THE FOREST OF FIRE
AFTER reading of the escape of Cosso Tobini from jail, Tom Swift
somewhat relieved the anxiety of his mind by getting in touch with the
Mt. Camon hotel on the long distance telephone and talking to Mary.
Without unduly alarming her, he told her of the escape of the madman, of
which, however, she was already aware, and begged her to be careful.
“Oh, Tom dear,” said his wife, with a little laugh that echoed musically
over the wire, “don’t worry! I’m all right. I have your own dear father
to look after me, as well as mother and dad.”
“Yes, but be careful just the same,” advised Tom. “And tell Mr. Damon to
watch out!”
“I will. But, bless my powder puff, as Mr. Damon might say, I’m sure
there is no danger. Mr. Thorndyke, the manager, told us not to worry,
that if Tobini came on the hotel grounds he would be immediately
arrested.”
“It didn’t seem to do much good to arrest that bird before,” said Tom.
“Better put him in a stronger jail next time.”
“I’ll have that attended to,” promised Mary, with a laugh. “Now tell me
about yourself and the big dirigible.”
“We’re both all right, and so is Ned,” Tom answered, not speaking of his
worries over the financing of the great airship.
“When are you coming up again, Tom?”
“Oh, pretty soon,” was the answer. “Then I’ll take a long vacation with
you and the folks.”
“That will be lovely,” his wife murmured.
Neither of them realized how soon Tom Swift would appear on the scene
nor under what tragic circumstances.
“Well, good-bye,” called Tom into the instrument. “Do you?”
“Of course I do!” said Mary earnestly. “Do you?”
“With all my heart!”
“Talking in cryptograms?” chuckled Ned.
“None of your business!” snapped Tom, and he blushed even under his coat
of tan.
The day came when the _Silver Cloud_ was to be given the most severe
test since her construction. Up to now only a skeleton crew had been
carried on the different trips, and there had not been a full load of
gas and oil. No passengers at all had been taken up, the accommodations
for the fifty that could be transported remaining vacant.
Now Tom Swift planned to go aloft with a full crew, enough gas, oil, and
other supplies as if for a ten thousand mile trip, and he would have as
his guests fifty persons from in and around Shopton. Some of the plant
executives were to be allowed to bring such members of their families as
they chose and the mayor and officials of the town were to get
invitations.
“It will be some party!” predicted Ned. “Going to serve lunch?”
“Oh, sure! I want you to ask the newspapers to send some reporters
along, if they wish, and newspaper men always like to eat.”
“Sure!” chuckled Ned. “And smoke, too. How about that? Will you permit
smoking?”
“In certain rooms, yes. But they will be insulated from the danger of
setting fire to the lifting gas. Not that it would explode like
hydrogen, but I must take no chances.”
“You’d better not if I’m going along!” warned Ned, with a laugh.
There was great excitement in Shopton when a number of the townspeople,
including the mayor and other officials, received word to assemble at
the Swift plant on a certain morning, there to go aboard the _Silver
Cloud_ for a trip through the air.
There were many who would have given a large sum to be of the selected
ones, but there were limits even to the big dirigible, though Tom
promised his many friends, who had known him since boyhood, that at a
later date he would give them all a ride.
With his various officers, Mr. Jackson, and the head workmen from the
Swift manufacturing plant, Tom Swift went carefully over every part of
the big craft. The weather reports had been collected by Mr. Larson and
there were no adverse conditions for several hundred miles around, so
Tom felt that his dirigible would give a good account of herself.
“Though I almost wish we would run into a storm,” he told Ned. “It would
give the newspaper men something to write about.”
“Some of ’em might be too sick to write,” chuckled Ned, for though the
_Silver Cloud_ was very steady at most times, it could not be denied
that she rolled and pitched in a powerful wind, and the feeling of new
passengers was somewhat akin to seasickness.
“All ready?” called Tom from the navigating cabin when all the guests
and the crew had assembled on board.
“All clear!” answered the captain of the ground crew.
“Walk her out!” Tom ordered.
The sun began to gleam on the silver-colored oralum plates of the big
dirigible.
At last she was free from the hangar, and as the young inventor began to
increase the power of the lifting gas, she tugged at her mooring and
ground ropes like some great creature eager to be free that she might
float in the blue space above.
“Let go!” cried Tom.
The ropes were cast off, the ship hesitated for a moment, seemed to
quiver like a race horse, and then went up amid the cheers of the crowd
that had gathered to see the final test.
The great propellers roared and throbbed, the nose of the _Silver Cloud_
was pointed to the north, and away she went, gathering speed every
moment until at last she was high above the throngs and like a silver
thread in the vast blue space all around her.
“Perfect!” exclaimed Ned, who, in the control cabin with Tom, had
observed the take-off.
“As nearly so as it’s possible to make her,” agreed the young inventor.
“Now, if nothing goes wrong, I’ll show this crowd and those newspaper
boys something!”
From then on the young inventor put his craft through her paces to the
limit. She shot up to a great height. She went down until it seemed as
if she must hit the earth and some of the faces went a little white. But
at the right time Tom pulled the elevating rudders and the ship went up
again, high above the clouds. Then he circled, went straight away at a
pace of over a hundred and fifty miles an hour, and, as a final stunt,
skimmed over a great lake, two hundred miles from Shopton.
There, hovering in the air like some queer balloon and with the blue
water sparkling beneath, lunch was served on board and Tom presided as
host. He was cheered to the echo.
“This is the best thing you’ve ever done, Mr. Swift,” said a New York
newspaper reporter who had seen some of Tom’s other strange machines.
“I’m glad you think so,” was the modest answer.
Tom had but one regret—that Mary and his father were not along to
witness his triumph. But he planned to have them on board later.
The trip was a success in every way. Not a mishap marred the supreme
test, and when the ship went back to her hangar that night, papers
containing reports of what had happened on board were already being sold
in Shopton. The _Silver Cloud_ carried a wireless telephone outfit that
could be tuned in to the proper instruments on the ground.
The next day’s morning papers printed pages of the wonderful success of
the _Silver Cloud_, and as Tom and Ned sat reading them in Tom’s private
office, Ned remarked casually:
“Maybe Lawrence Jardine will change his mind now, pay for this ship,
Tom, and buy her.”
“I think he’s too stubborn,” Tom remarked. “At the same time, I wish I
could sell her at a profit. I really don’t know what to do with her. But
I think it’s useless to appeal to Lawrence Jardine again. I wonder
what’s become of him, anyhow?”
Hardly had he spoken when there was the sound of an auto coming along
the road at a reckless pace. Tom and Ned saw a big machine, containing a
chauffeur and a man at the sight of whom Ned exclaimed:
“Talk of the old Nick—here’s Lawrence Jardine now! And he’s coming
here! Looks as if something was up!”
Jardine leaped from the machine as it came to such a sudden stop that
the tires shrilly protested. He rushed into Tom’s office, his face
showing some terrible emotion.
“What’s the matter?” Tom asked.
“Help!” gasped Lawrence Jardine. “The hotel at Mt. Camon is surrounded
by a forest of fire! They’ll all perish! Can’t you do something? An
airplane? My wife and children!”
He fell in a faint at Tom Swift’s feet.
“What did he say?” cried Ned, who had lingered behind Tom.
“Something about a forest on fire—at Mt. Camon!”
“The woods—dry as tinder!” exclaimed Ned. “A forest fire! But we
haven’t heard of such a thing!”
“Quick!” gasped Tom. “Get me some water. I must revive him and find out
what he means! The hotel surrounded by a forest of fire! And Mary’s
there! And dad! Mr. Jardine, wake up! Tell me more! What do you mean?”
Tom Swift fell to shaking the unconscious figure as Ned dashed back into
the office for water.