FACE TO FACE AT LAST.
So far as sleeping in a hammock suspended a dozen feet above ground
was concerned, Bunk’s attempt was as much a failure as his effort to
rest among the limbs of the oak on the previous night. In disgust he
gave it up, and yanking the blanket free went back to the cavern and
again slept without disturbance. The weather continued so mild that the
covering gave him all the protection he needed.
When Professor Morgan made his appearance in the morning, not quite as
early as before, Bunk saw he was not in such buoyant spirits as on his
last call. Something had gone wrong. He made no replies to the lad’s
questions, but when about to leave him for the day, explained:
“Things haven’t come out as I anticipated; I shall have to go to Albany
again to get a new chemical; the last was not pure; do you understand?”
“Yas, sir.”
“You don’t understand a word I said to you,” snorted the man; “why do
you pretend you do?”
“Yas, sir.”
With an angry grunt the aviator mounted his seat, started the uplifter
revolving and sailed away without another word.
Several days now passed so similar in all respects that it is not worth
while to dwell upon them. The Professor remained glum and sour and
Bunk held him in too great awe to repeat any questions after his first
curt snubbing. He made his sleeping quarters in the cavern, ate and
wandered through the neighborhood, watching people at a distance and
always keeping out of their sight. Had he possessed a field glass like
Harvey Hamilton, he would have made some discoveries that would have
interested and alarmed him.
We come now to the day of the disastrous search made by the Hamilton
brothers. Bunk was sitting at the mouth of the cavern and beginning to
feel drowsy when his nerves were set tingling by the whistled signal of
the young man, who had almost come upon him. Had Dick refrained from
giving that warning he would have been face to face with Bunk within
the following five minutes.
“Dat’s him!” gasped the negro, scooting behind the cavern and among the
undergrowth, where he crouched low.
He not only heard every signal, but caught a glimpse of the young man.
Had it been Harvey whom he saw he probably would have gone forward in
response to the calls, but he dared not let the elder brother see him.
“I’d doot,” muttered Bunk, whose conscience reproved him, “if I could
be sure he wouldn’t butt in and make trouble.”
One fact lifted the spirits of Bunk to the highest notch. That morning
Professor Morgan exultingly told him that he had attained complete
success at last. The new chemical had done its work perfectly; the last
obstacle had been overcome, and the start for distant Africa would be
made the next day without fail. It was this announcement which caused
the youth to guard against discovery by his friend. Of course he did
not dream that Harvey Hamilton was in the vicinity.
Bunk was in such a fluster over the knowledge that his dismal days in
this mountain retreat were ended that he slept little. This was his
last night in the cave and the wonderful voyage was to begin on the
morrow.
Upon what trivial incidents do the most important events often turn!
Professor Morgan told the truth when he asserted that he had reached
the end of his experimentation. He had solved the magical combination
of chemical agents by which the supply of fuel for his helicopter would
serve for more than two days without renewal. Having done this, all
that remained was to finish his preparations for leaving the continent
and voyaging over the Atlantic. His machine worked so superbly that he
had no fear of any storm he might encounter, though he wisely decided
to study weather probabilities before making his venture. Repeated
tests convinced him that an average speed of eighty miles was easy to
maintain. This would require a trifle less than thirty-three hours to
go from Quebec to Liverpool, his intention from the first being to
start from the former city.
The change he made in his programme was this: instead of leaving
Quebec, he would make his starting point on the New Jersey coast, not
far below Sandy Hook, with his destination the island of St. Vincent,
of the Cape Verde group, off the coast of Africa. This route is three
hundred miles longer than the other, but as he viewed it the fact was
not worth considering because of the new fuel he had invented. It was
not far from St. Vincent to the African coast, and he preferred not to
land in England because of the excitement his feat would cause.
So long as his purpose was to depart from Quebec, he intended to lay
in the necessary stock of provisions in that city, deferring the work
until the last moment. But this was sure to bring unpleasant notoriety,
and he now saw an easy escape from it. No large amount of supplies
would be needed and he could procure them at the Washington Hotel in
Dawson. As for himself, he did not mind fasting for a couple of days,
but he knew how it was with his assistant. He therefore proceeded
to stock up in the little country town, because of which his usual
morning call upon Bohunkus Johnson was delayed, and it was that same
delay which gave the necessary time for the happening of more than one
important event.
Had Bunk not been impatient over the tardiness in the return of
Professor Morgan, he would have paid attention to the two persons in
the canoe at the end of the lake. He would have seen them leave the
craft and disappear among the trees and undergrowth that lined the
sheet of water, but he noted nothing of the kind. It is doubtful which
emotion was the stronger within him,--the desire for satisfying his
craving for food, or his eagerness to start upon the aerial voyage
to the Dark Continent. He took his station in front of the cavern
and scanned the heavens to the south, wondering what could keep the
aviator away so long.
“He oughter hurry up, ’cause it am a long way and we’ve waited so many
days dat dere ain’t no sense ob waiting longer.”
Hark! What was that which fell upon his ear? It sounded like the
whistle which he had heard so many times when he and Harvey or Dick
Hamilton were calling to each other.
“Can’t be Harv,” he whispered, “’cause he am ten thousand miles away;
must be dat Dick is poking round here agin.”
This time there was no mistake. The signal was so clear and sharp that
Bunk turned sharply and stared at the point whence it came. He was
struck speechless when he saw the smiling Harvey walk toward him.
“Hello, Bunk! I’m glad to see you.”
For one moment the lad stood transfixed, and then overwhelmed by the
threatened calamity, as it seemed to him, he wheeled and made a dash
for the other side of the open space, where was the pile of rocks that
had served him as headquarters for a number of days. He had almost
reached them when to his consternation Dick Hamilton stepped forth and
confronted him. Escape was shut off.
“Well, my blooming idiot, what have you to say for yourself? I have a
great mind to kick you all the way from here to Mootsport. This is a
pretty chase you have given us; you aren’t worth half the trouble you
have caused.”
Bunk gaped, but did not attempt reply. Suddenly he turned to run in
the opposite direction, but Harvey had drawn nigh and was within arm’s
reach.
“Try it if you want to,” said Dick, pretending to raise his Winchester;
“I should like to prove how quick I can drop you.”
For the first time the lad found his tongue, though both listeners
noted the quaver in his voice:
“What yo’ want to shoot me fur, Dick? I hain’t done nuffin to yo’.”
Harvey was softer hearted than his brother.
“We are not going to hurt you, Bunk, but you deserve to have the worst
trouncing you ever received in your life. It seems to me you have been
a long time getting started for Africa.”
“I’m expecting de Perfesser, Harv, ebery minute; dis am de morning dat
we am to go.”
“Well,” said Dick, as he came still nearer, “that little trip is
indefinitely postponed.”
This declaration roused Bunk. He knew the brothers would interfere with
him if they gained the chance, and now they were doing so, for of a
surety the two were in accord.
“See yere, Dick, yo’ hain’t got nuffin to do wid dis; you ain’t my
boss.”
“Do you want me to prove that I am; here, Harv, hold my gun for a
minute while I show Bunk that I’m his boss.”
The words of revolt had roused the temper of the younger, who accepted
the weapon from Dick’s hand, quite content that he should chastise the
ungrateful lad.
But the dusky youth had no liking for a struggle of that nature. It
would have been fun for the young athlete, figuratively speaking, to
wipe the ground with him. Dick had demonstrated his ability in that
direction more than once. He doubled his fists and stepped in front of
Bunk.
“Put up your hands and we’ll settle the question in the next three
minutes.”
“I doan’ want nuffin to do wid yo’,” growled the negro, edging to one
side; “but I’d like to know if I hain’t de right to do as I blamed
please.”
“No; for you haven’t the sense of a one-eyed owl with the pip. Why
didn’t you ask permission of Mr. Hartley to go on this tomfool trip?”
“I didn’t hab de chance.”
“When you wrote that letter to Harv and told him you were in this part
of the country, you could have asked Mr. Hartley’s consent.”
“What’s dat?” demanded Bunk; “I didn’t tell yo’ nuffin; what yo’
talkin’ ’bout?”
Harvey interposed just then and showed the thick-witted lad how his
second letter gave the clue they needed, as proof of which the young
man was here on the ground, with his aeroplane but a few miles away.
When the absurd truth penetrated Bunk’s head his self-disgust was
amusing.
“Gee! I neber thunk ob dat; warn’t I a big fool?”
“You have never been anything else,” replied Dick; “when you get back
home I shall advise Mr. Hartley to tie a rope round your leg and fasten
the other end to a fence post; you are not fit to be trusted alone.”
Bunk did not resent these disrespectful allusions, but it galled him
sorely to see his life ambition snatched from him.
“I doan’ see why yo’ try to stop me.”
“We’re not trying, Bohunkus,--we’re _doing_ it,” replied Dick with
a meaning grin; “if you have any doubt remaining I shall be glad to
remove it.”
Bunk was in a torturing dilemma. He saw the one enrapturing dream of
his life, just on the verge of fulfillment, about to be dissipated
like a wreath of vapor. If Professor Morgan had kept his promise and
come to this meeting place at the usual hour, they would now be on
their way to the “land of hope.” And, as we know, he would have arrived
on time but for his change of plan which led him to stock up at the
little hotel in Dawson instead of doing so at another stage of the trip.
On the other hand a lion stood in the path in the person of Dick
Hamilton, who left no doubt of his purpose of checking the mad scheme
before the first real step could be taken. Bunk was well enough
acquainted with the young man to know he was in earnest and would carry
out every threat he had made. The lad began to wheedle. In a whimpering
voice he asked:
“What’s de use ob treating me dis way?”
“What way?” demanded the implacable Dick.
“Stopping my going to Afriky; I neber done nuffin to yo’, so why do yo’
use me so blamed mean?”
Dick was fast losing patience, but Harvey felt sympathy for the
misguided lad.
“Bunk, do you know that Professor Morgan is crazy?” he asked.
The negro started as if stung.
“Yo’ doan’ mean dat, Harv!”
“I surely do; he is as crazy as a June bug and has been for a long
time.”
Plainly Bunk was impressed. He stared at his friend and then
administered a sharp reproof by asking:
“Why didn’t yo’ tell me dat afore?”
“I ought to have done so, and am sorry I didn’t.”
“If you hadn’t been the champion idiot you would have found it out in
five minutes for yourself.”
It was Dick who said this.
“I knowed he acted mighty qu’ar sometimes and said cur’ous tings dat I
didn’t understand, but I neber thought he was out of his head.”
“Sometimes he has as much sense as you--”
“Umph! if he doesn’t have a hundred times as much,” interrupted Dick,
“he’s not only crazy but the biggest fool in Christendom. Now I suppose
you are ready to turn your back on him and go home with us.”
“Dunno ’bout dat.”
“Well, here comes the Professor, Dick, and you must settle with him,”
said Harvey.