FRANK TO THE RESCUE.
Wagons for the transportation of the packing cases containing the
_Golden Eagle_, and for the boys’ baggage had been secured by old Matula
earlier in the day and when the Chester party arrived at the wharf, late
in the afternoon, he had made such an impression on the native workers
by his imperious commands and promises of extra money from the Señor
Chester for fast work, that they found everything in readiness for the
journey back to the plantation. The boys were delighted with their
ponies, spirited little animals as quick as cats on their feet and able
to travel over the rough mountain roads like goats.
The wagon was drawn by a team of bullocks hitched to the pole by a heavy
yoke of wood, with the rough marks of the axe still upon it.
“Well, we really are in a foreign country at last,” exclaimed Harry as
his eyes fell on the primitive-looking wagon and its queer motive power.
In spite of old Matula’s by turns imploring, threatening and wheedling
persuasions it was almost dark when the expedition was ready to make a
start for the plantation. There was a full moon, however, and the
moonlight of the tropics in the dry season is a very different thing to
the pallid illumination of the northern Luna. As the Chester party,
headed by the boys on their ponies, wound through the streets of
Greytown and began the long steady climb to La Merced, a radiance like
electric light flooded the way and showed them every twig and leaf as
clearly as if it had been day. Everywhere, too, the darker shadows were
spangled with brilliant fireflies.
They reached the plantation about midnight and found that the servants
had made everything ready for their reception. The boys were delighted
with the picturesque reception the hands gave them. Every man, woman and
child had a torch and the sight of these flickering about in the
moonlight long before they reached their destination resembled a
convention of huge lightning-bugs.
Inside the main sala there was a tempting meal in the native style laid
out. There was huge grapefruit and custard apples, a fruit filled with
real custard, crisp bread-fruit roasted to a turn, fragrant frijoles,
the national dish of the Latin-American from Mexico to Patagonia, and
several kinds of meat and salted fish all cooked in the best style of
old Matula’s wife, who waited on them.
“Well, this beats Delmonico’s,” remarked Billy, who at Mr. Chester’s
hearty invitation had made one of the party. “I always had an idea that
you people down here lived like savages,” he laughed, “but here you are
with a layout that you couldn’t beat anywhere from New York to the
coast.”
Billy’s simple-hearted admiration of everything he had encountered on
the estancia caused Mr. Chester much amusement. Billy proved his
appreciation of everything by sampling all the dishes in turn including
a dish of red peppers that caused his temporary retirement in agony.
“Jimminy crickets, I felt as if I had a three alarm fire in my
department of the interior,” was the way he explained his feelings after
he had swallowed a gallon of water, more or less, to alleviate his
sufferings.
After their exciting day the boys slept like tops, although their dreams
were a wild rehash of the novel experiences they had gone through. Frank
dreamed that Rogero in an airship fashioned like a bonga was pursuing
them through space and that although they speeded up the _Golden Eagle_
to her fastest flight, the evil-faced Nicaraguan gained on them rapidly.
He had just run the prow of his queer air-craft into the _Golden
Eagle’s_ stern and Frank felt himself falling, falling down into a huge
sort of lake of boiling surf when he awoke to find it was broad
daylight, and the cheerful daily routine of the plantation going busily
on as if the events of the day before had been as unreal as his dream.
Springing out of bed, Frank aroused Harry. The younger boy had just
about rubbed the sleep out of his eyes when their father came into the
room.
“Come on boys,” he said, “and I’ll show you how we take our morning bath
down here.”
The boys slipped on bath-robes and thrust their feet into slippers. When
they were ready Mr. Chester led them out to a small building with
latticed sides a short distance from the house. Inside was a
cement-lined pool about twenty feet in length by fifteen in width with a
depth that varied from five feet at one end to seven at the other. It
was full of sparkling water that ran into it from a mountain stream on
one side, and was piped back into the bed of the brook, again after it
had flowed through Mr. Chester’s unique bathroom.
With a loud whoop Harry was just about to jump into the inviting looking
bathing-place when Mr. Chester stopped him.
“Look before you leap, Harry,” he cautioned, “every once in a while a
tarantula or a snake or a nice fat scorpion takes a fancy to a bath, and
tumbles in here and they are not pleasant companions at close range.”
An investigation showed, however, that there were none of the unpleasant
intruders Mr. Chester had mentioned in the bath that morning, at least,
and the two boys swam about to their hearts’ content, and after dressing
came in for breakfast as delightful as their meal of the previous night
in its novelty and variety.
Breakfast despatched of course the first thing to do was to superintend
the unpacking of the _Golden Eagle_. The bullock cart had been taken
down to a cleared spot not far removed from the barracks of the
laborers, and a squad of brown-skinned men were already at work when
Frank and Harry strolled down there setting up a sort of shelter,
thatched with palm leaves under which the boys might work without being
in danger of sunstroke.
Everybody on the plantation found some excuse to pass by the shelter
that morning while the boys, and three or four envied laborers unpacked
the _Golden Eagle_, and began to put the sections in place. A feature of
the ship of which the boys were very proud was the ease with which, by a
system of keyed joints, their beautiful sky-ranger could be taken apart
or put together again very quickly. Under Frank and Harry’s coaching
even the Nicaraguan laborers, none of the brightest of humankind, got
along very fast, and by the time the second breakfast, as it is called,
was ready the frames for the planes were in place and the trough-like
cockpit or passenger car ready in position to have the piano wire
strands of immense tensile strength that connected it to the steel
stanchions of the planes screwed into place with delicate turnbuckles
made especially for the _Golden Eagle_.
After lunch the work went on apace. The balloon-silk coverings of the
planes were fitted with tiny brass ringed holes through which they were
threaded on to the frames by fine wire. This was a tedious business and
Frank and Harry did it themselves, not caring to trust so delicate an
operation, and one which required so much patient care, to the
good-natured, easy-going Nicaraguans, who would have been as likely as
not to have scamped the job and left several holes unthreaded. As the
whole pressure of the weight of the car and its occupants, fuel and
lubricants was to be borne by these planes it can readily be seen why
the boys placed so much importance on doing a good thorough job.
It took till sunset to complete this task and the boys were tired enough
not to be sorry that their work was done when the big bell that called
the laborers in from the banana groves began to clang.
In the work on the _Golden Eagle_ the boys had been very materially
aided by Billy Barnes, who photographed the craft from every possible
and impossible point of view and insisted on Frank snapping a picture of
him sitting at the steering wheel.
“It’s as near as I’ll ever get to steering her, I guess,” he explained,
“I haven’t got the head for these things that you chaps have.”
It was Billy Barnes, too, who reported that evening in great excitement
that while he was walking along the porch he had seen a big spotted cat
“loafing around.”
“That wasn’t a cat,” laughed Mr. Chester, “that was an ocelot and if you
think you can qualify as a Nimrod we will go out after supper and try
and get a shot at it. They are bad things to have around the place—not
that they are really dangerous, but they steal chickens and the men are
scared of them and spend most of the day looking out for what Billy
calls a ‘big cat,’ instead of doing their work.”
“I don’t know what or who Nimrod is,” replied the good-natured reporter,
“but I sure would like to get a shot at that ossy—what do you call it?”
After supper the hunting party put on stout boots, coming well above
their knees, in case of lurking snakes, and armed with rifles started
out after the ocelot. Frank and Harry were both pretty good shots,
having had a good deal of experience at their father’s camp in the
Adirondacks in the days before he became a planter. Billy Barnes had
never had a rifle in his hand before, but he didn’t say so. He opined
that to shoot all you had to do was to look steadily at the object aimed
at and then, pull the trigger.
“I think we’d better try for him over by Bread-Fruit Spring, sir,” said
the young overseer as the party, as quietly as possible, sallied out.
“A good suggestion, Blakely,” replied Mr. Chester.
“Do they eat bread-fruit?” inquired Billy.
“No, but they drink water, Mr. Barnes,” replied Mr. Chester; “now, don’t
let’s have any talking or we shall have our night’s work for nothing.”
Following Mr. Chester’s directions the party spread out in a fan-shape,
as they neared the spring, and it was agreed that they should gradually
draw in the ends of this “fan” as they neared the spot where they
expected to find the ocelot. If any one got lost they were to shout or
fire their rifle.
In pursuance of this plan the party carefully tiptoed along, stopping
every now and again to listen carefully. Billy Barnes was far out to the
left of the rest of the party and as they got deeper into the mysterious
shadows of the tropical forest his heart began to beat a little faster
than usual. The moon shone down through the immense tree-tops in a few
patches, but outside of these circles of light-illuminated spots the
jungle was as black as an unlighted cathedral.
Every time a creeper brushed against his face, Billy remembered all he
had ever read of huge snakes that hung in trees and crushed people to
death with their terrible constricting folds. Then, too, occasionally a
sleeping monkey, disturbed by a bad dream or some preying night animal,
would start off through the branches with a screech that sounded
horribly human. Not for the world would Billy have let the boys or their
father know that he was filled with a great longing for human company,
but he devoutly wished he was back at the comfortable hacienda.
“A nice finish for the _Planet’s_ special correspondent,” he mused.
“William Barnes, Crushed to Death by a Boa Constrictor”—b-r-r-r—“that
would look well in a head, wouldn’t it?”
Suddenly, as Billy emerged from a dark shadow cast by a huge tree with
immense buttress-like roots, the space between any one of which would
have served as a barn for a horse and buggy, he saw in the patch of
white moonlight right ahead of him a sight that made his scalp tighten
and his blood run chill.
Crouching over the body of a deer and tearing at it with low, snarling
growls, was a thing that looked something like Billy’s “big cat,” but
was much too large to have ever been mistaken for that peaceful domestic
animal. The creature was too engrossed with its meal to pay much
attention to the badly-scared boy, and if he had retained his presence
of mind he might even have tiptoed off unnoticed, but at that moment the
luckless Billy was impelled to sneeze.
As his loud “Ah, c-h-o-o!” sounded the animal lifted its head angrily.
In the moonlight Billy could see its white, gleaming teeth and cruel
eyes. It looked about, as if puzzled, for a few seconds, but suddenly
its green eyes lighted on the petrified Billy, who was too scared even
to run.
Instantly it crouched down on its belly and began lashing the ground
with its tail. Its upper lip was pulled back in a snarling grin that
disclosed its saber-like teeth and dripping fangs.
“It’s all off,” groaned poor Billy. He raised his rifle to his shoulder
in a desperate sort of hope that it might scare the thing away.
“If I only hadn’t been ashamed to ask how the thing worked,” thought
Billy.
As the thought flashed across his mind the animal with a loud, screaming
snarl sprang directly at the trembling reporter. More from instinct than
anything else he pulled the trigger and a loud report followed. It was a
heavy sporting rifle that Billy carried and the unexpected recoil,
which, not knowing anything about firearms, he had not prepared for,
threw him off his balance. This saved his life for the minute, for as he
reeled the huge creature he had disturbed at its forest meal shot past
him so close that he could feel its warm breath against his cheek.
Foiled of its prey for the moment the maddened animal switched round
with the agility of its kind and crouched for a fresh spring.
“Gee, now I know how a mouse feels,” gasped poor Billy to himself, as
the huge creature prepared for what Billy felt was to be its
death-spring.
With an agility born of desperation the youth made a wild leap for a
hanging tendril of one of the giant creepers that festooned a tree near
by. He caught it and began climbing with a skill he never knew before he
possessed. He was beginning to think that he could at least reach a
branch of the tree where he would be out of his savage opponent’s reach,
when something happened that threw him into a cold sweat.
He felt the creeper begin to sag. It was breaking under his weight. In
vain he tried to brace himself against the tree trunk. His knees slipped
and slid and he could get no foothold.
Suddenly, without any warning, the creeper snapped. With a wild shriek
of real terror Billy was hurled to the ground. His last conscious
thought was of his old home up in New York State and of who would tell
his mother of his fate.
Then like a man in a dream he saw a flash of fire so near at hand that
it almost scorched his face. He heard a loud report and a snarling growl
of pain and felt something warm and heavy fall with a crushing weight on
top of him. Then everything went black.
When he came to he found himself in the center of an excited group.
Everybody was shaking Frank’s hand and congratulating him, and the boy,
looking very embarrassed, was trying to head off the tide of
compliments.
“Oh, you’re all right, then,” exclaimed Harry as Billy opened his eyes
on the group in the moonlight.
“W-w-what happened?” gasped Billy, “didn’t that critter get me?”
“No, thanks to Frank,” exclaimed Harry impulsively; “you owe him your
life, Billy. He heard your first shot and hurried to your aid and just
in time. The critter didn’t get as you call it—didn’t get you, but Frank
got the critter.”
“As pretty a shot as I ever saw,” remarked Mr. Chester.
“Oh, pshaw,” said Frank, “I couldn’t help hitting him, he looked as big
as an elephant; and besides, if I hadn’t got him he’d have got me.”
“What the dickens was the thing?” inquired Billy, “a lion or tiger?”
“No, but something quite as dangerous—a jaguar,” replied Mr. Chester,
“and as big a specimen as I have ever seen.”
He stirred the magnificently spotted hide of the dead wild beast with
his foot as he spoke.
“Frank!” exclaimed Billy, with tears springing to his eyes and real
emotion in his voice, “you saved my life to-night.” Frank put up a
protesting hand.
“No, I will say it,” impulsively burst out Billy. “I owe you my life and
by jimminy crickets,” wringing Frank’s hand like a pump-handle, with a
hearty grip, “I’ll never forget it. Maybe some day I can do something to
repay you, and when that time comes count on Billy Barnes.”
How soon the boys were to be in dire need of that help, neither they nor
Billy Barnes dreamed as discussing Billy’s narrow escape and Frank’s
brave shot they made their way back to the house.