KILBORN'S TRICK
“NOW you will see a fight!” cried Peltok. “I know those Yellow Gypsies
and I know the Persian forest rangers. You will see a pretty fight.”
“I didn’t start this world flight to witness a skirmish between bandits
and the soldiers,” said Tom, with grim humor. “I want to get under way
again.”
“You will presently,” predicted Peltok.
In another moment, amid wild shouts, the cavalry opened fire on the
Gypsies, some of whom shot in return, though most of the bandits, for
they were little less, turned to flee.
There seemed to be a perpetual feud between these two bodies, one
representing law and the other crime, for they did not stop to parley,
but at once began fighting. And Tom Swift did not flatter himself that
the soldiers had come merely to rescue him. No word had been sent asking
for help.
“The Gypsies are bad,” explained Peltok, “and the forest rangers fight
them whenever they can. See! They are on the run now!”
“That’s right!” echoed Ned.
“And it’s time for us to be on the move!” said Tom. “Get ready!” he
called to his helpers.
The advent of the soldiers had scattered the savage men from in front of
the aeroplane, and she could now speed over the level place and take off
into the air.
A moment later, while the “pretty fight” was still going on, Tom pulled
back the lever of the elevating plane. Up shot the _Air Monarch_, and
amid yells of surprise from the horsemen, some of whom had evidently not
expected the craft to do this, the machine sailed aloft and was soon
winging its way toward cloudland, safe from further molestation on the
part of the Yellow Gypsies.
“Those rangers, or whatever they are, came in the nick of time,” said
Tom when he had turned the management of the ship over to Brinkley while
he and Ned went to make some calculations regarding their course. “We
couldn’t have stood much more delay.”
“We can make up for lost time now,” Ned remarked, and, indeed, the craft
was now spinning along faster than it had ever gone before. The repairs
had improved the motors.
“Well, we are holding our own, at any rate,” Tom said when he and his
chum had figured out how far they had come, how much distance yet
remained to cover, and how much time they had to do it in. “I hoped we’d
be a bit ahead of our schedule when we were near China, but we aren’t.
Only just above even. But that’s better than being behind.”
“Are we over China now?” asked Ned, “looking down as if he expected to
see a red laundry sign,” declared his chum, laughing.
“We shall be soon,” answered Tom seriously when his laugh was over.
“We’ll have to land there, too, for more gas and oil. There’s where I
arranged to take it on,” and he indicated a spot on the map where the
eastern Turkestan city of Yarkand was located. “When we leave there
we’ll head right across the great Chinese Empire, or rather, Republic,
as it is now, over the lower edge of the Gobi Desert, perhaps, and then
on to the Pacific.”
“Why, Tom!” Ned exclaimed with shining eyes, “we’ve almost won the race
already, haven’t we?”
“Not by a long shot!” exclaimed Tom emphatically. “The hardest part of
the trip is yet before us, and I fear the journey over the Pacific more
than anything else!”
“Why?”
“On account of the storms—especially in the vicinity of the China coast
and the Japanese islands. We may run into a typhoon.”
“Not so good,” murmured Ned, as he gazed at the map.
“Oh, well, we sha'n’t worry about that until we get there,” observed Tom
more cheerfully. “We’re on our way, anyhow,” and indeed they were, with
the wonderful machine throbbing her course through space.
Tom Swift well realized that he must make his best speed while in the
air. Though his craft could do fairly well on land or in the water, the
less actual distance he had to travel on _aqua pura_ or _terra firma_
the better chance he would have of winning the race. His most feared
rival—Kilborn in the _Red Arrow_—could travel only in the air, and
would keep to that medium. Though of course, having a hydroplane, he
could, to a certain extent, move over the water.
“But the race will be decided by air travel,” said Tom, and to this end
he determined to devote all his energies.
It was shortly after noon, when Brinkley had served an appetizing meal
in the little cabin, that Peltok, who had been told by Tom what course
to follow, announced that they were approaching Yarkand.
“Land there!” ordered Tom. “I don’t know just how near our oil and gas
supply in Yarkand is to our landing field, but pick out the best spot
and we can have the supplies brought out to us.”
“Right!” exclaimed the navigator, and a little later the big craft came
to a gentle stop on a big plain on the farther edge of which was the
city.
No sooner had the _Air Monarch_ landed than she was surrounded by a
swarm of curious natives, a sort of a cross between a Chinese and an
Indian, Ned declared. They were friendly, however, and laughed with glee
as they beheld the “foreign devils” and their queer craft.
Here Peltok’s linguistic abilities were useful, for he was soon talking
with the natives “like a house afire,” as Tom said, and in a little
while the interpreter announced that he had arranged for Tom’s supply of
oil and gas to be brought out.
“Then sha'n’t we take this chance to stretch our legs?” proposed Tom to
Ned. “We’ll walk about a bit and the mechanics will have time to tune up
the motors. I don’t like the way the starboard one is behaving.”
He gave his instructions to Brinkley and Hartman, and then, with Peltok
looking after things, uttering dire threats in their own language to the
Turkestan natives, who seemed to want to pull the machinery apart, Tom
and Ned strolled about. They would have about an hour to wait, and
decided to go into the ancient city.
As they were entering it, Ned pointed off to the left and uttered a cry
of surprise.
“There’s the _Red Arrow_!” he said.
“That’s right!” agreed Tom, as he caught sight of Kilborn’s big, crimson
hydroplane circling about as if preparing for a landing. “He’s following
me close.”
“But he isn’t going to land near us,” commented Ned, for the _Red Arrow_
was heading down on a different part of the plain from that occupied by
Tom Swift’s craft.
“Glad of it,” the inventor remarked. “I don’t want any more trouble with
him. He’s a crook!”
Then the two young men forgot their anxieties in viewing the wonders of
the old place, while curious natives crowded about them. They wandered
into one of the bazaars, where Tom bought some trinkets for Mary and Ned
a souvenir for Helen.
“And while we’re here,” said Tom to his chum, “we can mail some
postcards back home. We may not get another chance.”
“Good idea,” agreed Ned.
They were in the local post-office, to them a queer sort of place, where
they found a native who could speak enough English to tell them what
they wanted to know about stamps and cards and the mails.
While they were writing their messages, Ned observed two men, who seemed
to be officials of some sort, hurriedly enter the post-office and talk
with the man who had acted as interpreter. But the young man gave this
scene little thought until he and Tom were ready to leave.
Then Ned saw these same two officials barring their way out. Tom also
became aware of something and exclaimed, respectfully enough:
“One side, please! We’re in a hurry to get back to our ship!”
But the two officers did not move, and one drew from its scabbard an
ugly, curved sword.
“Look out, Tom,” warned Ned in a low voice. “This looks like trouble!”
“It will be of their making, not ours!” snapped Tom. “What’s the idea?”
he went on, for he was anxious to start off again. “Get out of the way!”
he ordered the man with the drawn sword. “Tell him he’s making a
mistake,” he said to the man who had translated the request for stamps
and cards.
There was a lively interchange of words between the officers and the
interpreter, and the latter, with a shrug of his shoulders, turned to
Tom and Ned, saying:
“You cannot go!”
“Can’t go where?”
“Away from here. You are under arrest!”
“Under arrest? Nonsense!” yelled Tom Swift. “What for?”
“It seems you have no official permission to land your airship near the
city,” the interpreter answered. “You must be taken to jail!”
“It’s a plot, Tom!” exclaimed Ned. “It’s a trick on the part of Kilborn
to delay us!”
“I’m afraid it is,” said Tom in a low voice. “We’ve got to get out of
this in some way. Stand by me now, Ned! I’ll see what a little strategy
will do!”
Tom turned toward the two officers, a grim look on his face.