A LETTER GOES WRONG
The conditions that the young aviators had just encountered had not
sharpened their appetites. But again in the fresh air, they decided to
use speed and complete their mission and, incidentally, to have a little
tea and some bannock at the airship.
At two of the cabins where they had seen the strongest women, they
stopped and made signs for the squaws to follow them. At the tepee in the
edge of the woods they found the two old men and the two women huddled
around a fire on the inside of the tepee, with every sign of having
gorged themselves upon the food given them. In the kettle outside, chunks
of the moose were stewing under a now brisk fire. This entire party was
also enlisted and Norman and Roy made their way back to the snow basin in
the woods. Without delay they passed out all the supplies to the Indians
who had accompanied them, showed them the remainder of the moose and made
signs that these should be distributed equally among all. With every
expression of pleasure, but none of gratitude, the six Indians took
instant departure.
"It's three o'clock," announced Norman, when this had been done. "Now for
a little camp fire out here in the snow, some tea and a piece of bannock,
and we'll make a record trip back home."
Unaware of the disastrous discovery they were soon to make the two boys
took a leisurely rest.
"It's the only time I miss a pipe," remarked Roy as he sat behind a snow
bank with his feet toward the cheery blaze.
"Well, if ever I begin," said Norman in turn, "I'll never try to manipulate
any of this plug smokin' stuff. I'll go to the States for a mixture of some
kind and not try to shave down the brick of hydraulic-pressed tobacco that
the half-breeds use."
After a long loaf before the fire the boys made preparations to return.
"Looks a little like the blizzard day," remarked Roy, "and it's certainly
getting some colder. I hope the wind won't come up. If it does, I hope it
comes out of the north."
While he spoke, the two boys took hold of the frame of the monoplane to
pull it out onto the smooth snow and head it south. The airship had been
resting upon what seemed to be a little ridge. Pulling the chassis from
this rise in the snow, they were both astounded to find the body of the
car shift to one side and sink into the snow.
Both sprang to that side of the car and Norman, running his hand along
the wooden landing ski, gasped with astonishment when he found the long
runner broken sharply in the middle.
"That's fine!" he shouted. "This runner's out of business!"
Roy ran to the rear where the car had stopped and found underneath the
snow a rocky ledge.
"She hit this!" he exclaimed. "Can't we tie her up?"
Norman was plainly in doubt but they cleared away the surrounding snow
and found that, instead of a single break, a section of the runner had
been shattered. Two jagged ends of wood extended into the soft snow.
"If you'll find any way to fix them," exclaimed Norman, "maybe we can get
a start. But it looks to me as if we'd have to make a new runner."
"Nonsense!" exclaimed Roy, beating his numbing hands together. "We can
fix 'er."
The two boys made this attempt and, as often as they thought they had
patched up the shattered ski and mounted into the car in attempts to make
a start, the patched strip of wood would part and the chassis would lunge
again into the snow.
After a half hour of attempts of this kind, Roy recalled the dog sled in
the distant hut of the paralyzed Indian and, in desperation, after four
o'clock, for it was now getting desperately cold, he secured Norman's
consent to a trip back to the Indian's cabin and the securing of at least
a part of the sled to patch up their machine.
The winter days were now growing short and when Roy hurried away into the
gray woods night was fast coming on. Nor did he find an easy task before
him. In the end it was necessary to pay the paralytic twenty-five dollars
before he could secure possession of the sled. As he made his way back to
his waiting companion, he had to stick to the trails that they had
previously made, for in the woods darkness had already come.
At the airship camp he found Norman had put in his waiting time in
collecting a pile of fallen timber. It was now so cold that this served a
double purpose--they needed the warmth and it served to illuminate the
vicinity.
The benumbed Roy also found tea ready and, better yet, a generous piece
of moose meat frying in the edge of the fire. These, with some broken
bannock heated in the fat of the meat, gave the boys a welcome supper.
Then, piling new wood on the fire, they began again the task of repairing
the chassis. Here they were handicapped by the darkness, as they were
afraid to get the monoplane and its reservoirs of gasoline too near the
blazing camp fire.
Finally they solved this difficulty by starting the engine and using one
of their adjustable light bulbs, which they hung over the side of the
car. Yet the cold had become so intense, although it was a dry Arctic
cold, that the work went forward only by stages, the boys being forced to
stop and warm their hands from time to time at the camp fire.
When the new moon showed through the dark border of spruce trees and the
brilliant northern stars pierced the black sky, the young aviators were
ready for another trial. It was eight o'clock. This time they packed the
snow for a hundred yards in front of the chassis of the car, and then,
arranging their few blankets in the cockpit and refreshing themselves
with some newly-made hot tea, exhausted and nervous, they climbed aboard.
Putting on all their power and holding their runners steadily to the
packed snow, they again started the _Gitchie Manitou_.
While the runners were yet gliding over the evenly-packed snow drifts,
there came an ominous jar on the side of the repaired ski and Norman
instantly threw the planes upward. It was a chance for, if the car
settled again, the new runner would probably give away. In its gathering
momentum, the airship drifted snowward again while both boys gulped. Then
as if guiding itself, it sprang upward once more.
"It's all right!" shouted Roy, "but we had a close call. If we have to
come down again we'll never get up."
"When we land again," added Norman, his mouth dry, "it'll be in the gas
camp."
In a few minutes the airship was over the Athabasca River again, which
was now vaporless and white beneath them.
"It's cold, all right," was Roy's comment at this moment. "I think
there's ice on the river."
In spite of the increasing coldness, the _Gitchie Manitou_ made its way
without trouble toward the distant camp. There was no wind and, although
the boys computed the temperature outside at not less than twenty below
zero, the interior of the little cockpit soon became cozy enough. The
heating appliances had been connected with the dynamo and Norman at times
even complained of the heat. After the first hour of flight, both boys
began looking for the flare of the gas well. When this at last came in
sight, the car was headed directly for it. At that time both boys agreed
that the river beneath was covered with ice from shore to shore.
"Anyway," said Norman, as the gas well came into full view, "looks as if
Paul didn't succeed in capping the gusher to-day."
To warn their friends of their arrival, the boys threw on their
searchlight, and the arrival back of the aerodrome was unmarked, except
by the vociferous welcome accorded by the alarmed occupants of the camp.
Another supper was awaiting the relief expedition and for some time all
were busy with the cause of the delay and the details of the condition of
the Indian encampment. Unquestionably there would have to be another
visit to the camp to ascertain at least the result of the hunting
expedition.
Strangely enough, before the matter of Chandler's letter was reached, the
discussion reached the work on the gas well that day. When Roy suddenly
recalled the episode of the discovery in the paralyzed Indian's cabin he
started to produce the letter, but hesitated because both Ewen and Miller
were present. In his discussion with Norman on the way back, it had been
decided that the letter had probably been written by one or the other of
these men and that its appearance might cause embarrassment. Both Ewen
and Miller had been very curious about the settlement at Pointe aux
Tremble, but they had asked no questions that connected Chandler with the
place.
When the hour grew late and Colonel Howell proposed retiring to the bunk
room where the iron stove was red hot, since neither Ewen nor Miller gave
signs of turning in, Roy put off the matter of the letter until later.
When the three boys sought their bunks, Ewen and Miller still lingered in
the big room, and Colonel Howell was asleep.
"Time enough in the morning," suggested Norman.
In the morning, however, Colonel Howell and Paul with Ewen and Miller
were up and at work before Norman and Roy were astir. The weather had not
moderated but Colonel Howell was anxious to bring the work on the gusher
to a close. Ewen and Miller attacked the frost hardened ground before
breakfast and this work had now reached the point where Paul could help
in removing the heavy clods.
When the young aviators joined their friends at breakfast, Ewen and
Miller were present again and the letter was not exhibited. Then all
hurried out to complete the work of attempting to control the gusher. The
regulator and the ordinary apparatus to connect it with the mouth of the
pipe, together with the smaller tubes and their valves that were to be
attached above the regulator, were all in place. In the end, Colonel
Howell proposed, with still smaller pipes, to lead part of the gas into
the fireplace and the bunk house stove.
At eleven o'clock the perspiring men in the trench announced this part of
the work completed. Then it required only a few minutes to brace a narrow
platform about five feet above the bottom of the trench, next to the
tube, and all paused for a short rest before making the final experiment.
At last the men took their places near the roaring gusher and, at Paul's
request, he was given the opportunity to use his well-muscled arms in
swinging the sledge, Colonel Howell taking his place on the platform in
charge of a long-handled chisel.
The duties of Norman and Roy were to assist the two workmen in
manipulating the chain pulley, by which the first tap was to be forced on
the open end of the pipe. This of course was pierced with holes, so that
the pressure beneath it might not be altogether shut off. This was to be
forced down upon the steel drill tube, after which the regulator was to
be similarly attached to the threads of the preliminary cap. The
situation was hazardous for all. There was danger that the out-rushing
gas in the trench below might explode when it rose and came in contact
with the roaring blaze above. But it was hoped that the work might be
done so quickly that this would not result.
When Ewen had laid out his apparatus about the mouth of the tube with all
the care of a surgeon preparing for a hasty operation, and Paul and
Colonel Howell had taken their position on the scaffold far below, Ewen
suddenly shouted:
"Ready!"
A heavy blow resounded in the narrow pit. Then another, and another, and
a new roar broke out below. Dropping their tools, Colonel Howell and Paul
fled up their improvised ladder and when they reached the surface they
saw the workmen and Norman and Roy, their faces distorted with effort and
their clothes almost scorching, bend to the task before them. The
escaping gas was still roaring and the flames were leaping sideways.
Norman and Roy were almost flat on the ground, hanging on to the pulley
chain. The first cap was in place and, with a long wrench, Ewen was
twisting it onto the thread. A new volume of gas was already rolling from
the pit, while from the incline opposite the mouth of the new opening,
gravel and clods of earth were shooting riverward like the sparks of a
Bessemer furnace. Paul threw himself on the ground with the other boys
and added his strength to theirs in holding the cap in place. All seemed
to forget the possibility of a new explosion.
There was a hoarse shout from Ewen and the boys released the pulley chain
while Miller slapped the regulator between the guide rods. As the three
young men again threw themselves upon the chain and forced the regulator
into place, the crucial moment had arrived. The controlling valve of the
regulator was open, of course, and as the rushing gas was again
concentrated into one stream, a new fiery jet shot upward. But the
lateral streams had been controlled and again Ewen applied the wrench to
thread the regulator to the first cap. Once he failed and then the
threads caught. With a yell of victory the veteran gas man threw himself
against the long wrench again.
"You've got 'er!" exclaimed Colonel Howell as he sprang to Ewen's side
and joined him in screwing the regulator into place. Even before he spoke
there was a renewed roar in the trench beneath and a new volume of gas
poured upward.
"Fill 'er in!" shouted Paul. "The big rocks first." And then, while the
newly confined gas still shot upward through the regulator in a screaming
stream of fire, six pairs of hands, including those of the energetic
Philip, hurled a collected heap of rocks to the bottom of the trench and
around the new opening.
"This ain't goin' to stop the flow," explained Colonel Howell to Norman
and Roy, as all panted in their work, "but it's Paul's idea, and I think
he's put it over."
"Now for the dirt!" shouted Paul, who was leading in the work. With
shovels and pieces of board, the excavated material was rapidly dumped
into the trench. With each new shovelful of material, the escape of gas
from the trench became less and the roar from the open regulator became
more deafening. When at last only an odor of gas escaped from the newly
packed trench, Paul exclaimed:
"Plenty of water dumped in here ought to make a solid cake of ice around
the opening and that ought to fix us till spring anyway."
"The cleverest idea you've yet given us!" exclaimed Colonel Howell, as
all paused for breath. "Now, go over and finish your job. Turn off the
regulator."
Proudly enough, Paul sprang to the roaring gusher and gave the protected
valve wheel a few quick turns. Instantly the flow was shut off and
silence followed. The young Austrian had made good.
Many other mechanical details had to be seen to but the great problem had
been solved and all were elated. The main work accomplished, Colonel
Howell and the young men retired to the cabin, where, as soon as the
excitement over Paul's victory had somewhat subsided, Roy produced the
letter he had found in the cabin of the paralyzed Indian. Colonel Howell,
having heard the explanation of the finding of the letter, without any
hesitation and evidently without any qualms of conscience, drew out the
enclosure. The letter was an illiterate scrawl.
"Mr. Chandler," it began, "we have decided our answer is this. Mebbe you
are right and we three have done all the work here, but Colonel Howell
has always been on the square. If you think you are intitled to go to
Edmonton and make a claim for this property, we don't. It's been a perty
hard job, but we been paid for it and don't think we have no claim fur a
title to this claim. Besides, this ain't no time to try to go to Edmonton
and get out papers. If we was goin, we'd wait till the river froze and
take a dogsled. When you get your money you can go if you like. Like we
promised you, we wont say nothin. So long as Colonel Howell treats us
square we're goin to stick. So no more at present.
Ewen and Miller."
The message was dated August 10th and was evidently a reply to some
proposition made by Chandler after he was kicked out of the camp. While
Colonel Howell read it, his face was very sober. Then he read it aloud to
the boys and tossed it on the table while he lit a new cigar. All sat in
silence for some time and then Norman said:
"I guess Chandler must have changed his mind too. He was here yesterday
morning."
"But the river's frozen now," suggested Roy quickly. "What does this
mean, Colonel Howell?" went on Roy, his curiosity overcoming him.
The colonel took a long draw on his cigar and at last found his old-time
smile.