ON THE WING.
The ground Matt selected for his initial experiments lay about a
quarter of a mile from the post trader's store on the road toward
Lallie, Minnewaukon, and Oberon. For a long distance, at this place,
the road was level, flat as a board, and smooth as asphalt. It was just
the right bottom to give the aëroplane a good start on the bicycle
wheels.
This part of the road, too, was free from timber, so there could be no
accidents from collisions with stationary objects.
Lieutenant Cameron had a large "A" tent brought down from the post, and
pitched in a place convenient to Matt's field of operations. Here the
young motorist and his assistants could rest, when they so desired, and
make their headquarters at all times.
Four dismounted cavalrymen were to be constantly on guard, each detail
relieving the other, morning and night.
The post farrier placed his working tools at Matt's disposal, and
hammers, hatchets, and wrenches were carried down to "Camp Traquair,"
as the aëroplane headquarters came to be called, and Matt set actively
to work uncrating the machine.
The two big planes of the flying machine measured thirty-two feet in
length by five in width. For convenience in packing, carrying, and
stowing, these planes had been cut into halves, one half dovetailing
into the other by means of iron sockets.
In assembling the aëroplane, Matt worked from memory alone--his study
of the model serving him in good stead.
Both of the thirty-two-foot planes were put together first, and then
joined, in a double-deck arrangement, by tough spruce rods, which held
the planes six feet apart. The rods were further braced by wire guys,
which could be tightened at will by means of turn-buckles.
For a width of about five feet the middle section of the lower plane
was reënforced with light, tough boards. This platform formed a bed for
the engine, the gasoline tank, the mechanism-operating propeller and
bicycle wheels, and afforded seats for the operator and one passenger,
as well as giving a rigid support for the various levers controlling
motor and rudders.
The sliding wing extensions, so necessary for keeping the machine's
equilibrium while in the air, gave Matt the most trouble of all. They
slid on ball bearings from under each plane, and were so adjusted that
when one extended the other contracted in the same proportion; for, if
there was too much air pressure under one wing, it was necessary that
the area of that wing should be reduced, while the area of the other
was enlarged.
The putting together of the two large planes consumed the afternoon;
and when Matt, weary and tired, answered the mess call of the colored
cook sent down from the post, he was able to see that the aëroplane was
gradually taking shape.
"Looks about as much like a bird as I do," commented McGlory.
The next morning Matt went to work on the two smaller planes which,
in flight, went ahead of the machine, guiding up or down, and doing
something toward distributing the air pressure. The vertical plane,
which had its place in the rear, was likewise adjusted.
So rapidly did the work proceed that, by noon, Matt was ready to
install the motor.
Traquair, it was evident, had built the aëroplane, put it together, and
adjusted every part before shipping it to Fort Totten. The result of
this forethought was apparent in the installing of the engine. Every
piece had its place and dropped into it readily. The exact point for
every bolt and screw was marked.
By seven o'clock the second night the aëroplane was ready.
McGlory, just before he, Matt, and Ping went for their belated supper,
stood in front of the forward planes.
"Every boat, pard," said he, "whether she sails the ocean or the sky,
has got to have a name; therefore I, by virtue of my authority as
assistant to the big high boy who is to navigate the craft, name this
aëroplane the _June Bug_."
With that, the cowboy broke a bottle of Adam's ale over the lower plane.
"No likee _June Bug_," chattered Ping. "Him velly bum name. Why you no
callee him _Fan Tan_, huh?"
"_Fan Tan!_" jeered McGlory. "Why, you squint-eyed heathen, this ship's
no gamble, but a sure thing. Remember the lines of that beautiful poem:
"The June bug has no wings at all,
But it gets there just the same."
"That's good enough," laughed Matt. "I'm going to eat and turn in, for
to-morrow I fly."
The motor was a four-cylinder, and Matt judged, after taking
measurements, that it would develop about twenty-five horse power.
The next day came on with a very high wind, so high that Matt deemed
it worse than foolish to attempt his first flight. It was hoped that,
later in the day, the wind would go down. Time was not lost while
waiting, however. Gasoline was secured from the fort, together with
a quantity of oil, and the motor was disconnected and given its own
particular try-out.
It worked splendidly.
Next the power was connected with the bicycle wheels, and the _June
Bug_ was sent along the road under its own power. Matt, in the driver's
seat, came very near taking a fly in spite of himself, for the wings
caught the wind and lifted the aëroplane some four feet in the air.
With a twist of the lever, Matt quickly pointed the smaller planes
downward, and glided into the road again without a jar.
The wind held until nightfall, and, of course, all hope of a fly for
that day went down with the sun.
On the following morning there was hardly a breath of air stirring.
All the troopers came down from the fort, and every person from the
immediate vicinity of the trader's store assembled to see how well Matt
would acquit himself of his first attempt at flight in an aëroplane.
After making sure that everything was properly adjusted and in perfect
working order, Matt had the _June Bug_ pushed to the centre of the hard
road. McGlory was stationed at one wing, and Lieutenant Cameron at the
other, in order to run with the machine and help give it a start.
"Nervous, Matt?" queried Cameron, as the king of the motor boys took
his place on the seat and lifted his feet to the foot rest.
"Not half so nervous as you are, old chap," smiled Matt. "Here, feel my
pulse."
"I'll take your word for it. Don't go very high."
"So far as results are concerned, if I'm going to fall it might just as
well be from five hundred feet as from fifty. All ready?"
"All ready!"
McGlory's voice was a bit husky, for he was even more nervous than
Cameron.
The engine was already humming like a swarm of bees.
"Let her go," said Matt, switching the power into the bicycle wheels.
In less than a dozen feet, the aëroplane was traveling too fast for
Cameron and McGlory, and they dropped out. Standing breathless where
the _June Bug_ had left them, they watched the machine rush faster and
faster along the road, then, suddenly, swing into the air and glide
upward.
Cheers rang out from half a hundred throats, only to be suddenly
stifled as the great wings tilted, fifty feet above ground, into an
almost vertical position. Matt, they could see, was almost hurled from
his seat.
A groan was wrenched from Cameron's lips, and he turned away.
"Sufferin' thunderbolts, but that was close!" the lieutenant heard
McGlory mutter, and then the cheering was renewed.
Cameron looked again. The _June Bug_ had righted herself, and was
rushing off toward the lake, mounting steadily, higher and higher.
"That feller's head's level, all right," remarked Benner.
"How's that?" asked Cameron.
"Why," laughed the post trader, "if he takes a tumble he intends comin'
down in the water."
"Don't you believe it!" cried McGlory. "He don't intend to take a
tumble. That pard of mine has his head with him, at every stage of the
game."
At the watchers judged, the _June Bug_ passed over the post some two
hundred feet in the air. The contortions of the machine were alarming.
First one side would tilt, and then the other. Half a dozen times
it looked as though the _June Bug_ must surely go over on its back,
and come down a wreck with her intrepid young driver mangled in the
machinery.
But Motor Matt, calm and clear brained, was working to "get the knack."
Every second he was studying. Not once did thoughts of a mishap flash
through his brain.
At the end of ten minutes he returned from the lake, glided downward,
and brought the bicycle wheels to a rest in the road within a hundred
feet of the place from which he had started.
His face was flushed, and his gray eyes shining as he stepped from the
machine to receive the congratulations of everybody, even of the bluff
post trader.
"I'll try it again this afternoon," said Matt. "That's enough for this
morning. I want to think over my experience, and see if I can improve
my work in any particular point."
"You wabble a good deal," said Cameron.
"I won't--when I get the knack."
So that afternoon, and day after day thereafter, Motor Matt went up
and practiced to acquire the "knack." Little by little it came to him,
every flight teaching him something that it was necessary for him to
know.
He went up in still air, in light winds, and in breezes that made his
friends tremble for his safety; but not once did he get a spill, not
once did anything go wrong with the machinery, and not once did he fail
to bring the _June Bug_ back to earth as gently and easily as he had
done on the morning of his first flight.
Greater and greater crowds assembled to witness the trials. The people
came from Minnewaukon, from Oberon, and from Devil's Lake City. Even
the Indians gathered from various parts of the reservation, and gazed
stolidly while "Boy-That-Flies-Like-the-Eagle"--as they called
Matt--continued to keep on the wing, and learn the knack.
As Tuesday--the day of the government test--drew nearer, the railroads
advertised excursions, and from the Department of the Missouri came
sundry men, high in the councils of the war department, to see how well
Motor Matt would meet the supreme test.
On Monday afternoon, after Matt had finished a flight during which he
had kept the _June Bug_ almost level in the air, Lieutenant Cameron
caught his hand in a convulsive grip.
"I'm ready, Matt," said he; "you've got the knack."