Transcriber’s Notes
Obvious typographical errors have been silently corrected. Variations
in hyphenation have been standardised but all other spelling and
punctuation remains unchanged.
Italics are represented thus _italic_.
FRANK READE, JR., IN CENTRAL AMERICA.
The subscription Price of the FRANK READE LIBRARY by the year is $2.50:
$1.25 per six months, post-paid. Address FRANK TOUSEY, PUBLISHER, 34
and 36 North Moore Street. Box 2730.
FRANK READE, JR.,
With His New Steam Man in Central America.
By “NONAME,”
Author of “Frank Reade, Jr., With His New Steam Man in No Man’s Land;
or, On a Mysterious Trail,” etc., etc.
CHAPTER I.
A STRANGE STORY FROM YUCATAN.
Frank Reade, Jr., the distinguished inventor of many wonderful
machines, and particularly the new Steam Man, sat in his library one
winter’s day reading a newspaper.
His wife sat near him engaged in some light needle work. She looked up
to see a peculiar expression upon her husband’s handsome face.
“Well, that is strange,” exclaimed Frank Reade, Jr., with a whistle of
surprise. “I am positive that is my old friend, Buckden, whom I knew
at college. Upon my word, this breaks me all up.”
“What is it, Frank?” asked Mrs. Reade, with interest.
“Why, Tony Buckden, an old college mate of mine, it seems has turned
his wits to mining engineering. This has taken him down to Central
America, to Yucatan, and a cablegram has just been received in New
York, stating that Tony had become separated from his party and lost in
the jungle. For six weeks he was searched for in vain.”
“How terrible.”
“It is more than likely that he has fallen a prey to wild beasts. Yet
his father, the millionaire, Thomas Buckden, of New York, comes out
with an offer of $50,000 to the person who will furnish positive proof
that his son is alive, and bring him safely home.”
“That is a large reward,” ventured Mrs. Reade. “I hope somebody will
win it.”
“Poor Tony!” exclaimed Frank, with emotion. “I declare I almost feel
it my duty to go to his rescue.”
“What! leave home again so soon?”
“Yet what is my duty, dear wife? It would seem that my dear friend’s
life is at stake. Ought I not to sacrifice something to save him?”
“What? You don’t really think of going yourself?”
“I don’t know,” replied Frank, agitatedly pacing the floor. “I don’t
see who else can go and stand the rigors of that climate, dare the
dangers of the jungle, the wild beasts and natives, and succeed in
rescuing Tony.”
“Are you sure that you can do it?”
“Ought I not to be reasonably sure? Have I not the Steam Man? Barney
and Pomp I am sure would go with me.”
“I hope you will not be so foolish as to go.”
“I cannot say yet, my dear. I must satisfy myself completely that it
is my duty. But I think I will walk down to the shop and see the Steam
Man.”
Frank bent down and kissed his wife and children and then left the
house.
But just as he was going down the steps the mail carrier handed him a
letter. Thus it was superscribed:
“TO FRANK READE JR.,
READESTOWN, U. S. A.”
Frank glanced at the foreign postmark and then broke the seal and read:
“DEAR FRIEND FRANK—I have been thinking of you of late and so feel
constrained to write you. Moreover, I have a big scheme in which I
want to interest you. While at Campeachy I fell in with a native
trader from Valladolid. I was fortunate enough to do him a service and
gain his friendship, and as a reward he accorded me a most astonishing
tale and secret.
“He told me of his travels in the interior through jungle and swamp
and forest. Also of the deadly animals and reptiles, the poisonous
insects, and all the great dangers and pitfalls of the traveler in
those latitudes.
“But more than this, he told me a wonderful story of a ruined city far
up in the inaccessible table-lands of Tanada.
“No doubt you are familiar with the accounts of the ancient cities of
Palonque and others. Well, I imagine that this ruined city, Mazendla
he called it, is one of the same sort.
“But Metlo, which is the name of my informant, described a vast temple
in which he said there was vast treasures of gold, silver and jewels.
But ever since discovered this temple has been a perfect nest of
gigantic anacondas, and none of the natives have ever ventured into
the place.
“Only one man ever lived to get out of the place, and he brought forth
enough gold and jewels to insure his wealth for life.
“And there to-day lies untold wealth all in the possession of the
anacondas.
“Many attempts have been made by the natives to destroy the snakes. A
great body of men once attempted it. Six of the snakes were killed,
but there seemed to be fully half a hundred left. The place seemed
alive with them, and a dozen men falling victims to the monsters the
attempt was abandoned.
“From that day to this no attempt has been made to recover the wealth.
Metlo told me that no white man ever visited the region.
“The journey thither is a dangerous one on account of beasts and
poisonous reptiles. Yet I believe it can be made. I have thought of
you and your wonderful Steam Man and I feel sure that with the aid of
you and your wonderful invention the treasure can be recovered.
“Now, Frank, I humbly beg of you if possible come down here and embark
in this enterprise with me.
“Of course I have plenty of money, my father being a millionaire, but
I have a powerful desire to visit the ruined city of Mazendla and do
battle with those anacondas.
“I can do it alone, but I can succeed better with the aid of your
Steam Man. As a favor I beg of you to write me at once to Campeachy.
And now, my dear Frank, hoping to hear from you soon and favorably, I
am as ever your friend.
TONY BUCKDEN.”
Frank Reade, Jr., drew a deep breath as he finished reading this
stirring epistle.
His eyes shone like stars and his whole being was stirred up.
It was certainly just the kind of a trip he would fancy. His
adventurous spirit was fired and he muttered:
“That is a new field to explore. Ah! I would like to try it. But let
me see! This letter has been coming by lazy stages and has been three
weeks on the way. The cablegram was received a few days ago. Since then
he has become lost in the jungle. Poor Tony! He must be rescued, and
who is there to do it but me?”
Frank passed down the street in deep abstraction of mind.
The wind was chill and piercing, and there was snow in the air, as well
as on the ground.
Suddenly around a corner came a man on the dead run.
But as his feet struck a bit of ice, they went out from under him, and
he went sliding clear across the sidewalk and into a vast snow bank.
He was literally buried, but quickly dug himself out, spluttering and
jawing like mad.
“I jes’ pays yo’ back fo’ dat, I’ish. Yo’ jes’ stop yo’ foolin’ wif dis
chile, or yo’ gits inter trubbel right away. Jes’ yo’ hear dat.”
“Whurroo! Bejabers, it’s a foine looking naygur yez are now. Ha, ha,
ha! Yez would pass for a Santa Claus now to be shure. It’s nearer white
yez are than yez iver will be agin.”
The victim of the snow bank, who, as the reader may have guessed, was
a negro, dug the snow from his ears and eyes with supreme rage and
disgust.
His companion was an Irishman, as his rich brogue would indicate. They
had been having a lark at snow-balling, and the Irishman was chasing
the negro around the corner when he took his fall.
It required but a glance for Frank Reade, Jr., to recognize the
skylarkers.
They were faithful servitors of his, and were named Barney and Pomp.
They were a legacy from Frank’s father, and in all the famous young
inventor’s travels these servants had accompanied him.
Nobody could be more attached to a master than they were to Frank.
And now, as they caught sight of him approaching, they straightened up
and both doffed their hats.
“I’se done glad to see yo’, Marse Frank.”
“I hope yez air well, Misther Frank.”
“Barney and Pomp!” cried Frank, eagerly. “You are just the fellows I
want to see.”
“Whurroo!” shouted Barney. “We’re ready for anythin’, Misther Frank,
from a shindy to a ruction.”
“I don’t doubt it,” replied Frank with a smile. “But here’s a letter
you may read, and tell me what you think of it.”
“A letther!” gasped Barney.
He took the missive, and with Pomp at his shoulder, it was read by
both. Frank watched them intently.
It was evident that the letter had made a powerful impression upon them.
“Well!” said Frank, when they had finished. “What do you think of it?”
“Be jabers I’d loike nothing betther than a go at some av them forty
foot snakes. Shure it’s a foine thrip that would be fer ther Stheam
Man, Misther Frank.”
“Ki dar, Marse Frank!” cried Pomp, with eyes big as moons. “Kain’t say
dis chile likes snakes, but yo’ kin jes’ bet he’d like to go dar jes’
de same.”
“Good!” cried Frank, “then if I conclude to go, you’ll be all ready?”
“Yo kin jes’ bet we will.”
“Make no doubt av that.”
“All right,” said Frank, buttoning his coat closer, “be in readiness
for I may decide to go.”
The young inventor went on down the street.
In a few moments he came to the entrance of the big yards of the Reade
Machine Shop.
Here at the entrance was the sumptuously furnished office. Frank
entered, and an elderly patrician-looking gentleman who was pacing the
floor, excitedly rushed up to him, crying:
“Are you Mr. Frank Reade, Jr.?”
“I am,” replied Frank.
“Thank God you have come at last! Here is my card.”
Frank took it and read:
“THOMAS BUCKDEN, NEW YORK CITY.”
“Indeed!” exclaimed the young inventor, affably. “I am glad to welcome
you here, Mr. Buckden. I believe I know your son well, and——”
“Oh, then you remember him well,” cried the old gentleman, excitedly.
“Thank Heaven for that! It will perhaps influence you to accede to the
request I have to make. Oh, have—have you heard about my son?”
“I have heard that your son at last accounts had become lost in the
jungle,” replied Frank.
“Yes, yes, but we believe that he has been captured and held a
prisoner by a wild tribe of savages known in that vicinity as the
Tanadas.”
“It is quite likely.”
“God grant it may be so. Oh, sir, listen to an agonized father’s
prayers. They tell me that you have the necessary equipments and are
the only man who can go into those wilds and rescue my boy. Now I am a
wealthy man and will pay——”
“Stop!” said Frank, imperatively. “Do not speak to me of pay! I knew
your son; he was my college friend. I am only too glad to be able to
go to his aid. I will say this much—that before three days I shall
start from New Orleans with my Steam Man on board a special steamer for
Campeachy. You may if you choose see to the chartering of the steamer.”
“A fleet if you wish it!” cried Mr. Buckden. “Oh, accept my deepest
gratitude, Mr. Reade, and—bring my boy safely back.”
“I will try,” replied Frank.
“God bless you! But this wonderful Steam Man—I have never seen it.”
“Come with me and I will be glad to show it to you,” said Frank.
The young inventor led the way into a high roofed chamber with large
doors which opened out into the yard.
Here was a sight such as Mr. Buckden had never seen the like of.
Standing in the center of the huge chamber was the Steam Man, the
wonder of the century.
Since his western trip Frank had had the Man thoroughly repaired, and
he was now in perfect condition to go out upon a trip.
“What do you think of him?” asked Frank.
“Simply wonderful!” replied Mr. Buckden, admiringly.
“If you will please step this way I will be glad to show you how he is
made, and how he is able to go.”
Frank led the way to the other side of the invention, and then with
pardonable pride began explicitly to illustrate the fine points of the
Steam Man.