Bridging a Gap
Such surprise showed both on the face of Ned Newton and that of the man
who called himself Walter Simpson that it would be hard to say which
was in the greater degree. For a moment the newcomer stood as if he had
received all electric shock, and was incapable of motion. Then, as the
echoes of Ned's voice died away and the young bank clerk, being the
first to recover from the shock, made a motion toward the unwelcome and
uninvited intruder, Simpson exclaimed.
"I will not bother now. Some other time will do as well."
Then, with a haste that could be called nothing less than precipitate,
he made a turn and fairly shot out of the door by which he had entered
the tank.
"There he goes!" cried Mr. Damon. "Bless my speedometer, but there he
goes!"
"I'll stop him!" cried Ned. "We've got to find out more about him! I'll
get him, Tom!"
Tom Swift was not one to let a friend rush alone into what might be
danger. He realized immediately what his chum meant when he called out
the identity of the intruder, and, wishing to clear up some of the
mystery of which he became aware when Schwen was arrested and the paper
showing a correspondence with this Simpson were found, Tom darted out
to try to assist in the capture.
"He went this way!" cried Ned, who was visible in the glare of the
searchlight that still played its powerful beams over the stern of the
tank, if such an ungainly machine can be said to have a bow and stern.
"Over this way!"
"I'm with you!" cried Tom. "See if you can pick up that man who just
ran out of here!" he cried to the operator of the searchlight in the
elevated observation section of what corresponded to the conning tower
of a submarine. This was a sort of lookout box on top of the tank,
containing, among other machines, the searchlight. "Pick him up!" cried
Tom.
The operator flashed the intense white beam, like a finger of light,
around in eccentric circles, but though this brought into vivid relief
the configuration of the field and road near which the tank was
stalled, it showed no running fugitive. Tom and Ned were
observed--shadows of black in the glare--by Mary and her friends in the
tank, but there was no one else.
"Come on!" cried Ned. "We can find him, Tom!"
But this was easier said than done. Even though they were aided by the
bright light, they caught no glimpse of the man who called himself
Simpson.
"Guess he got away," said Tom, when he and Ned had circled about and
investigated many clumps of bushes, trees, stumps and other barriers
that might conceal the fugitive.
"I guess so," agreed Ned. "Unless he's hiding in what we might call a
shell crater."
"Hardly that," and Tom smiled. "Though if all goes well the men who
operate this tank later may be searching for men in real shell holes."
"Is this one going to the other side?" asked Ned, as the two walked
back toward the tank.
"I hope it will be the first of my new machines on the Western front,"
Tom answered. "But I've still got to perfect it in some details and
then take it apart. After that, if it comes up to expectations, we'll
begin making them in quantities."
"Did you get him?" asked Mr. Damon eagerly, as the two young men came
back to join Mary and her friends.
"No, he got away," Tom answered.
"Did he try to blow up the tank?" asked Mr. Nestor, who had an abnormal
fear of explosives. "Was he a German spy?"
"I think he's that, all right," said Ned grimly. "As to his endeavoring
to blow up Tom's tank, I believe him capable of it, though he didn't
try it to-night--unless he's planted a time bomb somewhere about, Tom."
"Hardly, I guess," answered the young inventor. "He didn't have a
chance to do that. Anyhow we won't remain here long. Now, Ned, what
about this chap? Is he really the one you saw up in the tree?"
"I not only saw him but I felt him," answered Ned, with a rueful look
at his fingers. "He stepped right on me. And when he came inside the
tank to-night I knew him at once. I guess he was as surprised to see me
as I was to see him."
"But what was his object?" asked Mr. Nestor.
"He must have some connection with my old enemy, Blakeson," answered
Tom, "and we know he's mixed up with Schwen. From the looks of him I
should say that this Simpson, as he calls himself, is the directing
head of the whole business. He looks to be the moneyed man, and the
brains of the plotters. Blakeson is smart, in a mechanical way, and
Schwen is one of the best machinists I've ever employed. But this
Simpson strikes me as being the slick one of the trio."
"But what made him come here, and what did he want?" asked Mary. "Dear
me! it's like one of those moving picture plots, only I never saw one
with a tank in it before--I mean a tank like yours, Tom."
"Yes, it is a bit like moving picture--especially chasing Simpson by
searchlight," agreed the young inventor. "As to what he wanted, I
suppose he came to spy out some of my secret inventions--dad's and
mine. He's probably been hiding and sneaking around the works ever
since we arrested Schwen. Some of my men have reported seeing
strangers about, but I have kept Shop Thirteen well guarded.
"However, this fellow may have been waiting outside, and he may have
followed the tank when we started off a little while ago for the night
test. Then, when he saw our mishap and noticed that we were stalled, he
came in, boldly enough, thinking, I suppose, that, as I had never seen
him, he would take a chance on getting as much information as he could
in a hurry."
"But he didn't count on Ned's being here!" chuckled Mr. Damon.
"No; that's where he slipped a cog," remarked Mr. Nestor. "Well, Tom,
I like your tank, what I've seen of her, but it's getting late and I
think Mary and I had better be getting back home."
"We'll be ready to start in a little while," Tom said, after a brief
consultation with one of his men. "Still, perhaps it would be just as
well if you didn't ride back with me. She may go all right, and then,
again, she may not. And as it's dark, and we're in a rough part of the
field, you might be a bit shaken up. Not that the tank minds it!" the
young inventor hastened to add "She's got to do her bit over worse
places than this--much worse--but I want to get her in a little better
working shape first. So if you don't mind, Mary, I'll postpone your
initial trip."
"Oh, I don't mind, Tom! I'm so glad you've made this! I want to see the
war ended, and I think machines like this will help."
"I'll ride back with you, Tom, if you don't mind," put in Ned. "I guess
a little shaking up won't hurt me."
"All right--stick. We're going to start very soon."
"Well, I'm coming over to-morrow to have a look at it by daylight,"
said Mr. Damon, as he started toward his car.
"So am I," added Mary. "Please call for me, Mr. Damon."
"I will," he promised.
Mr. Nestor, his daughter, and Mr. Damon went back to the automobile,
while Ned remained with Tom. In a little while those in the car heard
once more the rumbling and roaring sound and felt the earth tremble.
Then, with a flashing of lights, the big, ungainly shape of the tank
lifted herself out of the little ditch in which she had come to a halt,
and began to climb back to the road.
Ned Newton stood beside Tom in the control tower of the great tank as
she started on her homeward way.
"Isn't it wonderful!" murmured Mary, as she saw Tank A lumbering along
toward the road. "Oh, and to think that human beings made that. To think
that Tom should know how to build such a wonderful machine!"
"And run it, too, Mary! That's the point! Make it run!" cried her
father. "I tell you, that Tom Swift is a wonder!"
"Bless my dictionary, he sure is!" agreed Mr. Damon.
Along the road, back toward the shop whence it had emerged, rumbled the
tank. The noise brought to their doors inhabitants along the country
thoroughfare, and some of them were frightened when they saw Tom
Swift's latest war machine, the details of which they could only guess
at in the darkness.
"She'll butt over a house if it gets in her path, knock down trees,
chew up barbed-wire, and climb down into ravines and out again, and go
over a good-sized stream without a whimper," said Tom, as he steered
the great machine.
There was little chance then for Ned to see much of the inside
mechanism of the tank. He observed that Tom, standing in the forward
tower, steered it very easily by a small wheel or by a lever,
alternately, and that he communicated with the engine room by means of
electric signals.
"And she steers by electricity, too," Tom told his friend. "That was
one difficulty with the first tanks. They had to be steered by brute
force, so to speak, and it was a terrific strain on the man in the
tower. Now I can guide this in two ways: by the electric mechanism
which swings the trailer wheels to either side, or by varying the speed
of the two motors that work the caterpillar belts. So if one breaks
down, I have the other."
"Got any guns aboard her--I mean machine guns?" asked Ned.
"Not yet. But I'm going to install some. I wanted to get the tank in
proper working order first. The guns are only incidental, though of
course they're vitally necessary when she goes into action. I've got
'em all ready to put in. But first I'm going to try the grippers."
"Oh, you mean the gap-bridgers?" asked Ned.
"That's it," answered Tom. "Look out, we're going over a rough spot
now."
And they did. Ned was greatly shaken up, and fairly tossed from side to
side of the steering tower. For the tank contained no springs, except
such as were installed around the most delicate machinery, and it was
like riding in a dump cart over a very rough road.
"However, that's part of the game," Tom observed.
Tank A reached her "harbor" safely--in other words, the machine shop
enclosed by the high fence, inside of which she had been built.
Tom and Ned made some inquiries of Koku and Eradicate as to whether or
not there had been any unusual sights or sounds about the place. They
feared Simpson might have come to the shop to try to get possession of
important drawings or data.
But all had been quiet, Koku reported. Nor had Eradicate seen or heard
anything out of the ordinary.
"Then I guess we'll lock up and turn in," decided Tom. "Come over
to-morrow, Ned."
"I will," promised the young bank clerk. "I want to see more of what
makes the wheels go round." And he laughed at his own ingenuousness.
The next day Tom showed his friends as much as they cared to see about
the workings of the tank. They inspected the powerful gasolene engines,
saw how they worked the endless belts made of plates of jointed steel,
which, running over sprocket wheels, really gave the tank its power by
providing great tractive force.
Any self-propelled vehicle depends for its power, either to move itself
or to push or to pull, on its tractive force--that is, the grip it can
get on the ground.
In the case of a bicycle little tractive power is needed, and this is
provided by the rubber tires, which grip the ground. A locomotive
depends for its tractive power on its weight pressing on its driving
wheels, and the more driving wheels there are and the heavier the
locomotive, the more it can pull, though in that case speed is lost.
This is why freight locomotives are so heavy and have so many large
driving wheels. They pull the engine along, and the cars also, by their
weight pressing on the rails.
The endless steel belts of a tank are, the same as the wheels of a
locomotive. And the belts, being very broad, which gives them a large
surface with which to press on the ground, and the tank being very
heavy, great power to advance is thus obtained, though at the sacrifice
of speed. However, Tom Swift had made his tank so that it would do
about ten miles and more an hour, nearly double the progress obtained
up to that time by the British machines.
His visitors saw the great motors, they inspected the compact but not
very attractive living quarters of the crew, for provision had to be
made for the men to stay in the tank if, perchance, it became stalled
in No Man's Land, surrounded by the enemy.
The tank was powerfully armored and would be armed. There were a number
of machine guns to be installed, quick-firers of various types, and in
addition the tank could carry a number of riflemen.
It was upon the crushing power of the tank, though, that most reliance
was placed. Thus it could lead the way for an infantry advance through
the enemy's lines, making nothing of barbed wire that would take an
artillery fire of several days to cut to pieces.
"And now, Ned," said Tom, about a week after the night test of the
tank, "I'm going to try what she'll do in bridging a gap."
"Have you got her in shape again?"
"Yes, everything is all right. I've taken out the weak part in the
steering gear that nearly caused us to run you down, and we're safe in
that respect now. And I've got the grippers made. It only remains to
see whether they're strong enough to bear the weight of my little
baby," and Tom affectionately patted the steel sides of Tank A.
While his men were getting the machine ready for a test out on the
road, and for a journey across a small stream not far away, Tom told
his chum about conceiving the idea for the tank and carrying it out
secretly with the aid of his father and certain workmen.
"That's the reason the government exempted me from enlisting," Tom
said. "They wanted me to finish this tank. I didn't exactly want to,
but I considered it my 'bit.' After this I'm going into the army, Ned."
"Glad to hear it, old man. Maybe by that time I'll have this Liberty
Bond work finished, and I'll go with you. We'll have great times
together! Have you heard anything more of Simpson, Blakeson and
Scoundrels?" And Ned laughed as he named this "firm."
"No," answered Tom. "I guess we scared off that slick German spy."
Once more the tank lumbered out along the road. It was a mighty engine
of war, and inside her rode Tom and Ned. Mary and her father had been
invited, but the girl could not quite get her courage to the point of
accepting, nor did Mr. Nestor care to go. Mr. Damon, however, as might
be guessed, was there.
"Bless my monkey wrench, Tom!" cried the eccentric man, as he noted
their advance over some rough ground, "are you really going to make
this machine cross Tinkle Creek on a bridge of steel you carry with
you?"
"I'm going to try, Mr. Damon."
A little later, after a successful test up and down a small gully, Tank
A arrived at the edge of Tinkle Creek, a small stream about twenty feet
wide, not far from Tom's home. At the point selected for the test the
banks were high and steep.
"If she bridges that gap she'll do anything," murmured Ned, as the tank
came to a stop on the edge.