Produced by Sean Pobuda
THE BOY AVIATORS IN AFRICA
OR
AN AERIAL IVORY TRAIL
By Captain Wilbur Lawton
CONTENTS
I A REUNION
II THE STOLEN IVORY
III THE DARK CONTINENT
IV THE WITCH-DOCTOR
V THE POOL OF DEATH
VI A SNAP-SHOT FIEND IN TROUBLE
VII A TRAITOR IN CAMP
VIII A BATTLE IN THE AIR
IX THE VOICE OF THE MOUNTAIN
X THE ARAB'S CACHE
XI THE AGE OF SIKASO
XII IN THE HANDS OF SLAVE-TRADERS
XIII GORILLAS--AND AN AERIAL TOW-LINE
XIV AN ESCAPE--AND WHAT CAME OF IT
XV THE FLYING MEN
XVI FOOLING AN ARAB CHIEF
XVII THE "ROGUE" ELEPHANT
XVIII A LINK FROM THE PAST
XIX FRIENDS IN NEED
XX THE SMOKE READER
XXI THE CHUMS RESCUED BY AEROPLANE
XXII LUTHER BARR'S TRICK
XXIII ABOARD "THE BRIGAND"
XXIV THE BOY AVIATORS HOLD A WINNING HAND
CHAPTER I
A REUNION
"Here, Harry, catch hold."
"Ouch--I dropped that cartridge box on my pet corn."
"Say, you fellows, are we going to Africa or are we on a Coney
Island picnic?"
"Be serious now, Billy Barnes, you may be all right as a reporter,
but as a shipping clerk you're no more good than a cold storage
egg."
"Well, I'm doing the best I can," was the indignant reply,
"here--I've got it all down: Box 10-- One waterproof tent, one
rubber-blanket, tent-pegs, ropes, more ropes.--Say, Frank, what in
the name of the 'London Times' and jumping horn-toads do you want so
much rope for?"
"To tie up a certain young reporter named William Barnes when he
gets too fresh," was the laughing reply.
The three boys sat about a heaped, confused collection of ammunition,
cooking-utensils, rifles, and camp "duffle" in general, one evening
late in May. The eldest of the group, a sunny-faced, clear eyed lad
of about sixteen, held in his hand a notebook from which he called out
the inventory of the articles piled about him as his brother, a youth
of fourteen, sorted them out. The third member of the trio was a
short, stocky chap of possibly seventeen, with sharp, blue eyes that
gleamed behind a pair of huge spectacles. He was examining a camera
with care; from time to time turning his attention to an open notebook
that lay beside him in which he was supposed to be entering the list
as the other called it off.
The place where the boys were busying themselves was the upper floor
of a large garage in the rear of the Chester residence, on Madison
Avenue, New York City, which had been turned into a workshop for the
two young Chesters--Frank and Harry--already well known to our
readers as The Boy Aviators. The well set-up lad who was so
industriously calling off the equipment that lay scattered about was
Frank Chester, and the ready classifier of the mixed-up outfit was
Harry, his younger brother. The third member of the group was Billy
Barnes, the young reporter, already down to us as the chronicler of
the Chester boys' adventures in Nicaragua and the depths of the
Everglades of Florida. Since the boys' return from Florida on the
U. S. torpedo boat, the Tarantula, they had been busy putting into
shape the rough working plans of the African hunting expedition they
had planned as a sort of vacation.
The ample bonus the government had awarded them for their singularly
clever work in rescuing Lieutenant Chapin, the inventor of
Chapinite, by their aeroplane Golden Eagle II, had supplied them
with ample funds for their trip. As for Billy Barnes (or "Our
Special Staff Correspondent, William Barnes," as he was now known),
besides the sum realized from the sale of the rubies the boys found
in the Quesal Cave in Nicaragua, the money the youthful scribe had
made on writing up the boys' Florida adventures had provided him
with a good fat nest-egg.
The natural stimulus given to the red-blooded Chester boys by Mr.
Roosevelt's hunting adventures had a good deal to do, with their
resolution to go to Africa. And now--after several weeks of work on
getting together as good an outfit as was procurable--they were
putting what Billy called "the finishing touches" on their
accoutrements. Stacked in corners of the room were big chests
painted blue and marked with the boys' names and neatly numbered in
white painted characters. These cases contained the different
sections of the Golden Eagle II, the aeroplane equipped with
wireless, that had made history in Florida.
There were twenty of these cases besides the ones labeled "Camp
Outfit," "Medical," "Armory Chest," "Grub Chest," and several
nondescript ones containing the odds and ends that an expedition of
the kind they planned would find indispensable. In some smaller
boxes also were packed yards and yards of bright-colored cloth and
calico, spangles, cheap jewelry and brass ornaments for use among
the natives. In making up their outfit the boys had taken the
advice of a well-known African traveler who had retired from his
adventurous life to purchase a place in New Jersey, where he
intended to spend his remain days. Through a mutual friend the boys
obtained an introduction to him and his advice in selecting the
outfit had been simply invaluable.
"Go easy, carry lots of quinine, don't waste ammunition, and count
ten before you pick a quarrel with a native," had been his simply
laid-down rules for getting along in Africa, and these rules the
boys had determined to adhere to strictly.
"Say, is this going to be a hunting trip or an invasion of Africa?"
inquired Billy, quizzically as Harry sorted out and Frank read off
ceaselessly the apparently interminable inventory of the supplies of
the Chester party. "I'm getting writer's cramp."
"A hunting party of course," laughed Frank, "but you know that
hunters who go into the bush depending on their rifles usually come
out a good deal thinner than when they went in.
"That's so," assented Billy, "but when we have a sixty-mile
aeroplane like the Golden Eagle II we can easily fly out to
civilization in case of necessity."
"Yes, if we have enough gasoline," assented Harry, "but how much can
we carry into the bush?"
"Just enough for our purposes and no more," replied Frank, readily,
"fortunately the soluble tablets of picric and glycerine will help
out our supply materially. A few of these tablets dissolved in
gasoline render the efficiency of one ordinary gallon equal to
three; but I don't care to use them except in a case of absolute
necessity as they are very hard on an engine."
"Then we can count on every gallon we carry being of triple
efficiency?" asked Billy.
"Certainly," replied Frank, who had invented the tablets in
question, and which were an extremely useful addition to the
equipment of the modern aviator. As the boys worked on and the
equipment, as it was classified, was packed away in the cases
assigned to each class of articles, there came a sharp knock at the
door of the garage building and a servant entered with a special
delivery letter to Frank. The boy tore it open eagerly and then
gave a low whistle of astonishment.
"Read it out, Harry," he said, handing the missive to his brother.
"It concerns all of us."
Harry took it and read as follows:
DEAR FRANK AND HARRY:
Shall be in town to-morrow morning with my father and Mr. Luther
Barr, the well-known ivory importer. He has a communication of
importance for you. What it is I am afraid to trust to writing, but
you will know full details when you see us. Will you call at the
Waldorf at ten-thirty and have breakfast? We can discuss the matter
over the meal. All I can say now is that if the Golden Eagle is
still in shape for her old-time stunts there is work ahead of her
that will prove harder than anything she has yet tackled. However,
I know you are not the chaps to balk at a little danger--particularly
when exciting adventures are in the wind.
So long, then, till to-morrow:
"LATHROP EASLEY"
"Well, what do you know about that?" gasped Billy Barnes, "here we
are fixing up for a nice little holiday trip to rest our shattered
nerves, and here comes, a job along that looks as if we should have
to work all summer."
"It certainly is curious," replied Frank musingly.
"What can Lathrop mean? Who is Luther Barr? I have heard the name
but I cannot place him."
"Lathrop says he is an ivory importer," suggested Harry.
"Easy to find out," said the resourceful Billy. "Where's the 'phone
book?"
Frank handed the volume to him from its hook beside the instrument.
"Ah--here we are," exclaimed Billy, as he ran his finger triumphantly
down the "B" list. "Barr, Luther--that's our man, eh? Ivory
importer, offices No. 42 Wall Street--home, White Plains."
"White Plains, that's where Lathrop's folks live," exclaimed Harry.
"That's where he first became associated with the Golden Eagle."
"And turned out to be a good partner," added Frank.
"A jim dandy," agreed Billy. "I tell you boys, I've got a good nose
for news and if there isn't some sort of a story back of Mr. Luther
Barr and Lathrop's letter I'll eat my hat without sauce."
Any acceptance of the young reporter's generous offer was interrupted
by a sudden noise in the usually quiet street.
"I tell you the fare's a dollar!" the boys heard an angry voice
declaim.
"'Tain't nothing of the kind or I'm a lubber--fifty cents is all
I'll pay. I'll be horn-swoggled if you get a cent more, yer
deep-sea pirate," was the indignant phrased reply.
Something in the voice was strangely familiar but the "horn-swoggled"
settled it.
"Ben Stubbs," gasped all the boys simultaneously and rushed out of
the garage to the street.
Here they found a stoutly-built, crisp-bearded man with a face
tanned to what Billy called a "weathered oak finish," arguing loudly
with a taxicab chauffeur. The man was obdurate over his fare and
just at, the boys came on the scene was suggesting that his equally
determined passenger get back in the cab and take a ride to the
police station.
"The sergeant will settle our dispute," he said angrily.
"What's the trouble, Ben?" exclaimed Frank, giving the angry man on
the pavement a hearty slap on the back.
"Why, this here piratical craft," the other was beginning when
suddenly he dropped the battered bag he carried and burst into a
mighty roar--a regular Cape Horn hail.
"Back my topsails if it ain't you, Frank," he cried, wringing the
other's hands till the boy's arms were almost dislocated. "And you
too, Harry, and keel haul me ef here ain't Billy too. Well, if it
ain't good to see, you Chester boys again."
"Say, are you the Chester Boys--the Boy Aviators?" suddenly cut in
the chauffeur in a respectful tone.
"We are," replied Frank, "why?"
"Oh, well," said the chauffeur, "then I'll let your friend off with
fifty cents. I thought he was a 'greeny'."
With that, he calmly twisted the dial of the cab which registered
$1.00 back to the fifty cent mark and coolly pocketed the coin the
indignant Ben handed.
"Does that thing work backwards?" demanded the amazed old
adventurer, as the taxi whizzed off before he could frame words to
express his indignation.
"Not often," replied Billy with a laugh. "I guess that chap reads
the papers and thought it wouldn't do him any good to try to fool a
particular friend of the Boy Aviators."
"Well, boys, what are your plans?" demanded Ben, as--after the
rugged fellow had been introduced to Mrs. Chester, a sweet-faced old
lady, and Mr. Chester, a fine-looking, gray-haired man of about
fifty--he and the boys sat in the garage discussing the African
outfit.
"We hardly know now," replied Frank, and then in a few words he
described Lathrop's letter and its contents.
"Wherever that boy is there's bound to be doings," remarked Ben,
sententiously, when the young leader had finished. "Down in Florida
when he wasn't tumbling into alligators' mouths or getting bit by
serpents he was allers up to some mischief--you mark my words
there's something in the wind now."
The boys talked late and long that night over the letter and what
possible plan Mr. Barr, the ivory importer, could have to discuss
that would be of interest to them, but they were able to arrive at
no definite conclusion except that there was nothing to be done
about it till morning.
As for Ben with his usual philosophic attitude toward mysteries, he
filled his pipe and silently smoked. To those of our readers who
have not met Ben this phase of his character may seem inexplicable,
but to the boys Ben's passive acceptance of any situation had become
quite familiar. Ever since they had rescued the rugged old
adventurer from a marooned treasure-mine in Nicaragua and he had
shared their strange adventures in Florida on the Chapin Rescue
Expedition, the old man had become as much a part of their necessary
equipment as the Golden Eagle itself. He had arrived that night in
response to a telegraphed request to his cottage at Amityville on
Long Island, where he cultivated an extensive farm--also part of the
Quesal ruby profits--and devoted himself to fishing and hunting.
'The Boys' mere word, however, that they were off to Africa had been
sufficient to arouse the old man's roving instinct and here he was
on deck once more as active as a boy and almost as impatient for the
start for the Dark Continent. Ben slept at the Chester's home that
night and if his dreams were not as populated with visions of
elephants, leopards, deer, huge snakes and pigmy savages as theirs
it was not any lack of interest in the coming expedition that was
responsible for it.