PHINEAS ROEBACH, OIL HUNTER
As has been said, the boys and their older companions had been in many
perilous situations; but no adventure promised to end more tragically
than this flight of the huge airship. The descent of the _Snowbird_,
punctuated by the rifle shot below, seemed likely to be fatal to them
all.
"What kind of people can they be?" gasped Mark. "They are trying to
shoot us."
"Give me my rifle! I'll show 'em!" exclaimed the old hunter.
"You'll do nothing of the kind, Andy," commanded Professor Henderson.
"Do not make a bad matter worse by yielding to your passions."
A second shot was fired by those upon the ground; but the bullet went
wide of the mark. Jack shouted:
"We are drawing away from them. Look out! we all but hit that tree!"
"Steady, Jack," admonished the professor. "We'll be down in a minute,
my lads. Cling to anything handy. She will bounce some, but I believe
we shall not be injured." The calmness of the aged scientist would
have shamed the others into some semblance of order, were it needed;
but both the boys were courageous, Andy Sudds did not know fear, and
if Washington White was in a panic of terror, he did not get in the
way of the others to hamper their movements.
The _Snowbird_ was fluttering over the ground like a wounded bird,
while so black were their surroundings that none of the party could
distinguish anything of nearby objects. The clouds had broken but
little, and only for a moment.
"She's down!" suddenly shouted Mark Sampson, and the flying machine
jounced on its rubber-tired wheels, and then struck the ground again
almost immediately.
Mark leaped down on one side and Andy Sudds on the other. Instantly,
relieved of their weight, the flying machine was carried on again and
Mark and Andy were thrown to the ground.
Perhaps that was well, for several rifles were again fired behind them
and they heard the bullets whistle above their heads.
"Low bridge, Mark!" cried the old hunter, meaning for the boy to keep
close to the earth. "I've got my gun."
"Don't fire on them, Andy," responded young Sampson, remembering the
professor's warning. "We don't know who they are or what they mean by
their actions."
"We don't want to be shot down without making any fight; do we?" cried
Andy.
"Let us escape without a fight if possible," urged the cautious youth,
feeling sure that Professor Henderson would approve of this advice.
But the pounding of many feet approaching over the rising
ground--evidently, as Mr. Henderson had said, the foothills of the
mountain range--warned Mark and the hunter to keep still. In the partial
light they saw a group of tall men, all armed, running past them in
the direction the wounded _Snowbird_ had been blown.
"Hush!" whispered Andy. "Indians!"
Mark had seen their long hair and beardless faces, and believed the
hunter was right. The enemy were dressed in clothing of skins and were
without hats. Yet Mark knew that the Indians of Alaska were much
different from the savages of the western territories of the United
States. He did not believe these Alaskan aborigines would attack white
men.
It was growing lighter about them every moment. The lad and the tall
hunter arose and stood listening for a further alarm--or for some cry
from their comrades in the flying machine.
As the light increased they saw that they were in a grove of huge
trees. Somehow the _Snowbird_ had fluttered away through these forest
monarchs and was now out of sight.
"I wonder what's happened to them?" gasped Mark.
"Them Indians haven't attacked yet," growled Andy Sudds. "If they begin
to shoot we'll know which way to go, and we'll foller them."
But the first sound they heard came from behind them. There was the
crash of heavy footsteps and a big man suddenly came panting up the
slope. Cold as it was, his shirt was open at the neck, he was
bare-headed, and he had not stopped to pull on his boots when he arose
from his bed. In his right hand he carried a battered "fish-horn," and
without seeing Mark and Andy he stopped and put this instrument to his
lips, blowing a blast that made his eyes bulge and his cheeks turn
purple.
"Hold on, Mister!" ejaculated the hunter. "What you got to sell? Or
be you callin' the cows?"
"Mercy on me!" cried the fat man, and in a high, squeaky voice that
seemed to be a misfit for his huge body. "I am sure I'm glad to meet
you. You must have just arrived," and he squinted at the strangely
clad hunter and his boy companion, for Mark wore a helmet with ear-tabs.
"We just landed, that's sure," admitted Andy. "From an airship, I
fancy," exclaimed the other. "That is what is the matter with my Aleuts,
then. They never have seen such a thing as an airship, I'll be bound.
Have they hurt any of your party?"
"I don't know," Mark said, hastily. "If you are in command of those
Indians, call them off, please. There are three of our party somewhere
with the flying machine, and the Indians have been shooting at them."
"I'll try it," declared the man, instantly. "I can usually call them
together with this horn," and he raised it to his lips again and blew
another mighty blast.
"I have had this bunch of Aleuts six months," he explained, when he
got his breath again. "They are good workers, but as superstitious as
you can imagine. They are particularly shaky just now, for a number
of queer things have happened lately in these parts. There is a volcano
somewhere in action--we had a storm of ashes a week ago. And night
before last there was a positive earth-shock."
"You seem like a pretty intelligent man," grunted Andy Sudds, in his
blunt way. "What are you doing up here in this heaven-forsaken country?"
"Why, I am an oil hunter," said the fat man, simply. "A _what_?"
repeated Andy and Mark together.
"Oil hunter. My name is Phineas Roebach, and I am in the employ of the
Universal Oil Company. I am here--as I have been in many lands--boring
for petroleum. You understand that my mission is semi-secret. If we
find oil here we shall obtain a grant from the Government, or something
like that."
Just at that moment Mark Sampson was not particularly interested in
the odd-looking Mr. Roebach or his business.
"Blow your horn again, sir," he begged. "Call off your Indians. They
may shoot our friends."
"If your party is all dressed as peculiarly as yourself, young sir,"
said Phineas Roebach, "my Aleuts could scarcely be blamed for taking
a pot shot at them."
Then he blew the horn mightily for the third time.