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[Illustration: In a flash Nat’s strong arm was about him.—_Page_ 22]
THE MOTOR RANGERS’ CLOUD CRUISER
by
MARVIN WEST
Author of “The Motor Rangers’ Lost Mine,” “The Motor Rangers
Through the Sierras,” “The Motor Rangers on Blue Water,” etc., etc.
With Illustrations by Charles L. Wrenn
New York
Hurst & Company
Publishers
Copyright, 1912,
By
Hurst & Company
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. THE MAGNETIC ISLAND 5
II. NAT TO THE RESCUE 17
III. THE ISLANDS VANISH 27
IV. PROFESSOR GRIGG AND MR. TUBBS 37
V. TROUBLE WITH A HAT 47
VI. “WHAT WOULD YOU SAY TO A VOYAGE IN THE AIR?” 55
VII. A STRANGE SAIL APPEARS 63
VIII. TRAPPED BY TWO RASCALS 71
IX. SOME STRATEGY 80
X. “DING-DONG” AND A GUN 88
XI. CAPTAIN LAWLESS TRIES TRICKERY 99
XII. “GOOD WORK, MANUELLO!” 108
XIII. SOUTH AMERICAN JUSTICE 120
XIV. OFF ON THEIR STRANGE VOYAGE 130
XV. A SIGNAL THAT MEANT “DANGER” 140
XVI. INDIANS? 148
XVII. A QUEER SORT OF GUN 156
XVIII. WHAT IT DID 166
XIX. AN INVOLUNTARY PASSENGER 177
XX. “ALL OUR LIVES DEPEND ON IT” 187
XXI. “FEATHERED AEROPLANES” 199
XXII. A SERIOUS ACCIDENT 211
XXIII. OVERBOARD!—1950 FEET UP! 223
XXIV. THE CITY OF A VANISHED RACE 231
XXV. A STRANGE ADVENTURE 246
XXVI. SAVED FROM THE SUN GODS 257
XXVII. “DID WE DREAM IT ALL?” 268
------------------------------------------------------------------------
THE MOTOR RANGERS’
CLOUD CRUISER
CHAPTER I.
THE MAGNETIC ISLAND.
“What do you make of the weather, Nat?”
Joe Hartley turned to Nat Trevor as he spoke, and scanned the face of
the young leader of the adventure-seeking Motor Rangers with some
anxiety.
But the stout and placid Joe’s unwonted look of apprehension found no
reflection on the firm countenance of Nat Trevor, who stood as steadily
at the wheel of the _Nomad_ as if that sixty-foot, gasolene-driven
craft was not, to use Joe’s phrase of a few moments before, pitching
and tumbling “like a bucking broncho.”
“It does look pretty ugly for a fact, Joe,” rejoined Nat, after he had
scrutinized the horizon on every side.
“And this is a part of the Pacific where we were warned before we left
the Marquesas that we must look out for squalls,” returned Joe, still
looking worried.
“Oh, well, the _Nomad_ has weathered many a good hard blow, not to
mention those waterspouts,” commented Nat. “I guess she’ll last through
whatever is to come.”
At this moment a third boyish countenance was suddenly protruded from a
hatchway leading to the _Nomad’s_ engine-room.
“S-s-s-s-say, y-y-y-you chaps,” sputtered our old acquaintance,
William—otherwise and more frequently Ding-Dong—Bell, “w-w-what’s in
the w-w-w-wind?”
“A bit of a storm, I guess, Ding-Dong,” returned Nat, watching his
steering carefully, so as to send the _Nomad_ sliding easily over the
long, oily swells, “but don’t you mind, old chap. She’ll stand it,
never fear. How are your engines running?”
“L-l-l-like a d-d-d-dollar w-w-watch,” returned Ding-dong, with a note
of pride in his tones.
“Good. Now if only we were farther to seaward of that island yonder,
I’d feel easier,” commented Nat.
“Say, Nat,” struck in Joe, as Ding-dong dived below once more, “it
seems to me we are a long time passing that island.”
“I agree with you, Joe. That is what made me ask Ding-dong about his
engines. At the pace they are turning up, we should have left it behind
us long ago, yet there it is, still on our starboard bow.”
“And we are getting closer in to it all the time, you’ll notice,”
rejoined Joe.
“There must be some powerful currents hereabouts,” said Nat, looking
for the first time a little bit troubled. “There’s something queer
about that island, anyhow. I can’t find it on the chart. According to
that, this part of the mid-south Pacific is absolutely free from
islands or rocks.”
“Hullo,” cried Joe suddenly, “that’s odd! Look, Nat, the island isn’t
really one island at all. It’s two of them.”
This paradoxical speech was really a correct explanation of the case,
as it now appeared. The _Nomad_ had, by this time, made some little
progress over the rising sea, and as the bit of land “opened out,” it
could be seen that there were, as Joe had said, two islands, with a
narrow channel running in between them.
“Phew!” whistled Nat. “This complicates the situation. To make matters
worse——” He stopped short.
“Well?” demanded Joe.
“Never mind,” replied Nat; and then in an undertone he added to
himself: “I may be wrong, but I’ll bet the hole out of a doughnut that
we are being dragged round toward that passage.”
That such was actually the case, he realized to his dismay an instant
later. Head the _Nomad’s_ bow round as he would, some invisible force
still dragged her in toward the two islands. It soon became apparent,
too, that the narrow channel was, in reality, more in the nature of a
cleft between the two masses of land. Its walls were steep and sheer
and formed of grayish rock. It could now be seen that the water in this
abyss was boiling and bubbling as if in a caldron.
Nat and Joe exchanged glances of dismay. It was no longer possible to
disguise the fact that they were momentarily being sucked, as though by
invisible yet resistless forces, toward this ominous looking chasm.
The three youths had set out for the California coast, on which was
their home, some days before, from the Marquesas group of islands,
where they had had some surprising adventures. What these were will be
found set down in the third volume of this series, “_The Motor Rangers
on Blue Water_.” It may be said here, briefly, that their experiences
in the South Seas had included the routing of a rascally band, who had
made a headquarters on one of the Marquesas Group, and the discovering
of the rightful owner of some valuable sapphires which had come into
their possession in a truly remarkable way.
Of how they acquired these sapphires, and of the adventures and perils
through which they passed before they gained full possession, details
will be found in the second volume of the Motor Ranger Series, namely,
“_The Motor Rangers Through the Sierras_.” In that volume, we followed
our youthful and enterprising heroes through the great Sierra range,
and learned of their clever flouting of the schemes of the same band of
rascals whom they re-encountered in the South Seas. Among other feats,
they located and caused the destruction of the hitherto secret fortress
of Colonel Morello, a notorious outlaw. This earned them his undying
enmity, which he was not slow to display. In this volume, too, it was
related how the lads found, in a miner’s abandoned hut, the wonderful
sapphires.
It now remains, only briefly, to sketch the earlier experiences of the
three lads, to give our readers a grasp of their characters. In the
first volume of this series, then, which was called “_The Motor
Rangers’ Lost Mine_,” the three lads set out for Lower California on a
mission which was to involve them in unlooked-for complications.
This errand grew out of Nat’s employment as automobile expert by Mr.
Montagu Pomery, the “Lumber King,” as the papers called him, who made
his winter home at Santa Barbara. Nat, who lived with his mother, was,
at that time, very poor, and much depended on his situation with the
millionaire, in charge of his several cars. But Ed Dayton, who
considered that Nat had superseded him in the place, made trouble for
him. Aided by Donald Pomery, the lumber king’s son, a weak,
unprincipled youth, he hatched up a plot, which, for a time, put Nat
under a cloud. But Mr. Pomery himself proved Nat’s firm friend.
Owing to Mrs. Pomery’s interference, the millionaire was compelled to
discharge Nat, but he almost immediately re-employed him on the
confidential mission of which we have spoken. This was to visit Lower
California and investigate conditions on his timber claims there. Much
rare and valuable wood had been going astray, and Mr. Pomery suspected
his superintendent, Diego Velasco. He lacked proof, however, and Nat he
selected as a bright, trustworthy lad, who could carry out an
investigation painstakingly.
Nat recalled that his dead father had been interested, in his youth, in
a rich mine in Lower California, and the prospect of the trip,
therefore, had a double fascination for him. Mr. Pomery provided an
automobile, equipped in elaborate fashion, for the long trip, much of
which was to be made through desert country. With Mr. Pomery’s
permission, Nat invited his two chums, Joe Hartley, son of a well-to-do
department store keeper, and William Bell, the stammering lad, to
accompany him. The latter’s mother and the former’s father at first
demurred considerably to the trip, but at last they gave their consent.
Nat, for his part, had some trouble winning his mother over. But soon
all was arranged, and they set out. How they discovered the Lost Mine,
and Nat became rich, was all told in that book, together with many
other adventures that befell them. The reader is now in a position to
understand our chief characters, sturdy, intelligent Nat Trevor, with
his curly black hair and dancing blue eyes; stout, red-faced Joe
Hartley, always good-natured, though inclined to be a bit nervous, and
Ding-dong Bell, the cheery, stuttering lad, whose eccentricities of
speech provided much amusement for his companions.
The day on which this story opens was the seventh since their departure
from the Marquesas on their return voyage to the Pacific Coast. They
had left behind them their fellow adventurers, some of whom wished to
return by steamer, while others were anxious to continue their travels
in the fascinating South Seas. So far, smiling skies and sunny seas had
been encountered. But this particular day had dawned with a smoky, red
horizon, through which the rising sun blazed like a red-hot copper ball.
It had been oppressively hot—torrid, in fact. But although the air was
motionless and heavy, the sea was far from being calm. It heaved with a
swell that tossed the _Nomad_ almost on her beam-ends at times. That
some peculiar kind of tropical storm, or typhoon, was approaching, Nat
felt small doubt. A glance at the barometer showed that that instrument
had fallen with incredible rapidity. A candle, held in the thick, murky
air, would have flamed straight skyward without a flicker.
Dinner was eaten without a change being observable in the weather
conditions, and, on coming on deck to relieve Joe at the wheel while he
went below to eat, Nat sighted the bit of land toward which they were
now being drawn like a needle to a lodestone. In the meantime the
weather had been growing more and more extraordinary. The copperish sky
had deepened in color till a panoply of angry purple overspread the
heaving sea. The sun glared weakly through the cloud curtains as
through a fog. But still there had come no wind.
Hardly had the two lads on the bridge of the _Nomad_ realized that they
were inexorably being drawn toward the two islands, however, when from
far off to the southwest there came a low, moaning sound. It seemed
almost animal in character; like the lowing of an angry bull, in fact,
was the comparison that occurred to Nat. The sound increased in
violence momentarily, while the sky from purple changed to black, and a
blast like that from an open oven door fanned their faces. Through this
awe-inspiring twilight the _Nomad_ continued her inexplicable advance
toward the two islands.
“Here it comes!” shouted Joe suddenly, as, from the same quarter as
that from which the wind had proceeded, there came a sudden, angry roar.
“Hold tight for your life!” flung back Nat over his shoulder, gripping
his steering wheel with every ounce of strength he possessed.
And thus began hours of stress and turmoil, which the Motor Rangers
were ever to remember as one of the most soul-racking experiences of
their young lives.