IN THE AIR WITH A COBRA.
Both Motor Matt and Le Bon were delighted with the start of the
aëroplane.
"She gets better and better," averred Le Bon. "I guess I'll take to
flying myself."
While in the air Matt's every faculty of mind and quickness of body
were called into action. He had to _feel_ the motion of the air on the
huge wings, as communicated to the framework under him, and shift the
wing extensions back and forth to meet the varying resistance of air
pressure and make it coincide with the centre of gravity. To withdraw
his attention for an instant from the work of managing the machine
might result in a disaster that would bring destruction to himself and
Le Bon. But he had schooled himself to talk while keeping busy with his
work.
"Better not try it, Archie," Matt answered. "It's too much of a strain
on a fellow's nerves. Are you ready to drop with the trapeze?"
"Whenever you are," was the response.
There was always a jolt when Le Bon's weight reached the ends of the
trapeze ropes, and extra care was required in taking care of the
_Comet_.
Matt brought the air craft around in a sweeping circle and headed the
other way to cover the north and south extent of the grounds. He,
likewise, the moment the turn was made, turned the aëroplane upward.
"What's the matter with McGlory?" asked Le Bon, peering down. "He's
looking up and waving his arms."
"He wouldn't do that," said Matt, "unless something is wrong. When you
get on the trapeze, Archie, look over the under part of the machine and
see if you can find anything out of whack. I can't imagine what's gone
crosswise, for the aëroplane never behaved better."
Reaching the top of the airy slope, some two hundred feet above ground,
Matt pointed the machine earthward.
"Now's your time, Archie," he said to Le Bon.
The athlete stood erect, firmly clutching the trapeze bar, and dived
out into space. Swiftly Matt brought the craft to an even keel, just as
the whole fabric fluttered under the jolt. In a twinkling the _Comet_
righted herself, and Le Bon was left swinging on his frail bar, a
hundred and fifty feet above the show grounds. His position under the
machine was such that Matt could not see him.
"All right, Archie?" shouted Matt, keeping his eyes ahead and
manipulating his levers incessantly.
"Right as a trivet," came up from below. "McGlory is still throwing
himself around down there."
"Do you see anything wrong with the machine?"
"Not a thing. What's that bag hanging under the wing for?"
"Is there a bag there?"
"Yes, a canvas bag. There are letters on it. Wait, and I'll read them."
There followed a silence during which, supposedly, Le Bon was spelling
out the letters.
"'Burton's Big Consolidated Shows'," went on Le Bon. "That's what's
printed on the bag, Matt."
"Great spark-plugs!" exclaimed Matt. "Anything in the bag, Archie?"
"It's as limp as a rag and looks to be empty. How did it get there?"
"Give it up. If it's empty, I don't see how it can do any harm. I don't
like the thoughts of the thing, though, and we're not going to remain
up as long as usual. Get busy with your work."
Renewed cheering greeted the daring feats performed on the trapeze by
Le Bon. In the midst of it the motor missed fire and died altogether.
The slowing rotations of the propeller caused the _Comet_ to glide
earthward. A terrified yell broke from Le Bon.
"What's the matter, up there?"
"Keep your nerve," flung back the king of the motor boys; "something's
wrong with the motor--but we'll be all right."
Yes, Matt knew that the aëroplane would glide earthward and land him
and Le Bon without injury; but, if it could not be guided, it was as
likely to land on the heads of that dense crowd as anywhere. That would
mean serious, if not fatal, injury to many men--perhaps to women and
children.
Motor Matt's face went white, and his heart pounded in his throat.
Nevertheless he kept a cool head and a steady hand.
He figured out the exact point where they would come down. It was
in the very thickest part of the crowd, and the people were trying
frantically to get out of the way.
Then, just as it seemed as though nothing could prevent a terrible
accident, the motor again took up its cycle and the slowly whirling
propeller increased its speed.
A long breath of relief escaped Matt's tense lips as he drove the
aëroplane upward and the direction of the roped-off road.
"What ails the blooming motor?" came from Le Bon in a distraught voice.
"We came within one of killing a lot of people. I'm all in a sweat."
"I don't know what's the matter with the motor," answered Matt, "but
I'm going to find out just as soon as I turn to go back on the course."
"Better descend. This is more than I can stand."
"We can't descend until we reach the right place."
Matt made a wide turn, the engine working perfectly.
"Hold on tight, below there," he called. "I've got to take my attention
from running the motor for a moment, and if we give a wild pitch or two
don't be afraid. I'll be able to keep the machine right side up."
"I'm pretty near all in," came from Le Bon in a subdued voice, "but it
would take an axe to chop me off this trapeze."
Matt gave a quick look behind him. What he saw nearly froze him with
horror.
A cobra--undoubtedly the very snake he had seen in the calliope
tent--was twined about two of the electric wires.
The wires, as originally strung, were an inch and a half apart, and
insulated. The coils of the six-foot cobra encircled both. As the
coils contracted the wires were forced together, and two points of the
copper, where the insulating material was worn off, were brought in
contact. Thus a short circuit was formed and a bad leak made for the
electricity.
At the moment Matt looked the coils of the cobra had loosened, causing
the tightly strung wires to spring a little apart, thus restoring the
spark to the cylinders. But at any moment the coils might tighten again
and cause another short circuit.
As though to crown the terrors of the moment, the cobra's head was
lifted from the wires by a third of the anterior length of its body--a
favorite position assumed by the cobra in gliding along the earth--and
the diamond-like eyes were fastened upon Matt with deadly animosity.
Motor Matt's one thought was this: If he were bitten by the snake
before he had manipulated a safe landing, the swift working of the
virus in his veins would keep him from doing his duty in preventing
injury to the spectators below.
With white face and gleaming eyes, he turned from the cobra and
manoeuvred to place the aëroplane lengthwise of the roped-off space on
the ground.
Before he could place the machine in proper position the motor again
commenced to miss fire, and then died all over again. A groan was
wrenched from Matt's lips as the machine fluttered downward toward the
massed human heads underneath. The groan was echoed by Le Bon.
"We're dropping toward them again!" yelled the man below.
Matt turned in his seat, letting the aëroplane take care of itself.
Throwing himself back, he caught at the hooded brown head with his hand.
There was a dart, quick as lightning, and Matt's wrist was touched
as though by a hot coal. With a loud cry he flung his arm forward,
dragging the full length of the cobra from the wires.
For the fraction of an instant the snake hung in midair, then yielded
to the impetus of the arm to which it held and coiled sinuously outward
and downward into space.
The motor had again resumed its work, but the _Comet_ hung at a
frightful angle and was dropping like so much lead, the atmosphere
striking the planes almost on their edges.
Matt was calm, now, and cool as ever. He went to work at the levers,
righted the machine within fifteen feet of the bobbing heads, and sent
it upward into the air. He was alone, for Le Bon, when so close to the
ground, had dropped. In fact, owing to the length of the trapeze ropes,
Le Bon's feet had almost swept the heads of the terrified spectators.
Steadily upward climbed the machine.
Every moment was precious to the king of the motor boys, for if he was
to receive medical aid to counteract the bite of the reptile, it could
not be long deferred.
But what was the use of indulging in hope?
He had been bitten by the cobra, and the lecturer in the museum had
declared that a person so injured could not hope.
Vaguely Matt wondered why the poison in his veins had not already
rushed to his brain and paralyzed him into inaction. He was feeling as
strong as ever, and as able to effect a safe landing without danger to
the people on the show grounds.
That was the thing he had set out to accomplish, and it was the thing
he would do.
Freed of Le Bon's weight, the _Comet_ was more manageable.
With steady hand and cool, unshaken judgment, he laid the _Comet_
parallel with the road, glided downward with a rush, shut off the
power, and touched the hard ground squarely between the guard ropes.
The jar of the landing was hardly perceptible, and Matt stepped out of
the car, to be grabbed by McGlory and to see Burton, dismounted and
anxious, at his side.
"The cobra----" began Matt.
"Killed," struck in Burton.
"Did it bite any one in the crowd?"
"No; every one was out of the way, and the fall itself nearly did the
business for the reptile."
"Then get a doctor for me," said Matt, showing a trickle of blood on
his wrist. "That's the cobra's mark."