THE START.
The following morning dawned clear, and bright, and still. It was a day
made to order, so far as aëroplane flying was concerned.
Matt and his cowboy chum spent the night at the post. Before turning
in, Matt got into sou'wester, slicker, and rubber boots and churned his
way down to the aëroplane tent to see how Ping and the machine were
getting along.
Everything was all right, and the heavy, water-proofed canvas was
turning the rain nicely. Ping was in love with the _Comet_, and could
be counted on to guard it as the apple of his eye.
"As fine a morning for your start as one could wish for," observed
Cameron, with a note of regret in his voice, as he, and Matt, and
McGlory came out of the mess hall and started along the board walk that
edged the parade ground.
"I'm sorry, old chap, we can't take you with us," said Matt, "but the
_Comet_ is hardly a passenger craft, you know."
"What will you do with Prebbles, if he's well enough to go?"
"We'll let Ping come with you by train. Prebbles doesn't weigh much
more than the Chinaman."
"Suppose Prebbles doesn't care to risk his neck in the machine?"
"I don't think he'll make any objection. However, we'll go to your
quarters and make sure of that, right now. How did he pass the night?"
"Slept well, so O'Hara said. He was still sleeping when a private
relieved the sergeant. McGlory," and here the lieutenant turned to the
cowboy, "do you feel as much like flying, this morning, as you did last
night?"
"Not half so much, Cameron," answered McGlory, with a tightening of
his jaws, "but you couldn't keep me out of that flyin' machine with a
shotgun. If we join a circus as air navigators, I've got to get used to
flying, and I might as well begin right now."
"All right," answered the disappointed lieutenant, "I'll go by train."
The doctor was with Prebbles when Cameron and the boys reached the
lieutenant's quarters. What is more, the doctor's face was graver than
it had been the preceding afternoon. The old man was throwing himself
around on the bed and muttering incoherently.
"Delirious," said the doctor, examining a temperature thermometer;
"temperature a hundred and three, and he's as wild as a loon. Newt,
Newt, Newt--that's the trend of his talk. You can't understand him,
now, but he was talking plain enough when I got here."
"Is the sickness serious?" asked Matt.
"Pneumonia. Know what that is, don't you, Matt? It's hard enough on a
person with a good constitution, but in a case like this, where the
powers of resistance are almost exhausted, the end is pretty nearly a
foregone conclusion. However, we're taking the trouble right at the
beginning, and there's a chance I may break it up."
"Get a good nurse for him," said Matt, "and see that he gets all the
care possible. The poor old chap was a good friend of mine, once, and
I'll bear all the expense."
"Never mind that, Matt," spoke up Cameron. "If Murgatroyd is caught,
because of the tip he gave us, the government will be owing Prebbles a
lot of money."
Suddenly the old man sat up in bed, his eyes wide and staring vacantly,
his arms stretched out in front of him and his hands beating together.
His voice grew clear and distinct, echoing through the room with weird
shrillness.
"At the cross, at the cross, there I first saw the light,
And the burden from my heart rolled away!
It was there by faith I received my sight,
And now I'm happy all the day!"
One verse was all. Spent with the effort, Prebbles dropped back on the
pillow and continued his whispered muttering.
"It's one of those Salvation Army songs," observed the doctor.
"He thought he was marching and playing the cymbals," said Matt, in a
low tone.
"Too bad!" exclaimed McGlory, shaking his head.
"Do all you can for him, doctor," urged Matt.
"I will, of course," was the answer, "but you may be able to do more
for him than any one else, Matt."
"How so?"
"Why, by bringing back that scalawag son of his. That's the one thing
the old man needs. If we can show Prebbles the boy, and make him
realize that he's here, and sorry for the past, it will do a world of
good."
"I'll bring him!" declared Matt, his voice vibrant with feeling.
"Prebbles said this business would make or break him; and, as the work
is on my shoulders now, it's make or break for me. Come on, Joe!"
He turned from the room, followed by McGlory and Cameron. Out of the
post went the three, and down the hill and past the post trader's
store, the king of the motor boys saying not a word; but, when the
shelter tent was in sight, he turned to his companions.
"It's mighty odd," said he, "how chances to do a little good in
the world will sometimes come a fellow's way. Through that rascal,
Murgatroyd, I was led into giving a helping hand to Mrs. Traquair; and
here, through the same man, I've a chance to help Prebbles."
"And you can bet your moccasins we'll help him," declared McGlory,
"even though we lose that circus contract. Hey, pard?"
"We will!" answered Matt.
Ping had cooked himself a mess of rice on a camp stove near the
shelter tent. He was just finishing his rations when the boys and the
lieutenant came up.
"We're going out in the aëroplane to-day, Ping," announced Matt.
"Allee light," said the Chinaman, wiping off his chop sticks and
slipping them into his blouse.
"You and McGlory are going with me," went on Matt.
The yellow face glowed, and the slant eyes sparkled.
"Hoop-a-la!" exulted Ping. "By Klismus, my likee sail in Cloud Joss!"
"I wish I had that heathen's nerve," muttered the cowboy. "It's plumb
scandalous the way the joy bubbles out of him. All his life he's been
glued to _terra firma_, same as me, but, from the way he acts, you'd
think he'd spent most of his time on the wing. But mebby he's only
running in a rhinecaboo, and will dive into his wannegan as soon as
we're ready to take a running start and climb into the air. We'll see."
"Pump up the bicycle tires, Joe," said Matt. "Get them good and hard.
Ping," and Matt pointed to the haversack of provender McGlory had
brought from the post, "stow that back of the seat on the lower wing.
We may be gone two or three days."
"And mebby we'll be cut off in our youth and bloom and never come
back," observed McGlory, grabbing the air pump. "This is Matt's make
and break," he grinned grewsomely; "we make an ascent and break our
bloomin' necks. But who cares? We're helping a neighbor."
Ping crooned happily as he set about securing the haversack. He'd have
jumped on a streak of chain lightning, if Matt had been going along
with him to make the streak behave.
The _Comet_ had two gasoline tanks, and both of these were full. The
oil cups were also brimming, and there was a reserve supply to be drawn
on in case of need.
Matt went over the machine carefully, as he always did before a flight,
making sure that everything was tight and shipshape, and in perfect
running order.
Even if anything went wrong with the motor, and the propeller ceased to
drive the aëroplane ahead, there would have been no accident. The broad
wings, or planes, would have glided down the air like twin parachutes
and landed the flyers safely.
Cameron, having manfully smothered his disappointment, lent his hearty
aid in getting the boys ready for the start. The machine, at the
beginning of the flight, had to be driven forward on the bicycle wheels
until the air under the wings offered sufficient resistance to lift
the craft. A speed of thirty miles an hour was sufficient to carry the
flying machine off the ground and launch it skyward.
But there was disappointment in store for the boys. The three, seated
on the lower plane, Matt at the levers, tried again and again to send
the machine fast enough along the muddy road to give it the required
impetus to lift it. But the road was too heavy.
The trick of fortune caused Ping to gabble and jabber furiously, but
McGlory watched and waited with passive willingness to accept whatever
was to come.
"I guess you'll have to give up, Matt," said Cameron. "The road's too
soft and you can't get a start."
Matt looked at the prairie alongside the road. The grass was short, and
the springy turf seemed to offer some chance for a getaway.
"We'll try it there," said he, pointing to the trailside. "Give us a
boost off the road, Cameron, and then start us."
The lieutenant assisted the laboring bicycle wheels to gain the
roadside, and then pushed the machine straight off across the prairie.
Matt threw every ounce of power into the wheels.
Usually the air ship took to wing in less than a hundred yards, but
now the distance consumed by the start was three times that. For two
hundred feet Cameron kept up and pushed; then the _Comet_ went away
from him at a steadily increasing pace. Finally the wheels lifted.
Quick as thought, Matt shifted the power to the propeller. The _Comet_
dropped a little, then caught herself just as the wheels were brushing
the grass and forged upward.
"Hoop-a-la!" cried Ping.
McGlory said nothing. His face was set, his eyes gleaming, and he was
hanging to his seat with both hands.