IN A RUSSIAN PRISON
The news they had waited for had come at last. It might be a false
clew, but it was something to work on, and Tom was tired of inaction.
Then, too, even after they had started, the prisoner might be moved and
they would have to trace him again.
"But that is the latest information we could get," said Mr. Androwsky.
"It came through some of our Anarchist friends, and I believe is
reliable. Can you soon make a thousand miles in your airship?"
"Yes," answered Tom, "if I push her to the limit."
"Then do so," advised the Nihilist, "for there is need of haste. In
making inquiries our friends might incur suspicions and Peter Petrofsky
may be exiled to some other place."
"Oh, we'll get there," cried Tom. "Ned, see to the gas machine. Mr.
Damon, you can help me in the pilot house."
"Here is a map of the best route," said the Nihilist, as he handed one
to Mr. Petrofsky. "It will take you there the shortest way. But how can
you steer when high in the air?"
"By compass," explained Tom. "We'll get there, never fear, and we're
grateful for your clew."
"I never can thank you enough!" exclaimed the exile, as he shook hands
with Mr. Androwsky.
The Nihilist left, after announcing that, in the event of the success
of Tom and his friends, and the rescue of the exile from the sulphur
mine, it would probably become known to them, as such news came through
the Revolutionary channels, slowly but surely.
"Here we go!" cried the young inventor gaily, as he turned the starting
lever in the pilot house, and silently, in the darkness of the night,
the Falcon shot upward. There was not a light on board, for, though
small signal lamps had been kept burning when the craft was in the
forest, to guide the Nihilists to her, now that she was up in the air,
and in motion, it was feared that her presence would become known to
the authorities of the town, so even these had been extinguished.
"After we get well away we can turn on the electrics," remarked Tom,
"and if they see us at a distance they may take us for a meteor. But,
so close as this, they'd get wise in a minute."
Mr. Damon, who had done all that Tom needed in the starting of the
craft, went to the forward port rail, and idly looked down on the black
forest they were leaving. He could just make out the clearing where
they had rested for over a week, and he was startled to see lights
bobbing in it.
"I say, Mr. Petrofsky!" he called. "Did we leave any of our lanterns
behind us?"
"I don't believe so," answered the exile. "I'll ask Tom."
"Lanterns? No," answered the young inventor. "Before we started I took
down the only one we had out. I'll take a look."
Setting the automatic steering apparatus, he joined Mr. Damon and the
Russian. The lights were now dimly visible, moving about in the forest
clearing.
"It's just as if they were looking for something," said Tom. "Can it be
that any of your Nihilist friends, Mr. Petrofsky are--"
"Friends--no friends--enemies!" cried the Russian. "I understand now!
We got away just in time. Those are police agents who are looking for
us! They must have received word about our being there. Androwsky and
the others never carry lights when they go about. They know the country
too well, and then, too, it leads to detection. No, those are police
spies. A few minutes later, and we would have been discovered."
"As it is we're right over their heads, and they don't know it,"
chuckled Tom. The airship was moving silently along before a good
breeze, the propellers not having been started, and Tom let her drift
for several miles, as he did not want to give the police spies a clew
by the noise of the motor.
The twinkling lights in the forest clearing disappeared from sight, and
the seekers went on in the darkness.
"Well, we've got the hardest part of our work yet ahead of us,"
remarked Tom several hours later when, the lights having been set
aglow, they were gathered in the main cabin. There was no danger of
being seen now, for they were quite high.
"We've done pretty well, so far," commented Ned. "I think we will have
easier work rescuing Mr. Petrofsky's brother than in locating the mine.
"I don't know about that," answered the Russian. "It is almost
impossible to rescue a person from Siberia. Of course it is not going
to be easy to locate the lost mine, but as for that we can keep on
searching, that is if the air glider works, but there are so many
forces to fight against in rescuing a prisoner."
They had a long journey ahead of them, and not an easy route to follow,
but as the days passed, and they came nearer and nearer to their goal,
they became more and more eager.
They were passing over a desolate country, for they avoided the
vicinity of large towns and cities.
"I wonder when we'll strike Siberia?" mused Tom one afternoon, as they
sat on the outer deck, enjoying the air.
"At this rate of progress, very soon," answered the exile, after
glancing at the map. "We should be at the foot of the Ural mountains in
a few hours, and across them in the night. Then we will be in Siberia."
And he was right, for just as supper was being served, Ned, who had
been making observations with a telescope, exclaimed:
"These must be the Urals!"
Mr. Petrofsky seized the glass.
"They are," he announced. "We will cross between Orsk and Iroitsk. A
safe place. In the morning we will be in Siberia--the land of the
exiles."
And they were, morning seeing them flying over a most desolate stretch
of landscape. Onward they flew, covering verst after verst of
loneliness.
"I'm going to put on a little more speed," announced Tom, after a visit
to the storeroom, where were kept the reserve tanks of gasolene. "I've
got more fluid than I thought I had, and as we're on the ground now I
want to hurry things. I'm going to make better time," and he yanked
over the lever of the accelerator, sending the Falcon ahead at a rapid
rate.
All day this was kept up, and they were just making an observation to
determine their position, along toward supper time, when there came the
sound of another explosion from the motor room.
"Bless my safety valve!" cried Mr. Damon. "Something has gone wrong
again."
Tom ran to the motor, and, at the same time the Falcon which was being
used as an aeroplane and not as a dirigible, began to sink.
"We're going down!" cried Ned.
"Well, you know what to do!" shouted his chum. "The gas bag! Turn on
the generator!"
Ned ran to it, but, in spite of his quick action, the craft continued
to slide downward.
"She won't work!" he cried.
"Then the intake pipe must be stopped!" answered the young inventor.
"Never mind, I'll volplane to earth and we can make repairs. That
magneto has gone out of business again."
"Don't land here!" cried Ivan Petrofsky.
"Why not?"
"Because we are approaching a large town--Owbinsk I think it is--the
police there will be there to get us. Keep on to the forest again!"
"I can't!" cried Tom. "We've got to go down, police or no police."
Running to the pilot house, he guided the craft so that it would safely
volplane to earth. They could all see that now they were approaching a
fairly large town, and would probably land on its outskirts. Through
the glass Ned could make out people staring up at the strange sight.
"They'll be ready to receive us," he announced grimly.
"I hope they have no dynamite bombs for us," murmured Mr. Damon. "Bless
my watch chain! I must get rid of that Nihilist literature I have about
me, or they'll take me for one," and he tore up the tracts, and
scattered them in the air.
Meanwhile the Falcon continued to descend.
"Maybe I can make quick repairs, and get away before they realize who
we are," said Tom, as he got ready for the landing.
They came down in a big field, and, almost before the bicycle wheels
had ceased revolving, under the application of the brakes, several men
came running toward them.
"Here they come!" cried Mr. Damon.
"They are only farmers," said the exile. He had donned his dark glasses
again, and looked like anything but a Russian.
"Lively, Ned!" cried Tom. "Let's see if we can't make repairs and get
off again."
The two lads frantically began work, and they soon had the magneto in
running order. They could have gone up as an aeroplane, leaving the
repairs to the gas bag to be made later but, just as they were ready to
start, there came galloping out a troop of Cossack soldiers. Their
commander called something to them.
"What is he saying?" cried Tom to Mr. Petrofsky.
"He is telling them to surround us so that we can not get a running
start, such as we need to go up. Evidently he understands aeroplanes."
"Well, I'm going to have a try," declared the young inventor.
He jumped to the pilot house, yelling to Ned to start the motor, but it
was too late. They were hemmed in by a cordon of cavalry, and it would
have been madness to have rushed the Falcon into them, for she would
have been wrecked, even if Tom could have succeeded in sending her
through the lines.
"I guess it's all up with us," groaned Ned.
And it seemed to; for, a moment later, an officer and several aides
galloped forward, calling out something in Russian.
"What is it?" asked Tom.
"He says we are under arrest," translated the exile.
"What for?" demanded the young inventor.
Ivan Petrofsky shrugged his shoulders.
"It is of little use to ask--now," he answered. "It may be we have
violated some local law, and can pay a fine and go, or we may be taken
for just what we are, or foreign spies, which we are not. It is best to
keep quiet, and go with them."
"Go where?" cried Tom.
"To prison, I suppose," answered the exile. "Keep quiet, and leave it
to me. I will do all I can. I don't believe they will recognize me.
"Bless my search warrant!" cried Mr. Damon. "In a Russian prison! That
is terrible!"
A few minutes later, expostulations having been useless, our friends
were led away between guards who carried ugly looking rifles, and who
looked more ugly and menacing themselves. Then the doors of the Russian
prison of Owbinsk closed on Tom and his friends, while their airship
was left at the mercy of their enemies.