant's head,
which had fallen over the boy and caged him in.
"Rash alighted and attempted to turn the peak over; but although he was
very strong, he was unable to do this. So he flew away, and a few days
later he returned with several other Indians. With the aid of some tree
trunks for levers they elevated one side of the peak-prison and pulled
out the body of the prisoner.
"The brain of the giant proved to have been a most remarkable substance.
It had a strong odor of spices and chemicals and had converted Smash's
body into a mummy. The flesh was becoming hard as stone and it was
evident that no decay could follow.
"Although Rash was a reckless and daring fellow, he had not the great
fault that had brought Smash to a sad end. He appreciated the danger of
such a nature and desired to warn all others against a like fate. So he
wrapped the body in cloths, as some of the Indian tribes have done, and
saturated the cloths with diluted giant's brain to preserve them. Then
he put the body on his airship and arose to the giant's forehead, and
landed with his burden on a beetling eyebrow. There he hewed out a
shallow niche, into which, he set the mummified Smash and cemented him
fast; and on the giant's forehead he remains to-day as a warning not
only to boys who are continually threatening to clean some one up, but
also to giants who may be so foolish as to put great power into the
hands of boastful youths."
Everybody except Frank applauded this story. After the hand-clapping and
shouts of glee had subsided, Bad remarked disdainfully:
"That story's all bunk. The mummy on the mountain's as big as a
elephant. How could it have been a boy?"
"Oh, those Indians were giants themselves, though they weren't anything
like as big as Flathead," exclaimed Dr. Byrd.
At this moment all were startled by a most remarkable noise. It was a
heavy whirring sound and came from overhead. Instinctively they all
looked up and beheld in the moonlight a very strange object. But,
strange though it was, every one of the boys recognized its nature
almost immediately.
"It's an airship," cried one.
"An aeroplane," shouted another.
"He's volplaning," exclaimed Dr. Byrd in startled tones. "I wonder what
he means. He can't be going to land here."
"He seems to be in trouble," said Mr. Frankland. "Yes, he's coming
down."
"Look out, everybody!" shouted Dr. Byrd. "No telling where he'll land."
There was no need of a second warning. Evidently the aviator was losing
control of his machine. It acted as if one wing had been clipped.
Suddenly, within fifty feet of the ground, the aeroplane plunged and
fell with a crash and a thud less than a hundred feet from the camp
fire.