CRUSOES OF THE AIR
“It’s business now,” said Bob Dallow, between his teeth.
“And guesswork,” added Ben. “Hit or miss, though, we’ve got to make
land. The tank register is at the exhaust line. Where do you suppose
we are, Bob?”
“Brr-rr! Judging from the weather, Medicine Hat. The way we’ve spun
along, I should think we were just about over Alaska.”
“That’s nonsense, of course,” responded Ben, “but we have done some
travelling. Keep watch on the forward planes, now.”
The young aviators were veritable Crusoes of the air, marooned in
cloudland, lost in a void of ether. As Bob aptly expressed the
situation, it was business now, sharp and serious.
The _Dart_ had made a splendid run. At first it had been an
experience of fun, novelty and interest for its light-hearted crew.
The vast panorama spread out under them had been entrancing. Up to
mid afternoon they knew pretty well where they were. Bob kept close
track of the chart markings, and when they descended on top of a high
hill near a little town, they were soon visited by curious throngs
from the village near by, and knew that they were over two hundred
and fifty miles from the starting point.
“That’s not so bad,” observed Bob, “over sixty miles an hour.”
“Not if we can keep up a long flight,” said Ben.
This had been their only stopping place. It cost them over two hours’
time. They had some difficulty in securing a new gasolene supply
and other things they needed. The machine was carefully oiled and
the flight resumed, the bold aviators feeling encouraged by the
tremendous cheering of a throng viewing a real monoplane for the
first time.
Two hours later real work began. They had something of a tussle
fighting an ugly cross current of air. Next a storm cloud interfered.
They lost their bearings somewhat, and as dusk came on they were
entirely at sea as to location.
About ten o’clock in the evening, after a visit to the lower
atmosphere, the air voyagers became assured of one fact: They were no
longer traversing a settled range of territory. The night was black,
and had become foggy. It had grown chill and uncomfortable as well.
There was not a speck of light visible earthwards anywhere. One long
sweep took them over a vast body of water. Then came an interminable
stretch of vast forests.
“We seem to have passed civilization,” remarked Ben.
“We are clear out of the United States, anyway,” declared Bob.
“My plan is to get to a good altitude and put the motors to the
limit,” was Ben’s suggestion.
“All right, if we can stand the cold.”
The experiments of the half dozen ensuing hours neither of the young
aviators ever forgot. It was a real endurance test. There was cold,
darkness, uncertainty, discomfort and peril to combat. Only that the
splendid little _Dart_ behaved grandly, were they able to keep up an
uninterrupted forward progress. Then there were many bad tips and
tilts, but skill and attention evaded any real mishap.
“We have driven our craft to the last limit of speed,” announced Ben
at last. “The fuel gauge is at danger line.”
“That settles it, then,” said Bob. “It’s all over but the barograph
readings, now.”
Ben set the _Dart_ on a downward slant. It was high time to descend.
As they pierced a broad ribbon of dense cloud and made out outlines
of hills and trees below, the chug—chug of the motor grew fainter
and less distinct. The sound diminished finally to a choking gasp,
and the _Dart_ rested on a broad even surface in the midst of great
trees, almost of its own volition.
“We made it just in time,” said Bob, climbing from the machine with
an immense sigh of relief. “What time is it, Ben?”
Ben lighted a match and consulted the dial of the treasured timepiece
presented to him by the employees of the Saxton Automobile Works.
“Just fifteen minutes after one,” he announced.
“Then we have been fourteen hours on the spin,” calculated Bob. “I
don’t believe any of the others have beat that.”
“We don’t know that, of course.”
“It’s surely nine hundred miles,” continued Bob, “maybe twelve
hundred. It seemed to me we just spun along these last four hours.”
“We have done finely,” declared Ben, “and we should feel pretty glad
to land with no mishaps.”
While his companion was seeking for the food sack in the body of the
machine, Ben was unshipping some of the planes and wiring the wheels
to near tree stumps, so the flying machine could not be budged if a
sudden wind came up.
“I wonder where we are, Ben?” inquired Bob, appearing with the canvas
bag that held some tools and a bulky package of food.
“No telling. I couldn’t keep track of direction after it got dark.”
“We’re probably out of the range of running fuel anyway,” surmised
Bob.
“Yes, I think that is right.”
“What’s the programme, then?”
“Why, we can only wait till morning, get our bearings, locate some
village and tell our story. Some reputable people must come to the
monoplane with us, seal up the speedometer, make affidavits as to our
arrival, and we get back to Mr. Davis to report.”
“And leave the _Dart_ here?” questioned Bob, in alarm.
“Certainly not. We must arrange to have it packed and shipped on
after us, no matter what it may cost.”
“If we have only won the prize—oh, if we only have!” began Bob
ardently, and then: “Hello!”
The speaker dropped the hunk of bread and cheese he was eating with a
vivid exclamation, and stood poised in a staring attitude, glancing
through the surrounding trees.
“What now, Bob?” questioned Ben.
“A light.”
“I see it!”
“Maybe it’s a village—a house, anyhow. The sooner we prove our
arrival, the better for our claims, eh, Ben?”
“Perhaps.”
“Come on—this is luck.”
Ben hesitated for a moment. He did not like to leave the _Dart_.
Still, it was safely secured, and scarcely liable to discovery in
that remote and solitary place. He joined his companion, and they
started in the direction of the light.
Bob was so eager and excited that he did not leave the bag behind,
but kept possession of it, slinging it over one shoulder by the piece
of flexible wire running through the handles.
The two journeyers did not note their environment particularly.
They had several tumbles going down a sheer hilly descent. They
encountered fallen trees and brambles threading a jungle-like maze.
All the time, however, they kept the distant light in view as a
beacon. This led to many turns and windings to evade obstructing
objects.
“Whew!” ejaculated Bob at last, as they came to some kind of a
stream. “We must have gone miles. I’m footsore and wringing wet with
perspiration.”
“That light is across the river, and miles away yet,” said Ben.
“Well, we’ll line the stream and cross when we get nearer. We can’t
miss reaching it now.”
They proceeded on this basis. Less than half a mile accomplished,
however, both halted simultaneously with a shock.
“Gone!” cried Ben in consternation.
“Yes,” groaned his disappointed comrade.
The point of light seemed suddenly to lift in the air. It divided
into whirling darts of flame, and then into a cascade of sparks. Then
there was a black blank where the radiance had shown.
“Don’t you see?” cried Bob, in a dismayed tone.
“See what?”
“It wasn’t a lamp. It was a campfire. Some one probably stopping to
cook a bite. He kicked out the fire and went on.”
“It looks that way,” assented Ben slowly.
“Yell at the top of your voice,” directed Bob, seizing Ben’s arm to
enforce his suggestion.
They united their voices in a series of ringing shouts and yells.
The silent wilderness about them rang with the vivid echoes. For the
space of two minutes they bent their ears in anxious, eager suspense.
“You see, we are too far away to be heard,” said Ben.
“I’m afraid so,” replied Bob, in deep disappointment.
“Hark! I heard something,” interrupted Ben sharply.
“Yes, a sound—a sort of roar. Behind us, though. Oh, my!”
Bob grasped his companion’s arm and dragged him forward.
“Run! run!” he shouted. “It’s a bear.”