Rescued
For a moment Ned and Mr. Damon gazed at the farmer in his rattletrap of
an auto, and then they looked at the fluttering piece of paper in his
hand. Thence their gaze traveled to the ragged and barefoot lad sitting
beside the farmer.
"I found it!" announced the boy.
"Found what?" asked Ned.
"That there note!"
Without asking any more questions, reserving them until they knew more
about the matter, Mr. Damon and Ned each reached out a hand for the
paper the farmer held. The latter handed it to Ned, being nearest him,
and at a sight of the handwriting the young bank clerk exclaimed:
"It's from Tom, all right!"
"What happened to him?" cried Mr. Damon. "Where is he? Is he a
prisoner?"
"So it seems," answered Ned. "Wait, I'll read it to you," and he read:
"'Whoever picks this up please send word at once to Mr. Swift or to Ned
Newton in Shopton, or to Mr. Damon of Waterfield. I am a prisoner,
locked in the old factory. Tom Swift'."
"Bless my quinine pills!" cried Mr Damon. "What in the world does it
mean? What factory?"
"That's just what we've got to find out," decided Ned. "Where did you
get this?" he asked the farmer's boy.
"Way off over there," and he pointed across miles of fields. "I was
lookin' for a lost cow, and I went past an old factory. There wasn't
nobody in the place, as far as I knowed, but all at once I heard some
one yell, and then I seen something white, like a bird, sail out of a
high window. I was scared for a minute, thinkin' it might be tramps
after me."
"And what did you do, Sonny?" asked Mr. Damon, as the boy paused.
"Well, after a while I went to where the white thing lay, and I picked
it up. I seen it was a piece of paper, with writin' on it, and it was
wrapped around part of a brick."
"And did you go near the factory to find out who called or who threw
the paper out?" Ned queried.
"I didn't," the boy answered. "I was scared. I went home, and didn't
even start to find the lost cow.
"No more he did," chimed in the farmer. "He come runnin' in like a
whitehead, and as soon as I saw the paper and heard what Bub had to
say, I thought maybe I'd better do somethin'."
"Did you go to the factory?" asked Ned eagerly.
"No. I thought the best thing to do would be to find this Mr. Swift, or
the other folks mentioned in this letter. I knowed, in a general way,
where Shopton was, but I'd never been there, doing my tradin' in the
other direction, and so I had to stop and ask the road. If you can tell
me--"
"We're two of the persons spoken of in that note," said Mr. Damon, as
he mentioned his name and introduced Ned. "We have been looking for our
friend Tom Swift for two days now. We must find him at once, as there
is no telling what he may be suffering."
"Where is this old factory you speak of," continued Mr. Damon, "and how
can we get there? It's too bad one of you didn't go back, after finding
the note, to tell Tom he was soon to be rescued."
"Waal, maybe it is," said the farmer, a bit put out by the criticism.
"But I figgered it would be better to look up this young man's friends
and let them do the rescuin', and not lose no time, 'specially as it's
about as far from my place to the factory as it is to Shopton."
"Well, I suppose that's so," agreed Ned. "But what is this factory?"
"It's an old one where they started to make beet sugar, but it didn't
pan out," the farmer said. "The place is in ruins, and I did hear, not
long ago, that somebody run a threshin' machine through it, an' busted
it up worse than before."
"Great horned toads!" cried Ned. "That must be the very factory Tom ran
his tank through. And to think he should be a prisoner there!"
"Held by whom, do you suppose?" asked Mr. Damon.
"By that Blakeson gang, I imagine," Ned answered. "There's no time to
lose. We must go to his rescue!"
"Of course!" agreed Mr. Damon. "We're much obliged to you for bringing
this note," he went on to the farmer. "And here is something to repay
you for your trouble," and he took out his wallet.
"Shucks! I didn't do this for pay!" objected the farmer. "It's a pity
I wouldn't help anybody what's in trouble! If I'd a-knowed what it
meant, me and Bub here would have gone to the factory ourselves, maybe,
and done the work quicker. But I didn't know--what with war times and
such-like--but that it would be better to deliver the note."
"It turns out as well, perhaps," agreed Ned. "We'll look after Tom now."
"And I'll come along and help," said the farmer. "If there's a gang of
tramps in that factory, you may need some reinforcements. I've got a
couple of new axe handles in my machine, and they'll come in mighty
handy as clubs."
"That's so," said Mr. Damon. "But I fancy Tom is simply locked in the
deserted factory office, with no one on guard. We can get him out once
we get there, and we'll be glad to have you come with us. So if you
won't take any reward, maybe your boy will, as he found the note," and
Mr. Damon pressed some bills into the hands of the boy, who, it is
needless to say, was glad to get them.
It was a run of several miles back to the deserted factory, and though
they passed houses on the way, it was decided that no addition to their
force was necessary, though they did stop at a blacksmith shop, where
they borrowed a heavy sledge to batter down a door if such action
should be needed.
The farmer's rattletrap of a car, in spite of its appearance, was not
far behind Ned's runabout, and in a comparatively short time all were
within sight of the ruined place--a ruin made more complete by the
passage through it of Tom Swift's war tank.
"And to think of his being there all this while!" exclaimed Mr. Damon,
as he and Ned leaped from their machine.
"If he only is there!" murmured the young bank clerk.
"What do you mean? Didn't the note he threw out say he was there?"
"Yes, but something may have happened in the meanwhile. Those
plotters, if they'd do a thing like this, are capable of anything. They
may have kidnapped Tom again."
"Anyway, we'll soon find out," murmured Ned, as they advanced toward
the ruin, Mr. Damon and the farmer each armed with an axe helve, while
Ned carried the blacksmith's sledge.
They went into the end of the factory that was less ruined than the
central part, where the tank had crashed through, and made their way
into what had been the office--the place where they had found the
burned scraps of paper.
"Hark!" exclaimed Ned, as they climbed up the broken steps. "I heard a
noise."
"It's him yellin'--like he did afore he threw out the note," said the
boy. Then, as they listened, they heard a distant voice calling:
"Hello! Hello, there! If that is any friend of mine, let me out, or
send word to Mr. Damon or Ned Newton! Hello!"
"Hello yourself, Tom Swift!" yelled Ned, too delighted to wait for any
other confirmation that it was his friend who was shouting. "We've come
to rescue you, Tom!"
There was a moment of silence, and then a voice asked:
"Who is there?"
"Ned Newton, Mr. Damon, and some other friends of yours!" answered the
young bank clerk, for surely the farmer and his son could be called
Tom's friends.
An indistinguishable answer came back, and then Ned cried:
"Where are you, Tom? Tell us, so we can get you out!"
They all listened, and faintly heard:
"I'm in some sort of an old vault, partly underground. It's below what
used to be the office. There's a flight of steps, but be careful, as
they're rotten."
Eagerly they looked around Mr. Damon saw a door in one corner of the
office, and tried to open it. It was locked, but a few blows from the
sledge smashed it, and then some steps were revealed.
Down these, using due caution, went Ned and the others, and at the
bottom they came upon another door. This was of sheet iron and was
fastened on the outside by a big padlock.
"Stand back!" cried Ned, as he swung the sledge, and with a few blows
broke the lock to pieces.
Then they pulled open the door, and into the light staggered Tom Swift,
a most woe-begone figure, and showing the effects of his imprisonment.
But he was safe and unharmed, though much disheveled from his attempts
to escape.
"Thank Heaven, you've come!" he murmured, as he clasped Ned's hand. "Is
the tank all right?"
"All right!" cried Ned. "And now tell us about yourself. How in the
world did you get here?"
"It's quite a yarn," answered Tom. "I've got to pull myself together
before I answer," and he sank wearily down on a step, looking very
haggard and worn.