Mysterious Disappearances
There was a dull, muffled report, a sort of rumbling that seemed to
extend away down under the earth and then echo back again until the
ground near the mouth of the tunnel, where the party was standing,
appeared to rock and heave. There followed a cloud of yellow, heavy
smoke which made one choke and gasp, and Tom, seeing it, cried:
"Down! Down, everybody! There's a back draft, and if you breathe any of
that powder vapor you'll have a fearful headache! Get down, until the
smoke rises!"
The tunnel contractors and their men understood the danger, for they
had handled explosives before. It is a well-known fact that the fumes
of dynamite and other giant powders will often produce severe
headaches, and even illness. Tom's explosive contained a certain
percentage of dynamite, and he knew its ill effects. Stretched prone,
or crouching on the ground, there was little danger, as the fumes,
being lighter than air, rose. The yellow haze soon drifted away, and it
was safe to rise.
"Well, I wonder how much rock your explosive tore loose for us, Tom,"
observed Job Titus, as he looked at the thin, yellowish cloud of smoke
that was still lazily drifting from the tunnel.
"Can't tell until we go in and take a look," replied the young
inventor. "It won't be safe to go in for a while yet, though. That
smoke will hang in there a long time. I didn't think there'd be a back
draft."
"There is, for we've often had the same trouble with our shots," Walter
Titus said. "I can't account for it unless there is some opening in the
shaft, connecting with the outer air, which admits a wind that drives
the smoke out of the mouth, instead of forward into the blast hole.
It's a queer thing and we haven't been able to get at the bottom of it."
"That's right," agreed his brother. "We've looked for some opening, or
natural shaft, but haven't been able to find it. Sometimes we shoot
off a charge and everything goes well, the smoke disappears in a few
minutes. Again it will all blow out this way and we lose half a day
waiting for the air to clear. There's a hidden shaft, or natural
chimney, I'm sure, but we can't find it."
"Thot blast didn't make much racket," commented Tim Sullivan. "I doubt
thot much rock come down. An' thot's not sayin' anythin' ag'in yer
powder, lad," he went on to Tom.
"Oh, that's all right," Tom Swift replied, with a laugh. "My explosive
doesn't work by sound. It has lots of power, but it doesn't produce
much concussion."
"We've often made more noise with our blasts," confirmed Job Titus,
"but I can't say much for our results."
They were all anxious, Tom included, to hurry into the tunnel to see
how much rock had been loosened by the blast, but it was not safe to
venture in until the fumes had been allowed to disperse. In about an
hour, however, Tim Sullivan, venturing part way in, sniffed the air and
called:
"It's all right, byes! Air's clear. Now come on!"
They all hurried eagerly into the shaft, Mr. Damon stumbling along at
Tom's side, as anxious as the lad himself. Before they reached the face
of the cliff against which the bore had been driven, and which was as a
solid wall of rock to further progress, they began to tread on
fragments of stone.
"Well, it blew some as far back as here," said Walter Titus. "That's a
good sign."
"I hope so," Tom remarked.
There were still some fumes noticeable in the tunnel, and Mr. Damon
complained of a slight feeling of illness, while Koku, who kept at
Tom's side, murmured that it made his eyes smart. But the sensations
soon passed.
They came to a stop as the face of the cliff loomed into view in the
glare of a searchlight which Job Titus switched on. Then a murmur of
wonder came from every one, save from Tom Swift. He, modestly, kept
silent.
"Bless my breakfast orange!" cried Mr. Damon. "What a big hole!"
There was a great gash blown in the hard rock which had acted as a bar
to the further progress of the tunnel. A great heap of rock, broken
into small fragments, was on the floor of the shaft, and there was a
big hole filled with debris which would have to be removed before the
extent of the blast could be seen.
"That's doing the work!" cried Job Titus.
"It beats any two blasts we ever set off," declared his brother.
"Much fine!" muttered the Peruvian foreman, Serato.
"It's a lalapaloosa, lad! Thot's what it is!" enthusiastically
exclaimed Tim Sullivan. "Now the black beggars will have some rock to
shovel! Come on there, Serato, git yer lazy imps t' work cartin' this
stuff away. We've got a man on th' job now in this new powder of Tom
Swift's. Git busy!"
"Um!" grunted the Indian, and he called to his men who were soon busy
with picks and shovels, loading the loosened rock and earth into the
mule-hauled dump cars which took it to the mouth of the tunnel, whence
it was shunted off on another small railroad to fill in a big gulch to
save bridging it.
Tom's first blast was very successful, and enough rock was loosed to
keep the laborers busy for a week. The contractors were more than
satisfied.
"At this rate we'll finish ahead of time, and earn a premium," said Job
to his brother.
"That's right. You didn't make any mistake in appealing to Tom Swift.
But I wonder if Blakeson & Grinder have given up trying to get the job
away from us?"
"I don't know. I'd never trust them. We must watch out for Waddington.
That bomb on the vessel had a funny look, even if it was not meant to
kill Tom or me. I won't relax any."
"No, I guess it wouldn't be safe."
But a week went by without any manifestation having been made by the
rival tunnel contractors. During that week more of Tom's explosive
arrived, and he busied himself getting ready another blast which could
be set off as soon as the debris from the first should have been
cleared away.
Meanwhile, Professor Bumper, with his Indian guides and helpers, had
made several trips into the mountain regions about Rimac, but each time
that he returned to the tunnel camp to renew his supplies, he had only
a story of failure to recite.
"But I am positive that somewhere in this vicinity is the lost Peruvian
city of Pelone," he said. "Every indication points to this as the
region, and the more I study the plates of gold, and read their
message, the more I am convinced that this is the place spoken of.
"But we have been over many mountains, and in more valleys, without
finding a trace of the ancient civilization I feel sure once flourished
here. There are no relics of a lost race--not so much as an arrow or
spear head. But, somehow or other, I feel that I shall find the lost
city. And when I do I shall be famous!"
"Mr. Damon and I will help you all we can," Tom said. "As soon as I get
ready the next blast I'll have a little time to myself, and we will go
with you on a trip or two."
"I shall be very glad to have you," the bald-headed scientist remarked.
Tom's second blast was even more successful than the first, and enough
of the hard rock was loosed and pulverized to give the Indian laborers
ten days' work in removing it from the tunnel.
Then, as the services of the young inventor would not be needed for a
week or more, he decided to go on a little trip with Professor Bumper.
"I'll come too," said Mr. Damon. "One of the sub-contractors whose men
are gathering the cinchona bark for our firm has his headquarters in
the region where you are going, and I can go over there and see why he
isn't up to the mark."
Accordingly, preparations having been made to spend a week in camp in
the forests of the Andes, Tom and his party set off one morning.
Professor Bumper's Indian helpers would do the hard work, and, of
course, Koku, who went wherever Tom went, would be on hand in case some
feat of strength were needed.
It was a blind search, this hunt for a lost city, and as much luck
might be expected going in one direction as in another; so the party
had no fixed point toward which to travel. Only Mr. Damon stipulated
that he wanted to reach a certain village, and they planned to include
that on their route.
Tom Swift took his electric rifle with him, and with it he was able to
bring down a couple of deer which formed a welcome addition to the camp
fare.
The rifle was a source of great wonder to the Peruvians. They were
familiar with ordinary firearms, and some of them possessed
old-fashioned guns. But Tom's electric weapon, which made not a sound,
but killed with the swiftness of light, was awesome to them. The
interpreter accompanying Professor Bumper confided privately to Tom
that the other Indians regarded the young inventor as a devil who
could, if he wished, slay by the mere winking of an eye.
Mr. Damon located the quinine-gathering force he was anxious to see,
and, through the interpreter, told the chief that more bark must be
brought in to keep up to the terms of the contract.
But something seemed to be the matter. The Indian chief was indifferent
to the interpreted demands of Mr. Damon, and that gentleman, though he
blessed any number of animate and inanimate objects, seemed to make no
impression.
"No got men to gather bark, him say," translated the interpreter.
"Hasn't got any men!" exclaimed Mr. Damon. "Why, look at all the lazy
beggars around the village."
This was true enough, for there were any number of able-bodied Indians
lolling in the shade.
"Him say him no got," repeated the translator, doggedly.
At that moment screams arose back of one the grass huts, and a child
ran out into the open, followed by a savage dog which was snapping at
the little one's bare legs.
"Bless my rat trap!" gasped Mr. Damon. "A mad dog!"
Shouts and cries arose from among the Indians. Women screamed, and
those who had children gathered them up in their arms to run to
shelter. The men threw all sorts of missiles at the infuriated animal,
but seemed afraid to approach it to knock it over with a club, or to go
to the relief of the frightened child which was now only a few feet
ahead of the animal, running in a circle.
"Me git him!" cried Koku, jumping forward.
"No, Wait!" exclaimed Tom Swift. "You can kill the dog all right,
Koku," he said, "but a scratch from his tooth might be fatal. I'll fix
him!"
Snatching his electric rifle from the Indian bearer who carried it, Tom
took quick aim. There was no flash, no report and no puff of smoke, but
the dog suddenly crumpled up in a heap, and, with a dying yelp, rolled
to one side. The child was saved.
The little one, aware that something had happened, turned and saw the
stretched out form of its enemy. Then, sobbing and crying, it ran
toward its mother who had just heard the news.
While the mothers gathered about the child, and while the older boys
and girls made a ring at a respectful distance from the dog, there was
activity noticed among the men of the village. They began hurrying out
along the forest paths.
"Where are they going?" asked Tom. "Is there some trouble? Was that a
sacred dog, and did I get in bad by killing it?"
The interpreter and the native chief conversed rapidly for a moment and
then the former, turning to Tom, said:
"Men go git cinchona bark now. Plenty get for him," and he pointed to
Mr. Damon. "They no like stay in village. T'ink yo' got lightning in
yo' pocket," and he pointed to the electric rifle.
"Oh, I see!" laughed Tom. "They think I'm a sort of wizard. Well, so I
am. Tell them if they don't get lots of quinine bark I'll have to stay
here until all the mad dogs are shot."
The interpreter translated, and when the chief had ceased replying, Tom
and the others were told:
"Plenty bark git. Plenty much. Yo' go away with yo' lightning. All
right now."
"Well, it's a good thing I keeled over that dog," Tom said. "It was the
best object lesson I could give them."
And from then on there was no more trouble in this district about
getting a supply of the medicinal bark.
A week passed and Professor Bumper was no nearer finding the lost city
than he had been at first. Reluctantly, he returned to the tunnel camp
to get more provisions.
"And then I'll start out again," he said.
"We'll go with you some other time," promised Tom. "But now I expect
I'll have to get another blast ready."
He found the debris brought down by the second one all removed, and in
a few days, preparations for exploding more of the powder were under
way.
Many holes had been drilled in the face of the cliff of hard rock, and
the charges tamped in. Electric wires connected them, and they were run
out to the tunnel mouth where the switch was located.
This was done late one afternoon, and it was planned to set off the
blast at the close of the working day, to allow all night for the fumes
to be blown away by the current of air in the tunnel.
"Get the men out, Tim," said Tom, when all was ready.
"All right, sor," was the answer, and the Irish foreman went back
toward the far end of the bore to tell the last shift of laborers to
come out so the blast could be set off.
But in a little while Tim came running back with a queer look on his
face.
"What's the matter?" asked Tom. "Why didn't you bring the men with you?"
"Because, sor, they're not there!"
"Not in the tunnel? Why, they were working there a little while ago,
when I made the last connection!"
"I know they were, but they've disappeared."
"Disappeared?"
"Yis sir. There's no way out except at this end an' you didn't see thim
come out: did you?"
"Then they've disappeared! That's all there is to it! Bad goin's on,
thot's what it is, sor! Bad!" and Tim shook his head mournfully.