THE LAST LITTLE HOT AIR BALLOON.
"Did you ever see a wilder region?" asked Frank, about the middle of the
morning, when they had alighted on a broad, level plateau, so as to
allow him to look over some little matters connected with the engine,
that he believed needed attention.
Andy had been using the binoculars pretty much all the time they were
aloft, but without any success. Many times be began to think he had
sighted something that looked like cliffs rising up, and a wild hope had
seized upon his devoted heart; but upon Frank bringing the airship in
that quarter, in answer to his frantic appeals, it had proven to be a
false clue.
Cliffs they saw in plenty, but as yet none enclosing a valley so as to
imprison an unfortunate aeronaut, whose runaway balloon had dropped with
him into its depths.
Still, the day was not nearly half over. And the monoplane behaved
splendidly; so that they could hope to continue the search as long as
their supply of gasolene held out.
"I'll never give up hunting," Andy declared, as he stood there, watching
his chum potter with the engine and examine things in general. "No, not
as long as this fine little machine stands by us. We can get more
gasoline if necessary, for we brought a good supply aboard the
boat. When we've gone as far as we dare down this way we'll make another
start further on."
"I'm with you, Chum Andy, and you don't need to be told that," observed
Frank, quietly, while he worked on.
"As if I didn't know that and counted on you through thick and thin,"
declared the other, with a look of sincere affection.
"Well, now we're ready to go up again," remarked Frank; "and there's no
use asking if you feel like it. So pile in and we'll make a flying start
from the top of this rocky plateau."
"What a difference from our last start," observed Andy, with
satisfaction, for they were on an elevation with a valley far below, and
the air was decidedly bracing for the tropics.
"I should say it was," laughed Frank. "Do you know what it puts me in
mind of?"
"I bet you're just thinking of when we won that race to the summit of
Old Thunder Top, where nobody had ever been able to climb before, and
how we had to make our start for home from that little plateau, plunging
off into space."
"Just what I was," declared Frank. "But here we have a longer swing and
it's going to be a snap of a launch compared with some we remember."
"Ugh!" grunted Andy, "will I ever forget the one this morning. But let
loose, my boy. I had just sighted a likely looking place away over
yonder, at the time you said we ought to take advantage of this fine
landing stage, to look things over. Just head her that way when we get
going, will you?"
"Sure; anything to oblige," assented the other.
The launch was just as easy as they had anticipated. Indeed, Frank
seemed to have gotten this part of the programme down to a fine point
and could accomplish it apparently as well as a Wright or a Curtiss.
Ten minutes later and the monoplane was soaring toward the region which
Andy had denominated as a "likely spot."
"Look at that big bird watching us from that pinnacle yonder!" exclaimed
Andy, as he lowered the glasses for a moment.
"I see him," replied his comrade. "And there's no doubt now but what
that is a condor of the Andes. He thinks we must be some sort of bird,
which we are, of course, and is wondering whether he ought to flap his
wings and go up higher or hide behind that church steeple of rock."
"I only hope he don't take a measly notion to fight us, that's all,"
remarked the other, as he glanced anxiously toward where the Marlin was
secured to the framework of the airship.
"No danger of that," Frank continued. "A condor is like our vulture or
buzzard, a scavenger; and he lacks the bravery of the bald-headed eagle
that attacked us when we came near his nest on the tip of Old Thunder
Top. Look there, he's off, Andy, and at a good lively clip,
too. Good-bye, old chap, and good luck!"
Andy had lost all interest in the great bird of the western Andes. He
was focusing his attention upon the place that he had marked as a likely
spot.
"Frank," he said, presently, in a husky voice, "could you drop a little
lower and slow down some?"
"That's easy," replied his chum, readily enough. "What has struck you
now, Andy?"
"It looks more and more promising to me," came the slow reply, as Andy
kept the glasses up to his eyes.
"Then you can glimpse something like cliffs?" asked Frank.
"Yes, and there's no doubt about that part. I'm waiting now to see if
the wide valley is wholly enclosed!"
"And if it is, you think--"
"It must be the place! Oh, Frank! What if we are near the spot? Would he
still be alive, or has he given up the fight? That condor perched up on
the pinnacle--was he only waiting for the time to come when he could fly
down? Perhaps--oh! what is that moving yonder? Look, Frank, Frank,
something is coming up above the top of the mountain! Can you see it? If
you could only take the glasses and tell me, for my hands are shaking so
I can't hold them!"
"Brace up, Andy. I can see what you mean without the glasses. There, now
it has risen above the line of rocks--something that bobs to and fro
like no bird ever flew--something that floats, now this way and now
that, just as the wind blows. Andy, upon my word I believe it is, it
must be--"
"Oh, say it for me, please, because I just can't find words!" cried the
other.
It was a wonder that in their tremendous excitement something disastrous
did not happen to the aeroplane, but Frank had wisely cut off some of
the power, so that they were just making fair headway at the time.
"It is a little parachute balloon, just like the one that carried that
message into the cocoa grove of Carlos Mendoza!" ejaculated Frank.
"Then it means that we have found the valley prison!" gasped Andy.
"Sure, that's a fact. The cliffs yonder are on one side of it!" Frank
cried.
"And Frank, don't you see, the fact that another of those little
messengers of hope has just come up out of the valley _shows that he is
alive_!"
"You just bet he is, Andy; and we're going to be with him in three
shakes of a lamb's tail!" declared the other.
Andy could not utter another word; he was too full of emotion. So he
just sat there and stared and waited, his heart doubtless thumping
against his ribs as it had never done before.
Of course, when Frank gave utterance to that boast he did not really
mean it, and only had the encouragement of his chum in view. He knew
that it was apt to prove a difficult task, landing in that enclosed
valley, where the vegetation must be of a tropical order.
First of all they must circle around over the wide expanse to take in
its features and discover the prisoner. Then Frank could lay his plans
accordingly.
Gradually they began to see more and more of those marvelous
cliffs. They seemed to stretch in an unbroken cordon completely around
the valley. If they were as near like adamant as they looked it would
take a man years to cut steps to the lofty top, even though he were
given proper tools for the work.
And presently they cleared the near side, so that the monoplane floated
directly above the valley itself.
"Careful now, Andy!" warned the cautious Frank. "Hold yourself tight
while we circle around, dropping lower all the time. Suppose you shout,
though I should think he'd have heard the noise of our exhaust before
now!"
He had hardly uttered these last words when there came a cry from below.
"Look, look, Frank, there he is! Oh, what a blessed sight that is! My
father, and alive after all! See how he runs and waves his hands! What
will he say when he knows that it's his boy in this airship come to save
him?"
"Call out and tell him!" said Frank, hardly able to control his own
feelings, though he knew he must or they might meet with an accident in
this supreme moment of victory.
So Andy did shout, calling upon his father wildly and waving his cap to
him. The prisoner of the enclosed valley seemed dazed at first. Perhaps
he had been deceived so many times by his dreams of being saved that he
feared this might prove only another delusion. They could see him stand
there and put his hand to his head as he stared. It was so very
wonderful, this coming of a modern aeroplane to snatch him from his
living grave. And then that voice, how like the one he had never
expected to hear again!
But by degrees, as the little Bleriot monoplane sank lower, and the
forms could be more plainly seen, he began to grasp the truth. Again he
showed the most intense excitement, waving his arms and running to keep
up with them.
"Wait," said Frank, presently, as he saw that Andy was so excited he
could not carry on an intelligent conversation. "I'm going to speak with
him and find out if there's any clear spot where we can land."
"Uncle Philip!" he shouted presently, when Andy had subsided. "This is
Frank, your nephew, and Andy, your own son. Is there any clear place
where we can land?"
The aeronaut understood, because all this was right in line with the
profession which he had been following at the time of his vanishing from
mortal sight.
He indicated the quarter where a landing might be risked and upon
investigating by hovering over the same, Frank decided that it promised
success.
So the aeroplane dropped down and touched ground. It bumped along for a
little distance and then Andy, leaping out, managed to bring its
progress to a halt. They were in the enchanted valley, from whence those
wonderful messages had floated, one of which, by a strange freak of
fate, had eventually reached the boy thousands of miles away, for whose
eyes it had been intended!
And immediately Andy was clasped in the arms of his father. He knew him
despite the long gray beard, which had grown during his many months of
confinement, with hope daily choked by despair. His clothing was almost
in tatters, and he seemed thin and peaked; but the look upon his drawn
face now was of supreme happiness.
Then, after they had in some measure recovered from all this intense
excitement, the boys sat down to tell what a miracle had been wrought,
bringing the message to the home in far away Bloomsbury. With an arm
still encircling the form of his boy Professor Bird listened and asked
many eager questions.
"And to think," he said, finally, "that little messenger you saw going
up just now was constructed of the very last fragment of the old balloon
silk. I made a fire with flint and steel, filled it with hot air and
sent it up with prayers, believing that it was my forlorn chance. And
then I heard the exhaust of your motor. I feared my mind was giving way
under the terrible strain. When I looked up and saw an aeroplane sail
into view I fell down on my face, believing I had gone mad. But it was a
blessed reality, thank God!"
Plans were soon under discussion looking to leaving the valley as soon
as possible. About this time Andy happened to think of something and
began to fumble at his pocket.
"Oh, how I hoped and prayed when I bought that, father, that I might
have the happiness of seeing you smoke some of it," he said, as he drew
out a little packet of tobacco, on which the late prisoner pounced with
all the delight of an inveterate user of the weed, who had long been
deprived of a pleasure.
"I have been using dried leaves of a wild grape and some other things,"
he admitted; "but after all they were only vile substitutes. It was
thoughtful of you, my boy, to remember my weakness."
And Andy snuggled up close to him as he commenced to puff at his pipe,
using a match for the first time in many moons and smiling whimsically
when he struck the same, as memory played queer pranks within.
Meanwhile Frank wandered around to survey the scene of the professor's
imprisonment and figure how they were ever going to get out with the
aeroplane.