FREE AND AFLOAT AT LAST
This is what had happened.
At the time of the rain storm, two days before, Buck and his
cavalcade were in camp on the bank of the dry Chusco, sixty miles
north of Clarkeville. The experienced scout knew that a water
supply was now assured, and he at once followed prearranged orders
by instructing Bob to return with the smaller wagon. This was a sad
blow to the young reporter, but it was a part of his contract and he
knew that it was his duty to obey. And with necessity before him,
he acted promptly. Emptying the heavy casks, Bob started on the
back trail at five the following morning, and by night had made
thirty miles with the light wagon. All day he wondered if it might
not be possible to reach Clarkeville again before the Cibola sailed.
The next morning, spurred on by the hope that he might do this, he
started at daybreak. By the middle of the morning he was on the old
wagon trail and making better time. Some time after two o'clock he
came up over the rise of the last foothills and saw, eight miles
away, the glistening shape which he at once knew was the inflated
balloon. He hesitated a moment and then, unhitching the horses,
mounted one bareback and began a dash for the town. The animals
were tired and worn, and progress was slow, but it beat walking, and
Bob urged them on.
As the young reporter came nearer and the balloon grew more distinct
he knew that it would be a close call. From time to time as the
winded horses dropped into a walk Bob wondered why he was making
such a race. "I can't go with them," he argued. But, like the
trained reporter, he decided that no effort was wasted that gave him
new information. And it was something out of the ordinary to see
the most complete balloon ever made start on a mysterious flight
into the wilderness.
So he spurred up the horses anew. The hot sun reflected from the
yellow sands burnt his face and his muscles were sore, but he stuck
to it. When half a mile from the town he could see the boys on the
bridge of the Cibola. When a quarter of a mile away he decided that
he could beat the horses by going afoot, and, throwing himself to
the ground, he ran onward, knowing that the tired animals would
follow. Out of breath he reached the edge of the town and stumbled
on toward the corral.
With head down he plunged forward. Almost at his goal he threw his
head up for breath just in time to notice a kneeling man with a
rifle at his shoulder.
"Hey!" yelled Bob with what breath he had.
Then he saw that the man was aiming directly at the balloon swaying
above the nearby corral fence. He also recognized the man instantly
as one of the sullen court spectators, and Jellup's crony. The
rifleman dropped the muzzle of his gun and turned.
"I guess I am something of a gun man," explained Bob later to the
boys, "for I had that new revolver of mine on the 'greaser' before I
knew what I was doing myself. I didn't even then realize what he
was about to do. But I had the drop on him and when I figured out
that he meant to put a hole in the balloon, why, I just had him
right. And here he is."
Alan looked at Ned. Both boys were puzzled. A few moment's talk
with Russell explained the whole situation. The balloon was ready
and the relief expedition was undoubtedly now in camp awaiting them.
It needed only the words and they would be off with the inquisitive
reporter left safely behind. And yet the word did not come. Ned
and Alan stood looking at Bob, and the reporter gazed in turn at the
beautiful straining car. Bob's face was a study. He had now made
some return to Ned for possibly saving his own life, but none of the
boys was thinking of that. In Bob's fine young face was the longing
of a child. In Ned's and Alan's faces were the traces of boyish
sympathy.
The young aeronauts were very close to each other and all were
silent. Then Alan turned slowly to Ned and with a little quaver in
his voice whispered, "Shall we?"
Ned made no answer. A smile lit up his face and he sprang down the
little ladder into the engine cabin followed by his chum. Almost
instantly the trap door in the floor of the car dropped down. A
moment later three fifty-pound sacks of ballast tumbled through the
door to the ground beneath. The bag tugged and strained as Ned
reappeared above.
"Hurry up, Bob, if you're going with us," he said quietly, leaning
over the net of the bridge, "and close the door as you come up."
Bob hesitated, as if he had not heard aright, but then he
understood, and with tears in his eyes be sprang forward. There was
a jar and Ned knew the new passenger was aboard.
"All ready?" he called sharply from the bridge.
"Aye, aye, captain," came in a choking but jubilant voice from the
inside of the cabin.
"Stand by, everybody," sharply ordered Ned. And then, as Bob's
shoulders appeared through the hatchway, the commander of the air
ship gave a final look about.
"Let go all," he cried sharply. "Everybody!"
For a moment only one clinging workman careened the buoyant craft
and then, straight up, the Cibola bounded like a rubber ball.
"Good-bye, all," came from Ned, cap in hand, as he leaned from the
bridge.
There were cheers from below and the Cibola was at last free and
afloat.
"Sit down here and keep quiet," sharply ordered Ned as Bob crawled
out on deck. Then the commander of the balloon disappeared below.
There were almost immediately several sharp, muffled explosions, and
then the white propeller began to turn. The balloon was drifting
quickly toward the northwest and rising--Bob could see its shadow
following on the sandy plain. Then the arms of the propeller turned
faster and faster and a velvet whirr in the cabin showed that the
engine was falling to work. As the propeller blades settled into a
steady hum the vibration of the car indicated increased speed. This
Bob could also detect from the more swiftly flying shadow.
The shadow was also growing smaller, and this meant that the Cibola
was still ascending. Now the shadow paused and turned. Alan had
thrown the rudder over and the balloon had responded instantly. The
aeroplane arms stretched out horizontally on each side of the car.
Ned, reappearing, took a quick look at the altitude gauge and again
disappeared. The aeroplane arms dipped in front almost forty-five
degrees and the current, blown back by the propeller, struck them
with a jar. The craft again responded and slowly took a downward
slant.
Propeller, rudder and aeroplane being at work, Ned again appeared.
"Go below," he ordered sharply, "and bear a hand when needed."
Bob did so. Alan was on the pilot platform with his hands on the
wheel controlling the rudder wires. His eyes were fixed straight
ahead.
"See that lever," he said, jerking his head to the left.
Bob quickly discovered the aeroplane guider control and sprang to
it.
"Wait for orders," added Alan.