THE WRECKED BALLOON.
“It’s sinking right along, isn’t it, Hugh?” exclaimed Bud in an awed
tone, as he kept his eyes fastened on the strange object that had so
unexpectedly dawned upon their vision.
As it happened that the trees grew sparsely in that quarter, they were
able to watch the approach of the sky traveler in his disabled balloon.
All of the boys took it for granted that he must have ascended at some
fair ground, and met with an accident that had prevented a return to
earth under normal conditions.
“There’s no question about that,” the patrol leader replied to Bud’s
question; “and now it is easy to see that there is a man in that
wobbling basket.”
“Yes, and as you said, he’s making motions to us to do something,” added
Arthur, as he hurriedly opened his camera and prepared to take a
snapshot of the balloon.
“What can we do to help him, Hugh?” Billy demanded, apparently ready to
dash forward at headlong speed if only the order came from the patrol
leader.
“Nothing just now, the way things stand,” came the reply. “He is coming
as straight toward us as if we had a line and were pulling him. Wait
till the balloon gets here, and if there happens to be a trailing rope,
we’ll grab hold of that, and wind it around a stump or a rock to anchor
the old runaway.”
“That sounds sensible, Hugh,” admitted Billy, always ready to agree with
the leader.
“Look at the thing swing up and down, will you?” cried Bud. “Boys, it
will be a lucky thing for the professor if he gets out of that scrape
with his life. As for me, you’d have to ring the bell lots of times
before I’d go up a mile high in one of those flimsy silk bags. Wow! did
you see how close it came to that tall tree right then? That would have
done the business, I reckon. And there are lots more of the same kind
ahead of him yet.”
“Do you see a trailing rope, boys?” asked Hugh. “Sometimes they let one
down and have a weight on it for a drag anchor. Seems to me I can
glimpse something of the kind now and then.”
“You’re right, Hugh, it’s there!” ejaculated Arthur, who had already
snapped off one view of the advancing balloon.
“Everybody get ready to lay hold and fight like everything to check the
runaway,” Billy remarked, squaring himself for action in a way he had,
just as if he expected to enter a contest of skill and endurance with a
prize at stake.
“Isn’t she rising again?” shrilled the excited Bud anxiously.
“Course not, Bud,” Billy told him; “you’re just imagining things again!
Hugh, give us a tip if there’s any chance of the old balloon slipping
past to one side!”
“Spread out a little, fellows, like a fan; that’s all we need do,” the
patrol leader directed. “It looks to me as if we were in the direct line
of her flight, and if the wind doesn’t change or a sudden flaw strike
in, why, inside of two minutes we’ll either have grabbed that rope or
missed connections.”
“Oh! don’t let us make a foozle of it like that!” exclaimed Arthur, who
sometimes played golf with an uncle who was very fond of the sport.
He had not dropped his camera, for he meant to take another snapshot
when the oncoming balloon had reached a certain large tree that he had
selected and for which he had set his focus.
It was this same tree that Hugh was observing with more or less concern.
He feared that should there prove to be only a little slant of wind that
way, it might catch the drifting balloon and bring about a terrible
catastrophe.
As it was, the escape must be a narrow one, for the balloon was heading
so as barely to pass the obstruction. And just then, to Hugh’s dismay,
he actually felt a puff of air on his right cheek! Up to that moment,
the breeze had been coming directly from a quarter in front; but this
variation would seem to indicate that a “flaw” could be expected. In
mountainous regions there is never any reliance to be placed on the
wind, which may seem to blow from half a dozen points of the compass in
as many minutes, owing, of course, to the gullies and defiles and cliffs
that obstruct a free passage.
“Hugh, she’s veering!” shouted Bud.
“And starting to head straight for that other big tree there, too!”
yelped Billy, in turn.
If any one could have seen those boys at that moment, he would surely
have realized what an intense interest they were taking in the advance
of the drifting balloon and its ill-fated aeronaut. Every face had lost
its color, and every eye was bright with excitement.
Now the body of the tree in question was almost in line with the spot
where the boys were standing, and were the balloon so lucky as to clear
this obstacle, it might pass close enough for these agile lads to race
over and make a try for the dangling drag rope.
Hugh himself began to believe it was going to prove otherwise; and that
after safely passing through all sorts of other perils, the man who had
been a sky pilot was fated to be thrown out of his basket by a collision
with that miserable tall and bushy tree that blocked the way.
Still, none of them dared make a start, until they saw what would
happen. They could do nothing to prevent a collision; and should there
be none, they wanted to remain where they were, so as to be ready for
the rescue act that they had quickly planned.
Already the drifting balloon was close to the tree, and seemed to be
setting toward it more and more, just as though there might be a great
magnet attracting it; or, as Billy later on described it, “It was like a
silly moth plunging straight for a lighted candle that was sure to singe
its wings.”
Just as the collision actually came, all of the boys seemed to hold
their very breath with awe. Arthur, however, having that instinct for
securing all manner of strange pictures, mechanically raised his camera
and prepared to take another snapshot view at the most critical second.
They could all plainly hear the dreadful scraping sound as the balloon
dragged through the treetop. The silken covering must have been badly
torn in its passage, for the rush of escaping gas came to the ears of
the scouts, and they could see how quickly the immense bag began to
collapse after it had dragged away from the tree.
“Come on, boys; we’ve got to get there in a big hurry!” exclaimed Hugh,
as he started running with might and main, the others trooping after
him. Arthur, of course, brought up the rear, since he had been compelled
to snatch up certain parts of his photographic outfit from the ground
where he had dropped them.
The balloon was rapidly falling to the ground, the basket being more or
less enveloped in the voluminous folds of the immense silk bag.
Indeed, before the boys could reach the spot, the whole fabric had
collapsed and grounded there, coming down with such force that it would
seem as though the unfortunate pilot must either have been killed
outright or at least suffered serious injuries.
In the latter case, perhaps the scouts might find themselves called upon
to show “first aid to the injured.” Indeed, on a number of other
occasions they had proved themselves apt pupils in the art; and it would
be a lucky thing for the balloonist, should he be badly hurt, that
fortune had allowed him to fall into the hands of trained boys. Ignorant
countrymen would let him bleed to death, simply through a lack of
knowledge of the essential things that should be promptly done.
Hugh led the van, with Billy a close second, while Bud kept pretty close
at the latter’s heels. And in this manner they arrived at the place
where the remains of the wrecked balloon lay in a great pile.
“Get busy, everybody!” called the patrol leader excitedly. “He might be
smothered if he lay under that stuff long, with its smell of gas!”
“Whew! isn’t it rank, though?” gasped Billy, as he tugged away at the
folds of the heavy silk gas envelope, and fell several times while
struggling to lift more than his share of the burden.
Then Bud arrived to lend his assistance; and the way those three boys
struggled to turn the entire mass over was worth seeing. Arthur was
struck with the possibilities for a new picture as he saw them fighting
with the remnants of the once great balloon; and obedient to his
instinct, he halted and busied himself getting the proper focus.
The “click” of his camera told Hugh what had happened; but just then he
made a discovery that put both Arthur and his propensity for securing
“worth-while” pictures out of his mind.
As he feverishly worked alongside the other two scouts, Hugh had
expected at any second to uncover the white face of the aeronaut, lying
there where he might have fainted at receiving such hard treatment. And
the patrol leader had kept his jaws set very tight, so that he might be
prepared for any pitiful sight.
His surprise had rapidly grown as they had neared the end of the pile of
crumpled silk, and without discovering the first sign of a human being.
“Why, Hugh, he isn’t here, after all!” cried Billy, in what must be
confessed was a relieved tone of voice, as though he, too, might have
been dreading what they might presently uncover.
“We all of us got fooled, that’s what!” added Bud, trying to laugh,
though the effort sounded a bit hysterical.
“What’s all that?” demanded Arthur, who had arrived just in time to hear
this last remark.
“Why, there wasn’t any man in the basket after all, don’t you see?”
Billy explained, indicating how they had carefully gone over the entire
pile of wreckage, even overturning the basket, as though it might have
hidden something.
“That’s where you’re mistaken, then, because I saw him as plain as
anything,” the newcomer asserted, and Arthur could be pretty stubborn
when he wished.
“All right, then, get busy and find him, if you can,” Bud told him. “We
throw up the job, don’t we, fellows? Hello! what’s Hugh going to do
now?” Their attention being called to the leader by this remark from
Bud, the others saw that Hugh had hurried back and up the rise a little.
Presently he stopped, and seemed to be looking earnestly toward the
crest of the big tree, about where the basket of the runaway balloon had
crashed through when that flaw came in the wind.
The other scouts stared hard, as they began to comprehend what this act
on the part of their leader might mean; and presently they were thrilled
to hear Hugh call out:
“Boys, there _was_ a man in the basket, and he’s caught fast in the tree
near the very top! Yes, and he lies there as if he might be dead, or
else had swooned away!”