RECONNOITERING.
The all-important question still confronted the young aviator: where
was his colored friend, Bohunkus Johnson?
There might be several answers to the query, but none was satisfactory.
Possibly he was at the workshop of Professor Morgan, or had been set
down at the end of the experimental tours the inventor was making, or
the fate which Harvey dreaded may have already overtaken him.
“The one thing for me to do is to have another look at the Professor’s
place at close range, when he has no thought of my being near. I shall
surely be able to learn something worth while.”
Our friend kept the Dragon of the Skies under scrutiny so long as it
remained in his field of vision. It was heading toward the cabin and in
a brief while dipped from sight. The inventor had descended to resume
work.
The day was drawing to a close. The sun had set, and twilight was
creeping over the dismal wilderness. It was a hard walk through the
broken, rocky solitude where he could not find any trail but simply
knew the right course to follow. He had brought a goodly package of
sandwiches with him and he now ate of the lunch. Fully a dozen remained
in the paper bag that was placed on the seat before the tank, reserved
to serve him on the morrow. He was loath to leave the aeroplane
unwatched, but, as has been shown, there was no help for it, and he now
trusted to the good fortune that had clung so markedly to him from the
time he first left home.
With a final inspection of the machine, he skirted the edge of the wood
to the farther corner and then went toward the inventor’s headquarters.
It was hard work from the first. He was forced to go around huge
boulders and masses of rock, push through the intricate undergrowth,
now and then checked and driven to make long detours, but he kept the
right course and knew he had only to persevere to reach the spot in
the end. The moon did not rise until late, but the sky was clear, and
studded with brilliant stars, while the partial lighting up of the
obscurity enabled him to avoid going astray.
As nearly as he could judge he had traversed half the distance when,
without thought of any such thing, he came abruptly to the margin of
a large pond or lake. He could not recall having noticed a sheet of
water in studying his map of the region and was in a dilemma. In the
obscurity the gleaming surface stretched beyond his vision on the right
and left, nor could he see anything but darkness in front.
“I must cross in some way,” he reflected, “but how shall I do it?
I shouldn’t mind taking a long swim, but it would be awkward in my
clothes and I shouldn’t like to call upon the Professor in the costume
of Adam and Eve.”
He had not left any of his garments with the aeroplane, for there
was no saying when he was likely to need his outer coat. While the
temperature was mild, a certain crispness natural to the season brooded
in the air, and when he thrust his hand into the water he found it
thrillingly cold. He inclined to the plan of fastening enough dry limbs
together to float his garments, while he swam and pushed the little
raft in front. He would not have hesitated to do this despite the
chilliness of the water, could he have been certain that the swim would
not prove a long one. True, he was within a half mile of the cabin, as
he figured it, and it would seem that slight risk was involved.
“There’s no saying how far I should have to tramp to go round the
lake,” he said, as he turned the question over in his mind, “but the
other shore can’t be very distant. The swim will do me good and I’ll
take it.”
He began groping along the shore in quest of the material with which
to make the float. It was while he was doing this that he uttered an
exclamation of delight over another unexpected piece of good fortune.
He almost fell over the prow of a canoe drawn lightly up the bank where
its owner had left it. The graceful craft was a dozen feet long and the
broad-bladed paddle lay in the bottom ready for use whenever needed.
“If that isn’t rare luck then there was never such a thing,” added
Harvey after examining the primitive boat, which, Indian fashion, was
constructed of birch bark sewed and gummed together and thoroughly
water-tight. He knew something of canoes, shells and motor boats and
had no misgiving of his ability to handle this craft.
But what of the owner? Where was he and when was he likely to return?
Suppose he was a hunter or woodman who would discover him before he
could get far from shore? What treatment would he deal out to the one
that was running off with his property?
Hoping that the man might be near and could be hired to set him on the
other side, Harvey called “Hello!” three or four times, in a voice
that carried several hundred yards. There was no reply however, a fact
which convinced him that even if the owner soon returned the one who
was making use of his property would be beyond rifle range.
Night was advancing and Harvey did not linger. He laid his outer coat
in the farther end, and stepping carefully into the unstable structure,
picked up the paddle, and pressing it against the bank, pushed the
canoe well out upon the placid bosom of the lake. Taking his bearings,
he glanced often at the sky and with the aid of the constellation Ursa
Major (which always seemed to confront him when he looked into the
sky), he proceeded as truly as if steering by compass. The paddle was
light, with a broad blade at one end. Facing the way he was going,
he dipped it first on the right and then the left, so gently that he
caused only a faint ripple and made no noise.
He smiled at the discovery which came within the following five
minutes. The wooded shore in front loomed to sight at the same time
with the terminus of the lake on his right. A detour of two hundred
yards would have led him around the body of water, and a swim for the
same distance would have landed him on the shore opposite his starting
point.
“I hope the owner won’t feel offended when he finds his canoe has been
shifted to another point, for he won’t have to travel far to get it
again.”
A few minutes later, Harvey drew the boat up the bank and resumed his
journey toward the workshop of Professor Morgan. It will be remembered
that he was now quite near the little town of Dawson, which he left to
the right. He held to his bearings so well that he came directly upon
the place where the trail turned off from the highway and began picking
his course to the cabin.
He was now “skating on thin ice.” The inventor might be going to the
Washington House for his evening meal, or possibly returning therefrom.
In either case, the utmost caution was necessary to avert a meeting
with him. The trail over which Harvey was advancing with the utmost
care may be described as an alley or avenue or cañon, walled in for
most of the way by rocks and overhanging trees, with open places at
intervals, where the star-gleam showed objects indistinctly for a
hundred feet or less.
It will be noted that the youth had to guard the front and rear,
for there was no saying from which direction danger would appear.
He remembered the character of the path, and stepped as softly as a
burglar stealing over a carpeted floor. When he had gone a few paces,
he paused, listened, and peered into the inclosing gloom. He had little
fear of meeting strangers, for the Professor had impressed all with the
peril they ran in yielding to their curiosity. It was the fanatical
inventor whom he held in dread.
But his tense senses told nothing, and Harvey finally turned the corner
of the rocky avenue, where there was a small open space, and the cabin
loomed before him. He stood staring, wondering and speculating as to
what it all could mean. The building was utterly dark and silent. Its
shadowy outlines showed against the starlit sky, but it was as if he
were looking upon some huge tomb. The gloom would not permit him to see
whether the Dragon of the Skies was resting in the hangar provided for
it, but he believed the strange air craft was there, awaiting the whim
of its owner.
While making his guarded survey, Harvey did not forget the delicate
situation in which he stood. He was partially veiled in shadow and
though he heard not the slightest sound he turned his head and looked
back over the trail which he had followed to the spot. A few rods
distant it showed a slight rise, so that he came down a moderate
slope to where he had halted. This low elevation threw the summit
of the incline against the starlit sky behind it and at the moment
of looking, Harvey saw Professor Morgan’s gaunt form in silhouette
striding over the rise and coming toward him, with the well-known linen
duster flapping about his heels.
The watcher slipped a little farther to one side, where he was
effectively screened, and silently awaited the man whose soft footfalls
could now be heard. A minute later he passed so near to where the
eavesdropper stood that a step toward him would have enabled Harvey
to touch him with outstretched hand. But the last thing of which the
Professor was thinking was of intruders into his domain. The tall form
stalked across the brief open space, halted an instant in front of the
door, at which the inventor fumbled a moment and then passed inside.
Almost immediately the interior was flooded with dazzling light,
brighter and more vivid than that of the noonday sun. Through the plate
glass window could be seen the endless paraphernalia of the workshop
of an inventive genius--the lathe, bottles of chemicals, boxes, tools,
coils of wire, retorts, queer-shaped utensils, some suspended on the
wall, others resting on shelves, and many as partially revealed lying
on the solid planking of the floor. The Professor himself took a few
steps toward the rear of his shop and thus came into full view. He did
not doff his headgear nor remove the linen duster which hung almost to
his ankles. Harvey saw him reach up to one of the hooks on the wall,
lift off a coil of copper wire, and then bending over the lathe, set
a small wheel revolving rapidly by means of the treadle which one of
his feet pressed. No one could guess the nature of what he was doing,
except that it was a part of his experimentation for the perfecting of
the monoplane which was already a wonder of its kind.
What Harvey Hamilton looked upon was of absorbing interest, but he
could not forget the painful fact that Bohunkus Johnson was nowhere
in sight, and the painful question which he had asked himself so many
times still remained unanswered. It was certain the colored youth was
not here.
For a half hour the spectator stood as motionless as a graven image,
staring, listening, wondering what was coming next. The inventor now
and then moved about the brilliantly lighted room, but he was busy as
a bee and as absorbed in his work as if only a few minutes remained at
his command in which to complete the most important task of his life.
By and by he lighted a briarwood pipe, and never once removed it from
his mouth. The clearness of Harvey’s view was proved by the sight of
each little puff of smoke which at intervals shot along the stem from
his lips.
Being assured that Bunk was nowhere near the place, Harvey saw nothing
to be gained by acting further as eavesdropper. He was withdrawing,
when, as suddenly as it had been lighted, the workshop was shrouded in
darkness. He waited awhile thinking some slight accident had occurred,
but the impenetrable gloom continued. Professor Morgan evidently was
through his work for the night, though it would be supposed that like
most monomaniacs he would have been unconscious of the passage of time.
“It may mean he has solved the problem over which he has studied so
long,” thought Harvey, softly groping his way back to the trail, along
which he threaded his course to the highroad and then as nearly as he
could judge to the point where he entered it when coming from the small
lake. He was in a more confused state of mind than ever, and could not
decide what step he should next take.
He had settled upon one thing: while so near Dawson he must so far as
possible keep out of sight of everybody. He dared not go to the hotel
for lodging and it was imprudent to apply at any private house. His
plan was to return to where he had left the aeroplane, wrap himself
in his outer coat and cuddle up in the seat for the remainder of
the night. The weather was so comparatively mild that the exposure
would not harm him nor need he be uncomfortable. There is something
attractive to a robust, rugged youth in the idea of camping out or
roughing it, besides which he was uneasy over leaving his machine
without guard. He was in a section quite well settled and the finding
of the canoe showed that people were liable to pass that way at any
time.
Having now no trail to follow, Harvey could not accurately retrace his
steps, but held to the course so well that he reached the shore of the
lake at the time expected. But nothing was to be seen of the canoe that
had brought him over. He made a brief but unsuccessful search.
“It can’t be far off,” was his conclusion; “the owner will have no
trouble in finding it, if he hasn’t already done so and gone back to
the other side.”
Recalling the slight expanse of water, Harvey picked his way along the
margin until he reached the curving end, around which he passed, and
then resumed his direct course to the clearing on whose edge he had
left his machine. He saw and heard nothing to disturb him during his
return and reached the spot while the night was still comparatively
young.